sky, warm sun, and just air enough to be pleasant. Yesterday I trammed
over again to the Vatican (a trolley car is an abomination in Rome, but
so convenient). I wanted to see the statues and my favourite Apollo
Belvedere, who hasn't grown any older in 24 years--the same beautiful,
spirited young god. As I was coming downstairs I saw some people going
into the garden from a side door, so I stepped up to the gardien, and
said I wanted to go too. He said it was quite impossible without a
permesso signed by one of the officers of the Pope's household. I
assured him in my best Italian that I could have all the permessi I
wanted, that I knew a great many people, was only here de passage and
might not be able to come back another day, and that as I was alone he
really might let me pass--so after a little conversation he chose a time
when no one was passing, opened the door as little as he could and let
me through. There were two or three parties being conducted about by
guides, but no one took any notice of me, and I wandered about for some
time quite happy. It is a splendid garden--really a park. I seemed to
have got out on a sort of terrace (the carriage road below me). There
were some lovely walks, with cypress and ilex making thick shade, and
hundreds of camellias--great trees. The view toward Monte Mario was
divine--everything so clear, hardly any of the blue mist that one almost
always sees on the Campagna near Rome. The sun was too hot when I had to
cross an open space, and I was glad to get back to the dark cypress
walks. It was enchanting, but I think the most beautiful nature would
pall upon me if I knew I must always do the same thing. I am sure Leon
XIII. must have pined often for the green plains and lovely valleys
around Perugia, and I don't believe the most beautiful views of the
Alban hills tipped with snow, and pink in the sunset hues, will make up
to the present Pope for the Lagoons of Venice and the long sweep of the
Grand Canal to the sea.
Tuesday, 23d.
Yesterday Josephine and I drove out to the meet at Acqua Santa, out of
Porta San Giovanni. There were quantities of carriages and led horses
going out, as it is one of the favourite meets--you get out so soon into
the open country. There was such a crowd as we got near that we got out
and walked, scrambling over and through fences. It was a much larger
field than I had ever seen in Rome--many officers (all in uniform)
riding, and many women. The hounds broke away from a pretty little olive
wood on a height, and stretched away across a field to two stone walls,
which almost every one jumped. There were one or two falls, but nothing
serious. They were soon out of sight, but we loitered on the Campagna,
sitting on the stone walls, and talking to belated hunters who came
galloping up, eager to know which way the hunt had gone.
Sunday we had a party and music at the French Embassy (Vatican). Diemor
played beautifully, so did Teresina Tua. When they played together
Griegg's sonata for piano and violin it was enchanting. All the Black
world was there, and a good many strangers.
Thursday, February 25th.
We dined last night at the Wurts', who have a charming apartment in one
of the finest old palaces (Anticci Mattei) in Rome. The staircase
beautiful, most elaborately carved, really reminded me of Mont St.
Michel. Their rooms are filled with all sorts of interesting things, the
collection of years. The dinner was very pleasant--half Italian, half
diplomatic.
I have just come in from my audience with the Pope. I found the
convocation when I got home last night. Bessie was rather disgusted at
not having received hers, as we had planned to go together; but she said
she would come with me. She would dress herself in regulation
attire--long black dress and black veil--and take the chance. We had a
mild humiliation as we got to the inner Court. The sentries would not
let us pass. We had the small coupe, with one horse, and it seems
one-horse vehicles are not allowed to enter these sacred precincts. We
protested, saying we had a special audience, and that we couldn't get
out on the muddy pavement, but it was no use; they wouldn't hear of our
modest equipage going in, so we had to cross the court--quite a large
one, and decidedly muddy--on foot, holding up our long dresses as well
as we could.
It seemed so natural to go up the great stone staircase, with a few
Swiss guards in their striped red and yellow uniform standing about. We
spoke to one man in Italian, asking him the way, and he replied in
German. I fancy very few of them speak Italian. We passed through a good
many rooms filled with all sorts of people: priests, officers, gardes
nobles, women in black, evidently waiting for an audience, valets de
chambre dressed in red damask, camerieri segreti in black velvet
doublets, ruffs and gold chains and cross--a most picturesque and
polyglot assemblage; one heard every language under the sun.
We were passed on from one room to another, and finally came to a halt
in a large square room, where there were more priests, one or two
monsignori, in their violet robes, and two officers. I showed my paper,
one of the monsignori, Bicletis (maestro di Casa di Sua Santita), came
forward and said the Pope was expecting me; so then I presented Bessie,
explained that her name had been sent in at the same time with mine, and
that if she could be admitted (without the convocation) it would be a
great pleasure to both of us to be received together. He said there
would be no difficulty in that.
While we were talking to him the door into the audience chamber was
opened, and a large party came out--the Comte and Comtesse d'Eu and
their sons, with a numerous suite. We had barely time to exchange a few
remarks, as Monsignor Bicletis was waiting for us to advance. We found
the Pope standing in the centre of rather a small room. The walls were
hung with red damask, the carpet also was red, and at one end were three
gold chairs. We made low curtseys--didn't kneel nor kiss his hands,
being Protestants. He advanced a few steps, shook hands, and made us sit
down, one on each side of him. He was dressed, of course, entirely in
white. He spoke only Italian--said he understood French, but didn't
speak it easily. He has a beautiful face--so earnest, with a fine upward
look in his eyes; not at all the intellectual, ascetic appearance of Leo
XIII., nor the half-malicious, kindly smile of Pius IX., but a face one
would remember. I asked him if he was less tired than when he was first
named Pope. He said, oh, yes, but that the first days were very
trying--the great heat, the change of habits and climate, and the change
of food (so funny, one would think there needn't be any great change
between Rome and Venice--less fish, perhaps). He talked a little--only a
little--about France, and the difficult times we were passing through;
knew that I was a Protestant and an "old Roman"; asked how many years
since I had been back; said: "You won't find the old Rome you used to
know; there are many, many changes."
[Illustration: Pope Pius X.]
He was much interested in all Bessie told him about America and the
Catholic religion in the States--was rather amused when she suggested
that another American cardinal might perhaps be a good thing. He asked
us if we knew Venice, and his face quite lighted up when we spoke of all
the familiar scenes where he had spent so many happy years. He was much
beloved in Venice. He gave me the impression of a man who was still
feeling his way, but who, when he had found it, would go straight on to
what he considered his duty. But I must say that is not the general
impression; most people think he will be absolutely guided by his
"entourage," who will never leave him any initiative.
As we were leaving I said I had something to ask. "Dica, dica, La prego"
(Please speak), so I explained that I was a Protestant, my son also, but
that he had married a Catholic, and I would like his blessing for my
daughter. He made me a sign to kneel and touched my head with his hand,
saying the words in Latin, and adding, "E per Lei et tutta la sua
famiglia" (for you and all your family). He turned his back slightly
when we went out, so we were not obliged to back out altogether.
We talked a few moments in the anteroom with Monsignor Bicletis, but he
was very busy, other people going in to the Pope, so we didn't stay and
went down to Cardinal Mery del Val's apartment. He receives in the
beautiful Borgia rooms, with Pinturicchio's marvellous frescoes (there
was such a lovely Madonna over one of the doors, a young pure face
against that curious light-green background one sees so often in the
early Italian masters). The apartment was comparatively
modern--calorifere, electric light, bells, etc. While we were waiting
the Comte and Comtesse d'Eu and their party passed through.
The Cardinal received us standing, but made us sit down at once. He is a
tall, handsome homme du monde, rather English looking, very young. He
told us he was not yet forty years old. He speaks English as well as I
do (his mother was English), and, they tell me, every other language
equally well. He seemed to have read everything and to be au courant of
all that was said and thought all over the world. He talked a little
more politics than the Pope--deplored what was going on in France, was
interested in all Bessie told him about America and Catholicism over
there. They must be struck with the American priests and bishops whom
they see in Europe, not only their conception, but their practice of
their religion is so different. I had such an example of that one day
when we asked a friend of ours, a most intelligent, highly educated
_modern_ priest, to meet Monsignor Ireland. He was charmed with
him--listened most intently to all he said, particularly when he was
speaking of the wild life out West, near California, and the difficulty
of getting any hold over the miners. (He started a music hall, among
other things, to have some place where the men could go in the evenings,
and get out of the saloons and low drinking-shops.) Our friend perfectly
appreciated the practical energy of the monsignor, but said such a line
would be impossible in France. No priest, no matter how high his rank,
would be allowed such initiative, and the people would not understand.
He didn't keep us very long, had evidently other audiences, and not time
to talk to everybody. I am very glad to have seen him. He is quite
unlike any cardinal I have ever met--perhaps because he is so much
younger than most of them, perhaps because he seemed more homme du monde
than ecclesiastic; but I daresay that type is changing, too, with
everything else in Rome. We had a most interesting afternoon. After all,
Rome and the Vatican are unique of their kind.
Friday, February 26th.
I had my audience from Queen Margherita alone this afternoon. Bessie and
Josephine have already been. Her palace is in the Veneto (our quarter)
and very near. It is a large, fine building, but I should have liked it
better standing back in a garden, not directly on the street. However,
the Romans don't think so. There are always people standing about
waiting to see her carriage or auto pass out--they wait hours for a
smile from their beloved Regina Margherita. I went up in an
ascenseur--three or four footmen (in black) and a groom of the chambers
at the top. I was ushered down a fine long gallery with handsome
furniture and pictures to a large room almost at the end, where I found
the Marquise Villa Marina (who is always with the Queen), the Duchesse
Sforza Cesarini (lady in waiting), and one gentleman. There were three
or four people in the room, waiting also to be received. Almost
immediately the door into the next room opened, and the Duchesse Sforza
waved me in (didn't come in herself). I had at once the impression of a
charming drawing-room, with flowers, pictures, books, bibelots--not in
the least like the ordinary bare official reception room where Queen
Elena received us. The Queen, dressed in black, was sitting on a sofa
about the middle of the room, and really not much changed since I had
seen her twenty-four years ago at the Quirinal, when the present King
was a little boy, dressed in a blue sailor suit. She is a little
stouter, but her blonde hair and colouring just the same, and si grand
air. She was most charming, talked in French and English, about
anything, everything--asked about my sister-in-law, Madame de Bunsen,
and her daughter Beatrice, whom she had known as a little girl in
Florence. She is very fond of automobiling, so we had at once one great
point of sympathy. She had read "The Lightning Conductor" and was much
amused with it. We talked a little about the great changes in Rome. I
told her about our visit to the Pope, and the impression of simplicity
and extreme goodness he had made upon us. I can't remember all we talked
about. I had the same impression that I had twenty-four years ago--a
visit to a charming, sympathetic woman, very large-minded, to whom one
could talk of anything.
Sunday, 28th.
It has poured all day, but held up a little in the afternoon, so we went
(all four) to see Cardinal Mathieu, who lives in the Villa Wolkonsky. He
had asked us to come and walk in his beautiful garden (with such a view
of the Aqueducts) but that was of course out of the question. He is very
clever and genial, and was rather amused at the account we gave him of
our discussions. We are two Catholics and two Protestants, and argue
from morning till night--naturally neither party convincing the other.
He told us we should go to the Vatican to-morrow--there was a large
French pelerinage which he presented. We would certainly see the Pope
and perhaps hear him speak.
Monday.
We had a pleasant breakfast this morning with Bebella d'Arsoli,[33] in
their beautiful apartment in his father's (Prince Massimo's) palace.
The palace looks so black and melancholy outside, with its heavy portico
of columns (and always beggars sitting on the stone benches under the
portico) that it was a surprise to get into their beautiful rooms--with
splendid pictures and tapestries. The corner drawing-room, where she
received us, flooded with light, showing off the old red damask of the
walls and the splendid ceiling. We went to see the Chapel after
breakfast, where there are wonderful relics, and a famous pavement in
majolica.
[33] Princess d'Arsoli, nee Bella Brancaccio, granddaughter of Hickson
Field.
About 3 we started off for St. Peter's. We had all brought our veils
with us, and retired to Bebella's dressing-room where her maid arranged
our heads. We left a pile of hats which Bebella promised to send home
for us, and took ourselves off to the Vatican, taking little Victoria
Ruspoli with us, who looked quite sweet in her white dress and veil--her
great dark eyes bright with excitement. We found many carriages in the
court, as we got to the Vatican, and many more soldiers on the stairs,
and about in the passages. The rooms and long gallery were crowded--all
sorts of people, priests, women, young men, children (some very
nice-looking people) all speaking French. We went at first into the
gallery, but there was such a crowd and such a smell of people closely
packed that we couldn't stay, and just as we were wondering what to do,
Monsignor Bicletis came through and at once told us to come with him. He
took us through several rooms, one large one filled with people waiting
for their audience, into the one next the Pope's, who he said was with
Cardinal Mathieu, and would soon pass. We were quite alone in that room,
except for three or four priests. In a few moments the Pope appeared
with Cardinal Mathieu and quite a large suite. The Cardinal, who had
promised to present Madame de B. (there had been some delay about her
convocation), came up to us at once. We all knelt as the Pope came near,
and he named Madame de B. and little Victoria, who asked for his
blessing for her brothers. He recognised me and Bessie, and said we were
welcome always at the Vatican. He only said a few words to Madame de B.
as he had a long afternoon before him. Cardinal Mathieu told us to
follow them, so we closed up behind the suite, and followed the Pope's
procession.
There must have been over a hundred people waiting in the next room, and
it was an impressive sight to see them all--men, women, and
children--kneel as the Pope appeared. Some of the children were quite
sweet, holding out their little hands full of medals and rosaries to be
blessed--almost all the girls in white, with white veils, like the
little first communiantes in France. The Pope made his "cercle,"
speaking to almost every one--sometimes only a word, sometimes quite a
little talk. We followed him through one or two rooms to the open
loggia, which was crowded. We were very hot, but he sent for his cloak
and hat. We waited some little time but the crowd was so dense--he would
have spoken from the other end of the loggia--and we couldn't possibly
have got through--so we came away, having had again a very interesting
afternoon.
It is most picturesque driving around the back of St. Peter's and the
Vatican. There are such countless turns and courts and long stretches of
high walls with little narrow windows quite up at the top. Always people
coming and going--cardinals' carriages with their black horses, fiacres
with tourists looking eagerly about them and speaking every possible
language, priests, women in black with black veils, little squads of
Papal troops marching across the squares--and Italian soldiers keeping
order in the great piazza. A curious little old world in the midst of
the cosmopolitan town Rome has become.
ROME, March 2d.
Yesterday Madame de B. and I made an expedition to the Catacombs of San
Calisto fuori Porta San Sebastiano. It was decidedly cold and we were
very glad we hadn't taken the open carriage. The drive out was
charming--first inside the gates, passing the Colosseum, the two great
arches of Constantine and Titus, and directly under the Palatine Hill
and Baths of Caracalla, and then going out through the narrow little
gateway, and for some little distance through high stone walls, we came
upon the countless towers, tombs and columns standing alone in the
middle of the fields, having no particular connection with anything,
that mark the Appian Way, and make it so extraordinarily interesting and
unlike any other drive in the world. I was delighted when we came upon
that funny little stone house, built on the top of a high circular
tomb--I remembered it perfectly.
The Catacombs stand in a sort of garden or vineyard. There were people
already there, and a party just preparing to go down as we appeared.
They had asked for a guide who spoke French, as they knew no Italian,
and a nice-looking, intelligent young monk was marshalling his party and
lighting the tapers. I thought _they_ were rather short (I am rather
nervous about subterraneous expeditions and one has heard gruesome tales
of people lost in the Catacombs, not so very long ago) but they lasted
quite well.
It was curious to see all the old symbols again--the fish, the pax
(cross) and to think what they represented to the early bands of
Christians, when the mere fact of being a Christian meant persecution,
suffering, and often a terrible death in the arena of the Colosseum.
Some of the frescoes are wonderfully preserved--we saw quite well the
heads of saints, martyrs, and decorations of wreaths of flowers or a
delicate arabesque tracery; the most favourite subjects were Jonah and
the whale, a shepherd with a lamb on his shoulders, and kneeling women's
figures. The ladies in our party were wildly interested in the mummies
(terrible looking things), particularly one with the hair quite visible.
We saw of course the niche where the body of Ste. Cecilia was found--but
the body is now removed to the church of Ste. Cecilia in the Trastevere.
They have put, however, a model of the body, representing it exactly, in
the niche, so the illusion is quite possible.
We walked about for an hour, following quantities of narrow passages,
coming suddenly into small round rooms, which had been chapels, and
still seeing in some of the stone coffins bits of bones, and
inscriptions on the walls. It was rather weird to see the procession
moving along, Indian file, holding their tapers, which gave a faint,
flickering light. The guide had rather a bigger one--on the end of a
long stick. We stopped at San Clemente on our way back, hoping to see
the underground church, but it was too late. The sacristan said we
should have come yesterday--there was a fete, and the two churches were
illuminated.
Friday, 4th.
It has been another beautiful day. I trammed over to the Vatican to see
the Sistine Chapel this time and the Stanze and Loggie of Raphael. It is
a good pull up to the Sistine Chapel, by a rather dark staircase, but
the day was so bright I saw everything very well when I once got there.
The Vatican was very full--people in every direction--almost all English
and German--I didn't hear a word of French or Italian. Two young men
were stretched out flat on their backs on one of the benches, trying to
get a good look at the ceiling through their glasses. I was delighted to
see the Stanze again with many old friends. Do you remember the "Poesia"
on the ceiling of one of the rooms--a lovely figure clad in light blue
draperies, with a young, pure face? I wandered up and down the Loggie,
but I think I was more interested looking down into the Court of San
Damaso, filled with carriages, priests, women in black with black veils
coming and going (I should think the Pope would be exhausted with all
the people he sees) and the general little clerical bustle. The striped
Swiss guard were lounging about in the gateway, and a fine stately
porter in cocked hat and long red cloak at each door.
Josephine had a dinner in the evening--Cardinal Mathieu, the Austrian
Ambassador to the Vatican and his wife, and other notabilities. There
was quite a large reception after dinner, among others the Grand Duchess
of Saxe-Weimar, who is very easy, charming--likes to see everybody. When
I came downstairs to dinner I found all the ladies with lace fichus or
boas on their shoulders, and I was told that I was quite incorrect--that
one couldn't appear decolletee in a cardinal's presence. I could find
nothing in my hurry when I went back to my room, but a little (very
little) ermine cravat, but still even that modified my low body
somewhat, and at least showed that my intentions were good. The big red
salon looks charming in the evening and is a most becoming room--the
dark red silk walls show off the dresses so well. The cardinal had his
whist, or rather his bridge, after dinner, for even the Church has
succumbed to the universal craze--one sees all the ecclesiastics in
Black circles just as intent upon their game and criticising their
partner's play quite as keenly as the most ardent clubmen. I suppose
bridge is a pleasure to those who play, but they don't look as though
they were enjoying themselves--their faces so set and drawn, any
interruption a catastrophe, and nobody ever satisfied with his partner's
play.
We had very good music. An American protege of Josephine's with a good
high barytone voice sang very well, and the young French trio (all
eleves du Conservatoire de Paris) really played extremely well. The
piano in one of Mendelssohn's trios was quite charming--so sure and
delicate. It was a pleasure to see the young, refined, intelligent faces
so absorbed in their music, quite indifferent to the gallery. The young
violinist played a romance (I forget what--Rubinstein, I think) with so
much sentiment that I said to him "Vous etes trop jeune pour jouer avec
tant d'ame," to which he replied proudly, "Madame, j'ai vingt ans."
C'est beau d'avoir vingt ans. I wonder how many of us at fifty remember
how we thought and felt at twenty. Perhaps there would be fewer
heart-burnings in the world if we older ones did remember sometimes our
own youth.
Sunday, March 6th.
Yesterday I walked up to Santa Maria Maggiore and San Giovanni in
Laterano. I took the Scala Santa on my way to San Giovanni. Several
people were going up--some priests, Italian soldiers, two or three
peasants and two ladies--mother and daughter, I should think, their long
black cloth dresses very much in their way evidently. I watched them for
some time. I wonder what it means to them, and if they really believe
that they are the steps from Jerusalem which our Saviour came down. I
stayed some little time in San Giovanni. It is magnificent certainly,
but there is too much gilding and mosaic and modern decoration. The view
from the steps was enchanting when I came out; the air was delicious,
the sun bright in a bright blue sky, and the mountains soft and purple
in the distance.
We had an interesting breakfast--two Benedictine monks from the great
abbaye of Solesmes. They talked very moderately about their expulsion,
and the wrench it was to leave the old monastery and begin life again in
new surroundings. The older man especially seemed to feel it very much.
I suppose he had spent all his life inside those old grey walls--reading
and meditating and bound up in the interests and routine of his order.
They had come to Rome to see the Pope, and consult with him about
suppressing secular music in the churches, and substituting the
Gregorian chants everywhere. It is a very difficult question; of course
some of the music they have now in the churches is impossible. When you
hear the "Meditation de Thais" played at some ceremony, and you think
what Thais was, it is out of the question to admit such music in a
church--on the other hand the strict Gregorian chant is very severe,
particularly sung without any organ. I daresay educated musicians would
prefer it, but to the ordinary assemblage, accustomed to the great peal
of the organ with occasionally, in the country for instance at some
festa, the national anthem or some well-known military march being
played, the monotonous, old-world chant would say nothing. We shall hear
them at the great festival at St. Peter's for San Gregorio.