Visit to the Carmelites at Jesi—Our joyous reception—The Casino
and Theatre—Infractions of Convent Discipline—The Dinner near
the Sacristy—In company with the Friars we visit some Nuns.
A few days after my excursion to Loretto, I had my last glimpse of
_real_ scenes and life in the Marches, in a visit to Jesi, a small
city of great antiquity, about twenty miles distant from Ancona. The
circumstances that led us thither hinged upon the acquaintance of
my uncle's family with an Irish priest who belonged to a convent of
Carmelites in that place. Father O'Grady was a jovial, burly personage,
with a round bullet-head, an athletic frame, and a stentorian voice,
that always reminded me of the holy clerk of Copmanhurst in _Ivanhoe_.
His great delight in his occasional visits to Ancona, where he always
lodged in a monastery of the same order, was to be invited to our
house to have “a raal English dhinner,” as he termed it, which he
dolorously contrasted with the fare provided by the cook at the Jesi
convent. Once, too, the provincial of the order, a fine, dignified
old man of seventy-five, with a silvery fringe of hair, and regular,
impressive features, like one of Perugino's saints, came to dine with
us, attended by another monk, a certain Padre Forenzo, as well as
Father O'Grady—both of them very much subdued in his presence. Our
Hibernian friend, however, always protested himself indemnified for
this restraint, by his gratification at the approval the entertainment
drew from his superior, who, as the spring advanced, was urgent that we
should test the hospitality of Jesi in return.
Some English travelling friends, waiting for the steamer to Trieste,
were comprised in this invitation, which my uncle, though not without
some sighs at the long hours of _conversazione_, and making the amiable
with the brotherhood, which lay before him, was coaxed into accepting;
and a beautiful morning in the latter part of June saw the two families
in motion.
After following the high road towards Senigallia along the curve of
the bay for some miles, the way to Jesi turns inland in a westward
direction. Long rows of mulberry-trees, connected by ample festoons
of vines; cornfields nearly ripe for the sickle, interspersed with
plantations of young maize, beans, and olives, equally indicated
the fertility of the country and its staple productions. Less hilly
and romantic than the scenery near Loretto, it still had no lack of
beauty; a background of mountains was never wanting, and gifted with
that marvellous brightness and diversity of colouring peculiar to this
clime, the landscape rarely sank into monotony.
Jesi is an interesting little town, of some 5000 inhabitants, tracing
its origin to an indefinite number of centuries before the foundation
of Rome, and famed in the middle ages as the birthplace of Frederick
II., the great emperor of Germany, whose constant wars with the Roman
pontiffs and encouragement of literature, render his memory very
popular amongst Italian writers. A thriving trade in silk has preserved
it from the squalid misery discernible in most of the inland towns of
the Marche; and it can boast of some palaces in tolerable preservation,
a casino, a very pretty theatre, and several churches, that of the
Carmelites being amongst the principal.
Father O'Grady, radiant with joy, was awaiting us in the street, to
show us the way to the hotel where we were to take up our quarters—for
within the cloister itself no woman may set her foot—until two
rooms adjoining the church and sacristy were prepared for the day's
festivities. They had been up since daybreak, the good man said, but
“the last touch was still wanting.”
The last touch being a lengthy process, and the inn barren of
resources, a walk was proposed. We were conducted by the father and
Padre Fiorenzo, his great friend, through the market, the principal
square, and the main street called the Corso, the worthy pair being
evidently desirous the citizens of Jesi should all participate in
the novelty of the presence of strangers, for the town, lying out of
the general route of travellers, is very rarely visited. After this
promenade, somewhat fatiguing under a noonday's sun, we went over
the casino. The billiard, conversazione, and ball-rooms, all well
arranged, and in good taste, incomparably superior to any corresponding
establishment in towns of far higher pretensions in England; but then,
as Lucy was at hand patriotically to remark, had we not mechanics'
libraries, and schools, and charitable institutions, to atone for this
deficiency? Admitting all this to its fullest extent, I cannot see
why casinos, on the same simple footing as those so common in Southern
Italy, should not be advantageously grafted on English county society.
In towns too small to have a _casino de' nobili_ to themselves, the
higher and middle classes are content to waive questions of caste, and
meet, as at Ancona, or Macerata, or Jesi, on this neutral territory.
Once a week, during Lent or Advent, when there is no opera to serve
as a rallying-point, reunions for music and cards draw together the
subscribers, without any extravagance in dress on the part of the
wealthier ladies, provoking the less affluent to foolish emulation.
Two or three times in the course of the year, balls are given, where
a greater display is permitted, yet still without the inequalities
of fortune thus rendered more apparent leading to any offensive airs
of superiority. No refreshments are supplied on these occasions,
the low amount of the subscription, twelve dollars a year for each
member—inclusive of his family, however numerous—not furnishing funds
beyond those necessary for attendance, lights, and music, and keeping
up the establishment for the old bachelors and heads of houses, who
frequent it regularly every day and every evening the whole twelvemonth
round.
We concluded our peregrinations by the inspection of the theatre,
Padre Fiorenzo having an acquaintance with one of the _employés_,
through whom access to it was obtained. Even with the disadvantages of
being seen by daylight, it might be pronounced a very elegant little
structure; the columns and ceiling ornamented in white and gold, and
the three tiers of private boxes draperied with blue silk. Father
O'Grady trod the stage with a mock-heroic air, and favoured us with two
or three _roulades_ of so much effect, that we protested he must often
be hearing operas, and hinted he perhaps occasionally ventured there in
disguise. At this insinuation, he shook his portly sides with laughter;
but Padre Fiorenzo related with complacency that in fact, one night the
previous Carnival, they and several others of the brotherhood had been
present at a concert given in that same theatre on behalf of the poor,
which the bishop permitted all the clergy and _religiosi_ to attend;
dwelling with the simplicity of a child upon the great enjoyment this
had afforded them.
From these mundane resorts—a messenger having come to say all was now
in readiness—we adjourned to the church of the Carmelites, where a
side-door gave admission to the sacristy, and beyond this to a dark,
low-ceiled room, lined with massive walnut-wood presses, in which all
the vestments and ornaments for the great religious solemnities were
deposited. An iron-barred window looked into the inner quadrangle of
the monastery; and through a half-opened door we had glimpses of a
long table spread for dinner; around which several dark-robed figures
were hovering, the silvery head of the provincial himself now and then
discernible as he directed the arrangements.
Father O'Grady being troubled in his mind about a certain plum-pudding,
on the manipulation of which the dawn of morning had found him engaged,
now ceded his post as chief spokesman and squire to Padre Fiorenzo,
who, with two other elderly monks, very gladly engaged to do the
honours.
The next half-hour saw the good father revolving perpetually between us
and the kitchen, now disputing with the cook, an octogenarian artist,
who had no sympathy for such outlandish compounds; now restraining
the merriment of some of the younger visitors, for whom the idea
of transgressing convent etiquette was irresistibly attractive. A
door from the sacristy temptingly stood open, leading down by two
or three steps into the court, of which the church and the rooms we
occupied formed the southern extremity and barrier. Under pain of the
severest excommunication, the monks repeatedly assured us, females
were interdicted from proceeding further; the threshold on which we
crowded on hearing these particulars being the utmost boundary. The
two blooming, joyous sisters, just out of the school-room, who had
accompanied us from Ancona, with a mother too indulgent to act as
any check on their spirits, and an elder brother, a barrister, almost
as full of sport as themselves, proved amusingly refractory on this
occasion. Whenever the provincial—who had come in once or twice to
pay his compliments—was out of the way, or my uncle's attention was
engaged, they made a feint of dancing down the steps and rushing into
the forbidden ground; just for the amusement of being chased back again
by the terrified Padre Fiorenzo, and rebuked by Father O'Grady, who
evidently enjoyed the joke, though he tried to look serious upon it,
with: “Childhren dhear, why can't ye remain quiet? Shure, now, it's
excommunicated ye'll be! Ah! more's the pity that ye don't care for
that! Now jist be asy, and don't turn the house out of windows.” But as
the “childhren” would not be “asy,” after one or two more _escapades_,
the door was locked; and they were fain to resort to some new device
to beguile the time. Visible from the iron-barred window were some of
the younger brethren walking up and down the prohibited quadrangle,
trying to get a glimpse of the English heretics, whose visit had thrown
the whole community into such pleasurable excitement. With black silk
scarfs and white handkerchiefs, the delighted mad-caps extemporized
some nuns' costumes, in which they took their stations at the window,
and confronted Father O'Grady as he was crossing the enclosure on his
return from one of his expeditions to the kitchen.
The admiration of Mother Hubbard, in that renowned epic of our infancy,
on finding her faithful canine attendant travestied in a court-suit,
has its parallel in the father's astonishment and laughter at this
apparition, in which he was chorused by Padre Fiorenzo, and the others;
until, hearing the provincial approaching, they wiped their eyes, and
entreated them to remove their impromptu attire; while, to keep them
out of further mischief, and provide some employment for the more
sober members of the party, they asked the superior's permission to
show us the church vestments. This was graciously accorded; and one
after another the presses were opened by the monks; and rich brocades,
tissues of gold and silver, silks embroidered in various colours, were
successively drawn forth, the provincial himself deigning to explain
for what they were designed.
The welcome announcement of dinner still found us thus engaged. We were
ushered with great glee—for I cannot repeat too often that, with the
exception of the provincial, they all seemed as easily set laughing
as a parcel of school-boys—into the next room, where our venerable
host and the fathers who had previously been making _conversazione_,
took their seats with us at the table. We were waited upon by two
lay brothers, whose broad smiles and occasional remarks showed they
participated in the general hilarity; the provincial himself playing
the courteous, attentive host to perfection, seeming to sanction and
approve it. To say the repast was seasoned with Attic salt would be a
flower of speech; neither was there anything peculiarly droll in the
sallies with which Padre Alberto, the _bel esprit_ of the convent,
sustained, or, in Father O'Grady's opinion, enhanced his reputation;
but there was something so pleasant in the intense childlike happiness
of these good Carmelites, that it would have been invidious to
scan their intellectual attainments at such a moment. Dr Primrose's
oft-quoted words were exactly applicable to that party: “I can't say
whether we had more wit among us than usual, but certainly we had more
laughing.”
Of the dinner itself, I shall say but little; the readers of these
sketches must be by this time familiar with Italian bills of fare.
The soup of clear broth, wherein floated little squares of a compound
resembling hard custard; the unfailing _lesso_; a _frittura_ of brains
and bread-crumbs, sprinkled with powdered sugar; larded capons; a dish
of fennel-root, dressed with butter and cheese; roast kid; a pie, of
which cocks'-combs were the principal ingredients, with a sweet crust;
a _zuppa Inglese_, “on purpose,” the provincial said, “for the English
ladies, accustomed from childhood to mix spirits with their food;”
and, lastly, Father O'Grady's plum-pudding, but, alas! served in a
soup-tureen, for the flour had been forgotten in its composition, and
no amount of boiling had availed to give it the desired consistency.
Still the innumerable jokes this furnished, amply compensated for its
partial failure; the young barrister told them it was exactly like the
plum-broth served out at Christmas at St Cross's Hospital, one of the
most famous institutions in England, he asserted, for good cheer, and
incited every one by example as well as precept to do justice to Father
O'Grady's culinary achievements. Though he had already shown himself
emulous of a boa constrictor's capacity, he now sent his plate for a
second supply, compelling Padre Fiorenzo, as a tribute to friendship,
to do the same.
At the conclusion of the banquet, Fra Carmelo, the old cook of whom
we had heard so much, and who was declared to have acquitted himself
right manfully, was summoned to receive the thanks of the company. The
messenger found him playing the guitar, with which he was wont daily
to solace himself at the completion of his duties in the kitchen,
and triumphantly led him forward. In his brown Carmelite dress, he
certainly looked a most interesting cook. Though past eighty, his tall
spare figure was only slightly bowed; and there was a vivacity in his
light-blue eyes and ruddy complexion which led to the conclusion that
his alleged occasional shortcomings in his art were more the result of
inattention than incapacity.
On rising from table, the provincial offered to _fare due passi_,
a great distinction, which was of course accepted. Again the whole
party sallied forth, he and my uncle—who won golden opinions, though
suffering martyrdom throughout the day—leading the van. We went to see
two or three churches, and then, at Father O'Grady's suggestion, were
taken to a nunnery, which he knew would be a treat for us. All the
sisters crowded to the _parlatorio_ to see the strangers. It was not a
grating, as in the stricter orders, but simply a large aperture like a
wide unglazed window, at which they clustered, talking eagerly to the
monks, asking questions about the little world of Jesi, and gazing with
unrestrained and delighted curiosity upon us.
Amongst fifteen or sixteen thus assembled little beauty, less mind,
was discernible. I saw but one interesting face—a face that had, or
might have had, a history written on it. Indeed, several of these
nuns were positively ill-favoured, evidently devoted to the cloister
because their parents had found it impracticable to get them otherwise
disposed of. Some told us they had never left the convent since
their first entrance as _educande_, seven or eight years of age; they
grew attached to the nuns and their companions, and as the time for
returning home drew nigh, estranged by many years' separation from
their families, besought that they might not be removed, and passed
through their novitiate, and took the veil, without ever going beyond
the walls. They all talked as fast as possible, as if to make the most
of the opportunity; interspersing whatever they said, or commenting
on whatever they heard, with invocations to the Madonna and saints,
and ejaculations of simple wonder. I was amused, though, at noticing
how well informed they were of all that was passing in Jesi society;
their information being derived, the monks told us with an air of
pitying superiority, through whatever they could glean from occasional
visitors; but especially from the gossip collected at market by the
woman charged every morning to purchase their supplies, and who, in
consigning the provisions at the convent-wicket, communicates any
novelties she has picked up. A single observation denoting deep thought
or enthusiasm, I sought in vain to hear; indeed, as I reflected at
the time, it would be difficult to convey any notion of their limited
capacity. Not tending the sick, not instructing the poor; with
only four or five _educande_ to bring up till the age of sixteen or
seventeen, exactly as they themselves have been educated—embroidery and
the making of confectionery filling up all the leisure left after the
performance of their stated religious exercises, which call them for
several hours daily to the choir, what a dreary, unsatisfactory life,
according to our notions of existence and its duties, stretches itself
before these women. But they said they were happy; and, looking at
the bevy of English girls before them, lifted up their eyes and hands
in sadness to think their hearts were not disposed to follow their
example.
It was pleasant to know what delight our visit had afforded them, and
to note the earnestness with which they begged us to return to Jesi
and come to see them; to have the conviction that we had furnished
the whole sisterhood with materials for at least a fortnight's
conversation, and several years' reminiscences.
The good Carmelites, too, if our self-pride did not greatly mislead
us, marked this day with a white stone; and long after the pursuits
and interests of a busier life have dimmed its recollections with the
majority of their guests, will continue to treasure every incident of
their visit.
My leave-taking of the good monks of Jesi was soon followed by a long
farewell to Ancona and its kindly people. In bringing these sketches
to a conclusion, I feel as if the pain of parting were renewed, while
many unrecorded traits of courtesy, sympathy, and friendship crowd
upon me. If such omissions have arisen, it has been from no spirit of
depreciation. In reminiscences like the foregoing, the peculiarities
a stranger cannot but fail to remark, must be prominently brought
forward; those good qualities no impartial observer can deny to the
national character being often left in the background, simply because
offering less scope for comment or description.
The sole merit of what I have written is its truth. Not an anecdote,
not an incident, is here given but what is scrupulously authentic.
With a little exaggeration I might have been much more amusing, but I
preferred delineating these things as they really are—in their light
and darkness, in their fairness and deformity—in what our pride might
stoop to imitate, or our gratitude make us thankful that we differ.