the natural beauties of the Appian Way begin, as the vineyard walls
no longer interrupt the more extended view over the Latin plain, with
its ruined castles, villages, and aqueducts. When we had driven past
the fifth mile-stone, near which are the tombs of the Horatii and the
vast ruins of the Villa of Commodus, we were warned by a delicate,
violet mist which was rising over the Campagna that it was time to
turn towards Rome. Good Romans tell us that their city is perfectly
healthful now, since the marshes have been drained, and so it seems to
be; but it is always a question whether it is wise to linger near the
Campagna about sunset, as we usually notice a chill dampness in the air
at this time.
Thursday, March 31st.
Mrs. M., my old friend Rosalie L., has come from Sorrento to spend Holy
Week and Easter with us. Dr. M. has a professional engagement which
will detain him for a week or ten days, and in the interim we four
are visiting churches most assiduously. There are interesting Tenebræ
services in nearly all the churches this week. This rainy afternoon we
went to Santa Maria Maggiore, which is one of the most beautiful and
harmonious buildings we have seen. The mosaics are very rich, and the
Borghese Chapel is gorgeous with precious marbles and alabaster. Here
above an altar of jasper and lapis lazuli is the famous picture of the
Virgin said to have been painted by St. Luke. It is much revered, not
only on account of its origin, but because of its having, according to
tradition, stopped the plague in Rome and brought about the overthrow
of the Moorish dominion in Spain.
At St. Peter's, where we went later in the afternoon to hear the
fine music, a lock of the Virgin's hair was exhibited, a piece of the
true cross, and St. Veronica's handkerchief. I trust you will never
cross-examine me upon the color of the Virgin's hair, and to forestall
any such inquiries, I here frankly confess that I did not really see
it, as the sacred relics were displayed from a high balcony over the
great statue of St. Veronica. The handkerchief we did see, and the
face of the Saviour on it, which was distinct. The basilica, near the
high altar, was crowded; poor people and soldiers were kneeling beside
richly dressed Roman ladies; many of the _forestieri_, like ourselves,
were standing about, gazing at the strange sights, and some of them, I
regret to say, were talking.
Rosalie, Zelphine, and I were interested, as indeed we always are, in
watching the poor people, who are so attentive and devout, so much
in earnest, coming to their churches as to a home. Groups of little
children came in holding each other's hands, some of them bringing with
them little toddling things of two and three. The face of one little
girl I shall never forget, she was so exquisitely beautiful, with the
loveliness of childhood and yet with a womanly seriousness in her dark
eyes. Rosalie and I imagined Dante's Beatrice looking something like
this little girl, and could understand his cherishing in his heart the
image of that woman-child all his days.
Easter Sunday, April 3d.
We are glad to have a bright Easter Day, and enjoy it the more because
Holy Week has been dark and rainy. We went to the English Church on the
Via del Babuino in the morning, and in the afternoon to St. Peter's, to
witness a procession of the priests which was somewhat disappointing.
We then turned into the Pincio, which was a blaze of color with
Judas-trees, wistaria, roses, and anemones. All Rome was in evidence.
This is one of the few days in the year when the King and Queen drive
out together in state. Angela and I were too late to see them, but
Zelphine was more fortunate, as she passed them when she was driving
with her cousins. She thought the Queen exceedingly pretty, youthful,
and charming.
The well-to-do people were _en voiture_ drawn up in line, the poor on
foot crowding the walks and benches near the music-stand, where the
band was playing merrily; a good-natured, cheerful crowd, and gayer,
it seemed to me, than the same class of people in Paris. Nothing on
the Pincio is more picturesque than the nurses in their full skirts
of gay colors, with their luxuriant black hair decorated with bright
ribbons and gold combs and pins. They look very stylish carrying the
aristocratic bambini on pillows. We are told that these unfortunate
babies are still swaddled like those in Della Robbia's terra-cottas.
In the meadows adjoining the Borghese Gardens the students of the
different colleges were playing ball. Do you wonder that Italian
immigrants find our Sundays insupportably dull? Here it is a fête-day
all the year, and to-day being the feast of feasts, the people have
come out to enjoy themselves in the sunshine. What would your father
think of it all, Allan, and your Scotch grandmother? I could feel the
shadow of her displeasure darkening the sunshine as I stood in the
midst of this joyous crowd, and yet, after all, it seems an innocent
way of spending a beautiful Sunday afternoon.
IX
TU ES PETRUS
VIA SISTINA, April 7th.
A grand and elaborate Gregorian ceremonial is to be held in St. Peter's
on Monday, the eleventh, and, as you may imagine, _tout le monde_, the
small world as well as the great, is rushing after tickets. We were
able to secure the white entrance cards from our banker on the Piazza
di Spagna, with which we were quite satisfied until Miss Dean, the
charming Irish lady who sits next to me at the table d'hôte, showed
me a yellow _biglietto_, which assures her a seat in the tribunes.
Since then we have been filled with envy, hatred, malice, and all
uncharitableness. We did not at all understand the difference between
the white _ingresso_ cards and the yellow until she explained it, with
a delicious rolling of the _r_ in _ingresso_ such as even Angela, with
all her aptitude for mimicking, is unable to attain. The white tickets
simply give one an entrée to the church, the yellow, which come only
to the favored few, are for seats in the tribunes. Recalling Madame
Waddington's description of her own sufferings and those of the other
diplomatic ladies at the coronation of the Czar Alexander III., we
earnestly hope that we may be so fortunate as to have seats in one of
the tribunes.
Ludovico, who has been rushing hither and thither for several days,
trying to secure tickets for us through his godfather, who is one of
the Pope's chamberlains, came in this evening, his face flushed with
the joy of victory. I knew that he had secured the coveted _biglietti_,
as soon as I saw him. There was, however, a shade of embarrassment
in his manner which I could not quite understand. The reason became
evident when Ludovico pulled two tickets, instead of three, out of
his pocket, explaining with much hesitation that it was impossible to
get more than two even from his official godfather, so great was the
demand. We all three made haste to say, with proper politeness, that
it was a great deal to have two tickets for such an occasion and to ask
where was his own; to which he replied that there were no places in the
tribunes for men. Did we not see that printed on the _biglietti_? He
would go, of course, and stand about, or secure a perch on one of the
great columns.
Although we were perfectly civil in our expressions to Ludovico, and,
I trust, sufficiently grateful for a favor to which we could lay no
possible claim, we were wondering how we could make two tickets answer
for three women, all equally anxious to see the great ceremonies.
Unlike the dame who was expected to fry her ten fish in nine separate
pans at the same moment, we were unwilling "to give it up," and so
continued to discuss the problem after we went to our rooms that night.
Zelphine and I said most decidedly that Angela should go, at which she
opened her eyes wide and asked why, adding, "I was always told that the
older children should go everywhere and the younger ones stay at home,
on the same principle as the helping at table. Being one of the older
children, this has always seemed to me a perfectly fair arrangement,
and I have never doubted the propriety of having my younger brothers
eat the drumsticks."
"In the first place," said Zelphine, in her most judicial manner, "as
you are so much younger, you will probably live longer to tell the
tale."
"I don't think that is much of an argument," replied Angela stoutly.
"The young occasionally die, and you are neither of you very aged,
and you are both much giddier and more frivolous than I. Indeed, I
sometimes wonder----"
You will never know the cause of Angela's wonder, because I interrupted
her:
"After all, don't you think we had better consider Ludovico in this
matter? Is it likely that he would travel all over Rome for days to
get tickets for two old-er women?" I started to say "old," but I saw
Zelphine wince, and so compromised on "older." "It is quite natural
that a youth like Ludovico should wish to please the young lady of the
party, and I must confess that although he handed the tickets to me,
he looked at Angela for a smile of thanks, which she never vouchsafed
him."
"It wasn't so very much to do," said Angela, laughingly, but with a
tone of yielding in her voice. "He had only to go to his godfather and
ask him for some tickets."
"Ungrateful child," I exclaimed, "is there any service that you would
consider too great to be performed at your behest? I firmly believe
that if Ludovico should bring you a wagon-load of roses from Queen
Margherita's own garden you would simply raise your eyebrows and say,
'How charming! I never had quite so many roses; I hope you have been at
no inconvenience in gathering them.'"
"What a picture!" exclaimed Angela, "and what an imagination you have,
Margaret! And what darlings you both are!" With which the spoiled child
kissed us both, and dismissed us to our slumbers.
"That is what comes of being a beauty," said Zelphine, "but with
Angela's charm and cleverness nothing is really too good for her."
"Zelphine, you are quite as bad as the Italians over Angela's blonde
head. I only trust that we may get her home without any love-affairs or
duels; but she must go on Monday, _coûte que coûte_!"
April 10th.
Something has just happened that has forcibly impressed me with the
wisdom of your favorite proverb about crossing bridges before one comes
to them--a most delightful happening this! Dr. M. came in this evening
to say that Rosalie had two tickets for the tribunes, and would I go
with her? Of course I accepted with great alacrity, and we are all to
set forth together to-morrow. Dr. M. and Ludovico will accompany us to
the entrance to the church, when they and the other male barbarians
will find such places as they may. I really feel sorry for Dr. M.,
who may never be here again upon such an occasion; but then he would
probably not be willing to change places with any one of us, even with
Angela, and I--well, I have never been quite so glad to be a woman as
I am now. We do have some privileges, although Miss Susan B. Anthony
would say that all of them, when weighed in the balance against the
right of suffrage, are lighter than vanity.
Miss Dean informed me at dinner last night that the Earl and Countess
of Denbigh, with their two young sons, have come to assist at the
service to-morrow. From the expression of awe in her enchanting
voice, I am sure that my charming neighbor feels that the pension and
everything in it is honored by the presence of this peer and peeress
of ancient lineage; but as these noble folk lunch and dine in their own
parlor, we have only the uplifting consciousness that they pass through
the same hall and go up and down in the same _ascenseur_ (when it runs
at all) upon their goings out and comings in. This, however, seems to
fill to the brim the cup of content of my Irish friend.
April 11th.
We were all up betimes this morning, and were on our way to St. Peter's
before eight o'clock. I must here confess to a quite pardonable pride
in the appearance of my companions. Zelphine and Mrs. M., in long
black gowns which accentuated their tall slenderness, with handsome
lace at the neck and sleeves and the regulation black lace scarf most
coquettishly draped over their white pompadours, looked like fair and
noble ladies of the court of Louis Quinze on their way to mass at the
Sainte Chapelle or Notre Dame. Angela, who owned no black gown, had
borrowed one of mine, which she had tucked in and let out and generally
readjusted until it became her as everything does that she puts on her
graceful figure. The sombreness of her dress and veil served to bring
out the gold of the girl's hair and the whiteness of her skin, and with
a delicate flush on her cheek, like the inside of a shell, she looked
like one of the beings whose name she bears.
Ludovico evidently had the same thought. Touched by the girl's beauty,
after the manner of his beauty-loving race, he bent over Angela and
repeated the old story of the three prisoners from Britain whose fair
faces and blonde heads drew from Pope Gregory the exclamation, "Non
Angli sed angeli!" "And this," added Ludovico, devoutly, "as you know,
led to the Christianizing of Britain."
By the time Ludovico had finished his story we had reached the Borgo
Nuovo. At the Piazza Rusticucci there was so long a line of carriages
that we abandoned ours, and passed on foot through Bernini's lofty
colonnade, and on by wicked Caligula's grand obelisk out into the
vastness of the piazza, spanned to-day by the most perfect of Italian
skies, into whose ethereal blueness Maderno's noble fountains were
trying which one could throw its spray the highest.
It is a privilege to see St. Peter's at any time, but to see it
to-day, with the great piazza filled with soldiers and the vast,
surging, swaying throng of people, is an inspiration as well as a
joy. The varied uniforms of the soldiers and guards and the gowns
of the different seminarists, blue, green, purple, and, above all,
the brilliant scarlet gowns of the German students, against the gray
background of the great basilica, added much to the picturesqueness of
the scene.
At the top of the great steps leading to the vestibule Ludovico begged
us to turn for a moment to see the crowd below, a restless sea of
heads, an immense concourse of people, but a good-natured crowd to
which any one might trust himself with safety. Many tourists, English,
French, and German as well as American, went to St. Peter's to-day
provided only with the white _biglietti_ of admission, and suffered
no inconvenience. I really hesitate to tell you just how many souls
are said to have been in the basilica this morning, lest the apparent
extravagance of my statement should lead to incredulity in the future;
but it is said that there were over 50,000 souls inside the walls.
Dr. M. and Ludovico left us at the south door, and once inside the
building we had no difficulty in making our way to the sacristy, and
through the gray marble portal, by Romano's statues of St. Peter and
St. Paul, and so on to the tribunes in the transept.
Rich silk hangings draped the stone walls and columns, those behind
the papal throne being embroidered in ecclesiastical designs. The
throne was placed in front of the ancient Chair of St. Peter, and
between our seats and the throne was the great high altar, ninety-five
feet in height, with its bronze canopy and graceful spiral columns of
Bernini, double spirals richly gilded. As the mass was to be celebrated
at the high altar and as we were in the fourth row of seats from the
front, we were sure of a good view of the Pope. All around us were
the Swiss Guards, in the picturesque costume of red, yellow, and black
designed by Michael Angelo, and the Pope's Guardia Nobile, with "winged
Achillean helmet above the Empire uniform--half Greek, half French,
half gods, half dandies," as Mrs. Ward described this guard of young
nobles which surrounds the Pope. The uniform of the Gendarme Pontificio
is somewhat like that of the old Philadelphia City Troop, a handsome
uniform of black and white with an immense shako adorned with a red
plume. But most gorgeous of all were the chamberlains, in a costume
of black velvet of the period of Philip II., a Spanish dress with a
velvet cape thrown over one shoulder, superb lace cuffs and collar
and an immense ruff around the neck, and gold cords and chains without
end. Zelphine and I fancied our friend Dr. R., who was chamberlain to
Pope Leo XIII., figuring in this rich, decorative costume. One of the
chamberlains wore a costume of ruby-colored velvet with a sable hood
over his shoulders.
It was so interesting to sit still and watch the changing scene
before us that the two hours of waiting passed quickly. The Pope's
little sisters sat in front of us in the seats nearest to the high
altar, but although quite close to us we could not see their faces.
They, of course, wore the costume _de rigueur_ for such functions,
black gowns, and black lace veils on their heads. During the long
wait, an American girl sitting near us told us of her experiences.
Not understanding about the costume required, "very stupidly," as she
said and as we thought, she appeared in a dark blue suit with a hat
to match. The guard refused to admit her, explaining the reason with
signs and gestures, pointing at the same time to the veiled ladies
passing through the doorway. Then, in a flash, presto change!--our
quick-witted countrywoman had taken off her hat and tucked it in the
folds of her skirt, having previously denuded it of a black dotted veil
which she threw over her head. The guard, lost in wonder at the sudden
transformation, was so bedazzled that he did not notice that her gown
was blue instead of black, or perhaps he was so sure that she would get
in by hook or by crook, that he allowed her to pass, exclaiming, "Ah,
these Americans!"
"Something is going to happen," said Angela; "the Swiss Guards are
coming." A detachment marched along the central aisle, with cuirass
and iron helmet added to their brilliant plumage of every-day wear, and
lined up by the papal throne. There was a rustle and stir of expectancy
over the vast assemblage, then breathless stillness like the silence
of nature before a storm. All eyes strained towards the eastern door,
through which entered the gorgeous procession. The Palatine Guard
lined the way down the central aisle, some of the Swiss Guard being
stationed at different points. First came the Guardia Nobile, then
the mitred abbots, the bishops and archbishops in copes and mitres of
white and gold, the patriarchs and cardinals, these latter with long
capes of cloth of gold worn over their scarlet robes. Then came the
canons and _monsignori_ in lace and fur tippets, after them the prince
in attendance on the papal throne, Don Filippo Orsini, followed by the
secret chamberlains bearing the precious tiaras and mitres covered with
gold and jewels. The triple crown, which was borne upon a cushion, was
a blaze of the most brilliant jewels, diamonds, emeralds, and rubies,
too heavy in its richness to be borne long by any mortal head.
Finally, announced by a blast from the silver trumpets, the Pope
appeared, seated in the _sedia gestatoria_, borne above the heads of
the multitude by members of the household in a livery of scarlet cloth,
the huge feather fans or flabella being carried on each side. I really
did not grasp all these details at first, as the interest all centred
in that one august figure. The Pope was pale, and at first appeared
to be somewhat agitated. It is said that he very much dislikes to be
carried into the church, and it must, indeed, be a trying position. The
chair is lifted high above the heads of the people, that every one may
see the Holy Father; it is borne along slowly, pausing altogether at
intervals. There was a stop near our seats of a minute or more, which
gave us an opportunity to see the noble, benevolent face of the one
man who stands for so much to millions of the faithful. Less handsome
and distinguished in appearance than some of his pictures, Pius X. has
that in his face that is worth infinitely more than manly beauty or
aristocratic bearing; one cannot look into it without being impressed
by his earnestness and sincerity.
It was all perfectly entrancing; the vast crowd of people so still
and reverent, and now and again, when the interest was most intense,
a subdued murmur, the Pope turning to right and left to give his
blessing, just as he appears in the picture I send you. When the
Holy Father had been carried to the apse, he descended from the
_sedia gestatoria_ and knelt in prayer before St. Peter's Chair. At
this moment a bright ray of sunshine fell upon the group of prelates
in their rich and varied vestments; the jewels flashed back their
many-hued lights, making a gorgeous mass of color, in the midst of
which was the white-robed, triple-crowned figure of the kneeling Pope.
In the service that followed we could hear the Pope's voice distinctly
when he intoned the Gloria, and we were near enough to the altar to see
him give the cardinals the kiss of peace and celebrate the mass.
The Gregorian chants, which Pius X. so much desires to restore to the
services of the Catholic Church, do not seem to be popular, especially
among musicians; but in this spacious basilica they sounded grand and
beautiful as they swelled forth and rose and fell through its lofty
arches. Suddenly from Michael Angelo's great dome overhead there
issued the exultant strains of the silver trumpets, filling the church
with their sweet, penetrating music; the long line of soldiers from
the Chair of St. Peter to the eastern door bent the knee, lowering
their arms upon the stone pavement with a ringing sound, the mighty
congregation bowed or knelt, and we knew that the supreme moment had
come for the elevation of the Host upon the high altar. Then there was
a solemn stillness, in which one could hear a pin drop, followed by the
stir of the rising of the vast audience, like nothing that I can think
of save the rustling of the leaves of a forest swept over by an autumn
storm.
There was a great deal of antiphonal singing in the service, in
which the Holy Father took part; his beautiful voice rang through the
church when he chanted the liturgical prayers and the responses in the
"Exultate Justi" and the "Filii Jerusalem." The choruses were glorious,
about twelve hundred voices, pupils from the seminaries and colleges
and from the Schola Cantorum taking part.
After the Pope had given the apostolic benediction and granted plenary
indulgence to the faithful, which formula was read by the Cardinal
Bishop in a loud voice, he again ascended the gestatorial chair and
was borne from the church as he had entered it, slowly, giving the
blessing to right and left, amid a subdued murmur, which he himself
prevented from rising to applause by placing his finger upon his lip in
very decided disapproval. He could not, however, prevent the waving of
handkerchiefs and other mute signs of delight. The Holy Father looked
much more cheerful on his journey back to the Vatican, as if greatly
relieved that the ordeal was nearly over. All eyes eagerly followed the
receding figure until the canopied chair passed out of sight behind the
heavy damask curtains of the Chapel of the Pietà.
There was stillness for a moment, and then the voices, long silenced,
broke forth in exclamations of interest and pleasure and in salutations
to friends. All the English and Americans in Rome seemed to be in St.
Peter's to-day, and many distinguished Catholics from different parts
of the world. A number of persons came forward to speak to the Pope's
sisters, who seemed to be holding quite a reception as we passed by
them on our way to the doors.
It was good to be in the open again, in the sparkling air and under the
shining sun, which is not too hot, only genial and kindly in its warmth
in these early April days.