ARRIVAL IN ROME, 1846—OCTOBER FESTIVALS AND “POSSESSO”
But let me hasten on to Rome, where, on our arrival, we took up our
abode in a charming apartment in Palazzetto Torlonia, at the corner of
the Piazza di Venezia, than which a more excellent situation could
scarcely be found, with the full prospect of enjoyment of every kind,
social and intellectual. Our hopes brought no disappointment in their
train. October in Rome is a season of great beauty, especially when the
citizens look forward to the Festivals.
[Sidenote: SALTARELLO]
We crossed the Tiber on a glorious day in October, and arrived at the
iron gates of the Queen of Villas, over the entrance of which the Eagle
of the Dorias surmounted the Lily of the Pamfili. What a gay, smiling
scene was before us in that garden, enlightened by fountains, rich in
shady woods and plantations, and crowned by the Palace with its spacious
terraces! What sounds of joy, what shouts of laughter on all sides!
Groups of young girls, dressed chiefly in white, with coloured ribbons
flaunting gaily, their dark hair plaited and braided in a manner purely
classical, and crowned with fantastic wreaths of natural ivy and
wild-flowers, sang in chorus as they walked hand-in-hand, or tripped
backwards and forwards, with one arm thrown round the waist of a
companion, and the other flourishing the jingling tambourine high above
their heads. Occasionally when two groups met they challenged each
other, and then, with many expressions of civility, a circle would be
formed, and, after much pressing, and many modest refusals, the two best
performers would begin dancing, and setting and wheeling round each
other with that occasional bound in the air which gives the name of
_saltarello_ to their dance.
There were few men in proportion, and those chiefly kept aloof, although
a gayer jacket than usual, or even a feather in the hat, showed that all
the _minenti_ had not arrived without an escort. Staid matrons might be
seen looking on—women, not unfrequently, of majestic beauty (beauties of
a proud, stern character)—their luxuriant hair confined by nets of rich
and variegated colour, or broad loose ribbons, forming a most
picturesque kind of coronet.
There seems little doubt that the origin of these Festivals can be
traced to the Bacchanalia of Classical Rome, and the Trasteverini girls
(for most of the dancers came from the further side of the Tiber) bore
no little resemblance to the Mænads of old, with their dishevelled hair
crowned by the emblematic ivy and vine leaf. With their proverbial pride
they considered no title high enough to content them but _eminente_ (or
_minente_.)
It would be difficult to describe the excitement which prevailed in the
Eternal City pending the eventful moment when Rome’s beloved Pontiff was
to take possession of the Church of S. John Lateran, a function which
answers to the Sacre of the French monarch, or the Coronation of the
English. Pio Nono was at that moment the most popular sovereign in
Europe, and he commenced his reign in a most auspicious manner. Liberal
in his views, patriotic in aspirations for his beloved country,
practically religious as became a priest, he had brought golden opinions
with him from the See of Imola, where he had been Bishop. Of courteous
and winning manners, witty and agreeable in conversation, a delightful
companion, a charitable patron, His Holiness seemed calculated to
become, as was indeed the case, a favourite with all sorts and
conditions of men. Every morning brought some fresh story of wisdom or
of kindness, and as we had a friend at the Papal Court, we were kept _au
courant_ of what, to us, were interesting details. Once when a certain
man on his death-bed had disinherited his wife and children, with whom
he was on bad terms, and had left a large sum to the priest who should
celebrate his black Mass, the Pope elected to officiate himself. He
carried out his plan, and, supplementing the legacy by an addition from
his own treasury, he caused an assignment of it to be made to the poor
widow, who stood in great need of assistance.
[Sidenote: PIO NONO]
His witty sayings were often quoted, and it was universally believed
that many of the answers to the frequent pasquinades which were
promulgated at that time were actually prompted by the Pope. Alas! for
the bright prospects of those early days and the short-lived popularity
which could not be expected to outlast the influence of evil
counsellors, who baffled and thwarted him on every occasion! Faltering
and vacillating in the noble path on which he had entered, he
disappointed the hopes of those who had hailed his accession with joy.
Not only in the grand procession, but on several occasions, and under
important and interesting circumstances, had I the joy of seeing him.
Once it was on his name-day of San Giovanni, when the Court of the
Quirinal was entirely thronged with his subjects, calling out his name,
and pleading that he should appear before them. When he did so, and
bowed and waved his hands in benediction over the heads of the assembled
multitude, how imposing and beautiful the spectacle! Again, at a
midnight festival in Santa Maria Maggiore, when he was carried on high,
in his crimson chair of state, between the two traditional fans of
peacocks’ feathers, the sight nearly cost me my life, so dense was the
crowd and so imminent the danger to myself and my sister. A third time
on the night of Easter Sunday, when the illumination of the whole
building of St Peter’s, bursting forth into light at one moment, seemed
a miracle, for gas was still unfamiliar, and electric light unknown. How
well I can recall the scene under the roof of “blue Italian weather”
deepening into purple, and studded with stars that glistened and
sparkled in the fountains. The magnificent court-yard, encircled with
colonnades, peopled by an innumerable concourse who dropped
simultaneously on their knees, with an indescribable surging sound, as
to the sound of cannon the Pope appeared on the balcony.
But I am anticipating events, and must return to the taking possession
of the Lateran, or the “Possesso,” as it was called, to which I have
before alluded, and the procession which we saw to perfection from the
_secondo piano_ of our quarters at Palazzetto Torlonia, happily situated
for the purpose. Pio Nono, who had a great taste for all that was
picturesque and historical, had conceived the idea of restoring all the
splendour of a pageant of the Middle Ages, and being himself a skilful
horseman, proposed that carriages should be banished from the
procession, which should be entirely composed of horse and foot-men.
This unconventional whim, as it was considered, created a great turmoil
in the minds of the ecclesiastical dignitaries. The idea of a Pope on
horseback shocked the critics of the age, and as many of the Cardinals
were well stricken in years, and had probably even in their youth been
unaccustomed to mount a horse, the obstacles to the design of His
Holiness appeared insurmountable. After manifold _pourparlers_, a
compromise was arrived at. The Pope relinquishing his cherished notion
of appearing on horseback, was firm in his resolve that his state
carriage should be the only one to be found in the procession. Much to
their disgust, the whole conclave of Cardinals was appointed to meet the
Holy Father, in their respective carriages, at the gates of S. John
Lateran.
Never did I see a more orderly, a more picturesque, or a more
enthusiastic crowd, than that which lined the Corso, and filled the
Piazza di Venezia on the day in question. Although the national costume
was even then becoming scarce in the South of Italy, yet on that great
day all the citizens on both sides of the Tiber and all the country
people from the neighbouring districts, appeared in their holiday
clothes of bright and variegated colours. The red bodice, the floating
ribbons, the blue petticoat and white _panno_, well became the majestic
beauty of noble-looking women, while the conical hat and coloured sashes
of the men recalled the early drawings of Pinelli. One striking
personage in the crowd I well remember—a peasant from the district of
Nettuno, whose costume had something essentially Oriental in its
character. She was a woman of extreme beauty, and of a tall and
commanding presence. She wore a garment of crimson silk, in the form of
a Turkish pelisse, over a bright gold-coloured robe of the same
material; she was evidently the beauty of her native town, and was sent
to Rome as its representative.
[Sidenote: THE “POSSESSO”]
Soon that mingled murmuring sound which is so well expressed in the
Italian language as _bisbiglio_ is heard down the length of the Corso,
and heralds the approach of the procession. On it comes in all the
correct costumes of the Middle Ages, of the exact period which His
Holiness has chosen; horsemen in rich doublets of cut velvet and mantles
clasped with jewels, the bridle-rein of each held by an attendant, the
costliness of whose dress is scarcely inferior to that of the rider. And
now, as the crucifer who immediately precedes the carriage of the Holy
Father appears in sight, the whole populace fall on their knees. To my
mind, the most imposing personage in the whole pageant is the crucifer,
a tall and magnificent-looking man, with a long silken beard, carrying a
ponderous cross, of such gigantic dimensions that few arms could have
been found capable of bearing it, mounted on a splendid white mule, to
find which the whole of Italy had been searched. A magnificent spectacle
which I shall never forget.
The delights of our winter in Rome were greatly enhanced to my brother
Charles and myself by the presence of our dear friend, Adelaide
Sartoris, at whose house in the Via Gregoriana we met all that was
agreeable and intellectual in the society of Rome. With her and her
sister, Fanny Kemble, we took almost daily rides in the Campagna. What
enchanting hours of companionship, what exhilarating hours of exercise
over that beautiful tract of country, does the mere allusion to those
bygone days recall! How swiftly the days passed in the Eternal City! The
constant contemplation of the treasures of painting, sculpture and
architecture seemed to enrich while it gladdened our minds. All around
us beauty—beauty of art, beauty of nature, beauty of sound, of music
both sacred and secular! Then the Carnival with its fun and frolic, and
the Moccoli, whose twinkling stars still live in the twilight of memory.
Rome the beautiful—Rome the eternal—’twas sad to say farewell!
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