Italian Days and Ways

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.

Angela was telling Ludovico how much she had enjoyed the solemn yet brilliant spectacle, and asking him rapid, eager questions about this official and that—questions that Ludovico was only too glad to answer, while he drew her to the other side of the piazza where a German grand duchess and two lesser duchesses were stepping into their coaches. We also had the honor of seeing the Earl and Countess of Denbigh enter their carriage.

"It has all been perfectly delightful; I shall never forget it!" exclaimed Angela, and then turning to me with frankest inconsequence, she said, "Pray let us do something quite different this afternoon!"

Ludovico fortunately did not hear her aside; but Dr. M. did, and, with his ready sense of humor, was vastly entertained, and will never cease to tease Angela about the effect upon her mind of a solemn service in the greatest cathedral in the world.

X

VALE ROMA

Tuesday, April 12th.

The "something quite different" that Zelphine and I consented to do with Angela yesterday afternoon was to go to the Villa Madama. The drive was pleasant, and the villa itself is charmingly situated on one of the precipitous sides of Monte Mario, but alas! when we reached the entrance gate we found it barred and bolted, which shows how important it is to consult guide-books and local itineraries before making these expeditions.

Rosalie, who was with us, spied a man in the grounds, to whom our vetturino called, "Ecco, ecco!"—the ejaculation which corresponds to our "hello," although it is more universal, as it seems to be suited to all occasions, grave or gay. This man proved to be the custodian of the villa. He stated emphatically that the villa was closed and could not be exhibited to-day; but when he caught the gleam of silver in Angela's outstretched hand, he swung the gate open hospitably.

This Medici villa, which was named after a daughter of Charles V. who married Alessandro de' Medici, is not spacious and imposing like the Villa d'Este or the Borghese; but it is an ideal patrician country-seat. We had been reading Marion Crawford's novel in which he describes this villa, restored by the Contessina Cecilia Palladio. So perfect is the vraisemblance of the novelist's picture that when we entered the half-ruinous, deserted house, from whose damp walls the beautiful frescoes are fast fading, we felt a shock of disappointment. Mr. Crawford's glowing description is of the Villa Madama as it should be rather than as it is.

If I were only a multi-millionaire, I would buy this lovely old place and make it the thing of beauty that Mr. Crawford describes. In fact, Rosalie and I sat in the "court of honor" by the old fountain basin, and planned a restoration which we thought even superior to Cecilia Palladio's, with plate-glass sashes in the loggias and steam heat to dry out the dampness and preserve Giulio Romano's wonderful frescoes; comfort as well as beauty would reign in the old villa! When this great work is completed, we four are to meet here every spring in the rose-time; would you like to come, Allan, as our first guest to this château en Espagne?

Angela, in whom the instincts for castle-building and for home-making are sadly wanting, interrupted our day-dreams by reminding us that we were due at a tea, and had barely time to get to the Via Ludovisi by five o'clock. As we passed by the barracks near the Ponte Margherita, our driver motioned toward an approaching carriage—a handsome carriage with liveries and a fine span of horses but no outriders. In the flash of the rapid passing we could only catch a glimpse of two ladies inside; one with fine dark eyes, animated and gracious, attracted us especially.

"The good Queen Mother," said the vetturino, turning to us. "We all love her."

We were glad to have even this fleeting view of the Queen so beloved by the Italians. It is charming to hear them speak of her as they do, not as the Queen Dowager, or the old Queen, but affectionately, as the Queen Mother.

Friday, April 15th.

Mrs. Coxe, with whom we made the excursion to Pæstum, called to see us yesterday morning. We came near losing her visit altogether in this curious, rambling pension, where the drawing-rooms are on the third floor, the dining-room on the fourth, and the bedrooms are scattered over all of the floors. The bell-boy escorted our visitor, in truly foreign fashion, to Zelphine's bedroom on the fourth piano, and as she happened to be in the salon, and there was no boy or bell in sight, Mrs. Coxe set forth on a voyage of discovery, exploring the dining-room and then going down to the smoking-rooms and library until she found the salon, in which we were comfortably seated enjoying our morning mail.

She laughed heartily over our detached way of living, but said she was determined to find us even if she followed us to the cellar, as she was the bearer of an invitation to join a party to be conducted by Monsignor A. through some of the rooms of the Vatican not usually open to visitors. Mrs. Coxe had brought a letter to this gentleman from her parish priest, which was the reason for this courteous invitation in which we were so generously included.

We met the Monsignor and his party near the steps leading to the Sistine Chapel, and were taken through the rooms in which the finest tapestries are kept—immense pieces representing Scripture scenes. These tapestries, which are beautiful, with all the delicacy of painting and the richness of needlework, are only used behind the altar when the Pope celebrates. Monsignor A. told us that the Holy Father never celebrates before a painting, always before tapestry. In another room we saw a man at work upon a large altar-piece, weaving in the colors by hand—a slow process, as you may imagine, but they count years here as we count days.

We were allowed to enter the grand banquet-hall hung with tapestries, in which preparations were being made for a great dinner; handsome glass and plate were on the buffet, looking very secular for il Vaticano. We saw the rooms of one of the old popes, and Monsignor A. showed us the low, broad steps over which the popes used to ride on their white mules from one part of the Vatican to the other. We did not wonder that they were glad to ride through this vast building, as we were tired after we had seen only a small part of it and a few of the eleven thousand rooms. Fancy the extent of this palace, with its museums, libraries, chapels, and suites of apartments, of which we gained some idea from the inner court and galleries.

Monsignor A. proved to be a genial old gentleman who enlivened his discourse with occasional anecdotes, which, delicious as they were in his broken English, would lose something of their flavor if I should undertake to repeat them in less picturesque language. He took us out on the balcony overlooking the piazza, from which the Pope used to give his blessing to the populace on Easter Sunday. The Monsignor said, with some sadness, that this custom belonged to the old régime. We could imagine what the great piazza must have been, filled with devout kneeling figures, and, like the good father, we regretted the passing of this impressive ceremony.