The temporary tomb of the late Pope is in this part of St. Peter's, near the monument of Innocent III. The permanent resting-place of Leo XIII. is to be in St. John Lateran; for this tomb Tadolini is preparing a magnificent monument.
We drove from St. Peter's, by the Tiber, passing the Castle of St. Angelo, where Ludovico took us yesterday to show us the pitiful little cell in which poor Beatrice Cenci was imprisoned. We had already seen her lovely, sad picture at the Barberini Palace. The exquisite, haunting beauty of the Cenci portrait is quite indescribable. As Charles Dickens says, "Through the transcendent sweetness and beauty of her face there is something shining out that haunts me. I see it now as I see this paper or my pen."
This afternoon we drove for an hour or more in the Borghese Gardens, after which we went to the evening service at the American Church in the Via Nazionale, which naturally looked somewhat cold and plain after the gorgeous color and decoration of St. Peter's. It was, however, restful and homelike to sit there and listen to the beautiful service of our own church.
Zelphine says that Catholic visitors in Rome are especially fortunate, as for them the path of duty and the path of pleasure lie side by side, leading them always into the most beautiful churches and giving them the satisfying combination of art and religion. I entirely agree with her, having often felt that in a service in Westminster Abbey an element of adventure was added to the act of devotion. I think it was you who told me of a Scotchwoman who considered a service in the abbey "among the images" too much of a diversion for a Sabbath day. I should think that good Catholic travellers might have somewhat the same feeling about a great ceremonial at St. Peter's.
In the Borghese Gardens, the shadows under the ilex-trees were most lovely this afternoon, the sunshine filtering through the branches here and there, flecking the green sward with spots of light, and bringing out the color of the anemones which grow here in such profusion. We could readily fancy Miriam and Donatello dancing in this sylvan shade, although no vagrant musicians were waking the echoes among the leafy coverts, no herdsman in goatskin breeches, no peasants from the Campagna, or pretty contadine appeared, to add a touch of local color to the natural beauties of the scene.
VIII
VIA APPIA
Monday, March 28th.
Ludovico proposed that we should take the long-talked-of drive along the Via Appia this beautiful afternoon. Knowing Angela's objection to subterranean excursions, he discreetly said nothing about the Catacombs, although I realized well that they were uppermost in his mind, and felt that I might safely trust a bit of diplomacy to this clever little Italian.