Mr. McNutt had one of the most elaborate and beautiful palaces I ever saw. He had studied the customs of Roman society in the picturesque days of the Medicis and the Borgias, had rented the Pamphili Palace and restored it to its pristine glory, and it was here that he entertained us at a dinner, with cards afterward.
I felt like an actor in a mediæval pageant whose costume had not been delivered in time for the performance. Cardinals in their gorgeous robes, with gold snuff-boxes, gave to the scene a high colour among the soberer tones of Bishops and Archbishops and uniformed Ambassadors. Then there were Princes and Princesses and other nobilities of Roman society, the men displaying gay ribands and decorations, the women in elaborate costumes, and all in a “stage setting” as far removed from modernity as a magnificent old-world palace could be. To make this reproduction of old customs complete our host made a point of having liveried attendants with flaming torches to light the Cardinals to and from their carriages.
Before I reached Rome, Mr. Taft and his associates had been present at a Papal consistory at which the Pope presided over the College of Cardinals. They were the guests of the Pope and occupied the Diplomatic Box. I was sorry to miss this exceptional privilege, but we were given ample opportunities for seeing and hearing several noteworthy religious festivals both at St. Peter’s and the church of St. John of Lateran. I was educated in the strictest Presbyterianism, while my husband’s mother was a Unitarian, and Puritan in her training and in all her instincts. We could not help feeling that we had been led into a prominent position in a strange environment. But, unshaken though we were in our religious affiliations, we appreciated the real beauty of the ceremonies and knew that we should rejoice in the unusual privilege accorded us which would never be ours again.
It was near the end of our stay in Rome that we had our audience with the Pope,—Mrs. Taft, Robert, Helen and I. I wore a black afternoon gown with a black veil on my head, while Mrs. Taft wore her widow’s veil as usual. Helen, I dressed in white and, to her very great excitement, she wore a white lace veil. Bishop O’Gorman accompanied us and when we reached the door of the Vatican under the colonnade at the right of St. Peter’s, we were met by some members of the Swiss Guard in their curious uniforms, conducted through endless corridors and rich apartments until we came to a small waiting-room where we were left for a few moments by ourselves. We had only time to adjust our veils and compose ourselves when the door on one side opened and we were ceremoniously ushered into the presence of Leo XIII who sat on a low chair under a simple canopy at the far end of the room. He rose to greet us as we entered, and as we were presented one by one he extended his hand over which we each bowed as we received his blessing.
He began speaking to me in French and finding that I could answer him in that language he talked with me for perhaps half an hour with a most charmingly graceful manner of comment and compliment. He spoke of Mr. Roosevelt’s present and wished that he knew English so that he might read the books. He referred to Mr. Roosevelt as “President Roomvine” which was as near as he seemed to be able to get to that very un-Latin name; said that he himself, in his youth, had been devoted to the chase and would like very much to read “The Strenuous Life.”
Later he called Robert to his side and gave him a special blessing, saying that he hoped the little boy would follow in the footsteps of McKinley and Roosevelt. He asked Bob what he expected to be when he grew up and my self-confident son replied that he intended to be Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. I suppose he had heard the Chief Justiceship talked about by his father until he thought it the only worthy ambition for a self-respecting citizen to entertain.
When we arose to go, His Holiness escorted us to the door and bowed us out with a kindly smile in his fine young eyes that I shall never forget.
Shortly after this I left Rome. It was getting hot and my husband persuaded me to take the children away, promising to join us for a short breath of mountain air before he sailed for Manila. It had been decided that I should remain in Europe for a month or so and I was to choose the place best suited for recuperation. I went first to Florence for a week, then to the Grande Albergo Castello de Aquabella at Vallombrosa. The sonorous name of this hotel should have been a sufficient warning to me of the expense of living there, but I was not in a mood to anticipate any kind of unpleasant experience.
It is a beautiful place reached by a funicular railway from a station about fifteen miles from Florence, and is where Milton wrote parts of Paradise Lost. The hotel was an old castle remodelled, and as we were almost the only guests and were attended by relays of most obsequious servants we managed to feel quite baronial. We spent our time being as lazy as we liked, or driving in the dense black forests of pine which cover the mountains and through vistas of which we could catch fascinating glimpses of the beautiful, town-dotted valley of the Arno some thousands of feet below.
On the 20th of July my husband came up and joined us in this delightful retreat. He had just received his final answer from the Vatican and, while he was disappointed at not being able to settle the matter then, he was hopeful that a way had been found which, though it would entail much future labour, would lead to a satisfactory solution of the problems. An Apostolic Delegate, representing the Vatican, was to be sent to Manila to continue the negotiations on the ground, and Pope Leo assured Mr. Taft that he would receive instructions to bring about such an adjustment as the United States desired. This assurance was carried out, but only after Leo’s long pontificate had come to an end.