My companions were Dr. Raffles, Dr. Halley, the Rev. Spencer Edwards, and another friend. The first of them was wonderful for relating stories, which he always told secundum artem. He kept us awake one whole night with his amusing anecdotes; but, as we were travelling through France at a time when espionage was prevalent, he would not allow us to make any political allusions. I was surprised at the retentiveness of his verbal memory; whilst he repeated long pieces, in which the amusement consisted of odd words, connected with no rational meaning, when put together.
It was Holy Week when we reached Rome. On Thursday there was the feet-washing at St. Peter’s, and the supper afterwards: the Pope, as “servant of servants,” ministering to the poor, but with great pomp on both occasions. We arranged to see the former, and found a transept on the right hand, fitted up for the occasion. Rank, fashion, beauty, arrayed in mourning, found accommodation in galleries commanding a good view. Ladies were veiled, gentlemen wore evening dress. Admission to that part of the edifice could be obtained on no other conditions. Pio Nono, a pleasant, genial-looking old man, who won a good opinion as soon as you looked at him, did his part well. He read the Gospel (John xiii.) in tones wonderfully musical and distinct, and then washed the pilgrims’ feet with grace and reverence. The whole was artistically and solemnly done. “One can laugh at these things, as described in books,” said Dr. Raffles—a staunch Nonconformist—“but not when witnessed, as now, in this magnificent place.” Still, on a calm review, nothing like worship appears in any part of the ceremony. Then the Miserere in the afternoon! Those who did not witness it years ago can have no idea of it now; or of the gorgeous procession, amidst a blaze of light, to the altar of S. Paulo, and the prostration of the Pontiff and his Cardinals on the floor, in the midst of darkness, candles having been extinguished, one by one. The scene on the grand staircase was striking as the dignitaries returned, varying in appearance and character—an ascetic monk, a man of the world, another looking studious and reflective, a fourth keen and statesmanlike. Nobody could deny the Italian scenic skill in such matters. I have been at Rome in Easter, since then, much struck with subsequent changes. When all was over on my first Easter in Rome, I went to the English Episcopal Church, where the Lord’s Supper was administered according to Protestant rites, and I could not but be impressed by the contrast between the two services. It illustrated the change effected by the Reformation. I mentioned this once to the Rev. Frederic Denison Maurice, who, of course, agreed with me; and, talking of Rome, he happened to relate an anecdote which I do not remember having seen in print. Pio Nono, after the suppression of Latin nunneries in Poland, received a visit from the Emperor of Russia. “You are a great king,” said the former to the latter, “one of the mightiest in the world. I am a poor feeble man, servant of servants; but I cite you to meet me before the Judge of all, and to answer for your treatment of helpless women.” There was the old assumption of authority; but there was a touch of grandeur in the words.
I saw the catacombs, following my guide, taper in hand; and in one of the strange passages was accosted by name. “Who could have expected to be recognised in this dark underworld?” I exclaimed. It turned out to be a person who had lived at Eton, and been a hearer of mine at Windsor. Other recognitions have occurred to me of an odd kind, when visiting several places.
I became so attracted by what I saw in Rome, and drank so deeply into the spirit of Arnold’s letters, written there, that my last day was spent in pensive leave-takings of ruin after ruin, church after church. I have been there twice since, each for a longer time than the first; but not with quite the impression which I felt in the first instance.
We proceeded to Naples, stopped at Cisterna, at Terracinia, at Gaeta, and at S. Agata. Whoever has travelled the same road must long remember the fragrance of the orange-groves and the coloured dresses of the peasantry.
We had no trouble at custom-houses on the way, for my two companions and myself travelled in humble fashion. Otherwise did the two doctors, already mentioned, fare. Large sums were demanded of them on the Neapolitan frontier; and when they refused to pay, their luggage was searched, and a coloured pen-wiper being found, the officials declared it was a revolutionary cockade, and that books in their portmanteaus were no doubt full of treason and heresy. There was no alternative but to stay where they were, or to allow a soldier to accompany them in charge of the suspected articles. All this trouble was followed by apologies on reaching Naples, after an appeal had been made to the English Consul.
We saw the picture galleries and museums in Naples, and explored the city as well as we could during our short stay. Religious services of a special kind were being held in one of the churches; and I remember entering it on an evening when it was crowded with people, listening to a friar, who was earnestly preaching. Next morning, on revisiting the place, it was crowded as the night before, and the same priest occupied the pulpit. We drove along the old coast road, by the so-called Tomb of Virgil to Castellamare, Sorrento, Posilipo and Pozzuoli (the Puteoli of the Acts), and had dreams of the luxurious life once spent on these shores, and of Paul’s disembarkation on his way to Rome. We also spent a day at Vesuvius, where clouds of vapour were rolling upward; and I, with one of our party, crawled down to the crater, as near as we could, much to the dismay of our senior companions. On our way back to Naples we tarried as long as possible at Pompeii, looking at the wonders of that memorable spot.
An important step was taken at Kensington on my return from Italy. The “swarm” sent to Notting Hill did not permanently reduce the numbers of our congregation. On the contrary, they considerably advanced. The old chapel became more than ever inconvenient, and we resolved to build a new and much larger one.
I must now pass from local and personal affairs to notice a movement in Congregationalism at large. Independency leads to isolated action on the part of local Churches. It is unfriendly to cohesion and co-operation. It provides for freedom, and nothing else. Old Independents saw this, and checked the evil by maintaining local fellowships between Church and Church, by the employment of “messengers” one to another. [126]
About 1830 the wiser heads amongst us had clearly seen the evil, and endeavoured to overcome it. They concluded that centrifugal tendencies should be met by a centripetal force. Mr. Binney used to say, we were a collection of limbs—legs, arms, feet, and hands—all in motion, but not an organised body. To frame a body out of so many members, was the design of the Congregational Union. Algernon Wells may be regarded as its founder. He was one of the most beautiful characters I have ever known—intelligent, well read, sagacious, with extensive knowledge of men and things, and a profound attachment to evangelical truth. He had a rare order of eloquence, and wove pleasant tissues of thought in his sermons and speeches. If his speeches were not always sermons, his sermons were almost always speeches. There was a great charm in his conversation, and it often overflowed with wit. Though a decided Congregationalist, he was full of charity, and cultivated harmonious intercourse with other denominations. His policy as to the newly-formed organisation, was to make the meetings fraternal rather than controversial—a brotherly society to promote edification rather than an ecclesiastical army to fight with soldiers outside, or a council to settle disputes inside. The early meetings were held in the Congregational Library, and did not muster more than a hundred members. “Business” received at times a look askance: spiritual edification excited desire, and stimulated expression. Now and then came touches of humour, as when after talking about the state of the denomination till we were hungry, one brother rose and gravely asked “whether any intelligence had arrived from the Sandwich Islands.”