On Thursday morning I was at the Vatican about nine o’clock, but was refused admittance because I wore trowsers; I therefore returned to change my dress, among a great number of my countrymen, who were in the same predicament; but I returned before mass had begun in the Sistine chapel. I did not however attempt to enter, as it would only have been a repetition of what I had seen before. The Paoline chapel was very splendidly illuminated, and after a short time the consecrated wafer was carried in procession, and laid in what is called a sepulchre in that chapel, where a painted body is exposed, intended to represent that of Christ.
As this room is much smaller than the Sistine chapel, I thought I should have no chance of obtaining admittance, and repaired to the hall where the feet of the thirteen pilgrims were to be washed by the pope. It is a large room, and on the left hand side of it, was a seat a little elevated, on which these men were seated, each dressed in a cloak of white cloth, lined with silk of the same colour, and trowsers also of white cloth. On the right were three or four ranges of seats for the ladies; in the middle stood the gentlemen, of whom a large number were already collected. A part at the upper end, was railed off for his holiness and the cardinals, with a station for foreign ambassadors; and there were four boxes, into the first of which the old king of Spain shortly entered. The queen of Etruria took possession of another, accompanied by her son, who has the reputation of being a very amiable and accomplished gentleman; the third received the duke del Genovese, and the duchess of Chablais; in the fourth was the prince of Prussia. All these people had been at the Sistine chapel in boxes prepared for them in like manner, but I forgot to mention the circumstance. After the entrance of the pope a short service was chanted. Two cardinals then replaced the mitre on the pope’s head, and took off his robes; two attendants held up his petticoats in front, that he might be able to walk down from his throne, and two cardinals held up his train behind. The upper garments which he had just laid aside were crimson, embroidered with gold, the under ones, which he still wore, were white. Thus accompanied, he descended to the place where the pilgrims were sitting, each of whom bared his right foot, on which in succession, the pope poured a little water, and taking the foot in his hand wiped it with a napkin. What would you think in London, if the Prince regent and lord Castlereagh were to get up a political comedy, and act themselves the principal characters, and each sing his song? Here religion forms the politics of the place, and the subject is quite a religious comedy, or as Hannah More might call it, a sacred drama. But custom sanctions these usages, and that is now venerable, which if it were to originate in the present day, would be merely ridiculous. I was here one of a party of four Englishmen, all about as tall as myself, but we were overtopped by the whole head by another of our countrymen in the room. I missed the supper, which perhaps you will think no loss; and after passing some time in St. Peter’s, and the galleries of the Vatican, places which never lose their interest, I retreated to my usual trattoria, but returned in the evening to hear the Misereri, at St. Peter’s. It was sung beautifully, but the voices seemed hardly strong enough to fill even the side chapel where it is performed. It may help to give you some idea of the size of St. Peter’s, to tell you that several services are sometimes performed at the same time without in the least interfering with each other, and that on entering, and even walking along the nave, you hear nothing of the music of the side chapel, though probably in some parts there are twenty voices at their utmost stretch. I did not mention, that at the conclusion of the music in the Sistine chapel, a great noise and tumult was heard; the same took place on the present occasion, and was intended, as I was told, to represent the confusion that followed the condemnation of our Saviour. This evening the church was lighted by a single large illuminated cross. The cross itself, though about twenty-six feet high, and covered with three hundred and fourteen lamps, looked rather smaller than I expected, but the unity of light was admirable, and produces an effect truly sublime. Various processions took place round the tomb of St. Peter, and many relics were shown, at which most of the people knelt, but by no means all. On Friday there is no exhibition. Every well-dressed person is in black: the soldiers walk about with their arms reversed: the bells are all silent, they are not even permitted to strike the hour: every body, and every thing is supposed to be in mourning. On Saturday there were ceremonies at St. John Lateran. The holy water and oil were just consecrated when I arrived, and after staying a little while in the church, and finding that nothing very interesting was in hand, I repaired to the baptistery of Constantine. Here two Jews were to be baptized; there are always some converts reserved to make a show on this occasion, and the people of Rome tell you that they change back again on Monday, but I will not vouch for the truth of this piece of scandal. I was close against the balustrade which enclosed the ancient vessel, or rather bath, but the present vase, and the Jews themselves, and all the attendants, stand within this. The bishop soon arrived, and chanted a service, to consecrate the water, and to do him justice, he has a good voice, and sings very well. In one part of the ceremony he had to dip his hand in the water, and previously to this, another clergyman took off his ring, and kissed it, and when the bishop had finished, and the hand was wiped, the same clergyman replaced the ring, kissing the hand at the same time. Two vessels of oil were then brought in; some of that, I believe, which had just been prepared in the church. They were poured out on the water, and the bishop put in his hand, and passed it backwards and forwards, to mix, as I was told, the oil and water together. Do you think the consecration could have rendered this possible? On this occasion the ring was again taken off, and kissed as before, and some beautiful cakes of coloured soap were brought in to take the oil from the bishop’s hand. Meanwhile, the first poor Jew was brought forward to be exhibited and baptized; and the bishop chanting the service, took up the water in a silver ladle, and poured it upon his head, patting the head at the same time with the ladle, to enable the water to penetrate the thick coat of hair by which it was defended. Two attendants immediately wiped it with a napkin, and a dish was brought which contained a very small vessel of oil, and some wool. The bishop dipped his thumb in the oil, and made with it, the sign of the cross on the forehead of the new convert, which the attendants wiped with the wool. A lighted taper was then given him to hold, and he returned to his post, while a similar operation was performed on the other Jew. During these ceremonies an enormous wax candle was employed, about eight feet high, and six inches thick, beautifully painted, and five rings of metal attached to it by means of as many little points which project from the circumference; they are disposed in this manner:
the central one being gilt, the others silvered. They are said to represent the five wounds of our Saviour, the upper one being the effect of the crown of thorns; but surely, in that case, we ought to reckon six wounds. The bishop was dressed in white satin shoes and trowsers; above these was a black petticoat, reaching to the ankles; over these shorter petticoats of white lace, and sometimes a purple robe; sometimes one of silver tissue, embroidered with gold, and occasionally two or three other articles of dress, which were worn but a short time. He had two mitres, one of gold tissue, and the other of silver tissue embroidered with gold. The converts were dressed in robes of flowered white satin, and each, after the baptism, had a white ribbon bound round his head. On returning to the church, a large number of the attendants threw themselves on their faces on the marble pavement. After this, the bells were suddenly heard; the soldiers replaced their musquets, and the mourning was over. It appears then, that according to the church of Rome, our Saviour was crucified and laid in the sepulchre on Thursday, and rose again about noon on Saturday. Does this seem to you to agree with the account given by the evangelists? I afterwards witnessed the form of giving holy orders to various degrees of the priesthood; but I did not find them at all interesting, and shall therefore pass them over.
The last day of these ceremonies is the Easter Sunday. I set off a little after nine, and when I arrived at St. Peter’s found a great multitude already assembled. The large central folding doors were thrown open, and the middle part of the nave was protected by two files of soldiers to keep the space clear for the procession. These spread wider apart, and made a large circuit round the high altar. They admitted us to pass without much difficulty, to a space which was railed off round the choir, where the pope was to perform. The canopy soon appeared at the doors of the church, preceded by a long procession of servants of the church, and by the cardinals clad in scarlet and furs. After a little while the pope himself came within view, sitting under the canopy in a raised chair, borne on the shoulders of his attendants, with a white mitre upon his head, and accompanied on each side by a large fan of the feathers of the white peacock. He was slowly carried up the nave, and the chair was set down in the middle of the space behind the high altar. Here the pope got out, and advanced to a cushion near the altar, and prayed in silence, while the attendants, as in the Sistine chapel, spread out his robes. He then retreated to a throne placed on one side of the choir, and after some ceremonies, and singing and chanting, the cardinals about him changed his dress, and attended him to perform mass at the high altar: he afterwards retreated to another throne, placed directly in front of the altar, or to those who entered the church, it would seem rather behind it; but the front of the altar is really towards the extremity of the building, and not towards the principal door, as it would be in our churches, and the pope pays his devotions with his face towards the entrance of the church. Catholic altars, at least at Rome, face all ways, and the notion that a church must have its front towards the west, and its altar towards the east, is a northern, or perhaps a Protestant superstition. He sat there for some time while the service was going on, and then again went up to the altar, and knelt down. Every body knelt, and there was a dead silence. These solemn pauses produce the finest effect of any one circumstance in the Roman Catholic service, but the whole is very magnificent, and the majesty of the building, the splendour of the processions, the richness of the dresses, and the great display of gold and pomp, produced as strong an impression as can probably be produced by any thing of the sort. Nevertheless, without all the previous pomp, and grandeur, and bustle, the solemnity which I admire in these pauses would not be so striking. The pope retired again to his upper throne, but I went out and mixed with the crowd in front to see the benediction; not to hear it, for that is hardly possible. His holiness is elevated on his chair, in a balcony in front of the church, but he hardly comes forward enough to be well seen, and in fact, the great object is the people. The immense place in front of the cathedral is entirely filled by the crowd, except a square space, preserved by the soldiers, which serves rather to show off both them, and the multitude about them, than to occasion any appearance of a deficiency of number. All attention was directed to one point, a great number were upon their knees, and all in the attitude of devotion, or deep interest and expectation. Two pieces of paper were thrown down, (I am sorry I must admit any thing so ridiculous into my picture) containing, as I was told, indulgences signed by the Holy Father himself, for those who could catch them: after this he repeated the blessing and disappeared. Other services succeeded in the church, but I did not stay long to witness them.
Perhaps you may incline to make it a question, whether the account of these ceremonies, or my long architectural details, be the most tiresome: you may, however, find some relief in the change of subject, and in that hope I shall give you a little sketch of the immense palace of the Vatican, or at least of the Cortile of San Damaso, and of the part containing the museum. The Cortile is surrounded only on three sides by the buildings of the palace. The fourth is inclosed by a plain wall. The lower story is in great measure solid. Then there are two ranges of open arches, and over these one of columns, which are very wide apart. This upper story is not, I apprehend, part of the original design, and it would be better away; and part of the upper range of arches is filled up in order to protect the frescos of Raphael. This is injurious to the architecture, yet still we must allow considerable merit to the general composition and proportions. On one side of this court are the Sala regia, and the two chapels, and from this side you also enter the Sala Borgia, which, with a series of adjoining rooms, contains the paintings returned from Paris.[[49]] From the angle we enter the first long gallery of the museum. The two other sides of the court contain the apartments of his holiness.
After this general view of the disposition of the different parts, we will return to the foot of the grand staircase. An awkward and irregular interval, wider at the beginning than at the further end, existed between the palace and the church. Bernini conceived the idea of erecting here a magnificent staircase, adorned with columns, where the diminution at the further end, by increasing the apparent length, rather enhances the magnificence. It was a noble thought, but while I admire, I should hardly venture to imitate the arrangement. After this we pass into the Sala regia, which gives access to the two chapels, the Sistina and the Paolina.
The architecture of the Sistine Chapel pleased me better on repeated visits than the first time I saw it: it is a lofty oblong hall, with windows only in the upper part, and a fine coved ceiling.
The general line of springing of this cove is cut by the windows, but this is not a defect, as the arches of the windows spring in the same line. The architect was Sangallo. The Paolina is said to be the production of the same artist, but it is trumpery. Both these halls are so much more celebrated for the paintings they contain, than for their architecture, that I cannot refrain from mentioning them. I do not doubt the wonderful talents of Michael Angelo, or the sincerity of the praises which have been heaped upon him, but I confess I have not learned to like him in any of his three attributes. He seems to me always to have sacrificed taste to knowledge. I can admire his works, but I cannot be pleased with them. In the celebrated Last Judgment there is not a beautiful figure, a graceful attitude, or a pleasing expression. Strong expression there is; great knowledge of anatomy I am willing to believe, though it seems a defect in judgment to mark every thing too strongly; and it is a remarkable circumstance that this should be the characteristic of the ancient Etruscan artists as well as of the modern school of Tuscany; great variety both of attitude and feature. His greatest admirers do not claim for him any great excellence in colouring; and in the present instance, the smoke of lamps and candles has probably made it more dingy than it otherwise would have been. This painting occupies the end of the room. The ceiling is in several parts also by Michael Angelo Buonarroti. The Almighty is here introduced, as he so frequently is in Italy; but instead of giving us the highest possible idea of power and energy, the object seems to have been to represent a dignified, but feeble old man, whose limbs and garments are supported by his servants. This idea of majesty is that of savages, and half-civilized people, who find it in having nothing to do, carried to such an excess as to render its object unable to do anything. Michael Angelo endeavoured to gain support from the notions of the vulgar, in a case where his genius, and that of every mortal, must necessarily fail. Some of these smaller paintings, I can more readily admire; and I acknowledge, that several of the figures, seated on the pedestals which divide the paintings, are very beautiful, but they have nothing to do with the stories of the Old Testament represented in the panels, and it is considerable labour to look at either the one or the other. What is it that is so much admired in this artist? This is a point on which connoisseurs are by no means agreed. One values him for his anatomical knowledge, and his power in giving character and expression. Another lays the chief stress on a sort of recondite meaning, to be found in his productions, which seems to be viewing them as ingenious riddles. The greater number of course are contented to wonder, they know not why. Some contend for a grandeur of composition in the lines and disposition of the figures. This I confess I do not comprehend; yet, while I acknowledge the beauty of certain forms and proportions in architecture, I cannot consistently deny that similar merits may exist in painting, though I am unfortunately unable to appreciate them.
The side walls are decorated with Scripture histories by some of the earlier Italian painters. The best and latest are those of Perugino. Two of the paintings of the Capella Paolina are by Michael Angelo, but they are more smoked, worse lighted, and consequently more invisible than those of the Sistina.