Evelyn and myself agreed that, on leaving these galleries, as it were, “drunk with beauty,” every one we met appeared to us plain and homely. Rome is rather unfavorable to the development of the tender passion. Nor did it surprise me that here Numa Pompilius preferred a visionary nymph to a daughter of earth.
Our time passed pleasantly enough; yet Evelyn appeared to suffer from low spirits, and occasionally I surprised her shedding tears. As the chaplain of the Pope came constantly to give her religious instruction, I imagined her mind was influenced by his pious conversation, and deeply desired it might be so, for her future good and that of her daughter. I do not now allude so much to her becoming what it is the fashion in England to call “a Pervert,” but to her being seriously and practically convinced, that trust in God, combined with a desire to please Him and to obey His commandments, is the only foundation for true happiness, either here or hereafter. Evelyn being a highly imaginative person, passionately fond of music—in short, an idealist—I considered the Catholic form of worship would be highly attractive to her, and trusted any impression she might now receive would prove lasting.
Nevertheless, I sometimes feared that even the devotion of di Balzano had not met with the return it merited. It appeared to me as if my friend were more influenced by the rank and position of her fiancé than by her heart, in the choice she had made. Her own standing in society she had somewhat damaged by past imprudence, and so unexceptionable a marriage was too wise a step to admit of hesitation in a mere worldly point of view. But the evidently deep attachment of Balzano deserved a more worthy return. He was not, it is true, romantic or sentimental; but his heart was noble and affectionate, and he had placed it wholly in the keeping of her he hoped ere long to call his bride. He had no brilliant talent, certes; but he possessed sound common sense and great tact. Young, handsome, aristocratic, a “lion,” and unmistakably in love. What could any reasonable woman require more? So thought I, at least; and as I watched the couple, to outward appearance so well matched, I augured for Evelyn a future almost devoid of the clouds which so frequently darken the matrimonial horizon.
Many of the noble ladies of Rome, friends of the duke, took great interest in the probable conversion of his English betrothed; and books and pamphlets were sent her in abundance by these fair zealots and kindly well-wishers to what they considered a most holy cause.
We had, at length, reached that period of the year when the Church of Rome celebrates, with every adjunct of pomp and circumstance, the great mysteries of our redemption. The ladies admitted to view the ceremonies within the railings of the Church of St. Peter must be costumed in black, and wear a black lace mantilla, or veil on their heads, in lieu of a bonnet. The Holy Week commences by the blessing of the Palms, which are afterwards distributed among the people. Each succeeding day has its appropriate services; and on Holy Thursday, two very grand ceremonies take place—that of washing the feet of twelve old men by His Holiness, in imitation of Jesus washing his apostles’ feet; and next, the great function of the “Cena,” or Supper, when these same twelve are served at table by Bishops and Cardinals.
On Easter Sunday, after a magnificent service in the Cathedral, the Pope is carried in a chair to a balcony situated near the roof of the building, and from this fearful elevation he blesses the kneeling multitude congregated in the immense piazza of St. Peters. Pio Nono has a remarkably fine sonorous voice; and, as he spoke the Latin address from that dizzy height, not one syllable was lost.
It was a most imposing and touching sight, that crowd of all nations and all creeds, without distinction of age or sex, all bending in humility to receive the apostolic benediction. Many around had tears in their eyes; nor were my own heretical orbs altogether free from such weakness. A moment, and the clank of arms, the roll of the drums, and the boom of artillery announce the close of the ceremony. We pick ourselves up, stealthily wipe our eyes, enter the carriage, drive to our hotel; and proceed to—luncheon.
“Sic transit gloria mundi.”
