In point of fact, Cardinal d'Andrea was not in Rome in December, 1866, nor for months before and for months afterward. He was at Naples, or its neighborhood, seeking to restore his shattered and sinking health.
Our secretary takes a second leap backward, and "endeavors to give a slight sketch of the Cardinal d'Andrea, necessarily imperfect as pen and ink sketches always are." The incompleteness we might readily excuse. But we cannot excuse its utter incorrectness in the details, an incorrectness so unnecessarily excessive that we can only explain it on the theory he is entirely guided by that wonderful memory, of the powers of which we have had such evidences. Especially is this seen when, leaving generalities aside, the writer ventures to make a precise and definite statement.
Thus, we are informed that, in his early life, the cardinal "had been bred for the army, and served in the Noble Guard for three years." Whereas the cardinal was not born in Rome or the Roman States at all, and never had any connection whatever with the Noble Guard or any other military corps. He was born in Naples. His father, the Marquis Giovanni d'Andrea, was treasurer of the kingdom of Naples. His elder brother, the present Marquis d'Andrea, is still living near Naples. Jerome d'Andrea, the future cardinal, at an early age showed an inclination for the church, and in due time went through the ordinary course of ecclesiastical studies. At its conclusion, he came to Rome, and entered the Accademia Ecclesiastica, a college for the higher and more thorough education of such ecclesiastics as wish to enter the carriera, as it is called, that is, who aspire to become ecclesiastical officials at Rome. There was nothing military about the cardinal. He simply had the dignified bearing and the polished manners of an Italian nobleman.
"He viewed the Jesuits as the foes of reform; his scheme was to destroy their influence in the public schools." "The mendicant orders met no favor with him." "He did approve of the dissolution of their monasteries." This posthumous revelation of the cardinal's sentiments will undoubtedly astonish the Jesuits and the mendicant orders at Rome, if they ever hear of it, unless indeed they are foolish enough to trust their own memory of the words and acts of the cardinal in life, rather than the wonderful memory of this "secretary." The Jesuits will remember how often and regularly he would visit their father-general, or Father Perrone, or the more illustrious and learned members of their society; how fond he was of having some of them to visit him frequently; how he would invite their counsel and aid, and how he was careful to omit no proper occasion of publicly showing his friendship and esteem for them. The members of the mendicant orders will call to mind their perpetual intercourse with one who was always a kind father to them. As one of the cardinal's household expressed it to us, Era sempre attorniato da lore—He always had these friars around him. We fear that, with such cherished memories in their hearts, they will pay very little regard to the recollections of our "secretary."
But he becomes more precise in the details of the cardinal's daily life.
"The cardinal generally rose at six, and spent three hours in reading ere he said mass and breakfasted. He then received, and at twelve rode out, except when his presence was required by the pope. The afternoon was spent in a siesta until six. At half-past nine he retired."
What a sleepy-head this affectionate and reverential "secretary" would make the cardinal to be. Retire at half-past nine, and rise at six. Here we have eight hours for a good night's sleep; ample allowance, one would think. But no. Each day, after his noon-day drive, the afternoon until six is spent in a siesta; that is, at least four hours more given to sleep—twelve hours, on an average, out of every twenty-four! And this was the ordinary course of things, only interrupted when his presence was required by the pope! Was he in any way related to Rip Van Winkle, or is it the secretary who is dreaming? Certainly Cardinal d'Andrea bore all his life the reputation of being a remarkably wide-awake, clear-headed, and active business man.
We presume that he usually rose about six—a little later in winter, somewhat earlier in summer—such being the custom of Italians of his standing. By half-past eight, mass and breakfast were over; for business hours commence at nine, and the cardinal gave the forenoon to business, whether in the consistories or in the meetings of congregations or at his own residence, where secretaries, theologians, and other officials, and all interested parties, would see him. At half-past one, or at two, as business allowed, he dined. In summer, he took a siesta for half an hour or so. An hour or more was given to reciting his breviary and to private study. At four in winter and five in summer, if the weather allowed, he would drive out, and when outside the city might indulge in half an hour's active walk on foot. Reëntering his carriage, he reached home about sunset. Until nine, he received those who called on him, whether on business or as friends. Then came his supper, after which he loved to spend an hour or two in lively conversation on the topics of the day with his more intimate and esteemed friends. About eleven, he usually retired to rest; but, too frequently for his health, he would, if he had what he deemed important business on hand, stay up until one or two in the morning, studying or writing.
"In his meals he was sparing, attached to the French cuisine, and drank the light native vintage of Monte Fiascone.... He never went among French society. He gave the French no countenance, regarding them as witnesses of his country's serfdom."
What the writer means by this last phrase, or how the English and Germans visiting Rome are not as truly witnesses to things there as the French can be, we do not understand, and shall not stop to inquire. The important statements are before us. The cardinal was attached to the French cuisine and avoided French society. Now, the truth was just the reverse on both these points. The cardinal was an excellent linguist and a well-read scholar. He delighted in the company of educated Frenchmen, ecclesiastics, laymen, and military, and was quite intimate with many of them. But as to his food, he remained a true Neapolitan to the day of his death, and stuck to macaroni, vermicelli, and pollenta, as an Englishman sticks to his roast beef and good mutton.