Modern society in Rome : a novel

Front matter

NY a

PANE rene RAKE!

BANA) ee fora

Chapter I

Rome stood, some centuries, alone; and made The most of her preeminence. She fell; Then by religion, rose again—obey’d And dreaded as before. And it was well It was so, till the world was grown a shade More civiliz’d: but still no miracle Of patriotism or piety was Rome: Thousands liv’d there who only thought of home.

THE entrance to Rome by the Porta del Popolo is more magnificent than the approach to any city in the whole world. Who has forgotten the mixed feeling of awe and admiration with which, passing under the heavy modern architecture in the old walls of the town, he first beheld the grand opening of that circular space ; the VOL. I. B noble buildings on the right and left ; the towering obelisk in the centre; the spreading fountains on each side, through the rainbow-spray of which he saw uprise the two domes, from which diverged the three grand streets of Rome: the Corso in the centre, and those two other radiant streets ? Who has forgotten the earnest longing with which his eye-sight strained adown their narrowing length, in the hope of discovering some of those wonders of historic architecture he panted so to see? Who does not remember the annoyance with which he complied with the small formalities of the custom-house officers, as he inquired if the free pass for his luggage had been forwarded to the gate by his friendly banker, and paid the officials their anti-scrupulous bribes 4

Years before, such had been the feelings of the elder of the four occupants of that English travelling britzska that had just driven through the Porta del Popolo; years before, the father and mother had owned the magic of that first sight of Rome: but they and the two young girls, who now stood on tiptoe in the open carriage, were alike taken aback by the scene of triumphant confusion and mob ovation which choked the square, and delayed their entrance into the city.

It was, indeed, a popular and a courtly triumph. Pius the Ninth reigned in all hearts. The days of Roman indifference, discontent, rebellion, good-humoured scorn and satire in regard to their temporal sovereigns, were supposed to have passed away for ever. Pasquino himself scarcely remembered his own effusions on the mild nature of Pius the Seventh, and the stern ability of his minister Consalvi: scarcely remembered the hopelessness of any administrative improvement with which he had greeted the election of the even then infirm Leo the Twelfth—sportsman though he had been in his youth. Leo the Twelfth had been a helpless elderly invalid at the time of his elevation: he could have no energy for administrative reforms : Pasquino and the Romans consoled themselves with a jest. If, they said,

If a sportsman for our pope is crown’d,

Each cardinal becomes a hound:

Our country is his sporting ground, The people are his game.*

Leo the Twelfth had been of the antihberal school of politicians: he died ; and in the same bitter, hopeless spirit of satire, Pasquino, in the name of Rome, had prayed the assembling conclave to give them a ruler of a different stamp. Since, he said,

Since you are donkeys all, we own

Some fellow brute you must enthrone: But mind: take warning: we rely on Your wit thus far—don’t choose a Lion.”+

Pius the Eighth was elected, and endured but a few months. Who should be his successor? Pasquino ventured to suggest the future sovereign. Around the neck of his statue he showed a sketch of three candi-

dates. They were, indeed, disguised under the appearance of three of the race horses that dash along the Corso in carnival: but no one could mistake the likenesses. Poor good-natured, fat Cardinal Vidoni headed the race : surely he would reach the goal ? But no: just as he entered the Piazza di Venezia, he smelt the fumes of those sayoury stews coming from the kitchen windows of Prince Torlonia’s palace. He smelt the well-loved sauces; and, bolting into the hospitable court-yard, lost all chance of the prize !

The hard reign of Gregory the Sixteenth began. Pious, exemplary, self-mortified in his own person, he set his face against all improvement ; and his police filled the dungeons with his unfortunate subjects. In vain, did the five European powers join in recommending reform in the administration of his states: their advice was unheeded. In vain did a young Genoese, named Giuseppe Mazzini, publish an address to his sovereign, Carlo Alberto of Piemont, calling upon him to free Italy from Austrian invaders: the power of the Austrians caused him to be banished to other lands—there to organise the association of “ Young Italy”, and devise mad and wicked schemes. In vain, did Massimo d’Azeglio endeavour to counteract these by inculcating moderation, hope, union, and temperate reforms: his banishment also was obtained. In vain, were partial risings and rebellions of different provinces; they were quelled by French or Austrian intervention. In vain, enthusiastic individuals, . like the unhappy brothers Bandiera, rushed madly to the rescue of their country: the iron rule of Gregory was unchanged and unmitigated.

On the Ist of June, 1846, he died.

“Tf,” said Cardinal Albani, “if we elect his pompous minister, Cardinal Lambruschini, Pope, we shall have to begin making our genuflexions at the Ponte S. Angelo and all the way up the Tre Canelle to the Quirinal.”

Brief, however, was the doubt: short was the conclave. On the evening of the

THE SIEGE OF ROME. ao second day, the few people, assembled in the square below, missed the smoke that usually, at that hour, issued from the tube of the little stove in which the voting papers were daily burnt, until a sufficient majority centered on some one of the Holy College. On the evening of the second day, a new sovereign was elected to themselves ; a new spiritual head to the Catholic world. They had hoped it might be the liberal Cardinal Ghizzi; but hope had told a flattering tale, and they turned them away disappointed to make more particular inquiries as to who and what was their new sovereign, formerly Cardinal Mastei Ferretti.

Little was ascertained to excite any violent emotion. The new pontiff was of a provincial gentleman’s family, and had come to Rome, thirty years before, in the hope of being admitted into the Pope’s body guard—the guardia nobile. Unsuccessful in his application, he had turned to the study of theology, and had been ordained under the express condition that he should always say mass in private, and with another priest to assist him; lest he should be, at any time, attacked by the epileptic convulsions to which he was subject. He had said his first mass and had never been unwell since. Advanced in the church, and employed on foreign missions, he had shown some ability, and had a fair reputation for administrative talent. He was now fifty-four years of age: and when, two days after his election, he had been to St. Peter’s to return thanks, and had been crowned by the name of Pius the Ninth, the multitude showed little interest: and no one anticipated that he who was then raised to supreme rule over the old Roman political: system, would, ere long, be hailed as the most liberal and enlightened sovereign in the world.

Small acts had produced this change of feeling. An amnesty had been granted to the political prisoners of Gregory the Sixteenth. The favourite, Cardinal Ghizzi, had been appointed Secretary of State. Administrative reform had been talked of and promised. A Civic Guard had been appointed. Some degree of freedom had been given to the press. The Romans had been very grateful: the Italians full of hope. Austria had invaded the Roman territory, to counteract the new Pope’s good intentions. His Holiness had protested with spirit, and had caused the invaders to retire. Partial outbreaks had occurred in parts of Lombardy : repressed by Austria with its usual severity. Solemn requiems had been sung in Rome for the souls of the patriots slain. A monk, named Gavazzi, had sprung unauthorised into a pulpit, and had invoked war upon the Germans. Punished and degraded by those of his own monastery, he had defied them ; and begun to preach a national war through the streets. Terrified by the enthusiasm of his own people, by the spirit that was stalking abroad, and which he feared lest his own liberal tendencies had called forth, Pius the Ninth then began to restrain and to give way by turns. Without any settled policy of his own, swayed by the adulation and uproarious and demonstrative gratitude of his people, or disappointed by their murmurs, he sought to gain time in which he might weigh and propose and consult over those administrative changes which a master mind should have originated and at once carried out.

Even now, when our travellers were entering Rome by the Porta del Popolo, and were astounded by the festive demonstrations that met their gaze, even now there had been a breach between the timid sovereign and the enthusiastic people. Yesterday had been the last day of the old year, 1847. On what better occasion could the Roman people gather its tumultuary cohorts, and march in triumph to the Quirinal palace to be blessed by its adored sovereign ? Banners, and music, and torches, and military array, all had been collected for a nocturnal serenade to his holiness, when word came that the assemblage would not be admitted to the palace square: that the Quirinal was surrounded by troops. ‘The blessings of the fervid people of the South are easily exchanged for curses: and curses,

THE SIEGE OF ROME. ll loud and deep, had been vented against the ministers, against the Austrians, against the Jesuits, and anybody and everybody who was supposed to have instigated such a show of distrust towards a grateful people. Old Prince Corsini had hastened to the palace, and terrified the sovereign by telling him how excited was the feeling of the Romans: again he had rushed back to the people, and assured them that their prince had known nothing of the military array prepared against them. Cries of opposition to the ministry, and cheers for Pio Nono alone had proclaimed the satisfaction of the crowd.

Such had been the course of events and of the political feeling in Rome up to the period at which our narrative commences.

The custom-house officers received their fee and retired towards their dens. The post-boys cracked their whips and carefully guided their five horses through the thronging concourse of spectators. A few cheered our travellers as they passed; for Lord Minto had lately been at Rome counselling measures of improvement on the part of the English government; and the English were looked up to as friends of reform. Onwards, slowly, passed the open britzska across that magnificent square, beside the everlasting obelisque, and into the farstretching street of the Corso. How bright and glorious was all the scene! Banners of yellow and red, the papal colours, waved from every house-top. Rich tapestry hung from every window; triumphal arches spanned the street; arches of evergreens and of flowers wound over wooden framework with all the taste of Roman art. The people, in their holiday attire, thronged the windows or jostled in the street. Officers and men of the Civic Guard strutted or hurried amongst them, and showed off their glittering uniforms.

“Ts it not a magnificent city ?” exclaimed the elder of our travellers, addressing alike his wife and both their children. ‘ Look, Mary,” he said to one of the latter, as neither of the others whom he addressed appeared to share his enthusiasm: “ Look,

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Mary, up there on the left; that flight of steps is the Piazza di Spagna.”

“ Beautiful, papa; most beautiful!” exclaimed the beaming girl to whom he had spoken.

“ Whose great palace is this dark building on our right 2” inquired the other young girl in more equable tones.

“The Palazzo Ruspoli: it has very good reception rooms,” replied the mother. “TI wonder who has them now,” she added, as if musing on parties or balls to be there enjoyed.

“ To the right! To the right!” exclaimed the crowds and a few of the Pope’s guardia nobile riding hastily up. ‘To the right!” “Viva Pio Nono!” “Long lite to his holiness!” shouted a thousand enthusiastic voices, as the English carriage turned sharply round the corner of Palazzo Chigi, and drew up in the noble square around the column of Antoninus. Our travellers could not be better placed to see the approaching pageant. A small troop of the body guard slowly cleared the way; and, drawn by eight cream coloured horses and surrounded by running footmen in the richest liveries, came the gorgeous carriage of the pontiff. It was the state carriage built by Leo the Twelfth; and we cannot pause to describe the gorgeous and classic workmanship that adorned it. Gilding and bronze castings, of most exquisite taste, supported and formed the body of the vehicle ; which large plates of rock crystal enclosed on every side; so light and transparent that nothing appeared to intercept the person or the benedictions of the pontiff. And in that gorgeous carriage sat the spiritual father of the Catholic world, the temporal sovereign of this excited people. It was the first time that any of our travellers had beheld Pio Nono; and they had full leisure to study his handsome and interesting features.

For interesting, not only to his own subjects, but to the world at large, as affording an index to the character of him who had undertaken to reform the abuses of centuries, and whose name was invoked by liberals and revolutionists throughout

Europe—interesting was the expression of those features to every physiognomist and thinking man; and the Englishman grieved to mark the shade of vacillation and anxiety which rested upon them, like a slight vapour on the fairest landscape. Nothing could be more noble than that ample forehead; more serene than those full blue eyes; more perfectly formed than that chiselled nose, lip, and chin: but there was a nervous softness about those parted lips, a shrinking of that full blue eye which showed that no settled purpose animated the mind within. Good-nature, kindness, affability, thought, intelligence, piety—all these were legible in every line and feature of that beaming face; but the very openness, the very frankness with which these characteristics shone forth, proved that the scheming brain and the iron will of the statesman, who should originate and carry through vast changes, had no place in a character so amiable and good.

With a beaming countenance, the pontiff gazes from side to side, and gently blesses the people, who fall devoutly on their knees to receive the well prized benedictions. Slowly the crystal coach moves on ; while the Civic Guard muster gallantly around it. Banners wave, drums beat, flowers are thrown up in the air, and the old walls of Rome echo and re-echo the unwonted cheers with which Roman thousands greet their popular sovereign.

But our English traveller was not the only one who marked the unwonted anxiety that overshadowed the countenance of the pontiff. A burly Roman rushed forward in the dress of those of Transtevere. No shade of doubt or hesitation was to be seen on his frank jovial features! With a rollicking gait, he cast his blue velvet jacket over his left shoulder, and tightened the yellow and red silk scarf around his waist, just where his shirt puffed out between his short vest and his unbraced trousers. <A low, sugar-loaf hat sat jauntily on one side of his round shock head; and a cock’s feather, stuck into it, curved from the summit with all the pretension of a chieftain’s plume. A thorough Roman of the people —half muleteer, half porter, half wine seller, half brigand, he rushed up to the papal carriage, with the air of one im authority. People and civic guards alike made way for him, as for an acknowledged master of ceremonies. As he caught the Pope’s eye, he fell on his knees in the mud to receive his blessing; then, observing that shade of anxiety on the face of his sovereign, he snatched a broad banner from one of the by-standers and gallantly waved it over head.

“Bravo, Angelo Brunetti!” “ Bravo, Ciceruacchio!” cried the mob.

“Santo Padre,—Holy Father, trust in your people!” shouted Ciceruacchio, as he pointed to the same inscription on his flag. “Trust in your people, Holy Father!” he repeated, as he clambered up on the footboard of the carriage amongst the liveried attendants, and madly waved his banner over the head of his sovereign.

A blush overspread the mild features of the Pope at this popular indignity, meant

VOL. I. € for popular honour ; but he bowed his head in acceptance of the pledge of security, and the cries of “ Viva Pio Nono!” were redoubled.

Onwards passed. the procession: onwards passed the Papal carriage—the noisy, enthusiastic ovation. In honour of whom was the triumph ?—of the sovereign enthroned in the crystal coach, or of the blackguard, typifying the Roman people, who still stood upon the footboard, and still waved his flag over the head of his sovereign ?

And now our travellers returned to the Corso, once more opened to them by the advance of the procession, which had moved on towards the Porta del Popolo. And now they passed the fantastic architecture of the splendid Doria Pamphilj palace, in the court of which English neatness had imagined a flower garden in place of the dirty Roman pavement; and now they turned into the wide Piazza di Venezia, frowned on by the walls of the once republican legation, and cheered, on the other sides, by the bright palaces of principal Roman. nobles.

‘Look, papa!” exclaimed one of the young girls, as she pointed to a liveried porter at the gate of one of these palaces, “look: is that a queen’s servant, or an English postman 2?”

‘** Nonsense, Caroline!” replied her aunt: “it is Prince Castellonia’s porter. But see, Middleton,” she said, addressing her husband ; ‘see, the Castellonias have changed their palace since we were here last.”

That gentleman did not reply; but, pointing to a church they passed on their left hand, said to his daughter Mary, “ The church of the Jesuits”; and then gave some direction to his valet on the box, as the carriage turned up a narrow street and entered the little courtyard of the Palazzo Sermoneta.

*“ Well, dears, I hope you will like the apartment,” said Mr. Middleton Agelthorpe; ‘your mother and I know it of old, as one of the best in Rome; and anything was better than the trumpery lodgings prepared for our country folks near the Piazza di Spagna.”

“It has been all new furnished since your Eccellenza was last in Rome,” interposed the little Maestro di Casa, or house-steward, of Prince Caetani, as he bustled up to the strangers, and accompanied them up the broad and easy staircase. Three pairs of great folding doors stood open at the top of the second flight, and the little man ushered them through the centre of these into the ample entrance hall, in the midst of which stood the large candelabra ready to receive the wax torch that should be lighted during the visit of a Cardinal. He led the way past this into a small parlour, adorned with paintings and furnished with busts, and then into a large drawing-room hung with green satin. ‘This opened into a magnificent ball-room, about five-and-forty feet square, and of the height of two stories of the house, so that a second row of windows ran round and lighted up its deeply carved and gilded ceiling. Another beautifully-shaped drawing-room, hung with. green satin, then received them: in the centre of this was a large dinner table, with chairs already ranged around He

“ Hola, Signor Maestro di Casa,” said the Englishman, “ would you make this the dining-room 2”

“Kecellenza, the prince has been in England, and would have the apartment arranged according to English ideas,” replied the steward.

*“ What! the dining-room a room of passage to the drawing-room? Let us move on.”

They did so, into a beautiful drawing-room hung with yellow satin; then into one, the walls of which were covered with light blue silk hangings: then into the small throne room hung with crimson damask ; and then into the gallery or second ball-room. This had been originally built and furnished in celebration of a family wedding, and was forty-five feet long by twenty wide. It was very lofty, with a ceiling vaulted—like all the others in the house—and beautifully painted in fresco. Its walls were of white satin embroidered with chenille; arm chairs to match these ; eight porphyry tables; four large chandehers ; a number of large mirrors, and other furniture of equal richness completed the equipment of this beautiful room.

“ But where are the bed-rooms ?” asked Mr. Middleton Agelthorpe anxiously.

“There are two behind here, eccellenza,” said the steward ; “ and we have put beds into the inner row of saloons that circle the courtyard. The other dining-room is this way,’ he said, leading the strangers back to the blue silk drawing-room, and thence into a beautiful apartment lighted by three windows on each side, and the walls and ceiling of which were alike painted in fresco.

“Yes; this is the dining-room ;” said the Englishman, “ and so, Signor Santini, you have put beds into all the inner drawing-rooms through which the dinner must be brought here from the kitchen 2”

“ Kccellenza, the prince has been in England, and would have the apartment arranged according to English ideas,” again repeated the house steward in deprecatory tones.

“They can easily be cleared away, Middleton,” said the lady: “but I cannot see what we are to do for a bed-room. The girls must have those two, opening one into the other.”

‘There are forty-two rooms belonging to the apartment,” modestly suggested the steward.

“Yes;” said Mr. Agelthorpe: “ but your apartments are built for Cardinals, who need as many reception rooms as possible and only one bed-room. However, Margaret,” he continued, “ we have no choice: all the bettermost rooms, except the two for the girls, are thoroughfares. So it is evident that you must take the last drawing-room but one—that pretty throne room for your bed-room, and that the white satin gallery ball-room within it must be my dressing-room.”

“ Take away that beautiful drawing-room and that sweet ball-room for a bed-room and dressing-room,” remonstrated Caroline. “They are the nicest of all the apartment! What shall we do for sitting-rooms? We shall not be able to receive a soul!”

“ Let us, see,” said Mary, running away, and she soon after returned, laughing, and cried, “‘ what shall we do, Caroline, for sitting-rooms? I have counted them, and there will only be eleven drawing-rooms, and the first large ball-room left. We shall not be able to receive a soul!”

Caroline still pouted at the loss of the two prettiest rooms; but resigned herself to be satisfied with the twelve that still were left to her and society.

Although we could not do justice to the richness of the carpets and curtains, the gorgeousness of the carved and gilded tables and consoles, the variety of the marbles and vases, and the beauty of the paintings that covered every vaulted ceiling, we have been obliged to make the reader acquainted with the locality of many of the scenes which we shall have to present before him; with the rooms in which Caroline is to “come out”, and from which we are to behold “ the Siege of Rome.”

Chapter II

most likely to delight Our novice. But in Rome, be many a dame

Of fair and winning grace. In them, no light Conceited and fantastic airs proclaim

Their empty-head-and-heartedness. Though slight Their cause to love it, yet the very name

Of Rome acts unawares; and throws around

A sadden’d charm that nowhere else is found.

Bur the apartments having been already engaged, and the family being expected, the friendly banker alluded to had provided facilities for witnessing such little social, artistic or religious scenes of interest as Roman bankers are still permitted to dispense amongst their clients: and together with tickets of admission to St. Peter’s at an approaching beatification, the porter of the Palazzo Sermoneta delivered to the new comers a card about eight inches square, on which was intimated, that ‘“'The Cardinal

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President of Rome and Comarca requested Mr. Middleton Agelthorpe, his consort, and daughters, to do him the honour of passing the evening in his house,” on that very first of January, 1848.

“ You must manage to go, my love,” said Mr. Agelthorpe to his wife. “It is the grandest reception in Rome—an official gathering on New Year’s Day, at which all the grandees and diplomatists annually pay their respects to the governor of the town and county.”

* All the better, dear!” exclaimed his wife. ‘The imperials can be soon unpacked, and the girls shall at once make their débiat in society.”

“To come out at a Cardinal’s!” said Caroline. “It seems very strange! Will they dance ?”

“ Dance!” exclaimed her aunt. “ Dance at a cardinal’s! You are as bad as the poor Forsters. Do not you remember the family we left at Florence, who would not come on to Rome when they heard that the Pope did not give balls and keep as gay a court as the Grand Duke of Tuscany ?”

Mounted policemen occupied the street ; and torches, fixed in the pavement outside the cardinal’s palace, cast a fitful glare upon their polished armour as our friends followed in the line of carriages and drove under the grand gateway of the building. The court yards and broad stone stairs were illuminated by similar flaring torches: a carpet was spread upon the stairs, and evergreens stood upon every step. As the wide folding doors stood open, and they passed through half a dozen ante-rooms and halls filled with livery servants or secretaries and stray guests, Caroline looked about her with calm self-possession, and noted, and admired or criticised, all that she saw for the first time. Her cousin, on the contrary, who clung to her arm, scarce saw where she was; but, blinded by agitation and nervous timidity, wished to pause and recover herself before entering the receptionroom of the cardinal-governor. She had no opportunity of doing either. The Cardinal was standing near the door; with eye glass, as always, uplifted. He saw an old acquaintance approach; and, glad to recognize one foreigner amongst the many unknown strangers who crowded upon him for the first time, he moved briskly forwards.

“My friend, Monsieur Agelthorpe !” he exclaimed, taking him by the hand, “I am delighted to see you again in Rome.”

The Englishman bent low, as if to kiss the prelate’s ring, and expressed his pleasure at again being in the holy city, and at seeing his Eminence after four years absence. Mrs. Middleton Agelthorpe was then greeted in the same friendly manner, and the two girls were presented and kindly received. The Principessa di Riano, the most elegant woman in Rome, as one of the highest-born in Italy, did the honours for her relative, the Cardinal; and graciously greeted the strangers. Then other guests approached, and they were obliged to move on into the crowd that thronged that and the many contiguous drawing-rooms.

“ You here, Miss Mary Agelthorpe!” exclaimed a tall, slim, and remarkably handsome young Englishman, steppin’ forwards from the crowd, and frankly holding out his hand to Mary. “TI little thought to have had this pleasure!” and the fine features of the young man, which always bore the impress of mingled thought and gaiety, lighted up with a glow of animation and feeling. .

The fair girl gladly gave her hand, delighted to acknowledge an old friend and country neighbour, amid the glittering assembly which had seemed to her a confused mass of strange faces, rich jewels and bright uniforms.

“ Horace Enderby, how are you?” said her father, shaking hands with him. ‘So you are still in Rome—plotting, painting, and praying !”

“Nay, sir; the Pope himself is chief plotter now. All our old aspirations are, at last, proved to have been right and good.”

“Inspirations, were they not?” said Mr.

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Middleton Agelthorpe, “ only our watches went too fast.”

Meanwhile, a tall, heavy-looking, but handsome young man had been leaning against a marble console at the side of the room; and had marked the entrance of our friends as he languidly eat a vanille peach ice that he held in his gloved hand. He was evidently a Roman; and was, as evidently, conversing with an Englishman, who leaned against the same table, also eating anice. The latter was a man of about sixty years of age; large, square-built, and tall. His features were good; the expression of his face was very sweet and pleasing. His air and manner had scarcely the polish of high birth; though it was difficult to say in what they were deficient: he was natural, easy, and without pretension or assumption of any kind.

“Who are these country folks of yours, coming in?” asked the Roman, addressing him with unwonted interest ; so much so, that he bolted a piece of the hard ice he had in his mouth, and scalded his throat with the cold. “ Who are they? Per Bacco, they are pretty girls !”

“They must have lately come to Rome,” replied Mr. Ollier; “I know they were expected.”