But let me hasten on to Rome, where, on our arrival, we took up our abode in a charming apartment in Palazzetto Torlonia, at the corner of the Piazza di Venezia, than which a more excellent situation could scarcely be found, with the full prospect of enjoyment of every kind, social and intellectual. Our hopes brought no disappointment in their train. October in Rome is a season of great beauty, especially when the citizens look forward to the Festivals.

We crossed the Tiber on a glorious day in October, and arrived at the iron gates of the Queen of Villas, over the entrance of which the Eagle of the Dorias surmounted the Lily of the Pamfili. What a gay, smiling scene was before us in that garden, enlightened by fountains, rich in shady woods and plantations, and crowned by the Palace with its spacious terraces! What sounds of joy, what shouts of laughter on all sides! Groups of young girls, dressed chiefly in white, with coloured ribbons flaunting gaily, their dark hair plaited and braided in a manner purely classical, and crowned with fantastic wreaths of natural ivy and wild-flowers, sang in chorus as they walked hand-in-hand, or tripped backwards and forwards, with one arm thrown round the waist of a companion, and the other flourishing the jingling tambourine high above their heads. Occasionally when two groups met they challenged each other, and then, with many expressions of civility, a circle would be formed, and, after much pressing, and many modest refusals, the two best performers would begin dancing, and setting and wheeling round each other with that occasional bound in the air which gives the name of saltarello to their dance.

There were few men in proportion, and those chiefly kept aloof, although a gayer jacket than usual, or even a feather in the hat, showed that all the minenti had not arrived without an escort. Staid matrons might be seen looking on—women, not unfrequently, of majestic beauty (beauties of a proud, stern character)—their luxuriant hair confined by nets of rich and variegated colour, or broad loose ribbons, forming a most picturesque kind of coronet.

There seems little doubt that the origin of these Festivals can be traced to the Bacchanalia of Classical Rome, and the Trasteverini girls (for most of the dancers came from the further side of the Tiber) bore no little resemblance to the MÆnads of old, with their dishevelled hair crowned by the emblematic ivy and vine leaf. With their proverbial pride they considered no title high enough to content them but eminente (or minente.)

It would be difficult to describe the excitement which prevailed in the Eternal City pending the eventful moment when Rome’s beloved Pontiff was to take possession of the Church of S. John Lateran, a function which answers to the Sacre of the French monarch, or the Coronation of the English. Pio Nono was at that moment the most popular sovereign in Europe, and he commenced his reign in a most auspicious manner. Liberal in his views, patriotic in aspirations for his beloved country, practically religious as became a priest, he had brought golden opinions with him from the See of Imola, where he had been Bishop. Of courteous and winning manners, witty and agreeable in conversation, a delightful companion, a charitable patron, His Holiness seemed calculated to become, as was indeed the case, a favourite with all sorts and conditions of men. Every morning brought some fresh story of wisdom or of kindness, and as we had a friend at the Papal Court, we were kept au courant of what, to us, were interesting details. Once when a certain man on his death-bed had disinherited his wife and children, with whom he was on bad terms, and had left a large sum to the priest who should celebrate his black Mass, the Pope elected to officiate himself. He carried out his plan, and, supplementing the legacy by an addition from his own treasury, he caused an assignment of it to be made to the poor widow, who stood in great need of assistance.

His witty sayings were often quoted, and it was universally believed that many of the answers to the frequent pasquinades which were promulgated at that time were actually prompted by the Pope. Alas! for the bright prospects of those early days and the short-lived popularity which could not be expected to outlast the influence of evil counsellors, who baffled and thwarted him on every occasion! Faltering and vacillating in the noble path on which he had entered, he disappointed the hopes of those who had hailed his accession with joy. Not only in the grand procession, but on several occasions, and under important and interesting circumstances, had I the joy of seeing him. Once it was on his name-day of San Giovanni, when the Court of the Quirinal was entirely thronged with his subjects, calling out his name, and pleading that he should appear before them. When he did so, and bowed and waved his hands in benediction over the heads of the assembled multitude, how imposing and beautiful the spectacle! Again, at a midnight festival in Santa Maria Maggiore, when he was carried on high, in his crimson chair of state, between the two traditional fans of peacocks’ feathers, the sight nearly cost me my life, so dense was the crowd and so imminent the danger to myself and my sister. A third time on the night of Easter Sunday, when the illumination of the whole building of St Peter’s, bursting forth into light at one moment, seemed a miracle, for gas was still unfamiliar, and electric light unknown. How well I can recall the scene under the roof of “blue Italian weather” deepening into purple, and studded with stars that glistened and sparkled in the fountains. The magnificent court-yard, encircled with colonnades, peopled by an innumerable concourse who dropped simultaneously on their knees, with an indescribable surging sound, as to the sound of cannon the Pope appeared on the balcony.

But I am anticipating events, and must return to the taking possession of the Lateran, or the “Possesso,” as it was called, to which I have before alluded, and the procession which we saw to perfection from the secondo piano of our quarters at Palazzetto Torlonia, happily situated for the purpose. Pio Nono, who had a great taste for all that was picturesque and historical, had conceived the idea of restoring all the splendour of a pageant of the Middle Ages, and being himself a skilful horseman, proposed that carriages should be banished from the procession, which should be entirely composed of horse and foot-men. This unconventional whim, as it was considered, created a great turmoil in the minds of the ecclesiastical dignitaries. The idea of a Pope on horseback shocked the critics of the age, and as many of the Cardinals were well stricken in years, and had probably even in their youth been unaccustomed to mount a horse, the obstacles to the design of His Holiness appeared insurmountable. After manifold pourparlers, a compromise was arrived at. The Pope relinquishing his cherished notion of appearing on horseback, was firm in his resolve that his state carriage should be the only one to be found in the procession. Much to their disgust, the whole conclave of Cardinals was appointed to meet the Holy Father, in their respective carriages, at the gates of S. John Lateran.

Never did I see a more orderly, a more picturesque, or a more enthusiastic crowd, than that which lined the Corso, and filled the Piazza di Venezia on the day in question. Although the national costume was even then becoming scarce in the South of Italy, yet on that great day all the citizens on both sides of the Tiber and all the country people from the neighbouring districts, appeared in their holiday clothes of bright and variegated colours. The red bodice, the floating ribbons, the blue petticoat and white panno, well became the majestic beauty of noble-looking women, while the conical hat and coloured sashes of the men recalled the early drawings of Pinelli. One striking personage in the crowd I well remember—a peasant from the district of Nettuno, whose costume had something essentially Oriental in its character. She was a woman of extreme beauty, and of a tall and commanding presence. She wore a garment of crimson silk, in the form of a Turkish pelisse, over a bright gold-coloured robe of the same material; she was evidently the beauty of her native town, and was sent to Rome as its representative.

Soon that mingled murmuring sound which is so well expressed in the Italian language as bisbiglio is heard down the length of the Corso, and heralds the approach of the procession. On it comes in all the correct costumes of the Middle Ages, of the exact period which His Holiness has chosen; horsemen in rich doublets of cut velvet and mantles clasped with jewels, the bridle-rein of each held by an attendant, the costliness of whose dress is scarcely inferior to that of the rider. And now, as the crucifer who immediately precedes the carriage of the Holy Father appears in sight, the whole populace fall on their knees. To my mind, the most imposing personage in the whole pageant is the crucifer, a tall and magnificent-looking man, with a long silken beard, carrying a ponderous cross, of such gigantic dimensions that few arms could have been found capable of bearing it, mounted on a splendid white mule, to find which the whole of Italy had been searched. A magnificent spectacle which I shall never forget.

The delights of our winter in Rome were greatly enhanced to my brother Charles and myself by the presence of our dear friend, Adelaide Sartoris, at whose house in the Via Gregoriana we met all that was agreeable and intellectual in the society of Rome. With her and her sister, Fanny Kemble, we took almost daily rides in the Campagna. What enchanting hours of companionship, what exhilarating hours of exercise over that beautiful tract of country, does the mere allusion to those bygone days recall! How swiftly the days passed in the Eternal City! The constant contemplation of the treasures of painting, sculpture and architecture seemed to enrich while it gladdened our minds. All around us beauty—beauty of art, beauty of nature, beauty of sound, of music both sacred and secular! Then the Carnival with its fun and frolic, and the Moccoli, whose twinkling stars still live in the twilight of memory. Rome the beautiful—Rome the eternal—’twas sad to say farewell!