A Year in Europe

A few days ago we visited the Church of St. Laurence Without the Walls, where in a silver shrine under the high altar, the remains of St. Laurence and St. Stephen are said to rest. The walls of the portico of the church are covered with a series of frescoes, lately repainted. One series represents the story of St. Stephen and that of the translation of his relics to this church. "The relics of St. Stephen were preserved at Constantinople, whither they had been transported from Jerusalem by the Empress Eudoxia, wife of Theodosius II. Hearing that her daughter, Eudoxia, wife of Valentinian II., Emperor of the West, was afflicted with a devil, she begged her to come to Constantinople, that her demon might be driven out by the touch of the relics. The younger Eudoxia wished to comply, but the devil refused to leave her unless St. Stephen was brought to Rome. An agreement was therefore made that the relics of St. Stephen should be exchanged for those of St. Laurence. St. Stephen arrived, and the Empress was immediately relieved of her devil; but when the persons who had brought the relics of St. Stephen from Constantinople were about to take those of St. Laurence back with them, they all fell down dead! Pope Pelagius prayed for their restoration to life, which was granted for a short time, to prove the efficacy of prayer, but they all died again ten days later! Thus the Romans knew that it would be criminal to fulfil their promise, and part with the relics of St. Laurence, and the bodies of the two martyrs were laid in the same sarcophagus." And thus we know how much more the Romans think of relics than of honor and truth. "It is related that when they opened the sarcophagus, and lowered into it the body of St. Stephen, St. Laurence moved on one side, giving the place of honor on the right hand to St. Stephen; hence, the common people of Rome have conferred on St. Laurence the title of 'Il cortese Spagnuolo'—the courteous Spaniard."

Another series of these pictures in the portico represents the story of a sacristan who, coming to pray in this church before day, found it filled with worshippers, and was told by St. Laurence himself that they were the Apostle Peter, the first martyr, Stephen, and other apostles, martyrs and virgins from paradise, and was ordered to go and tell the Pope what he had seen, and bid him come and celebrate a solemn mass. The sacristan objected that the Pope would not believe him, and asked for some visible sign. Then St. Laurence ungirt his robe and gave him his girdle. When the Pope was accompanying him back to the basilica they met a funeral procession. To test the powers of the girdle, the Pope laid it on the bier, and at once the dead arose and walked.

That is not the only miracle of resurrection offered to our credulity by these ecclesiastical legends. The three principal frescoes in the chapter house of the church of St. Sisto, recently painted by the Padre Besson, represent three miracles of St. Dominic—in each case of raising from the dead—the subjects being a mason who had fallen from a scaffold when building this monastery, a child, and the young Lord Napoleone Orsini, who had been thrown from his horse and instantly killed, and who was brought to life by St. Dominic on this spot, as is further commemorated by an inscription on the wall. But miracles were nothing uncommon in the history of the founder of the powerful Dominican Order. In the refectory of St. Marco, at Florence, we had seen the fine fresco which represents the miraculous provision made for him and his forty friars at a time of scarcity by two angels. The refectory in which this miracle took place is at the Church of St. Sabina, on the Aventine, in Rome; but there are three other things at this church which interested us hardly less than the scene of that miracle. One of them is the huge, pumpkin-shaped, black stone, two or three times as big as a man's head, which the devil is said to have hurled at St. Dominic one day when he found him lying prostrate in prayer. This stone is the most conspicuous object in the church, being set up on a pillar about three feet high, right in the middle of the nave. Not far away is the marble slab on which the saint was lying at the time that the formidable missile was thrown. The adversary's aim was not good, and the saint was not harmed. The second thing of chief interest here is the Chapel of the Rosary, at the other end of the same aisle in which the marble slab lies, built on the very spot where St. Dominic had the vision in which he received the rosary from the hands of the Virgin. The supernatural gift is commemorated in a beautiful painting by Sassoferato. It is hardly necessary to explain to any of my readers that a rosary is a string of beads used by Roman Catholics to keep the count of the number of Pater-nosters and Ave-Marias which they repeat, and that this manner of "vain repetitions" was first used by the Dominicans among Roman Catholics, though the custom was really borrowed from the Mohammedans and Brahmins, who still use rosaries. The third object is the famous orange tree, now six hundred and seventy years old, which is said to have been brought from Spain and planted in the court here by St. Dominic himself, orange trees having been unknown in Rome before that time, and "which still lives, and is firmly believed to flourish or fail with the fortunes of the Dominican Order." Ladies are not allowed to approach this tree, so, as there were ladies in our party, we all contented ourselves with a look at it through a window. Hard by, of course, there is a room where things are sold to pilgrims and visitors. There we bought a rosary, the beads of which are made of the fruit of the plant called the Thorn of Christ, with the exception of the bead next to the cross, which is a tiny dried orange from St. Dominic's tree. Enclosed in the cross are a little piece of the wood of the tree, and some earth from the catacombs where the bodies of Sts. Peter and Paul, and of the holy virgin martyrs, Sts. Agnes and Cecilia, reposed for some time. The printed leaflet which accompanies our purchase tells us that "these rosaries, when sold or ordered, are blessed and enriched with the indulgences of the Rosary Confraternity and the papal blessing. When blessed they may be distributed; but if resold they lose all the indulgences." (Italics ours.)

Still another relic of great interest in this convent of St. Sabina is the crucifix of Michele Ghislieri (afterwards Pope Pius V.). "One day, as Ghislieri was about to kiss his crucifix, in the eagerness of prayer, the image of Christ, says the legend, retired of its own accord from his touch, for it had been poisoned by an enemy, and a kiss would have been death."

In the Church of St. Gregory, on the Cœlian Hill, the thing that interested us most was the picture by Badalocchi, "commemorating a miracle on this spot, when, at the moment of elevation, the Host is said to have bled in the hands of St. Gregory, to convince an unbeliever of the truth of transubstantiation." This is the same Gregory who presented certain foreign ambassadors with a handful of earth from the arena of the Coliseum as a relic for their sovereigns, so many martyrs having suffered death there, and "upon their receiving the gift with disrespect, he pressed it, when blood flowed from the soil."

Not far from the Church of St. Gregory we were shown the hermitage where St. Giovanni de Matha lived. "Before he came to reside here he had been miraculously brought from Tunis (whither he had gone on a mission) to Ostia, in a boat without helm or sail, in which he knelt without ceasing before the crucifix throughout the whole of his voyage!"

Time would fail me to tell of the miraculous surgical operation performed by Sts. Cosmo and Damian upon a man who was praying in the church dedicated to them, and who had a diseased leg amputated without pain by the good saints while he slept; and not only so, but had a sound leg, which they had taken from the body of a man just buried, substituted for the diseased one. Nor can I dwell on the miraculous blindness with which the guard sent to seize Pope St. Martin I. was stricken the moment he caught sight of the pontiff in St. Maria Maggiore, or the miraculous tears shed by an image of the Virgin attached to a neighboring wall when she saw a cruel murder committed in the street below, or the madonnas and crucifixes that spoke to saints on various occasions. One of these, however, is too significant to be omitted altogether. There is in the Church of St. Agostino a sculptured image of the Madonna and child. "It is not long since the report was spread that one day a poor woman called upon this image of the Madonna for help; it began to speak, and replied, 'If I had only something, then I could help thee, but I myself am so poor!' This story was circulated, and very soon throngs of credulous people hastened hither to kiss the foot of the Madonna, and to present her with all kinds of gifts." (Italics mine.)

The evil methods employed at various times to replenish the papal treasury are known to all readers of history. The best known, perhaps, is the shameless traffic in indulgences by Tetzel, which helped to precipitate the Reformation. Hare closes his account of the execution of Beatrice Cenci for complicity in the murder of her father with the statement that "sympathy will always follow one who sinned under the most terrible of provocations, and whose cruel death was due to the avarice of Clement VIII. for the riches which the church acquired by the confiscation of the Cenci property," and cites the petition of Gaspare Guizza (1601), in which he claims a reward from the Pope for his service in apprehending one of the assassins of Francesco Cenci, on the ground that thus "the other accomplices and their confessions were secured, and so many thousands of crowns brought into the papal treasury." The venality of Pope Alexander VI., Rodrigo Borgia (1492-1503), "the wicked and avaricious father of Cæsar and Lucretia, who is believed to have died of the poison which he intended for one of his cardinals," is thus hit off by Pasquino:

Of Innocent X. (1644-'55), Pasquino says, "Magis amat Olympiam quam Olympium," referring to the shameful relations existing between this Pope and his avaricious sister-in-law, Olympia Maidalchini, who made it her business to secure the profits of the papacy in hard cash. Trollope, in his Life of Olympia, says: "No appointment to office of any kind was made except in consideration of a proportionable sum paid down into her own coffers. This often amounted to three or four years' revenue of the place to be granted. Bishoprics and benefices were sold as fast as they became vacant. One story is told of an unlucky disciple of Simon, who in treating with the Pope for a valuable see, just fallen vacant, and hearing from her a price at which it might be his, far exceeding all he could command, persuaded the members of his family to sell all they had for the purpose of making this profitable investment. The price was paid, and the bishopric was given him, but, with a fearful resemblance to the case of Ananias, he died within the year, and his ruined family saw the see a second time sold by the insatiable and incorrigible Olympia.... During the last year of Innocent's life, Olympia literally hardly ever quitted him. Once a week, we read, she left the Vatican, secretly by night, accompanied by several porters carrying sacks of coins, the proceeds of the week's extortions and sales, to her own palace. And during these short absences she used to lock the Pope into his chamber, and take the key with her!" She finally "deserted him on his death-bed, making off with the accumulated spoils of his ten years' papacy, which enabled her son, Don Camillo, to build the Palazzo Doria Pamfili, in the Corso, and the beautiful Villa Doria Pamfili," west of the Janiculan Hill. This villa, with its casino, garden, lake, fountain, pine-shaded lawns and woods, and its fine view of St. Peter's standing out against the green Campagna beyond, and the blue Sabine mountains in the distance, is to this day one of the loveliest villas in Italy, and the favorite resort of the latter-day Romans and visitors to their city on the two afternoons of the week on which it is open to pedestrians and two-horse carriages.

The notorious Simony practiced by the popes, in which, as we have just seen, Olympia became such an adept, gave rise to the biting Latin couplet—

Some of the modern methods of making use of the Pope for purposes of gain are less objectionable than those of Olympia. Dr. Alexander Robertson, in his Roman Catholic Church in Italy, just published, says: "One of the very latest novelties of the 'Pope's Shop' is a penny-in-the-slot blessing machine. Specimens of this were lately to be seen in the Corso, Rome, about half way between the Piazza Colonna and the Piazza del Popolo. A penny is dropped into it. The cinematograph, or wheel of life, goes round, when, lo! there appears a long procession of richly clothed cardinals and monsignori, and then the Pope in a sedan chair, accompanied by his Swiss Guards. As he is carried past the spectator, he turns towards the window of his chair, a smile overspreads his face, he raises his hands, and gives his blessing. On these machines there is an inscription to the effect that the blessing thus given and received is equivalent to that given by the Pope in person in St. Peter's. Truly a novel way of turning an honest penny!" We hear that a rash churchman, not liking the facts just stated, undertook to deny them in the public prints, when up spoke some English gentlemen, who had been in Rome recently, and bowled the churchman over with the statement that they had themselves seen this blessing machine on the Corso.

One never touches this subject of the vast wealth of the papacy without calling to mind the well-known rejoinder of the great theologian, Thomas Aquinas, when the Pope was showing him all his money and riches, and said, "You see, Thomas, the church cannot now say what it said in early times, 'Silver and gold have I none.'" "No," answered Aquinas, "nor can it say, 'Rise up and walk'" (Acts iii. 6). This loss of spiritual power, this loss of ability to minister salvation to others, is one of the most melancholy results of the corruption of the papacy.

Dr. Alexander Robertson, in his recent book on The Roman Catholic Church in Italy, which has received the hearty approval of the King of Italy and his Prime Minister, says: "There are few, I daresay, who have looked into the history of the popes, no matter what their religious faith may be, who will not agree with me when I say that it does not afford pleasant reading. One's intellect rebels against their preposterous claims and pretensions, and one's moral sense against their character and lives. Amongst them there were some good men, some learned men, and some really able men; but, taking them all in all, they were, beyond doubt, amongst the lowest class of men to be found on the pages of history. To wade through their lives is to cross a pestiferous moral swamp of worldliness, simony, nepotism, concubinage, personal animosities, sanguinary feuds, forged decretals, plunderings, poisonings, assassinations, massacres, death." [17]

One may smile at such papal peccadilloes as the vanity of Paul II., who was chiefly remarkable for his personal beauty, and was so vain of his appearance that, when he was elected Pope, he wished to take the name of Formosus. One may be amused at the intense self-esteem of Urban VIII., of whose spoliation of ancient Rome Pasquino says, "Quod non fecerunt barbari, fecerunt Barberini," and who, in the Barberini palace, had the Virgin and angels represented as bringing in the ornaments of the papacy at his coronation, and in another room a number of the Barberini bees (the family crest) flocking against the sun, and eclipsing it—to symbolize the splendor of the family. But our feeling changes when we read that "he issued a bull by which the name, estates and privileges of his house might pass to any living male descendant, legitimate or illegitimate, whether child of prince or priest," lest the family of Barberini might become absorbed in that of Colonna. And we do not go far in our reading about such popes before the feeling of amusement yields to one of sadness, indignation and horror. We need not insist upon the story of the female Pope Joan, who is said to have secured her election to the papal throne disguised as a man, and to have reigned two years as John VIII., and then to have died a shameful death; for, notwithstanding the indisputable fact that till 1600 her head was included among the terra cotta representations of the other popes in the Cathedral of Sienna, and was inscribed "Johannes VIII., Femina de Anglia," and that it was then changed into a head of Pope Zacharias by the Grand Duke, at the request of Pope Clement VIII., the story is now generally discredited. But there are many other facts, established beyond controversy, which explain fully the feeling of the great majority of the Italian people and the verdict of the accredited historians of the world. When the penitential Pope, Adrian VI. (1522-'23), died of drinking too much beer, "the house of his physician was hung with garlands by midnight revellers, and decorated with the inscription, Liberatori Patriæ, S. P. Q. R.'" The nepotism of the learned, brilliant and witty Paul III. "induced him to form Parma into a duchy for his natural son Pierluigui, to build the Farnese Palace, and to marry his grandson Ottavio to Marguerite, natural daughter of Charles V." John XII., the first Pope who took a new name, "scandalized Christendom by a life of murder, robbery, adultery and incest." Of the tombs of the eighty-seven popes who were buried in the old basilica of St. Peter's, only two were replaced when the present building was erected, those of the two popes who lived in the time and excited the indignation of Savonarola—"Sixtus IV., with whose cordial concurrence the assassination of Lorenzo de' Medici was attempted, and Innocent VIII., the main object of whose policy was to secure place and power for his illegitimate children," sixteen in number, and who is represented on his tomb as holding in his hand the spear of "St. Longinus," which had pierced the side of Christ. This spear was sent to Innocent VIII. by the Sultan Bajazet, nearly fifteen hundred years after the crucifixion, and, as we have already seen, is now preserved in St. Peter's as one of its four chief relics. Guicciardini says of the death of Alexander VI.: "All Rome ran with indescribable gladness to visit the corpse. Men could not satiate their eyes with feeding on the carcase of the serpent who, by his unbounded ambition and pestiferous perfidy, by every demonstration of horrible cruelty, monstrous lust and unheard-of avarice, selling without distinction things sacred and profane, had filled the world with venom."

"Pope Paul V. granted dispensations and pensions to any persons who would assassinate Fra Paolo Sarpi; Pope Pius V. offered, as Mr. Froude tells us, 'remission of sin to them and their heirs, with annuities, honors and promotions, to any cook, brewer, baker, vintner, physician, grocer, surgeon, or others,' who would make away with Queen Elizabeth; and Pope Gregory XIII. offered a high place in heaven to any one who would murder the Prince of Orange; and the poor wretch, Balthazar Gerard, who did the infamous deed, actually told his judges 'that he would soon be a saint in heaven, and would have the first place there next to God,' whilst his family received a patent of nobility, and entered into the possession of the estate of the Prince in the Franche Comté—rewards promised for the commission of the crime by Cardinal Granvelle." (Dr. Alexander Robertson's Roman Catholic Church in Italy, p. 94.)

These are some of the things that help to explain not only the tone of the pasquinades, not only the indictments of the world's leading historians, which are to be presently cited, but also the present attitude of something like twenty millions of the thirty-odd millions of Italy's inhabitants, who have forsaken the church altogether.

What idea the people have of the Jesuits in particular is well shown by the legend connected with the Piazza del Gesu, the great open space in front of the Jesuit church, which is considered the windiest place in Rome. The story is that the devil and the wind were one day taking a walk together. "When they came to this square, the devil, who seemed to be very devout, said to the wind, 'Just wait a minute, mio caro, while I go into this church.' So the wind promised, and the devil went into the Gesu, and has never come out again—and the wind is blowing about in the Piazza del Gesu to this day."

One of the interesting objects in Rome is a mutilated statue called Pasquino, which stands at the corner of the Orsini Palace, one of the most central and public places in the city. The reason for the interest attaching to this almost shapeless piece of marble is that for centuries it was used for placarding those satires upon the popes which, by their exceeding cleverness and biting truth, have made the name of pasquinade famous the world over. No squib that was ever affixed to that column had a keener edge than the one known as "The Antithesis of Christ," which appeared at the beginning of the sixteenth century, and runs as follows:

Christ said, "My kingdom is not of this world."
The Pope conquers cities by force.

Christ had a crown of thorns:
The Pope wears a triple diadem.

Christ washed the feet of his disciples:
The Pope has his kissed by kings.

Christ paid tribute:
The Pope takes it.

Christ fed the sheep:
The Pope wishes to be master of the world.

Christ carried on his shoulders the cross:
The Pope is carried on the shoulders of his servants in liveries of gold.

Christ despised riches:
The Pope has no other passion than for gold.

Christ drove out the merchants from the temple:
The Pope welcomes them.

Christ preached peace:
The Pope is the torch of war.

Christ was meekness:
The Pope is pride personified.

Christ promulgated the laws that the Pope tramples under foot.

"But," some one may say, "the pasquinades were written long ago, and, while they are doubtless true descriptions of the papacy of the past, surely no one would take the same view now." For answer I may quote the statement of Dr. Raffaelle Mariano, Professor of Philosophy in the University of Naples, who is not a Protestant, but, as he tells us, was "born in the Roman Catholic Church," and was "a fervent Catholic from infancy." Speaking of the vast difference which he found between the teachings of the church and those of the New Testament as to what is necessary to salvation, he says, "Therefore, Roman Catholicism is not only not Christianity, but it is the very antithesis of Christianity," a statement every whit as strong as Pasquino's. Some American Protestants, especially those who have personal friends in the Roman Catholic Church whom they honor and love—and there are many people in that church who are richly worthy of honor and love, and who do not approve of the evils we have been describing any more than we do—are sometimes disposed to think that Protestant writers are too severe in their condemnation of the Romish Church as a system. A visit to Italy, the centre of Romanism, would quickly disabuse these overcharitable Protestants of that impression. We have all read of such things as are described above in connection with the relics and legends, but they seem far away and unreal, and almost impossible, until we come to the home of Romanism and find them all around us. Then it ceases to surprise us that so large a proportion of the most intelligent men in Italy occupy a position of indifference and unbelief, or hostility and scorn, towards the Christian religion, for Romanism is the only Christianity that most of them know. Let it be remembered, too, that the King, able, conscientious, patriotic, devoted to the welfare of his people, and the Prime Minister, Zanardelli, like his predecessor, Crispi, and the members of Parliament, and the army and navy, and the whole government which has given Italy such wonderful stability and prosperity since the overthrow of the papal dominion and opened before the nation a future of so much promise, are all standing aloof from the Pope. Let any one see one of the great pilgrimages from every part of the country to the tomb of Victor Emmanuel, who freed Italy, as we saw it the other day, and observe the immense popularity of the great liberator and his successors of the house of Savoy, and let him note the firm opposition of Italy's leading men to the papacy, and he will see that the view of the Pope which the secular newspapers so persistently seek to force upon the people of the English-speaking world simply cannot be that of the thoughtful men of Italy.

By the way, I see plenty of women confessing to the priests, but very, very few men. The textbook used in the training of priests as father-confessors, and the standard work of the church on that subject, approved by Pope Leo XIII., is Liguori's Moral Philosophy. "On July 14, 1901, the Asino, a daily newspaper published in Rome, printed in its columns, and also in the form of large bills, which it caused to be posted up in public places in the chief cities of Italy, a challenge offering one thousand francs to any Roman Catholic newspaper which would have the courage to print the Latin text, with an Italian translation, of two passages in Liguori's book, which it specified. The challenge was never taken up, and it never will be, for any one daring to publish the passages named would certainly be prosecuted for outraging public decency" (Dr. Alexander Robertson, Roman Catholic Church in Italy, p. 149). Hare says, "It was a curious characteristic of the laxity of morals in the time of Julius II. (1503-'13), that her friends did not hesitate to bury the famous Aspasia of that age in this church (St. Gregorio), and to inscribe upon her tomb: 'Imperia, cortisana Romana, quæ digna tanto nomine, raræ inter homines formæ specimen dedit.'... But this monument has now been removed." [18]

Most of the facts above cited, especially those concerning the legends and the Popes, except where specific acknowledgment is made to other writers, have been drawn from Hare's invaluable Walks in Rome. Let us conclude the list with the testimonies of a few eminent men of unimpeachable competence and veracity as to the character and influence of the Roman Catholic Church as a system.

In the first chapter of his History of England, Lord Macaulay says: "From the time when the barbarians overran the Western Empire to the time of the revival of letters, the influence of the Church of Rome had been generally favorable to science, to civilization, to good government. But during the last three centuries, to stunt the growth of the human mind has been her chief object. Throughout Christendom, whatever advance has been made in knowledge, in freedom, in wealth, and in the arts of life, has been made in spite of her, and has everywhere been in inverse proportion to her power. The loveliest and most fertile provinces of Europe have, under her rule, been sunk in poverty, in political servitude, and in intellectual torpor, while Protestant countries, once proverbial for sterility and barbarism, have been turned by skill and industry into gardens, and can boast of a long list of heroes and statesmen, philosophers and poets. Whoever, knowing what Italy and Scotland naturally are, and what, four hundred years ago, they actually were, shall now compare the country round Rome with the country round Edinburgh, will be able to form some judgment as to the tendency of papal domination. The descent of Spain, once the first among the monarchies, to the lowest depths of degradation, the elevation of Holland, in spite of many natural disadvantages, to a position such as no commonwealth so small has ever reached, teach the same lesson. Whoever passes in Germany from a Roman Catholic to a Protestant principality, in Switzerland from a Roman Catholic to a Protestant canton, in Ireland from a Roman Catholic to a Protestant county, finds that he has passed from a lower to a higher grade of civilization. On the other side of the Atlantic the same law prevails. The Protestants of the United States have left far behind them the Roman Catholics of Mexico, Peru and Brazil. The Roman Catholics of Lower Canada remain inert, while the whole continent round them is in a ferment with Protestant activity and enterprise. The French have doubtless shown an energy and intelligence which, even when misdirected, have justly entitled them to be called a great people. But this apparent exception, when examined, will be found to confirm the rule, for in no country that is called Roman Catholic has the Roman Catholic Church, during several generations, possessed so little authority as in France."

Charles Dickens, in a letter written from Switzerland, in 1845, to his friend and biographer, Forster, says: "In the Simplon, hard by here, where (at the bridge of St. Maurice over the Rhone) the Protestant canton ends and a Catholic canton begins, you might separate two perfectly distinct and different conditions of humanity by drawing a line with your stick in the dust on the ground. On the Protestant side—neatness, cheerfulness, industry, education, continued aspiration, at least, after better things. On the Catholic side—dirt, disease, ignorance, squalor and misery. I have so constantly observed the like of this since I came abroad that I have a sad misgiving that the religion of Ireland lies at the root of all its sorrows." Writing from Genoa, in 1846, Dickens says, "If I were a Swiss, with a hundred thousand pounds, I would be as steady against the Catholic canons and the propagation of Jesuitism as any Radical among them; believing the dissemination of Catholicity to be the most horrible means of political and social degradation left in the world."

In connection with Dickens' remark about Ireland, we may quote the remarkable statement of Mr. Michael McCarthy, himself a Roman Catholic, in his book, Five Years in Ireland, pp. 65 and 66, where, after describing the welcome of the Belfast Corporation to Lord Cadogan on his first visit, in 1895, to the Protestant North of Ireland, and their glowing statements about the peaceful and prosperous condition of their city and district, he contrasts this happy condition with the unhappy state of the "rest of Ireland," meaning by that the Roman Catholic parts. "In the rest of Ireland there is no social or industrial progress to record. The man who would say of it that it was 'progressing and prospering,' or that 'its work people were fully employed,' or that there existed 'a continued development of its industries,' or that its towns 'had increased in value and population,' would be set down as a madman. It is in this seven-eighths of Ireland that the growing and great organization of the Catholic Church has taken root."

Mr. Gladstone, in an article on "Italy and her Church," in the Church Quarterly Review for October, 1875, says: "Profligacy, corruption and ambition, continued for ages, unitedly and severally, their destructive work upon the country, through the Curia and the papal chair; and in doing it they of course have heavily tainted the faith of which that chair was the guardian." Elsewhere he says, "There has never been any more cunning blade devised against the freedom, the virtue and the happiness of a people than Romanism."

Nathaniel Hawthorne, in his Marble Faun, which, by the way, contains the most charming of all the descriptive writing about Rome, put the case none too strongly when he spoke of being "disgusted with the pretense of holiness and the reality of nastiness, each equally omnipresent" in the city of the popes. The new government has wrought a great change in this respect, and Rome is in many parts of it now quite a clean city.

There, then, are the facts as to the influence of the Roman Catholic Church. I am, of course, very far from saying that there are no good people in that church. As I have already stated, I believe that there are many good people in it, but my own observation has satisfied me that the verdict of history as to the baleful influence of the system is absolutely correct.

"What, then," some one may ask, "do the good people in that church think of all the immoralities and frauds that it has condoned and fostered?" The answer is that the really good people in that church must grieve over them and deplore them just as the good people in other churches do.

P. S.—It is generally believed, and apparently with good reason, that the new Pope, Pius X., is a better man than many of his predecessors, and that he cannot be charged with the immoralities or the ambition and avarice which characterized them. Let us hope that he will have the courage to attempt some real reform in the lives of many of his clergy.

CHAPTER XXXII.

Well, we have seen the Pope. Hearing that a body of Italian pilgrims were to be received by the pontiff at the Vatican, and having assured ourselves that the function was one which would involve no official recognition of the Pope on our part, and that we should be merely Protestant spectators, we gladly accepted the offer of tickets for the audience, and, supposing in our simplicity that, as the reception was set for noon, we should be sufficiently early if we went at eleven o'clock, we drove up to the main entrance of the Vatican at that hour. There was a great throng of people about the door, but our tickets obtained for us immediate entrance along with a stream of other ladies and gentlemen. The regulation attire for these functions is full evening dress for gentlemen, while ladies wear black, with no hat, but with a lace mantilla on the head. We first passed through a double line of the famous Swiss Guards, in their extraordinary uniform of crimson, yellow and black, designed by no less a person than Michael Angelo. Then we were shown up the great stairway, and passing through a couple of large rooms, one of which was adorned with Raphael's frescoes, we found ourselves at the entrance of a long and spacious hall, already densely crowded, as it seemed to us, but with a space kept open down the centre between the rows of seats on either side. Looking down this open space, we could see at the other end, on a slightly raised platform, the pontifical throne, upholstered in red velvet, with golden back and arms, effectively set in the midst of crimson hangings, which swept in rich masses from the lofty ceiling to the floor. Preceded by guards, we travelled the whole length of the hall, and found, to our great gratification, that our seats were quite close to the throne, so that we had an excellent position for seeing and hearing all that was going on. We soon noticed that many of the hundreds of people present, like some of us, had not observed the regulations as to dress. Many others had. Mingled with the soberer attire of the spectators, pilgrims and priests, we saw now and then a violet cassock, as one bishop after another drifted in. Apart from these vestments, there was no semblance of a religious gathering. It was more like a social function, and the people were chatting gaily, the jolliest and noisiest crowd being a group of young seminarians, prospective priests, who occupied the same bench with us and the two or three nearest to it. After we had been there an hour the great clock of St. Peter's struck twelve. Instantly all the noisy young seminarians rose to their feet and began to recite, in a lower, humming tone, their Ave-Marias and Pater-Nosters. As soon as the reciting and counting of beads was over, as it was in a minute, they struck in again with their gay conversation. We had plenty of time to take it all in. The Pope is always late, and it was an hour after the time fixed for the audience when he appeared; but at last he did, and instantly everybody, men and women, sprang up on the benches and chairs, frantically waving their handkerchiefs and shouting at the top of their voices, "Evviva il Papa-Re! Evviva il Papa-Re!"—"Long live the Pope-King! Long live the Pope-King!"—the ablest performer in this part of the ceremony being a leather-lunged young priest at my elbow, with a voice as powerful and persistent as that of a hungry calf, and who made known his desire for the restoration of the temporal power to the Pope with such energy that the perspiration rolled down his fat face in shining rivulets. I never heard anything like it except in a political convention or a stock exchange. Accompanied by the Noble Guard, a body of picked men renowned for their superb physique and clad in resplendent uniform, the Holy Father was borne in on an arm-chair, carried by twelve men, also in uniform. Occasionally he would rise to his feet with evident effort, leaning on, or rather grasping, one arm of his chair, and bless the people he was passing, with two fingers outstretched in the familiar attitude that we have seen in the pictures. At such times the furious acclamations, and waving of handkerchiefs, and clapping of hands, would be redoubled. He passed within arm's length of us, a little knot of Protestants, silent amid the uproar. It was a pitiful spectacle. A pallid, feeble, tottering old man, with slender, shrunken neck, and excessively sharp and prominent features, nose and chin almost meeting—we now understood Zola's description: "The simious ugliness of his face, the largeness of his nose, the long slit of his mouth, the hugeness of his ears, the conflicting jumble of his withered features." But out of this waxen face peered a pair of brilliant dark eyes, the only sign of real vitality about him. When he had been carefully lowered by the chair-bearers, and had taken his throne on the platform, with his attendants ranged round him, the spokesman of the pilgrims came forward and read an address, to which the Pope's amanuensis, standing by his side, read a brief reply. Then the Pope pronounced the benediction in a surprisingly clear voice, after which the pilgrims were introduced individually, not all of them, but a certain number of representative persons among them. These all knelt and kissed his hand. When this ceremony was over the audience closed, and the Pontiff was borne out as he came in, amid wild applause.

On the third of March, while I was in Egypt, our party in Rome saw a much more imposing ceremony than the one I have just described. Every one has noticed how numerous the papal jubilees have been during the last quarter of a century, every year or so seeing the celebration of some jubilee of the Pope's official life. In twenty-one years he has had no less than fourteen of them. Their frequency should not surprise us when we remember that each of them turns a vast stream of gifts and money into the papal treasury from every part of the world. One of my correspondents writes me that for the celebration of March 3rd both sides of the nave of St. Peter's were lined with pens or boxes, all free except those near the high altar, and in the middle of the nave a passage about fifteen feet wide was railed off for the procession. "We drove to St. Peter's through a pouring rain about 7:45 A. M. The building was already packed with people. It is estimated that there were fifty thousand of us by eleven o'clock. We walked down the left aisle and took our position at the base of a pillar, where we could see the Pope as he entered from the right aisle. There we waited from eight o'clock till after eleven. He was an hour late. Finally, we heard the silver trumpets sounding from the gallery in the dome. His guards preceded him, and other attendants bearing swords, maces and a cross. The caps indicating the offices he filled before he became Pope were carried on cushions by three cardinals. He was himself carried on the shoulders of twelve men, dressed in rich red costumes. The Pope sat in his red and gold chair, richly robed in white satin embroidered with gold. He wore a crown of the same materials, white silk mits, and a large ring. When he entered the nave he stood and blessed the people, holding up two fingers. The music was fine. We heard the singing as it came nearer and nearer, but as soon as the Pope appeared the people broke into shouts, waving handkerchiefs, and making so much noise that we could no longer hear the music. We left after five hours."

The location of our rooms was advantageous in many other respects. They were high up in the southwestern corner of a tall building on the Pincian Hill, so high that we could look clear across the city to the Sabine Mountains. As soon as the sun rose over the eastern hills he looked cheerily into our windows, and continued his genial companionship with us till he sank into the Mediterranean at night. We had selected the rooms with a view to this particularly, remembering the Italian proverb that "When the sun goes out of the window, the doctor comes in at the door." A room on the north side of a building should never be taken. The Roman winter is short but sharp. We could see snow on the mountains during nearly the whole of our stay, which in the case of the majority of us was five months. Then, too, we were close to the city wall, and to the gate which led out into the lovely Borghese Gardens, "whose wooded and flowery lawns are more beautiful than the finest English park scenery," where "the stone pines lift their dense clumps of branches upon a slender length of stem, so high that they look like green islands in the air, flinging down a shadow upon the turf so far off that you scarcely know which tree made it"; where there are "avenues of cypress, resembling dark flames of huge funeral candles, which spread dusk and twilight round about them, instead of cheerful radiance"; and where ancient and majestic ilex trees "lean over the green turf in ponderous grace.... Never was there a more venerable quietude than that which sleeps among their sheltering boughs; never a sweeter sunshine than that which gladdens the gentle gloom which these leafy patriarchs strive to diffuse over the swelling and subsiding lawns." Moreover, our quarters were within so short a walk of the park on the Pincio (where the band plays every afternoon, and where all Rome drives round and round the little circle at the top), and of the terrace of the Villa Medici, that we were drawn thither day after day to watch the picturesque groups of models lounging in the wintry sun on the great flight of steps that lead from the Church of Trinita de' Monti down to the Piazza di Spagna, to muse over the Eternal City spread out below us, with the dome of St. Peter's, in the distance, standing out against a sky of gold, and, above all, to watch "the light that broods over the fallen sun." Nowhere in the world, at least so far as my observation of it extends, is this wonderful glow which suffuses all the western sky with crimson, orange and violet lights after the sun goes down—nowhere else is this afterglow at once so rich and so delicate as at Rome.