University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER 17

Rome

My Dear Mother: I have so many thoughts clamoring for utterance, how shall I begin?

The road from Florence was long, yet so filled with delight, I would not shorten it, not by even one mile! Do you think my ancestor, when, with Napoleon he entered the Holy City, experienced half the thrills, that this day have been mine? It is like returning home after a long sojourn in the country of strangers, this city does not belong to Italy, it is the heritage of the Christian world! It is mine, it is yours, it belongs to the humblest of the human race!

I always imagined Rome as in the very midst of fruitful vineyards and fair gardens, thus the vast stretches of parched-looking grass, drew from me many an exclamation. It looks like Oklahoma, with the numerous herds of browsing cattle, and the hay makers. The cattle are fierce in appearance, having immense horns, I said, surely they are the forefathers of the Texas stock. Ed insisted that they were the sacred cattle of the circus! The hay-makers were not over-working, I assure you, the children were playing the women chatting and the men sleeping, or chewing straws and perhaps, thinking the "great thoughts" I wrote of from Florence, do you think? All of us were early watching for the dome of St. Peter's, I am quite sure I saw it before Ed did yet he insists that to him belongs the honor. A thunderstorm was brewing when we reached the station, and we were doubly glad to see the closed cabs awaiting us. We were driven to the Hotel Milano, on the Piazza Monte cetorio, near to the heart of modern Rome and yet within easy distance of the principal points of interest. Cabs are so cheap in this city we do not expect to walk, so declares my better half. It is said that this hotel is frequented by members of Parliament, as it is on the square containing the house; I do not doubt that statement. The afternoon was before us with nothing planned, our good angel Mr. B. came to the rescue with an offer to act as cicerone and take us to the Catacombs of St. Calixtus.

Cabs were quickly called and we commenced one of the most pleasant afternoons of the trip; Mr. B. is an ideal guide, not too loquacious, yet ready to vouchsafe any information desired. We stopped first at the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, one of the eighty dedicated to the Virgin, and built on the spot selected by the Mother herself indicated to Pope Liberius by a fall of snow on the 5th of August!

In this is the miraculous picture of the Virgin, painted by St. Luke, and deeply venerated by all the faithful. There were many other things fully deserving of note, but Ed declares my letters to you will bankrupt him in postage, therefore I shall save a bit for conversation.

As we stood on the beautiful portico the storm broke in fury, then I sent my soul away back to pagan days, and it was easy to believe we were watching with bated breath the thunder bolts of Jupiter. It was soon ended and the sun tried to bid us be of good cheer. I am sure I cannot express the riot of my emotions when the Colosseum was before us, we did not tarry there but were soon on the Appian way, then I was a Roman Matron, watching the advance of the Emperor's cohorts, and my husband was a tribune with captives at his chariot wheels! I whispered this to Ed and he refused to be a Roman, saying he preferred twentieth century garments, the toga was so revealing! What do you think of that? We visited the little chapel, which marks the spot where Peter fleeing from Home met his Lord and said, "Quo Vadis Domine." We were shown a fac-simile of the original stone, bearing the miraculous foot-prints, it being kept in another church. Poor old Peter, how bitterly he must have wept over his cowardice, as he trudged back to receive his crown of martyrdom! This was our last stop until the Catacombs were reached, not because of lack of desire, but the afternoon was not elastic. The sun was bringing from the earth a myriad of sweet scents. When leaving the cabs we walked within the monastery grounds. The breeze was so fragrant, so clean and wholesome that I was glad of the time consumed in properly registering the party. It is a precaution taken to prevent the loss of a person below, without means of identification. As we were preparing to descend, a drunken American appeared and insisted upon joining us; Ed very diplomatically engaged him in conversation and convinced that the only way to see the Catacombs, unless burdened with a wife, was to go alone with a guide. The man was so pleased with the idea he asked Ed to negotiate for a Monk; a few words in French, and the last we saw of our countryman, a white-robed Monk was leading him off to first visit the monastery. We were given tapers and following a monk, with a flaming torch, we descended into the tombs, it was so damp and cold, our jackets were not too heavy. We have in our party a very young man from the state of New York, who is obsessed with the idea, that he will contract a disease over here and never again, see home and mother. The others do not spare him, hardly were we below, when Ed coughed and buttoned up his coat and said: "Here, Mr. B., fasten your coat, this air is dreadful; we are quite likely to have a chill when we leave this hole." The others were "on" and such coughing and complaining, the poor guide was quite bewildered and assured them there was little danger. The young fellow from New York was pale with fright, and would have gladly retreated could he have found his way. The bones of many have been removed and repose under altar stones in far countries, or else are scattered heaven knows where. I kept close to the Monk, his torch was so illuminating and his descriptions so satisfying; his English was perfect and his voice like a sweet-toned bell. The early Christians buried their dead for keeps, some of the tombs are intact, and present a formidable front, families evidently owned certain rooms, as the inscriptions show; just as we own cemetery lots. The guide informed us that it [sic] of dust or bits of bones from the Catacombs, unless with special permission.

I do not think we have in Tour No.--any souvenir fiends, they are all too well bred to act the part of vandals, as many tourists.

When we returned to the sun we purchased several rosaries from the little curio show owned by Monks, and we hope to have them blessed by the Holy Father and then we will give them to our friends.

We returned to the city by a different route, visiting two churches, St. Paul without the walls and St. Pietro in Vincoli. The first is a structure of imposing grandeur, looking more like a ball room than a church, adorned with pictures of all the Holy Church. It is modeled after the Forum of Trajan, the columns arranged in the self-same manner. It possesses a superb malachite altar, presented by the Czar of Russia, and a queer Byzantine Christ of great value, but I like our Lord, as western artists have depicted Him. I enjoyed seeing the Byzantine masterpiece, yet I do not long for a copy.

At St. Pietro in Vincoli's Mr. B. obtained for us a view of the chains of St. Peter, and after a long look at the Moses of Michael Angelo, we were ready to return to the Hotel Milano. Our cab stopped at the Collegio Romana, as Ed was anxious to leave the letter so kindly given us by our Rt. Rev. Bishop to Monsignor Kennedy. He was told to return in the morning. I do hope we can have the happiness of being received by the Holy Father, the days in Rome are so few, we are fearful it cannot be arranged.

After dinner Ed said: "A cab for us, and Rome under the arc-lights." You know Mother, this is our wedding anniversary and we wished a few hours--just we two. This has been an ideal celebration, breakfast in Florence, dinner in Rome! When the cab paused at the fountain of Trevi and I sat watching the antics of the numerous children, Ed presented me with a tiny package. I was greatly surprised, as I had assured him that this Roman holiday was sufficient for me, I found a cameo pin therein, a well-cut head of Dante. In the exuberance of my joy I almost hugged him beneath the glowing lights.

The streets were filled with people, passing to and fro, or sitting at the ever-present tables, partaking of liquid refreshments.

I longed to cross the Tiber and see St. Peter's, but Ed urged me to await the morning for my first impression. We may have courted illness by these hours of the night yet I can hardly think so, the air is so deliciously fresh, not damp, but cool and sweet, after the storms of the afternoon. The music on the Piazza has long since ceased yet I hear voices below me, the people are reluctant to concede the hours to slumber. I am restless, Mother mine, I feel too strongly, the magic of these hours, the martial strains of ancient Rome, still the lullaby of sleep. Good-bye until tomorrow.

July 28th

Mother, this is the hour when all sensible people enjoy a little sleep; Ed closed the shutters and left me to rest, but I decided I would find a conversation with you more satisfying. He is disturbing shop-keepers with a couple of young ladies of the party, who are as irrepressible as he is. Mother, do you not often feel like exclaiming at the number of things we do in one short day? I too, am astonished that we accomplish so much. I can only attribute it to the wonderful system employed by Cook and Sons, we do not lose a moment; we move with the regularity of a Convent school.

I awoke with the birds this morning and the streets looked so inviting, in the soft light, that I urged Ed to get up and go with me to visit churches. He refused, so I dressed and ventured forth alone. The streets were almost deserted, only a few laborers plodding to work, and a number of women, evidently going to or from the nearby churches. I found sextons sweeping and at side altars masses were being read, with few worshippers present; I did not tarry long, just using the sanctuaries as beads for my morning rosary! The thought struck me that the church of St. Lorenzo, containing Guido Reni's Crucifixion, must be within a short distance of our hotel, a look at my map of the city, and I was sure all I need do was walk down the Corso and there would be the desired basilica. I walked and walked, seeing a little girl before me I hastened to her and with my map, made her understand my wish. She gave instructions by gestures and I gaily proceeded, alas, if only Sister had been with me, you know how easily I can lose my way, so of course, I went far astray! This time, two women of the laboring class, were the only beings in sight. I accosted them, my English and my outspread map proved too much for them. I was in despair when a well-attired gentleman approached and very courteously inquired if he could be of any assistance. I poured fourth my tale, and he smilingly, offered to accompany me. Within a few moments I was before St. Lorenzo's. I looked everywhere for the painting, not in sight, only a heavy curtain above the main altar, hiding something from view. A kneeling Monk and the busy sexton were the only occupants, so I determined to interrupt the devotion of the priest; a whispered "Father" and his attention was mine. My me, his language was Italian, mine English. The conversation was low pitched, but animated, at last I thought of pantomime, a gesture, an imploring look, then "Guido Reni." Joy, he comprehended, he smiled, then hastened to pull a cord, and there was the masterpiece. After due contemplation of it, I approached to ask the fee charged, again was the kind father puzzled, yet only a moment then, he beckoned me to follow. We passed into a long corridor and just as I was wondering whether I was going to be presented to the Superior of the order, we entered a chapel or sacristy I know not, here he lighted a taper, unlocked a door beneath an altar and revealed to my astonished gaze the sacred treasure of this church, that is, the gridiron of St. Lorenzo and several other precious relics. When we returned to the main sanctuary I opened my purse and thus endeavored to make him understand my desire to pay him for the privileges accorded me. His face was so reproachful and I know he said: "Madam, I showed you those for the love of God and St. Lorenzo," So I closed my purse with heightened color, thanking him sincerely and left him to his interrupted devotions. I found my way to Hotel Milano without trouble, reaching it at seven o'clock. Mr. R. was awaiting me as I had agree to attend mass at the Church del Jesu with him this morning. We hailed a cab and soon arrived there. A mass was in progress in a little chapel dedicated to the Virgin.

The walls are hung with votive offerings of great value and the statue of our Lady is gorgeous without precious stones. This church is considered the richest in Rome, and from the display of jewels and cloth of gold hangings, I am quite ready to believe in its fabulous wealth. I was gratified by the reverence shown by Mr. R. I think I informed you in a previous letter, that he is a clergyman of the church of England; Ed thinks he is a man of fine character, so quiet and unassuming. When I told Ed of all I had seen this morning he regretted his sleepiness, and declared his intention to accompany me tomorrow. At nine-thirty we were off for the morning. Ed had asked the guide and Mr. R. to occupy the other seat in our cab, so we were quite sure of pleasant hours. We passed the Pantheon, once dedicated to all gods, now a Christian church and one of the best preserved Roman edifices. On the Piazza del Compidoglio we remained quite a while enjoying the view afforded of the ruins of Rome.

Proceeding to the Colosseum we were treated to a learned lecture; we lingered amid the ruins until the flight of time forced us to proceed. I was only reconciled to visiting St. John Lateran before St. Peter's by the knowledge that it was the oldest basilica, and also the guardian of Scala Sancta. Here were crowned the popes of Mother Church, until the day of Leo XIII. The treasures displayed are beyond price, containing the heads of St. Peter and St. Paul, and other relics too numerous to mention. The papal altar here, legend declares, contains a table once used by St. Peter when offering the sacrifice of the mass. The Scala Sancta is just across the way from St. John Lateran's and we paused there to watch the faithful painfully climbing upward, many praying audibly. Ed and I are going to ascend the Holy Sta[i]rs,[1] the last day of our visit here. On the return drive we visited the church of Santa Maria in Aracaeli erected on the spot, where it is said, the Virgin and child appeared to Augustus, thus causing him to refuse the divine honors offered by the Senate, and build here an altar to the heavenly apparition. Is it not a pretty legend? In this church is also kept the Santa Bambino, the wooden Christ Child, to which has been attributed many miracles. Ed is coming, I must cease. Mother I pity your struggles to decipher my hieroglyphics, they surely call for a Rosetta stone.

Evening

Ed succeeded in delivering his letter to Monsignor Kennedy and was promised an early reply. Our Roman again occupied our carriage. He deprecated the month chosen for our visit to Rome, saying the weather was so disagreeably warm. I hastened to assure him this was ideal; in Oklahoma we would now be panting for a breeze. We visited so many churches, so many monuments, so many ruins, I cannot find time to even cursorily mention them, in the few short hours before me. I have my note-book and post-cards, so do not fear, you will miss nothing! We left the carriages at the Palatine and walked amid the ruins, listening to the interesting explanations of the guide; we rebuilt the Rome of the Caesars; listened to the wild beasts in the Circus Maximus; heard the cries of tortured Christians in the Mamertine Prison. At this place we entered the carriages and were driven to the Baths of Caracalla. Much of it is an excellent state of preservation, here and there wild flowers are shyly peeping, as if to cover the ravages of time.

A wealth of roses, drooping from the broken walls, tempted us, and soon our hands were filled with exquisite blooms; as we were not arrested by porter, plucking flowers must be permissible.

Rome Continued

The Basilica of St. Cecilia is very attractive for its numerous relics of the Saint and its ancient date. It is said to be built over the ruins of her home, the cellars are shown beneath, also the bath-room, where it was vainly tried to suffocate her. There is a bit of fairy-land below the main edifice, an exquisite chapel, built in honor of the dear Saint by Cardinal Rampolla. It is fitted with modern electric lights so artistically arranged that it is a poem, a stream of heavenly harmony! I could have knelt there hours, steeping my soul in its beauty. When we visited the cellar Ed and Mr. R. found the air filled with noxious vapors and within a few moments the man from New York was white with fear, and saying: "Here, let us get out of this, I have had enough." Such coughing, you would have thought all the party influenza victims. The poor man turned to leave; I was so provoked I caught his arm and said: "Heavens, can't you see they are making fun of you? Do be a man, stay and turn the joke."

The fear of sickness and death was too deeply ingrained in him, he rushed past me!

This evening, at the suggestion of Mr. B., we were driven to the Pincio, and away up there viewed the mystic city far below, gleaming with her myriad lights. Ed smoked delightful black Italian cigars and talked with the driver while I leaned over the ramparts and dreamed. As the man's French was limited to a few words, his English conspicuous by its absence, and Ed's Italian vocabulary not extensive the conversation was not very profitable. I know he tried to show us the magnificent monuments erected to Victor Emmanuel and Cavour, but as we had been having a surfeit of the two we were not very enthusiastic. After leaving the Pinchio, we told him to drive in ancient Rome and in the half light, time turned backward. The Colosseum was in its prime, the golden house of Nero was there, palaces were peopled and temples lifted graceful spires heavenward. I like the up-hill and down of Rome, the turns and twists of the Tiber, the indolent air of the people, I know poverty exists, beggars are everywhere, yet to be poor does not appear so dreadful here, Nature tries so hard to compensate with her radiant sunshine, her soft breezes and her fragrant flowers.

Just below my balcony are two beggars counting the day's gain and laughing gaily. Thank heaven for the child-like nations; what a grumpy place this old world would be if all were Anglo-Saxons!

Good-night, my love to those precious boys; I wish they were here to amuse me with their artless chatter.

July 29th

This is the hour when all Rome is wrapped in slumber except a few shopkeepers, kept awake by irrepressible tourists, like my husband and Miss L. Although they were not cordially welcomed yesterday they are out today. We were down-stairs before the night clerk was relieved, and his expression of surprise was really comical. I know he called us names. It was worth the loss of sleep to first view St. Peter's, undisturbed by comments of tourists or words of guides. Mother, it is like an anthem, intoned by thousands of voices, in honor of our Lord of Host; it is a prayer in stone! I thought I was prepared for its magnitude, yet I was overwhelmed, not only by its vast proportions, but the harmony of detail. I felt that it was the embodiment of the faith of the ages! Mass was being offered at one of the numerous altars and we knelt with the few worshipers there and tried to forget the edifice in homage to the God it honored.

You may read of the glory of this, the largest Basilica in the world yet, when it is before you your amazement exceeds all bounds, words have been so inadequate to convey to you an impression of its grandeur. The morning was so ideal, we crossed the Tiber and drove to St. John's Lateran's to enjoy the awakening of the city. Meals are very informal in sunny Italy; eat when and where you please; houses are useful to sleep in and not always used for that! We saw men, women and children partaking of a frugal breakfast, in the streets or in doorways. I think the houses are cold and they seek the sunlight for warmth. The view of the Campagna and Sabine Hills from the steps of St. John Lateran's is very fine but we did not tarry long as we wished to reach the Pantheon before eight o'clock and thus obtain a glimpse of the Queen-Mother and King,[2] it was said that they would attend a memorial mass in that church at that hour. The streets were so crowded our cab was stopped several blocks away so we alighted and made our way on foot to the very guards. The Queen-Mother lacks the youthful figure of Alexandra of England and is not so beautiful as her portraits, yet her face is sweet and attractive. The King is handsome, in a foreign way, and does not appear so very small. We had excellent appetites for breakfast. Ed finds the coffee of very good quality everywhere, and I am learning to accept without comment the tea served.

I was called just now to receive a messenger from the Vatican; we are to be given an audience at "eleven and three quarters" tomorrow! The hours of the morning have been spent in St. Peter's and the Vatican. I was amused at the wrath shown by our guide when we paused before the tomb of a pope, adorned with two female figures of great beauty, one old, one young, both draped. It appears that the draping was not the idea of the artist nor of the pope for whom it was designed, but a succeeding pontiff thought it unseemly for the sister and mother a pope to be in such classical garbs and ordered them dressed! Our Roman said it was barbarous! I cannot agree with him. I love the nude in art, but not as a decoration for tombs in St Peter.

I did not kiss the well-worn toe of St. Peter--too many microbes for me! In the Sistine Chapel, thirty minutes were spent, the guide explaining the paintings. Of course, we were shown the Cardinal whom Michael Angelo placed in hell; I could almost hear the pope saying: "In hell did you say? Too bad, too bad; if it was purgatory I could help you, but I have no jurisdiction over hell." The Swiss guards are very attractive, the dress designed by the versatile Michael Angelo[3] is so fantastic. The four cabinets with their priceless works a respectable list, yet I see most plainly the grand Stair-case of Michael Angelo and in the Vatican we were shown so many treasures in so few minutes that I felt as if I attended an Observation party, and this was the paper given me to record all the objects seen. I know I could send you quite [sic] of art, "the Lacoon," [sic] "Apollo Belvedere," "the Three Conovas," "Perseus and the Boxers," and the "Mercury!"

If I forget all else these will remain. The carriages have arrived, we are off; what at patch-work this letter will be.

Evening

We drove first to the Church of the Capuchins and were shown the Guido Reni, "St. Michael conquering the Dragon," the face is that of Beatrice Cauci, and is very beautiful. We then went below to visit the bones of the dead. I thought I had seen the climax of such display in Cologne, but the Monks have far outdistanced St. Ursala and her Virgins! The old Monks, long since dead, standing so solemnly in niches, framed with the bones of brother Monks, struck me as being very comical and I shocked several by my levity. There is a figure there called the "smiling one" and the guide announced that all who wished might gain an indulgence by kissing it, and when a lady asked me if I would try for it I simply could not restrain my hilarity. Ed was interested in the designs and was always finding some novelty and calling, " Just see this; that old fellow must have been a genius." I know some of the party were eager to leave the charnel house but to me there was nothing awesome in the place. I know they must have chuckled when doing the work. Ed whispered that the Superior gave them this to do for recreation.

We visited the gallery containing Guido Reni's "Aurora" and again we saw the face of Beatrice Cauci as the fairest maiden of them all.

Well, Mother, I too have seen the tomb of Adam! Our guide told us the following tale, " When Mark Twain visited Rome, many years ago, he found great pleasure in teasing his Cicerone, and one day greeted him thus, ‘Well, why don't you show me the tomb of Adam; I have seen nearly everything else.' The man quickly retorted ‘that is where I shall take you this morning,' so away they were whisked, to this church, where stands an ancient tomb, bearing this inscription: ‘Here lies the body of Adam,' then follows a list of his titles, it appears he was an English Cardinal, who many years ago died in Rome and was buried here."

By this hour about half of our party left us to go by a five o'clock train to Naples. We decided Rome was too unexplored for us to leave even to obtain a view of Pompei.

We enjoyed quite a long drive in and about the city and on the Margherita promenade up the Janiculum; passed the oak, beneath whose shade Tasso dreamed, the cell wherein he died, and the steps where St. Phillip Neri sat watching the children play, often repeating his admonition: "Be quiet if you can." At the very top is a statue of Garibaldi and here we left the carriages, and leaning over the ramparts looked at the city far below. Ed enjoyed the "huge map" and declares he is now at home in Rome, as he can locate all the principal buildings. On the return drive we discussed international marriages and American women; the guide waxed eloquent and assured me, in all deference to my feelings, he must declare that American women are given too much liberty! "See them all over Europe; their poor husbands slaving at home to make them money for their many holidays." Again, "I have heard women address their husbands so rudely that over here a wife would be knocked into the Tiber for such an affront." Ed was overjoyed at the discussion and solemnly agreed with him in all his views, thus hoping to provoke me to retort, but I was too wise. I said, how I deplored all this freedom, for surely it was bad for women, children and idiots to be without a master! I expressed my pleasure in the fact that my husband was not such a man; he was the supreme head of his family. I was amply repaid; Ed's face was a study, he had fully expected me to express a few opinions to that foreign gentleman. Between you and me, I do think it would be far better for American wives to remain with their husbands, and if both cannot visit Europe, then let both stay at home.

After dinner we asked Miss B., the Australian lady, to accompany us for a drive. She leaves us Friday for Naples to embark for her distant home; I am sorry. We kept her out for a couple of hours, but after reaching the hotel, we decided the evening was not finished so Ed and I hailed a cab and visited the Colosseum by star shine! It was glorious, and we fully enjoyed the ampitheatre in the half-light. Suddenly I heard muffled breathing! My me, I was frightened; Ed declares I caught his arm and whispered: "Lions! let us go." Of course, I did not fear wild beasts; I had just remembered the guide said it was a favorite rendezvous for robbers and thugs and we were alone with the cab driver, not even a torch!

Well, we escaped unharmed, and I had my moments of bliss--the Colosseum by night! I know Ed will tease me forever and a day about "Lions." Good-night sweet Mother.

July 30th

Did you ever get up in the morning so excited that the world seemed literally to stand still? In all this city of churches and priests we found it difficult to obtain an English confessor or to be strictly accurate, to find one, to hear confessions at an early hour. At St. Peter's the sacristan said: "Return at eleven." Church del Jesu: "English priest in the country." At the Collegio Romano: "Return at nine-thirty" I was ready to give up the thought of confessing but Ed said: "Let us dismiss the cab, and just enter all the churches until we find and inquire for an English priest." It was very interesting at first, yet after my fingers would not suffice to count all the edifices entered, I felt tired of it all, and suggested a return to the hotel and breakfast. Behold then a fair sign: "St. Sylvester, English Pastor." Hurrah! Alas for our hopes: "Father Kelley does not enter the confessional before nine." As we turned sadly away, Ed saw a priest of unmistakable American type entering the door-way; we were soon telling him our troubles; he was jolly and sympathetic. "Aha! Americans in a hurry. Well, well, this is Italy, the country of leisure, not hustling America." Ed was pleased, indeed, when, in the conversation he found that the kindly priest was from Baltimore and the uncle of a college chum of his. The Reverend gentleman promised "to wake up Father Kelly" and soon our trials were ended. After breakfast we sought a shop to purchase a black veil, as that is the regulation headcovering for women in a papal audience. You know, mother, we sent our best garments home from Chicago, and, of course, Ed's dress clothes are not with us, so when I read on the card: "ordinary dress clothes for men," I was greatly troubled--not so my husband, he whistled as usual, and said: "I'll borrow a suit from L." That is a very kind gentleman of our party, and one of the few with his best clothes in his trunk.

Mr. L. was pleased to render such assistance and this morning he helped attire Ed; I wish you could have seen him when arrayed. Mr. L. is taller and broader than Ed so please use your imagination. I am glad the Holy Father is not "a glass of fashion!" We were laden with articles of piety; my arms bedecked with rosaries of every hue.

I could hardly repress my laughter when I glanced at Ed, but he assured me that I was not very exquisite, in my black dress and veil.

We toiled up the marble staircase, past the Swiss guards up and then up again until Ed said: "The Holy Father would not have far to go from his home to heaven." We were always within sight of gorgeously attired guards. His Holiness appears well protected. When we entered the first room we found ourselves in a cosmopolitan crowd--Japanese, Chinese, African, Anglo-Saxons, and etc.--we handed our cards to a much-bedecked functionary who approached, he then disappeared and within a few minutes we were led to a chamber containing a few chairs and several people. I was growing nervous, because of the oppressive stillness, broken only by the rattle of a rosary or a medal.

When the door opened and we were beckoned to enter, another long wait, then a third change! Here we were joined by many people, all waiting for the eleven and three-quarter audience. I was dying to laugh, Ed looked so pious and his garments hung so queerly. After a wait of seemingly interminable length we were admitted to the chamber of audience. Here we were arranged on three sides of the room, facing the east door. We had in our number a bride, her white dress being the only light in the somber line, her face was flushed with happiness and eager anticipation--her lord looked pale and uncomfortable.

Why does a man always appear at such a disadvantage on his wedding day? In the stillness I caught the faint sound of approaching footsteps; the door was opened, the guard appeared, waved his stick and we promptly fell upon our knees. The Holy Father entered, accompanied by Cardinal Merry del Val, and passed slowly along the line, extending his ring and speaking a few low words of blessing. I had a hard struggle not to distinguish myself by fainting my agitation was so great. The face of the Holy Father is so gentle, so sweet, just as if he loved us all very tenderly. There is an air of sadness over his features, not even dispelled by his smile. He addressed a few words to us in Italian and then gave the Papal blessing, for ourselves, our families and friends. My eyes wandered often to the face of Cardinal Merry del Val. I have followed his career for so many years. He has been to me a very real personage and I have always said a visit to Rome without a glimpse of him would be incomplete, and here he was before me when I least expected it. Alas! For preconceived ideas of personal appearance, my tall, ascetic archangel type of a man was not; the Cardinal is tall it is true, but not ascetic looking I assure you. He has a strong fine face, with glorious eyes and the figure of an athlete. Oh well, I like the reality, just as well as the dream. When His Holiness and retinue left the room we quietly sought the ante-chamber, resumed our wraps and down the many stairs to the waiting cab. The audience was only a memory--our tangible evidence of the same, rosaries and medals galore. I am afraid the customs officers will think we are preparing to open a shop and sell religious articles! It was after one before we reached the hotel and at three-thirty we were in a cab driving and talking. Mother do not ask me to tell you of all the churches, etc., we have seen this afternoon. Ed was master of ceremonies and we have surely gone at a mad pace. At five-thirty he announced his intention of dismissing the cab and of "shopping." For hours he tormented Roman shop-keepers, declaring he was avenging the wrongs done to American tourists. He is selecting some cameos for me a necklace and bracelet, has discovered several beauties and tomorrow a certain jeweler has promised him a large selection. I hope my purchases will not turn out, as did the Boston lady's who bought a coral necklace, and found it made of macaroni!

Our after dinner drive was not long this evening as I am truly tired. Ed says cabs are so cheap we must drive all we can. When I said we drove all the time at home, so where the luxury, he whimsically replied: "Oh, we own those horses and carriages, and this belongs to another, we hire it you know, and it is so cheap."

It is quite early in the evening and I am writing in the library, just beside the open window. Ed is having a time with the post-card boys, obtaining and imparting information; his Italian is being enriched and the English of the boys rapidly increased. The mother of Miss L. of New York, had an accident today, fainted on the stair and in the fall, injured her wrist, severely bruised her face and body; we were quite alarmed as her daughter is in Naples and we know not what to do. When the physician came he pronounced her condition not at all serious and declared that tomorrow she would be quite well, except for the wrist and a little soreness, so we shall rest in peace.

I am going to bed Mother. Good-night.

July 31st

Oh, glory, what a day of sunshine, to be our last in the Eternal City! A letter from you gladdened my heart for are you not quite well and a little lonely for me? We were climbing the Scala Sancta ere the sun gilded the spires of Rome. Ed found it far more difficult than I did, even though I was hampered by skirts. I insisted on a drive along the Appian Way before returning to breakfast; I never tire of the streets of Rome. The morning slipped past ere we knew it. There are so many things to see, and to do I wish the days were twenty-four hours long and the nights could be dispensed with.

We visited the Convent of the Ladies of the Sacred Heart in Trinita del Monti. When Ed told the portress that I was a former pupil of the order in the U.S.A. we were cordially welcomed and the nun remarked: "of course, you came to see Mater Admirablis?" The only English Madam was engaged with a class at the hour of our visit, so a young girl acted as our guide. I fully enjoyed myself; it felt like home to be in a convent of that order. We have explored all sorts of queer streets, Ed declaring that is the only way to fully enjoy Rome. This afternoon we spent quite a while searching for a place to have my hair shampooed; at last we were successful, and having seen me turned over to the "lather" lady, Ed left to enjoy his chief diversion.

Before leaving he inquired concerning the hours of work and the wages--to hear him you would imagine he was a "walking delegate." The girl in charge received the munificent sum of three dollars per month! I feel so nice and clean this evening, with my sweet-smelling locks arranged in elaborate coiffure.

I wish I could remain here months. Why I have not seen anything yet. This evening we enjoyed our last drive in Rome. We crossed the Tiber, bade farewell to St. Peter's and the Vatican, then back once more amid the ruins.

The beggars use the doorways of the churches for bed-rooms and this evening as we were passing the Church del Jesu we saw a family preparing for slumber. Ed had the cab stop as there seemed a dispute in progress. The man evidently desired to utilize a step for a pillow and the woman opposed it, urging him to place his head on the bundle of rags she offered. The man upheld his right to sleep as he pleased, the woman opposed; he tried the step, she gently removed his head to the rags; he tried it again, same result; at last he gave in and composed himself for the night as she wished. Said Ed: "Oh, yes, Italian men boss their wives, of course they do! Let me find that Roman guide!"

Mother will the memory of these days in Rome ever fade? When the winds are blowing in far Oklahoma, and the newness and the crudeness of my surroundings appear unbearable, shall I be able to close my eyes and see all this? Mother, dear, with your poet, artist soul, what did you in the years when first you dwelt in the wilds of I.T.? Did you find in your husband, your babies and nature, compensation for all you had missed? Did your visions suffice?

"Oh, Rome! My Country! city of my soul!" how can I bid thee farewell!

We are off by early train tomorrow for the city of Columbus, by way of Pisa. So few more days in sunny Italia!

Good-night. I love you always.

C.