In fact, I
believed in the enchantments of Papal pageantry, as firmly as I believed
that a Lord Mayor's feast was a repast in which Apicius would have
revelled, or that an opera ball was a scene of oriental and voluptuous
delight. Alas! I have seen all, and known all, and have found all three
to be but vanity.
Now the question as to the real aspect of the Papal pageantry, and the
effects produced by it upon the minds, not of controversialists, but of
ordinary spectators, is by no means an unimportant one with reference to
the future prospects of Italy and the Papacy. Let me try then, not
irreverently or depreciatingly, but as speaking of plain matters of fact,
to tell you what you really do see and hear at the greatest and grandest
of the Roman ceremonies. Of all the Holy Week services none have a more
European fame, or have been more written or sung about, than the
Misereres in the Sistine Chapel. Now to be present at these services you
have to start at about one o'clock, or midday, in full evening costume,
dress-coat and black trowsers. Any man who has ever had to walk out in
evening attire in the broad daylight, will agree with me that the
sensation of the general shabbiness and duskiness of your whole
appearance is so strong as to overcome all other considerations, not to
mention your devotional feelings.
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