"Each cardinal in the Conclave is assigned a small apartment, consisting of a bedroom, dressing-room, and sitting-room, and is, figuratively speaking, imprisoned therein until a new Pope is elected" be no decision that day, and, moving with the multitude, we crossed the Tiber and hurried home, planning the hour at which we would arrive on the morrow. Shortly after nine o'clock on the following day we joined the waiting multitude that seemed to outnumber that of the previous day. Many individuals had brought campstools, books, and luncheon, and one or two delightful old ladies had come with their knitting, clearly signifying their intention of spending the day. Newsboys ran here and there calling war news of the most depressing kind. The fountains flung their streams aloft in the air, and, where the drops of water caught the sun, two rainbows arched the basins like gayly painted handles to enormous baskets. By eleven the square was a dense mass of sweltering humanity; many late comers were forced to take positions where the smokepipe from which issued the first signal of the election was not visible. By a few minutes after the hour the thin stream of black smoke that had daily issued from the pipe was turned, as if by a miracle, into a column of purest white; simultaneously a tremendous roar, like that of an angry sea, arose, and grew louder and louder, until one felt that it must be heard throughout the universe. It seemed to fling itself against the colossal façade of St. Peter's to be returned increased a hundredfold. Cries of" Viva Papa! Viva Papa!" filled the air, as with one accord the crowd surged toward the church of the fisherman. On all sides were heard discussions as to whether the blessing would be given within or without the church, for by this first blessing of the populace the policy of the new Pope would be decided; if the blessing took place in the church, the new Pope showed thereby that he would follow the example of his immediate predecessors and remain a voluntary prisoner within the Vatican; but should this significant blessing be given from the balcony in front of the church, it would show that the new Pontiff would adopt the old way and make himself free to come and go wherever and whenever he saw fit. steadily toward the The Mater, Patricia, Had we so wished, The throng surged entrance of San Pietro. and I surged with it. we were powerless to do otherwise, for we were literally lifted off our feet, and we were willing victims. As we came in from the garish light of midday, the church seemed dimly lighted. At the west end the window of gold spilled its yellow light upon the mosaic floor, while before the twisted pillars of the high altar's baldacchino the eighty-seven tiny lights which burn unceasingly before the tomb of St. Peter twinkled like stars reflected in a placid stream. Above all heads the vastness of the dome soared toward the sky, turning the multitude into a swarm of pygmies by its size. At last, high upon a balcony, the newly elected Pope appeared, hardly visible in the dim light within the church. The streams of applause that greeted him-streams of applause that swept through the vast structure like a mighty hurricane, echoed and reechoed in the towering dome, thrown back upon us, their volume multiplied unbelievably -left no doubt of his welcome. One final cry of "Viva Papa!" came from the nave, a stupendous "Sh!" from the expectant crowd, then absolute quiet. From far above came the voice of Cardinal della Volpe announcing that the Sacred College in Conclave had elected Cardinal Giacoma della Chiesa to the Holy See, and that he had taken the name of Benedict XV. Deafening cheers greeted the announcement, and went on and on as if loth to cease. When quiet was once more restored, the Papal blessing was publicly given for the first time by the new Pope. Patricia, who had "become acquainted," as she termed it, with a perfectly good Italian, informed us that the blessing had been previously bestowed on the assembled cardinals. She had also gleaned other interesting information. It appeared that each cardinal in the Conclave is assigned a small apartment, consisting of a bedroom, dressing-room, and sitting-room, and is, figuratively speaking, imprisoned therein until a new Pope is elected. He may talk with no one. Food and drink are passed to him through a small opening. An election is not infrequently a long-drawn-out procedure; again it is quickly over; but no cardinal knows who has been chosen until the cardinals are all assembled, when the announcement is formally made to the chosen one. "Do you accept?" he is asked. "I accept," he replies; "it is the will of God." He is then asked what name he has selected, and, after his choice has been made known, he blesses the assembled Conclave and another Pope has been added to the long list of men who have made and unmade so much of the history of the civilized world. As soon as the election is proclaimed the new Pope, robed in pontifical vestments, mounts the throne in the Sistine Chapel, where, in accord ance with the ritual, he receives the kiss of peace from each one of the cardinals. At the pension table d'hôte on the day of the election it was the all-absorbing topic; for the time being even the war was forgotten. Our host, a charming Roman gentleman, had the honor of knowing his Holiness quite weil when he was the Under-Secretary of State under Leo XIII. Benedict XV is an aristocrat by birth, our host informed us, and had been intended for the law. At the youthful age of seventeen he went to his father and said, "I wish to become a priest." "Well, my son," replied his father, half jestingly, "study law first; when you have graduated, we can speak of theology." From that day the lad who was to be Benedict XV never mentioned his desire to join the priesthood until he was graduated, when, coming to his father, his legal diploma in his hand, he said: "Here is my diploma. As you see, I have graduated with honor. I am now going to join the priesthood." Which he did. The new Pope is a native of Genoa, where he was born November 21, 1854. After finishing his school course he went to the University of Genoa, where he took his degree in jurisprudence in 1875. A few months later he entered the Capranica College to study theology, took his degree there, and was almost immediately appointed prel ate and sent with Cardinal Rampolla to Madrid. He was appointed Secretary of State by Cardinal Rampolla, was summoned to Rome as copyist, then became UnderSecretary of State. On the elevation of Pope Pius X to the Holy See he was replaced by Cardinal Merry del Val, and was made Archbishop of Bologna. He had been a cardinal only a few months, having been elected at the last consistory. "And," concluded our host, who is not only an Italian of the Italians, but a Catholic of the Catholics, "he has none of the simplicity of his predecessor. He is an aristocrat, a believer in the power of rulers, both temporal and spiritual. I know him so well that I shall watch him with the keenest interest. But of one thing I am sure: under Benedict XV all the simplicity of the Vatican under Pius X will disappear. It will be interesting to see what he will do." The evening papers told of the arrival of Cardinal Gibbons, of Baltimore, and Cardinal O'Connell, of Boston. The papers went on to say that these two princes of the Church had landed in Italy at the same time. The ENTRANCE HALL OF THE SALA DUCALE "Through this long, rather ornate room his Holiness would pass on his way to his coronation" first named came on to the Eternal City by train, arriving in time for the Papal benediction, but too late to take part in the Conclave. The Bostonian left for Rome by motor, thinking thereby to save time and trouble, but the god of machines and the spirit of the road ordained otherwise, and Cardinal O'Connell arrived to find everything over except the coronation. "Behold," concluded the Italian newspapers," the triumph of simplicity !" The Mater was greatly elated to learn of the arrival of our Cardinal, for on him she staked her chances of being present at the coronation. All our besiegings of the American College had been resultless; we had got no farther than the flower-bedecked court with its gurgling fountain and its far from gurgling custodian. Here we had met with a discouraging series of negatives. "Are there any invitations to the coronation?" we asked by way of overture. "Is there anything else you could say 'No' to?" asked the Mater, politely, preparing to embark in a waiting cab. 66 No," answered the doorkeeper, without the vestige of a smile. And then he closed the door. The evening papers announced where Cardinal Gibbons might be found; he was established in a huge building in the Street of the Four Fountains, near the Via Nazionale, and there I went, card in hand. This was Saturday morning, and the coronation had been set for the morrow, Sunday, at half after nine in the morning. From the busy street I passed into a cool courtyard, beautiful with trees. plants, and flowers, and was conducted upstairs to a spacious, softly lighted salon, its wainscoted walls and vaulted ceiling but dimly seen in the light that percolated through the drawn blinds. I had not waited long when Cardinal Gibbons's secretary appeared, a handsome young man with a winning smile and a frank, manly American way about him. In answer to my request, he said that as yet they had received no invitations, but expected some when the Cardinal returned from the Vatican, which would not be until late, but he would give him my card at once and see what could be done. Invitations were to be very limited, he added; but would I come back at six or seven o'clock ? I might find invitations awaiting me. And, with a hearty hand-shake that cheered me far more than the words, I departed. At the luncheon table Patricia and I acknowledged defeat, and every one said or looked "I told you so." But the Mater was still optimistic. At seven I went to find the coveted invitations awaiting me. Dinner that night was a festa for us. The Mater went so far as to order a bottle of Orvieto to celebrate her triumph, to say nothing of the humbling of all the other table d'hôters. The next day, Sunday, the morning of the coronation, dawned warm and clear. We partook of our Continental breakfast on the terrace overlooking the Eternal City. The Mater and Patricia appeared in black semi-evening gowns with strange, Spanishlooking scarfs of black lace draped over their heads. They distinctly suggested a somber sort of cozy corner, but the effect was charming, nevertheless. Patricia was rather suggestive of masked balls and moonlit nights in the Alhambra; but somehow the Mater's costume seemed not at all bizarre; the effect of the black scarf against her gray hair was distinctive and charming. It mattered not whether the costume was becoming or the reverse, for one had had to wear it or stay at home, and rather than have missed the coronation the Mater would have sallied forth in a ballet skirt and pink stockings. As for myself, I wore evening clothes and white tie, and felt like a waiter in a cheap café. Our cab had been ordered for half-past eight, but, being a Roman cab, it came a quarter of an hour earlier and waited, with the taxi ticking expensively. By half-past eight we were ready to start, and as I told the cocchiere to drive to the Bronze Doors of the Vatican-the entrance we were instructed 1914 THE CORONATION OF BENEDICT XV to use he seemed greatly impressed and asked if we were going to the coronation of the new Pope. I answered in the affirmative, and off we started at a breakneck speed, down through the Piazza di Spagna, past the flower-covered Spanish Stairs, along the Tiber, where the new quays make Rome almost Parisian, across the Bridge of Sant' Angelo, past Hadrian's Tomb, where our modest taxicab joined an interminable line of other cabs, private carriages, and motors stretching toward St. Peter's as far as the eye could reach. Patricia and the Mater commented on the absence of the bright blues, greens, and oranges of the Italian uniforms, but no member of the Italian army is permitted to enter the Vatican in uniform, for since the separation of Church and State the Vatican has never in any way acknowledged the Italian Government. When this Government came into power, it offered the Papacy 2,750,000 lire ($550,000) per annum, which has never been accepted; the accumulation lapses to the Government every five years, and cannot afterwards be recovered. Even at this early hour the Piazza of St. Peter's was thronged, and as our carriage moved slowly along the snakelike line that coiled toward Bernini's right-hand colonnade we seemed to be floating through a sea of upturned faces, so thick were the people massed about our carriage wheels. At last the colonnade was reached. Here a line of carabiniere kept back the crowd, but these Government policemen may not cross the threshold of the Vatican; there the Papal gendarmes have full sway. With this well-dressed, chattering Italian throng we passed through the Bronze Doors, where we and our invitations were closely inspected by a tall Swiss Guard, in his queerly jumbled uniform of yellow, black, and red, unchanged since the time of Michael Angelo, whose design they are. We then mounted by the Scala Regia, that famous and really beautiful stairway designed by the Bernini of the colonnades and built by Pope Urban VIII. We rushed through the Sala Regia, built during the reign of Paul III by Antonio di Sangallo, and used as a hall of audience for Ambassadors. We had but a glance at Vasari's famous frescoes, which include that of "The Return of Gregory XI from Avignon." The Sala Ducale was a mass of humanity, for through this long, rather ornate room his Holiness would pass on his way to his 705 coronation. At one end were four long marble steps; at the base of these rested the sedia gestatoria, the chair in which the Pope is borne high above the throng; in letters of gold across the back was the name of Leo XIII, the well-beloved. Against the wall stood the immense candles in holders of gold and the two lofty triumphal feather fans which are carried on high by bearers attired in red tunics embroidered with silk-fans of the exact pattern and design of those seen in frescoes of pre-Christian periods. From where the sedia gestatoria rested on a silk rug a straight aisle led toward the Sistine Chapel, passing beneath the delightfully pagan cupids holding aloft a baldacchino of marble. This aisle was outlined with benches, before which the Papal Guard stood in an almost solid row as far as the eye could see. On either side the good-natured crowd moved here and there, a laughing, cheery crowd of men and women in black and white; many of the men, tall, erect, handsome, were officers in the Italian army, who may not wear their uniforms, nor even a national medal, in the Papal territory. These black and white costumes made an effective background for the various Papal officers and men, who moved to and fro, imparting to the ceremony a color that we do not have at home; the whole pontifical family-assistant prelates, the patriarchs, the archbishops, and the bishops-with vestments and miters of gold; the Camerieri Segreti Partecipanti in violet silk, the Camerieri Partecipanti of the cape and the sword in black velvet Renaissance costumes, with ruffs and golden chains; the whole innumerable ecclesiastical suite, the chaplains, the prelates of every class and degree; the gendarmes, with their enormous busbies; the Palatine Guards in blue trousers and black tunics; the Swiss Guards uniformed in red, yellow, and black, with breastplates of silver; and the renowned Noble Guards, superb in their high boots, white pigskins, scarlet tunics, gold laces and helmets. What a gorgeous sight it was! The twilight of the Sistine Chapel lay beyond, clearly visible, but the dense crowd blocked the way. The Mater, Patricia, and I were ushered to seats on the long line of benches along which the Pope and his suite must pass. Patricia had been improving her time by making eyes at a tall, good-looking Noble Guard-she denied the accusation, but both the Mater and I saw her-and it |
