From the portrait by Charles Martin. Reproduced by permission of Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York. A Festal Day in Rome By Washington Irving HE narrative contained in these extracts from the diary of Washington Irving has not heretofore been published. In 1804 Washington Irving was twenty-one years old; New York was a provincial city of about twenty-five thousand inhabitants, Jefferson was President of the United States, and packets made the trip to Europe in five or six weeks! The youth who was to begin the literary expression of American life by the publication of the first book of genuine literary quality had not taken kindly to the fixed hours and recurring tasks of school life, and had said good-by to formal instruction at the premature age of sixteen, having refused to follow his brothers' example and take the course at Columbia College; he had been keeping up a semblance of law study in the office of Ogden Hoffman, but his real occupation was desultory reading and dreaming in quiet places or on the piers. He was modest and unobtrusive, but he had marked social qualities, a charming humor, and he was very popular in the little metropolis. He had the literary temperament, but he was not, for a number of years, to become conscious of his gifts and his future work. In 1804 Irving's health showed alarming signs of failure, and when he sailed for Bordeaux in May the captain of the vessel, as he saw the fragile young man helped up the gangway, is reported to have said, "There's a chap who will go overboard before we get across." On the 25th of June the vessel was at the mouth of the Gironde, and Irving wrote to his brother that he was already much stronger. It was in the good old days of dirty inns and leisurely diligences; the different countries had lost little of their individuality of dress, habit, and manners. Irving had immense relish of life, a sharp eye, and a contagious humor. "I am a young man and in Paris," he wrote to a friend who complained of the infrequency of his letters. He had the gift of loitering, and he slowly approached Rome through many French and Italian cities, reaching the capital late in March, 1805. On his arrival in Bordeaux he had begun to keep a journal, in which he made, in pencil, a record of his travels and experiences; and, later, he expanded and elaborated many of these memoranda into charming bits of descriptive or character sketches. He remained in Rome until after Holy Week, and it was during this time that he saw the ceremony described in the following passages from his diary, now published for the first time. The MS. volume from which this extract is made is somewhat discolored, but it is entirely legible, in Irving's familiar handwriting. In some cases, as in that of the passage which The Outlook has the pleasure of giving its readers, the account is complete; in other cases the notes are disconnected and were evidently jotted down for future use. Irving was unconsciously falling into the writer's habit. This description of a curious and interesting ceremonial has intrinsic interest, and it is significant of the quality and growth of one of the most charming of modern writers-the man who was to remove from America the reproach which Sydney Smith had just brought against it; for with the "History of New York this country began to have a literature.-THE EDITORS. S UNDAY, May 24.-We have arrived at the moment when this city is all in a bustle in celebrating the great fête. On this day five new saints were beatified. This is a ceremony which, I am told, has not occurred in forty years; the expenses attending it being very great. No saint-elect is admitted to the honor until he is able to pay his shot. The particular votaries of each candidate for the aureola are therefore under the necessity of saying masses and collecting contributions on his account, throughout the pale of the Catholic Church, till they can accumulate a sufficient sum to defray his share of the attendant expenses. Of the five saints this day added to the calendar, three are females and two males; of the latter, one is a negro. His sable saintship labored in the Catholic vineyard under the burning rays of a South American sun. But it is, I believe, above a century since he departed this sublunary planet. So long is the interval during which he has been compelled to wait the slow accumulation of his funds. The ceremonies attendant on the beatification were performed in the great Ca thedral of St. Peter; but one of the most singular and attractive parts of the process is now concealed from the eyes and ears of the vulgar, and transacted in private. I allude to that ordeal in which the claim of the candidate is tested. When an attorney appears as proxy for a saint, and another as advocate for his Satanic Majesty; when the cause is ingeniously and elaborately, and sometimes satirically, argued the candidate claiming the office, the Prince of the gloomy realm claiming the candidate-pull d, pull baker, while his Holiness of the triple crown sits umpire of the contest-this would have been a trial of skill worthy of observation. But this contest is no longer visible. "Procul, O procul este, profani" is a motto daily more brought into practice in the more mystic ceremonies of the Church, and many ancient rites, which used to blazon themselves in open day, at present, like the miraculous portrait of the Virgin in the Church of Annunciata at Florence, seek the friendly shelter of a veil. Religious ceremonies, celebrated with great pomp, now constitute the principal features of the beatification; and the benediction of the multitude from the front of St. Peter's Church is the most striking and brilliant part of the exhibition. The manner in which this was performed I detailed in the notes on the fête of ascension, when I was first at Rome. On Sunday evening the principal parts of the city were illuminated to express the joy of the public at the accession the corps of saints had that morning received. Rome seemed for the moment converted into Naples, such was the bustle and throng of carriages and pedestrians that crowded the illuminated streets. We gave ourselves up to the guidance of the multitude, and moved in a current through the Via del Corso, Piazza del Colonna, etc., etc., to the Bridge of the Angels, over which a long line of carriages was continually rolling, while old Tiber reflected in a fiery glow the strong glare of illumination that brightened the surface of his waters. From the Ponte degli Angeli we proceeded to the grand area in front of St. Peter's Cathedral, scarcely bestowing a glance on the Castle of St. Angelo as we passed along. The splendid scene that here presented, seemed to realize the visions of romance, or the fairy fabrics of enchantment. The whole façade of the Cathedral, to the very cross upon the apex of the dome, was covered with thousands of small lamps, so arranged as to disclose the elegant proportions of the structure. It seemed an edifice constructed of innumerable stars, arranged according to the most beautiful order of architecture. The pillars of the projecting portico being illuminated in similar style, the spacious area before it, with its obelisk and fountains, was as light as day, half surrounded by the colonnade in a crescent of brilliant fire, the majestic temple in the center of the crescent. This vast area was the theater on which a multitude of gay and fashionable figures, intermingled with monks, abbés, and cardinals, exhibited their diversified costumes in motley groups. The gentle ascent displayed them to suitable advantage. A long line of carriages, full of males and females gayly dressed, were moving in a waving circuit, the number being too great to return through the passages by which they came, and which were crowded with the multitude in a continual stream. Processions were daily exhibited on the part of individual churches, and illuminations of different churches, the palaces of particular ambassadors, etc., etc., occurred every evening. One simple but very showy method of exhibiting bonfires or illuminations was practiced. These consisted of barrels of straw or shavings which were arranged round a square, as the Piazza Colonna, etc., and when these were set on fire the staves confined the material and retained the flames so as to render it much more permanent than I should have expected. The reflection of these columns of flame on the surrounding buildings, the obelisks and lofty columns, was very powerful. The processions were of various kinds. In some instances the penitents in white robes had their heads entirely covered with white linen veils, with merely openings for the eyes, large tapers in their hands, etc., etc. The multitude in the streets uncovered and on their knees as the host passed them. On Tuesday, High Mass was performed by the Sovereign Pontiff in person; but on Thursday, the 28th, the great fête of Corpus Christi was the scene of the grandest procession the church could command, or Rome, even at this period, could furnish. On this occasion all the different orders of priesthood, in their various grades and costumes, the different orders of monks in their peculiar habiliments, the officers of the Church, and civil officers of the city in their insignia and decorations, the cardinals in their robes and miters, together with the Pope in person borne on his palanquin and followed by an escort of cavalry, proceeded according to their seniority in inverted order to the Church of St. Peter. Here the procession opened for the passage of his Holiness, closing successively in rear of him. They entered through the colonnade of the portico on the left to the church. The colonnades, with the vestibules, were hung with paintings in the Gobelin tapestry, and crowded with beautiful females draped out to the greatest advantage. In this procession I had an opportunity of seeing the various orders of monks in their respective costumes-Capuchins, Benedictines, Franciscans, etc., etc. Among them were many fine and venerable heads, and among the cardinals some noble countenances, dignified and commanding figures. The Pope was borne on the shoulders of men, apparently in a kneeling attitude, his eyes bent downward, his hands clasped and reclining on a cushion before him, on which the host was carried. A multitude of lighted torches were borne in this procession, and added to its solemnity and interest. Some ceremonies were performed within the church at the great altar, by the Pope in person. In this procession the appearance of the spectators was not less interesting to me than that of the high dignitaries and miscellaneous brotherhood of the Church. Previous to the arrival of the cortège, I passed with my companions through the avenues it was to occupy. A lane was formed for it, each side bordered with seats rising behind each other, and filled with handsome females of every different grade, from the princess to the cottage maid. Rome and its environs exhibited on this occasion all their beauties. The windows of the houses and palaces were peopled in a similar manner, and received the further decoration of all the finery their owners could exhibit; rich damasks and costly tapestry hung down from the windows covering the fronts of the houses. After the ceremonies were concluded, we lingered in the church viewing its splendid and interesting contrasts. But we had already paid it repeated visits. It presents an inexhaustible source for the gratification of curiosity. At present, however, it is loaded with adventitious ornaments, which have a handsome effect in themselves, but veil the more simple and majestic architecture of the building. The walls are covered with crimson hangings of silk, with border of broad gold lace. Silk flags are hung between the arches of the columns, exhibiting in handsome paintings the exploits of saints who have received the honors of beatitude. As these miraculous proofs relate to facts at present of remote occurrence, they are so silly and ridiculous that I wonder they should have been disclosed to the public eye. These handsome streamers of white tapestry— for they seem of that material-should have been held sacred to the private conclave in which the claims of the candidates were tested; for the scene of that judicial inquiry they would have served as appropriate ornaments. In one of these, Saint Somebody is represented curing a sore leg; in another, a pain in the hip, etc., etc., which had resisted the force of medicine. The other exploits of these saintships are in a style equally puerile and ridiculous, but they serve to make handsome paintings. Handsome effects are produced by kneeling female figures in white and flowing drapery. There are no seats or benches in the church to take off from the grandeur of the coup d'œil. Males and females enter and kneel in any spot that strikes their fancies-in a corner, or in the center, on the clean and polished marble pavement. After one of our visits to St. Peter's Church we availed ourselves of a leisure hour to pay our respects to the Holy Office, or Inquisition, the buildings of which are adjacent and in the rear of the Cathedral. We paced the interior courts, mounted the stairways, and penetrated into the long corridors of the building. Solitude and silence reigned in most of them. We saw occasionally a distant door open, and a priest or abbé occasionally made his appearance and gazed at us as we passed. We were determined, however, to see as much as we could of this once so formidable establishment. therefore jogged on, sometimes with an air of business, sometimes with the gaze of curiosity, but always passed on, peeped into small chambers and narrow passages, or peered through the casements of large apartments. We I Nature Study By John Burroughs AM often asked by editors of educational journals and by teachers and principals of schools to write or talk upon Nature Study. My reply is, Why should I, who never study nature, write or speak upon Nature Study? I have loved nature and spent many of my days in the fields and woods in as close intimacy with her varied forms of life as I could bring about, but a student of nature in any strict, scientific sense I have not been. What knowledge I possess of her creatures and ways has come to me through contemplation and enjoyment, rather than through delibe rate study of her. I have been occupied more with the spirit than with the letter of her works. In our time, it seems to me, too much stress is laid upon the letter. We approach nature in an exact, calculating, tabulating, mercantile spirit. We seek to make an inventory of her storehouse. Our relations with her take on the air of business, not of love and friendship. The clerk of the fields and woods goes forth with his block of printed tablets upon which, and under various heads, he puts down what he sees, and I suppose foots it all up and gets at the exact sum of his knowledge when he gets back home. He is so intent upon the bare fact that he does not see the spirit or the meaning of the whole. does not see the bird, he sees an ornithological specimen; he does not see the wild flower, he sees a new acquisition to his herbarium; in the bird's nest he sees only another prize for his collection. Of that sympathetic and emotional intercourse with nature which soothes and enriches the soul, he experiences little or none. Though the sportsman has long since died out of me, yet I sometimes react so strongly against these calculating nature-students that I am glad when my boy takes his gun and goes forth upon the river for ducks or into the marshes for woodcock, instead of upon a biological or botanical cruise. He will get a larger nature, he will get nearer the spirit of the whole, he will have a more intense and personal experience, he will pit his wit against that He of the wild creatures, he will have a better discipline for his eye and ear and hand, and when he comes home at night, if he have less science, he will have more love and relish for nature and a free life in the open air. The knowledge of nature that comes easy, that comes through familiarity with her, as through fishing, hunting, nutting, walking, farming-that is the kind that reaches and affects the character and becomes a grown part of us. We absorb this as we absorb the air, and it gets into the blood. Fresh, vital knowledge is one thing; the desiccated fact is another. Do we know the wild flower when we have analyzed it and pressed it, or made a drawing of it? Of course this is one kind of knowledge and is suited to certain minds, but if we cannot supplement it with the other kind, the knowledge that comes through the heart and the emotions, we are poor indeed. I recently read a lecture on "How a Naturalist is Trained," and I was forced to conclude that I was not and never could be a naturalist at all, that I knew nothing about nature. It seems, from this lecture, that the best naturalist is he who can cut a fish-egg up into the thinnest slices. Talk about hair-splitting; this egg-splitting of the modern biologist goes far beyond it. An egg is to be split into sections so thin that twenty-five of them will not equal the thickness of paper; and these slices are to be mounted and studied with a microscope. Are the great naturalists really trained in this way? I could but ask. Darwin certainly was not. was not an egg-carver. His stupendous results were not the result of any "training" of this sort, but "originated," says Professor Eimer, "from the simplest observations that presupposed no scientific character, and were open to be made, with a little tact, by every sharp eye and clear head." A large and open-eyed study of nature and of natural forms, how much more fruitful it is than this minute dissection of germs and eggs! A naturalist is to be trained through his ordinary facul Darwin |