d grey with damp
and time, flanked by four sorts of towers; windows scarce. This solemn
type of sixteenth-century _White Devil of Italy_ palace or villa
recurs in this neighbourhood; places to keep their secrets; some
apparently on the very border of the Campagna, where vines and olives
end. Wonderful woods full of flowers between Albano and Genzano.

The little round Lake of Nemi disappointed me.

Bicycling to Marino, Lake Albano seen from above, waters reflecting
black storm, sere oakwoods of Rocca di Papa stormy purple too, and
round the highest Latin peak, which looks like an altar slab, a great
inky storm, water, hills, sky, all threatening inky green and violet;
and against them, on the hill ridge of stones, the delicate pale pink
chandeliers of the asphodels.

On the other side the slopes of vineyards and pale blue campagna and
faint shining sea line, blond under a clear sky. Lovely woods of oak
near Marino, through which, alas! we swished down hill. A whole flock
of sheep, newly raddled, and faunlike shepherds lying in the shade
opposite.

In Villa Torlonia at Albano, a pond, surrounded by masks (whence water
spouted), deep green water, broken by fountain, green deep ilex groves
round; every stone picked out with delicate green moss. And at the end
of the vistas the campagna in green, purple blue modelling of evening,
hillocks and farms and aqueducts, hay and straw stacks vaguely
visible. And beyond the white shiny sea. The storm has disappeared,
leaving only a few clouds veiling the Subiaco mountains which we see.
How different in memory from these Latin Hills! All up the hill great
terraced gardens, piled-up villas: Aldobrandini, Falconieri,
Lancillotti.

ROME, _April_ 13.

XIII.

MAUNDY THURSDAY.

Yesterday, Giovedi Santo evening, the washing of the high-altar of St.
Peter's. A sudden impression of the magnificence of this church, its
vastness filled with dusk, a few wax tapers scattered along the nave;
in the far distance a lit-up altar throwing its light up into the
vault of an aisle, showing the shimmer of golden coffering; the crowd
circling unseen.

Then the ceremony of washing the high-altar: all the canons, priests
and choir-boys mounted onto its dais; and, as they passed, wiped the
great slab with a brush of white shavings dipped in oil and wine; then
walked round the church in solemn procession, tiny choir-boys first,
purple canons, and, lastly, a tall cardinal with scarlet cap,