she
was devout, but a little heretic.

A HIGH DAY IN ROME

PALM SUNDAY IN ST. PETER'S

The splendid and tiresome ceremonies of Holy Week set in; also the rain,
which held up for two days. Rome without the sun, and with rain and the
bone-penetrating damp cold of the season, is a wretched place. Squalor
and ruins and cheap splendor need the sun; the galleries need it; the
black old masters in the dark corners of the gaudy churches need it; I
think scarcely anything of a cardinal's big, blazing footman, unless
the sun shines on him, and radiates from his broad back and his splendid
calves; the models, who get up in theatrical costumes, and get put into
pictures, and pass the world over for Roman peasants (and beautiful many
of them are), can't sit on the Spanish Stairs in indolent pose when it
rains; the streets are slimy and horrible; the carriages try to run
over you, and stand a very good chance of succeeding, where there are
no sidewalks, and you are limping along on the slippery round
cobble-stones; you can't get into the country, which is the best part
of Rome: but when the sun shines all this is changed; the dear old dirty
town exercises, its fascinations on you then, and you speedily forget
your recent misery.

Holy Week is a vexation to most people. All the world crowds here to see
its exhibitions and theatrical shows, and works hard to catch a glimpse
of them, and is tired out, if not disgusted, at the end. The things to
see and hear are Palm Sunday in St. Peter's; singing of the Miserere
by the pope's choir on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday in the Sistine
Chapel; washing of the pilgrims' feet in a chapel of St. Peter's, and
serving the apostles at table by the pope on Thursday, with a papal
benediction from the balcony afterwards; Easter Sunday, with the
illumination of St. Peter's in the evening; and fireworks (this year in
front of St. Peter's in Montorio) Monday evening. Raised seats are
built up about the high altar under the dome in St. Peter's, which will
accommodate a thousand, and perhaps more, ladies; and for these tickets
are issued without numbers, and for twice as many as they will seat.
Gentlemen who are in evening dress are admitted to stand in the reserved
places inside the lines of soldiers. For the Miserere in the Sistine
Chapel tickets are also issued. As there is only room for about four
hundred ladies, and a thousand and more tickets are given out, you may
imagine the scramble