Those who were not
handsome, or who had not long beards, carried THEIR tapers anyhow,
and abandoned themselves to spiritual contemplation.
Meanwhile,
the chaunting was very monotonous and dreary. The procession
passed on, slowly, into the chapel, and the drone of voices went
on, and came on, with it, until the Pope himself appeared, walking
under a white satin canopy, and bearing the covered Sacrament in
both hands; cardinals and canons clustered round him, making a
brilliant show. The soldiers of the guard knelt down as he passed;
all the bystanders bowed; and so he passed on into the chapel: the
white satin canopy being removed from over him at the door, and a
white satin parasol hoisted over his poor old head, in place of it.
A few more couples brought up the rear, and passed into the chapel
also. Then, the chapel door was shut; and it was all over; and
everybody hurried off headlong, as for life or death, to see
something else, and say it wasn't worth the trouble.
I think the most popular and most crowded sight (excepting those of
Easter Sunday and Monday, which are open to all classes of people)
was the Pope washing the feet of Thirteen men, representing the
twelve apostles, and Judas Iscariot. The place in which this pious
office is performed, is one of the chapels of St. Peter's, which is
gaily decorated for the occasion; the thirteen sitting, 'all of a
row,' on a very high bench, and looking particularly uncomfortable,
with the eyes of Heaven knows how many English, French, Americans,
Swiss, Germans, Russians, Swedes, Norwegians, and other foreigners,
nailed to their faces all the time. They are robed in white; and
on their heads they wear a stiff white cap, like a large English
porter-pot, without a handle. Each carries in his hand, a nosegay,
of the size of a fine cauliflower; and two of them, on this
occasion, wore spectacles; which, remembering the characters they
sustained, I thought a droll appendage to the costume. There was a
great eye to character. St. John was represented by a good-looking
young man. St. Peter, by a grave-looking old gentleman, with a
flowing brown beard; and Judas Iscariot by such an enormous
hypocrite (I could not make out, though, whether the expression of
his face was real or assumed) that if he had acted the part to the
death and had gone away and hanged himself, he would have left
nothing to be desired.
As the two large boxes, appropriated to ladies at this sight, were
full to the throat, and getting near was hopeless, we posted off,
along with a great crowd, to be in time at the Table, where the
Pope, in person, waits on these Thirteen; and after a prodigious
struggle at the Vatican staircase, and several personal conflicts
with the Swiss guard, the whole crowd swept into the room. It was
a long gallery hung with drapery of white and red, with another
great box for ladies (who are obliged to dress in black at these
ceremonies, and to wear black veils), a royal box for the King of
Naples and his party; and the table itself, which, set out like a
ball supper, and ornamented with golden figures of the real
apostles, was arranged on an elevated platform on one side of the
gallery.
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