A Roman Singer | Page 7

of people go to St. Peter's on Sunday afternoon, but they are
mostly foreigners, and bring strange little folding chairs, and arrange
themselves to listen to the music as though it were a concert. Now and
then one of the young gentlemen-in-waiting from the Vatican strolls in
and says his prayers, and there is an old woman, very ragged and
miserable, who has haunted the chapel of the choir for many years, and
sits with perfect unconcern, telling her beads at the foot of the great
reading-desk that stands out in the middle and is never used. Great
ladies crowd in through the gate when Raimondi's hymn is to be sung,
and disreputable artists make sketches surreptitiously during the
benediction, without the slightest pretence at any devotion that I can
see. The lights shine out more brightly as the day wanes, and the
incense curls up as the little boys swing the censers, and the priests and
canons chant, and the choir answers from the organ loft; and the crowd
looks on, some saying their prayers, some pretending to, and some
looking about for the friend or lover they have come to meet.
That evening when we went over together I found myself pushed
against a tall man with an immense gray moustache standing out across
his face like the horns of a beetle. He looked down on me from time to
time, and when I apologised for crowding him his face flushed a little,
and he tried to bow as well as he could in the press, and said something
with a German accent which seemed to be courteous. But I was
separated from Nino by him. Maestro Ercole sang, and all the others,
turn and turn about, and so at last it came to the benediction. The tall
old foreigner stood erect and unbending, but most of the people around
him kneeled. As the crowd sank down I saw that on the other side of
him sat a lady on a small folding stool, her feet crossed one over the
other, and her hands folded on her knees. She was dressed entirely in
black, and her fair face stood out wonderfully clear and bright against
the darkness. Truly she looked more like an angel than a woman,
though perhaps you will think she is not so beautiful after all, for she is

so unlike our Roman ladies. She has a delicate nose, full of sentiment,
and pointed a little downward for pride; she has deep blue eyes, wide
apart and dreamy, and a little shaded by brows that are quite level and
even, with a straight pencilling over them, that looks really as if it were
painted. Her lips are very red and gentle, and her face is very white, so
that the little ringlet that has escaped control looks like a gold tracery
on a white marble ground.
And there she sat with the last light from the tall windows and the first
from the great wax candles shining on her, while all around seemed
dark by contrast. She looked like an angel; and quite as cold, perhaps
most of you would say. Diamonds are cold things, too, but they shine in
the dark; whereas a bit of glass just lets the light through it, even if it is
coloured red and green and put in a church window, and looks ever so
much warmer than the diamond.
But though I saw her beauty and the light of her face, all in a moment,
as though it had been a dream, I saw. Nino, too; for I had missed him,
and had supposed he had gone to the organ loft with De Pretis. But now,
as the people kneeled to the benediction, imagine a little what he did;
he just dropped on his knees with his face to the white lady, and his
back to the procession; it was really disgraceful, and if it had been
lighter I am sure everyone would have noticed it. At all events, there he
knelt, not three feet from the lady, looking at her as if his heart would
break. But I do not believe she saw him, for she never looked his way.
Afterwards everybody got up again, and we hurried to get out of the
Chapel; but I noticed that the tall old foreigner gave his arm to the
beautiful lady, and when they had pushed their way through the gate
that leads into the body of the church, they did not go away but stood
aside for the crowd to pass. Nino said he would wait for De Pretis, and
immediately turned his whole attention to the foreign girl, hiding
himself in the shadow and never taking his eyes from her.
I never saw Nino look at a woman