olumns
around it were hung with tawdry red damask curtains, which, in my
opinion, rather took from the dignity of this magnificent church.

The Swiss Guards ushered people to their seats. They looked very
picturesque in their costumes of bright red and yellow, slashed
sleeves, and brass helmets.

In due time the serious and somber chamberlains, in their black satin
and velvet costumes, appeared; next came the bishops, in their purple
robes; and directly preceding his Holiness the Pope were the cardinals,
in red. Then came the twelve men carrying the gold pontifical chair in
which the Pope was seated; they walked very solemnly and slowly.

Every one dropped on his knees, and the Pope raised his thin white hand
to bless the kneeling crowd.

He mounted the steps of the high altar and began reading mass. His
voice was very feeble and scarcely audible.

It was very impressive. It would be impossible to give you an idea of
the intense solemnity of this scene, especially for me, as I have no
talent for description. Women wept and waved their wet handkerchiefs;
the sterner sex would have done the same, I dare say, if they had not
been ashamed to show so much emotion.

_March 10, 1888_.

The Emperor Wilhelm of Germany died yesterday. Though he was so very
old, the news of his death was unexpected and cast a gloom over Rome.
Of course, all gaieties are ended, and court mourning ordered for three
weeks. King Umberto left directly for Genoa to meet the new Emperor,
who started from San Remo on his way to Berlin. The dinner for King
Umberto's birthday, which was to have been on the 14th, has been
_decommande_.

The Prince of Naples has already left for Berlin to represent the King
at the Emperor's funeral--his first official act since he has become of
age.

_May 1, 1888._

My dear Aunt,--My letters are very uninteresting. I cannot help it.
There is nothing going on in society. In fact, many of the Italians
have left Rome, and the colleagues are resting on their oars--those who
have any to rest on. I am resting on my "Pinafore" oars. How lucky we
had it when we did!

Taking advantage of this moment of inactivity, the Roman ladies
arranged a charity performance, for which Marquise Del Grillo (Madame
Ristori) promised to give her services. She chose the famous play
"Marie Antoinette," which is supposed to be one of her best. The tickets
were to be procured only from the ladies of the committee (of which I
was one),