In the Pietà Chapel is one of the most beautiful pieces of sculpture I have ever seen; it is Michael Angelo's _Dead Christ_. The Saviour's head rests on the knee of the Virgin Mother, whose face is full of the deepest pathos of holy love and intense sorrow. Truly a God-inspired work.
"Art is the gift of God, and must be used Unto His glory. That in art is highest Which aims at this."
How appropriate these words are, placed in the mouth of the great Buonaroti, we could hardly imagine till we had seen this sublime work of art.
We felt greatly interested, in common with all our countrymen, in the tomb which contains the ashes of the last of the Stuarts. Canova's winged genii stand with reversed torches on either side of the door, which is now closed for ever.
I must confess that I was neither pleased nor edified by the services conducted in the gorgeous side chapels; they certainly seemed but a mechanical form of prayer, little less than sacrilegious; the bishops, priests, and choir hastening to get through the formula--those who were not yawning taking snuff. Indeed, there was a dreadful absence of real Christian humility and reverence. One day we arrived in time to witness a High Church ceremonial--it was the anniversary of St. Peter. Cardinal Howard officiated instead of the Pope, who had one of his frequent fits of the sulks towards Italy. He was supported by all the great dignitaries and potentates of the Romish Church, "a grotesque company of old womanish old men in gaudy gowns." The cardinal is a robust Englishman of the Friar Tuck style--the very antithesis to the spiritual, thoughtful, Newman type. He is, however, zealous in his duties, and much liked by the people. The principal part of the ceremony seemed to consist in the constant changing of the cardinal's gorgeous robes, accompanied by procession and prayer; and finally, when he left, the people, more especially the women, rushed to kiss his hand. In spite of its incongruity in our eyes, it was rather a touching sight, and the cardinal seemed to realize almost painfully, as we did, the adoration of the poorer of his flock.
The music was instrumental and vocal, the former composed entirely of stringed instruments, and we were not at all inspired by it. It was not to be compared to the fine choirs of St Paul's, the Temple, or, Westminster Abbey; and for sacred music I think there is nothing like the grand, melodious swell of the organ. We found none of the grand Masses or other ceremonies of the Roman Church at St. Peter's, which could compare for a moment in reverential feeling with the solemn impressiveness of our own large churches during our beautiful and eloquent service, which is so full of deep and earnest feeling, and yet withal so simple that all can understand; and what more sublime than to hear a vast congregation singing, as with a single voice, one of our fine old hymns, such as the imperishable and soul-inspiring "Rock of Ages"? Yet even here I think there is sometimes too much of a secular character now introduced into church music.