What happened after we got out of the carriage at the bronze gate near
St. Peter's I can only describe from a vague and feverish memory. I
remember going up a great staircase, past soldiers in many-coloured
coats, into a vast corridor, where there were other soldiers in other
costumes. I remember going on and on, through salon after salon, each
larger and more luxurious than the last, and occupied by guards still
more gorgeously dressed than the guards we had left behind. I remember
coming at length to a door at which a Chamberlain, wearing a sword,
knelt and knocked softly, and upon its being opened announced our names.
And then I remember that after all this grandeur as of a mediaeval court
I found myself in a plain room like a library with a simple white figure
before me, and . . . I was in the presence of the Holy Father himself.
Can I ever forget that moment?
I had always been taught in the Convent to think of the Pope with a
reverence only second to that which was due to the Saints, so at first I
thought I should faint, and how I reached the Holy Father's feet I do
not know.
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