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<TITLE>Sir J. Rennell Rodd. Social and Diplomatic Memories. 1902-1919. Chapter II.</TITLE>
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 SOCIAL AND DIPLOMATIC MEMORIES, 1902-1919 
BY THE RIGHT HON. SIR JAMES RENNELL RODD, G.C.B.

CHAPTER II 
ROME, 1903-1904

<BLOCKQUOTE>
 Sir F. Bertie, Ambassador.
King Victor Emmanuel. Prinetti's illness. Visit of King Edward
VII. Illness and death of Leo XIII. The funeral. The conclave
and the election of Pius X. Death of Lord Salisbury. Bertie as
Ambassador. Appointment to Stockholm. The Layard pictures.</BLOCKQUOTE>

 Early in the next year, 1903, I was directed to inquire whether
the nomination of Sir Francis Bertie would be agreeable to the
Italian Government. Prinetti, who expressed his regret that it
had not been possible to accede to his suggestion, made many inquiries
about the new Ambassador, and when I said that he was an old friend,
courteously observed, "C'est déjà une recommandation."
I had, as a matter of fact, some misgivings as to whether Bertie,
a first-class fighting man, would get on with Prinetti, who carried
his head very high.

 During my year in charge of the Embassy, the Italian Government
had always treated me with all the regard shown to the heads of
missions, and a new precedent was now created in my favour. At
a dinner for the diplomatic representatives accredited to the
Quirinal, the King invited Meyer and myself to shoot with him
at Castel Porziano. It was the first occasion on which the party
had included others than the King's own staff, and as a modest
chargé d'affaires, I was much gratified by a compliment
which was often repeated in subsequent years. I there killed my
first wild boar, and indeed was credited with several. These parties
offered opportunities for long and quite informal conversations
on many subjects, and it was on such occasions that I learned
to know and appreciate the very able Sovereign, whose interpretation
of the duties of kingship was reasoned and profound.

 In my long service in many countries, I have been able to study
the minds and personality of many reigning princes, who, when
the ice of official relations can be broken, are generally the
best of company, if only by reason of the exceptional opportunities
which their high position affords them of obtaining information.
I shall not incur the suspicion of being a courtier in paying
a special tribute of respect to the Italian Sovereign who, too
sincere and human to be very tolerant of formalities, graciously
admitted me to his intimacy. and impressed me profoundly with
the sense of his great rectitude and with the philosophic balance
of his well-stored mind, wholly dissociated from convention and
prejudice. Circumstances enabled me over many years to watch the
antecedents and test the results of decisions taken at critical
moments by one who regarded himself somewhat in the relation of
a permanent Under-Secretary to succeeding Governments, and I have
never known His Majesty's good judgment at fault.

 A few days after that expedition to the Ostian shore a tragedy
took place. The Ministers met once a week at the Palace for the
signing of ordinances and decrees, a ceremony corresponding in
some measure to the holding of a Privy Council by the King at
home. On such an occasion Prinetti was suddenly affected by a
stroke which rendered his right arm and leg powerless. He did
not lose consciousness, and under the care of the famous physician,
Guido Bacelli, who was his colleague as Minister of Public Instruction,
he was conveyed to his house. It was a severe blow to the administration,
in which he was the dominant element. The old Prime Minister was
in failing health, and the Minister of the Treasury had been for
some time unable to attend to his duties. The Department of Foreign
Affairs was entrusted to a gallant and very charming sailor, Admiral
Morin. It is an experiment which we, the leading maritime power,
have never tried. In Italy the sailor has more than once proved
an efficient diplomatist.

 Prinetti's public services were rewarded with a Marquisate.
He made a partial recovery, but died prematurely without having
been able to return to official life. I used to visit him from
time to time, and found that his sense of humour was still keen
as ever. He was rather deaf, and took full advantage of that infirmity
in not hearing anything which he did not want to hear. A charming
lady whose succession of admirers had long been a conversational
asset in a society which is critical but not censorious, came
to see him during his convalescence the day after a famous party
of which all Rome was talking. "I want you to tell me,"
said Prinetti, "all about the ball last night." "I
did not go," his fair visitor replied. "I went to bed
instead." " Ah," rejoined Prinetti, pretending
to have misheard, "e chi c'era? "

 My wife could claim credit for one of the sensations of the
season, a performance which she organized of the fairy scenes
of "A Midsummer Night's Dream," acted entirely by very
young children. She spent many patient weeks in training them,
with results that exceeded all anticipation. Our eldest boy, not
yet seven, was Puck, and young Meyer, Bottom. Titania, who lives
in the Friulian country which was in hostile occupation during
the war; has now a considerable family of her own. It was not
without a pang of regret that I learned that Cobweb, who was on
the enemy side in the late war, lies buried somewhere in France.

 Bertie arrived in February to present his letters and inspect
the Embassy, after which he returned to England for a few weeks.
When at length he took up his work in March, there was not too
much time to prepare his house for the visit of King Edward, which
was to take place on the 27th of April. The Romans have the reputation
of being a rather cold people, but on the King's arrival they
showed unmistakable enthusiasm. His little speech at the Palace
dinner struck exactly the right note. I had been besieged with
applications for an advance copy of what he was going to say.
In Italy, it is customary on such ceremonial occasions to read
a speech which has been carefully prepared. King Edward could
never be induced to follow that practice. What he said, he explained,
would be the expression of his feelings at the moment he rose.
We had to take rapid notes at the dinner table so as to reproduce
it as closely as possible for the Press.

 A proposed visit to the Pontiff had preoccupied us not a little.
The Vatican was as ready to receive such a visit as the King was
to pay it. But to bring it about was not so easy in those days.
It was evident that the Government at home were concerned as to
the effect it might produce in some of the constituencies. The
first approach had been made through Monsignor Stonor who, though
a most charming prelate of venerable and immaculate appearance,
was hardly the man to deal with a delicate negotiation. From our
point of view it was essential, in order to justify the visit,
that Leo XIII should express a desire to see the King. A suggestion
to this effect, perhaps not too discreetly advanced, only drew
a reply from Cardinal Rampolla, the Secretary of State, that it
was contrary to all ecclesiastical precedent for the Pope to invite
a visit from a Protestant Sovereign. A Catholic prince would,
of course, recognize it to be his duty to visit the head of his
Church. Obviously, however, only a little tact was needed to conciliate
the points of view.

 Bertie had to leave for Naples to await the royal yacht before
the matter had been settled, and I felt somewhat nervous lest
it should not be arranged before the King's arrival. Fortunately,
Sir Esme Howard, our present Ambassador at Washington, who had
left the Diplomatic Service to take up philanthropic work, and
had now returned to the Embassy as a volunteer, was very intimate
with Monsignor Merry del Val, by whose assistance the problem
was solved. Leo XIII became himself the Deus ex Machina. A
reference to His Majesty's approaching visit to Rome led him without
any hesitation to express a strong personal desire to see the
King.

 Another nice point had still to be settled. The King was staying
at the Quirinal, and could not proceed thence directly to the
Vatican. Cardinal Rampolla proposed that His Majesty should first
go to the English College and drive on from there. At the College
he would himself be able to pay the customary visit which it is
usual for the Secretary of State to make to sovereigns at the
Embassies or Legations accredited to the Holy See. King Edward,
on the other hand, took the view that during his presence in Rome
the functions of the Ambassador, who was his personal representative,
were in abeyance. The Embassy therefore became the King's own
private house and neutral ground. He proposed to go from the Quirinal
to the Embassy, and thence proceed to the Vatican in Sir Francis
Bertie's private carriage. This solution was adopted, and visits
to and from the Cardinal Secretary of State were dispensed with.
Much ado it may seem to-day over a little matter. But there were
no precedents, and some form of procedure had to be established.

 The King was still easily tired, but he omitted no item of
official duty. I retain a pleasant picture of him at the Embassy
reception paying his homage to the great Adelaide Ristori. The
visit was to be returned by the King of Italy in November.

 A month later the German Emperor came to Rome. He also paid
a visit to Leo XIII after lunching with the Prussian Minister
to the Vatican. His own carriage had been sent from Berlin to
convey him, together with a picked escort of cuirassiers. Their
magnificent appearance was no doubt intended to impress the Romans,
but it had quite the opposite effect, and their presence only
evoked criticism of the Emperor's want of tact in bringing his
own guards with him. He was well received, but with less demonstrativeness
than King Edward.

 I was now able, after sixteen months spent consecutively at
my post, to go for a few weeks to England, where Chamberlain's
new financial departure monopolized public interest. But I had
to return in the middle of July to relieve Bertie and once more
take charge of the Embassy. The Pope, who was ninety-four years
old, was very ill, and his death had been expected even before
I had left London. I had only once seen Leo XIII accidentally.
He was crossing the public rooms at the Vatican when I happened
to be there. He looked very fragile, the unsubstantial wraith
of a man. Cardinals were already assembling in the city in anticipation
of a Conclave. But the aged Pontiff still lived on.

 The election promised to be a very interesting one. The general
view was that Rampolla would succeed. On the other hand, his French
sympathies were sure to arouse opposition in certain quarters.
The Italians were reported to desire the choice of Cardinal Serafino
Vannutelli, who belonged to the Roman province and had relatives
in the Civil Service. It was difficult to appreciate in those
days to what extent the aspirations of the State might exercise
a subconscious influence. The cue of the ecclesiastical hierarchy
was still to complain of oppression. But the able men at its head
must have been well aware that under existing conditions their
position was stronger than it had been before. Until Rome became
the capital of United Italy the Papacy remained vulnerable. Now
it was secured against coercion or aggression. Not long after
1870 Marco Minghetti went to Berlin and saw Bismarck when the
Chancellor was in the throes of the Kultur Kampf.

 "What have you done?" said Bismarck to him: "you
have created an impossible situation by abolishing the temporal
power. So long as it existed we could deal with the Pontiff. One
could send a fleet to Civita Vecchia. But now you have made him
"Inviolable et insaisissable."

 "That," replied Minghetti, "was exactly what
we desired to do."

 As things were, the preponderating majority of the Curia was
sure to remain Italian. Probably only those who founded and evolved
the ecclesiastical system could make it work. It suited Italy
that the Curia should have a national character, and it was in
the interest of the Vatican no less. Tacitly the two authorities
understood each other well enough. During the last twenty years
the understanding has progressed much further. In 1903 the time
had certainly not come to drop the cry of protest, and the prison
of St. Peter was a valuable practical asset.

 On the evening of the 18th of July I walked down after dinner
to the Piazza of St. Peter's. The Basilica traced a vast black
silhouette against the stars, and a stillness almost oppressive
was only broken by the splashing of the fountains. There were
a few people gathered round the portal of the Palace where a Swiss
halberdier paced to and fro. A light burned in the high window
of the Madonna. I was told that its darkening would give the signal
for the Carabinieri to march into the Piazza. There were few other
lights in the vast façade: only those of the windows of
Rampolla's apartment, and those of the corner rooms where the
old man who embodied in his frail person one of the most Powerful
institutions in the world lay dying by degrees.

 I returned the following night and learned that the Pope was
hardly conscious, and that his physical resistance was wearing
out. He passed away at four in the morning. There is a legend
that when a pope dies the forehead is tapped with a silver hammer,
and his name invoked to verify death. If such a custom ever prevailed
in the Middle Ages, it has long ceased to be observed.

 Three days later, on the 22nd of July, after nightfall, the
embalmed body was carried down by torchlight through the haunted
galleries of the Vatican to the Chapel of the Sacrament in St.
Peter's, there to lie in state. The control of the populace thronging
to the church was handed over to the civil authorities, a further
indication of the tacit understanding. I found no difficulty in
passing in with the stream of visitors. The dead Pope lay in full
pontificals, a mere shadow of a human form, on a bier in the chapel.
The face was already blackening and, in the dim light, hardly
recognizable under the golden mitre. Swiss halberdiers lined the
chapel, and at each corner of the bier stood one of the Guard
of Nobles in a scarlet tunic. A certain austere simplicity contrasted
with the traditions of old-time pomp. The majority of those present
seemed to me drawn thither rather by curiosity than reverence.
It had been the custom to pass the feet of the dead Pope through
the grill of the gate for the devout to touch with their lips
as they passed. Benvenuto Cellini has recorded how he duly kissed
the foot of his old patron Clement VII. On this occasion the ceremony
of the Bacciapiede was suppressed. The embalming had apparently
not been very successful, and the lying-in-state was limited to
two instead of three days.

 There was rather more difficulty in obtaining a pass for St.
Peter's on the evening of the 24th of July, when the funeral took
place. A deceased pope is not buried at once in his destined grave.
The coffin is placed provisionally in a niche high up over the
arch of the Coro in the left aisle of the Basilica. Leo XIII had
expressed a desire to be buried in the Lateran Church. There had
been some rioting when the body of Pius IX had been removed to
San Lorenzo, and it was considered undesirable to risk a similar
demonstration. Therefore the tomb prepared for Leo XIII remained
unfilled till 1924.

 There may have been from two to three thousand people in St.
Peter's. A large number were ecclesiastics or members of the regular
orders. Many of those present, however, were only spectators,
and to judge from a number of acquaintances whom I saw, the whites
were as numerous as the blacks. No Italian police were on duty,
and order was maintained by the papal Gendarmerie, in uniforms
of the Napoleonic period, and the Swiss Guards. A wooden gangway
had been constructed in the middle of the nave, where the Palatine
Guards were aligned. These are drawn from worthy members of the
bourgeoisie, and only don their uniforms on exceptional occasions.
They seemed rather at a loss what to do. The vast shadowy church,
and the funeral of a very eminent Pope offered all the elements
for an imposing solemnity. But it failed to be impressive. There
was rather a sense of decadence, of departed glory and indifference
on the part of those who assisted.

 At seven o'clock a procession, formed by the Chapter of St.
Peter and the Guard of Nobles, escorted Cardinal Rampolla the
Chapel of the Sacrament to fetch the body. It re-formed to conduct
the bier with solemn chant and accompaniment of torches to the
Giulian Chapel, to which had been conveyed the three coffins prescribed
by tradition, of cypress, of lead, and of walnut. There were assembled
the Cardinals, the Roman Princes and the Foreign Representatives.
The proceedings were very lengthy. All the events of the late
pontificate were rehearsed, and a parchment on which they were
recorded was placed in the coffin. In conformity with usage this
should also have contained three silken bags with medals for each
of the twenty-six years of the reign, of gold, of silver and of
bronze. I was unable to see what took place during that portion
of the ceremony, but it was reported that the gold medals were
omitted for reasons of economy. Then the Act of Interment was
read, absolution was given, and the first coffin was closed. The
cypress shell was sealed up in the leaden coffin, which was placed
in the walnut case.

 The Cardinals next proceeded to a space cleared for them by
the Swiss Guards in front of the lofty niche, where the body was
temporarily to rest. A heavy wooden panel painted to look like
part of the marble wall had been removed, and the brick wall closing
tile vault behind it had been opened. In front had been rigged
a rough scaffolding, like that erected to clean ceilings, with
ladders fixed to the sides. From the top a stout beam projected,
the other end of which was secured above the niche. Pulleys for
hoisting the coffin were attached to this beam and below was a
primitive windlass. The load to be raised weighed a ton and a
half. There was no attempt to conceal with draperies the rude
timbers of the scaffolding, over which mechanics and masons in
their rough working clothes were climbing. The improvised machinery
seemed amateurish, and was calculated to dispel any sense of solemnity.
When at length the coffin arrived, much time was consumed In attaching
the ropes, getting it into position, hoisting, and sliding it
back into the hollow. Some of the Cardinals grew tired and slipped
away. It was nine o'clock before the operation was completed.
Then the church, hitherto in semidarkness, was illuminated with
the new electric lighting. A few people knelt in front of the
arch. The rest slowly dispersed without method. Sic transit
gloria mundi.

 The Conclave for the election of a successor to Leo XIII, of
which Monsignor Merry del Val would be the organizing secretary,
was to open on the 1st of August. By the 31st of July sixty-two
of the sixty-four members of the Sacred College had arrived. Pending
the election they held daily congregations for the transaction
of current business, and it was reported that at the concluding
congregation the Camerlengo or Chamberlain proposed that
they, as a reigning body, sede vacante, should formally
renew the protest against the usurpation of the Papal States by
the Italian Government. The empty form of protest seemed superfluous.
But it was apparently held that not to have reasserted it after
the death of a Pope might have been interpreted to imply acquiescence.

 During the interval before the Conclave I went with Mark Kerr
to San Vito in the Sabines to attend the wedding of an English
compatriot to Donna Diana Theodoli, whose mother, an American
by birth, was celebrated for her beauty. The bride had been the
fairest debutante of her season, and one now felt uncertain which
to admire most, the mother or the daughter. It was a charming
wedding, in which every soul in the little mountain town, the
ancestral home of the Theodolis, took a personal interest. The
children had covered the floor of the church with a mosaic design
of wild flowers. We spent the night in the old castle, once a
stronghold of the Colonnas. The next day we drove some twelve
miles through the hills to Valmontone to join the train to Rome.
In it, to our surprise, we found Harrington, our Minister in Abyssinia.
He had just landed at Naples with John Baird, who had been with
the Butter expedition exploring the frontier between Abyssinia
and East Africa. Baird had been under a lion whose jaw he had
broken with a shot which was not immediately fatal, and had been
somewhat mauled before he was rescued by his Somali attendants
from a critical position. They were only passing through Rome.
But I persuaded Harrington to stay with me, and not to miss the
rare chance of witnessing a papal election.

 On the morning of the 2nd of August, when the first scrutiny
would be taken, we went to the Piazza of St. Peter's to watch
for the traditional indication by which the decision of the sixty-two
cardinals, completely isolated from the world, would be communicated.
The voting took place at eleven. At 11.20 we saw a cloud of smoke
issue from the iron chimney on the roof of the Sistine Chapel.
The smoke produced by the burning of the voting papers after they
had been counted showed that there had been no result, and that
the prescribed majority of two-thirds had not been secured by
any candidate. At six in the evening a second ballot took place,
and once more the negative smoke rose and dispersed in the August
evening. On the 3rd we were again at our post of observation both
in the morning and in the evening. As the third and fourth ballot
produced no other result, Harrington decided to take the night
train to Paris. I returned alone to the Piazza by eleven on the
morning of the 4th. This time the quarter passed, and no smoke
issued from the roof. By half-past eleven there could no longer
be any doubt that the electors had made their choice, and the
excitement in the waiting crowd became intense. The news must
have spread like wildfire from mouth to mouth through the city,
for the vast circular area in front of the Basilica, blazing in
the summer sun, at once began to fill. I moved up towards the
portico, in front of which troops had now formed a hollow square.
About ten minutes before midday a silk and velvet drapery was
hung upon the balustrade over the central entrance.

 On the stroke of noon Cardinal Macchi appeared in the gallery,
and with a resonant voice, slightly shaken with emotion, made
the traditional announcement to the populace . " Annuntio
vobis gaudium magnum. Habemus Papam eminentissimum reverendiwimum
Dominum Cardinalem, ... Josephum Sarto." The unanticipated
name of the Venetian Patriarch was greeted with an outburst of
cheering, which was renewed with even more enthusiasm when Cardinal
Macchi completed his announcement: "Qui nomen sibi
imposuit Pius Decimus."

 There was then a general rush for the church, into which I
was borne on a wave of perspiring Capucins. Almost immediately
afterwards the new Pope intoned the Benediction in a firm unfaltering
voice from the inner gallery. Then I went to the nearest telegraph
office and dispatched the news to the Foreign Office.

 The election of Giuseppe Sarto, who had only obtained five
votes at the first scrutiny, was a surprise. It was largely due
to the influence of the foreign Cardinals, who were very glad
to take the decision out of the exclusive control of the Roman
group. Although strict secrecy regarding the proceedings in Conclave
is the rule, a number of indiscretions soon made it possible to
form a fairly correct impression of what had taken place. At the
first ballot Rampolla was stated to have obtained twenty-four
votes, while the second largest total was in favour of Gotti.
A further accession of support for Rampolla was the signal for
a dramatic scene, when a cardinal, now known to have been the
Archbishop of Cracow, announced that he was instructed to signify
the Austrian Emperor's disapproval of the choice of Rampolla.
The latter, while declaring that he did not himself covet the
Papal Chair, was reported to have protested vigorously against
such outside interference. The Camerlengo, according to
my informant, replied that the Conclave would treat the communication
as non-avenue. Nevertheless, it seems from that moment
the votes assigned to Rampolla began to diminish, and the ascendancy
of the Patriarch of Venice, who was altogether independent of
any combinations, became more pronounced. The votes first given
to Gotti were mostly transferred to Sarto, who ended by obtaining
fifty as against ten recorded by those who remained faithful to
Rampolla.

 It afterwards transpired that the French Cardinal who occupied
the stall next to Sarto, indignant at the Austrian intervention,
addressed some critical observation to his neighbour, in French.
Whereupon the Venetian replied: " Nescio gallice loqui."
The Frenchman, to whom such an admission must have seemed
an obvious disqualification, remarked with a touch of irony, "Tu
non es papabilis." The answer came from the Patriarch's
heart " Deo gratias." But the next day or the
day after he was to receive the homage of his French colleague.

 There was much discussion at the time as to whether a definite
veto had been imposed by the Austrian Emperor on the choice of
Cardinal Rampolla. A bull of Pius IX had declared abhorrent all
lay intervention or any external influence in a papal election.
To this bull fidelity had been sworn by the members of the Sacred
College. Had a real veto been asserted, a formal protest would
therefore have seemed inevitable. As no such formal protest was
recorded, it may be assumed that no direct veto was advanced,
and that the Cardinal Archbishop of Cracow confined himself to
expressing the Emperor's hope that Rampolla would not be chosen.

 In a speech to the Delegations not long afterwards Count Goluchowski,
the Austro-Hungarian Minister for Foreign Affairs, took occasion
to say that there was no reason why a Cardinal should not declare
in Conclave that the selection of a particular individual was
undesirable to the interests of the Catholic Church. He did not
say that such a declaration had actually been made, but his insistence
at that time on the principle tends to confirm a report which
was generally accepted.

 The motives which might have inspired the Emperor's objection
were matter for conjecture. The Cardinal was regarded, and rightly
so, as the candidate most acceptable to France. He had brought
about a rapprochement between the Vatican and the Government
of the Republic, and was even credited with republican hopes for
Italy. But would this have accounted for so grave a step as the
intervention of Francis Joseph? Another explanation of a personal
and human character has greater probability. After the tragedy
of Meyerling the question whether a religious funeral might be
accorded to the Archduke Rudolph, in spite of his having committed
suicide, was referred to Rome. Such a proposition encountered
the determined opposition of Rampolla, who insisted on the maintenance
of the rule without respect of persons. Leo XIII, in compassion
for the afflicted Emperor, eventually gave way on this point,
and overruled his Secretary of State. The Cardinal, who had protested
against any compromise, was never forgiven.

 If the rejection of Rampolla was a blow to France, the election
of Cardinal Sarto was not particularly welcome to the Italian
Government. The semi-official Press had made propaganda for Cardinal
Vannutelli, whose prospects were possibly not thereby improved.
Sarto, a man of the people with a democratic tradition, genially
human and universally respected for a model and saintly life,
promised to become a popular Pontiff in sympathy with the masses.
The Government was manifestly dissatisfied, and one organ went
so far as to assert that no pope could be more dangerous than
one who was essentially a Churchman.

 Such without question was the Patriarch of Venice, who had
succeeded in his sixty-sixth year. The descendant of a sturdy
peasant stock from Riese, near Treviso, he had a fine and dignified
presence, with a natural charm of address. After directing the
Seminary at Treviso, and filling various ecclesiastical offices
with distinction, he became Bishop of Mantua, and nine years later,
in 1893, he received the Red Hat. Three days afterwards Leo XIII
appointed him to be Patriarch of Venice. That office had been
vacant for some time, as the first selection made for the post
had been that of a non-Italian, to whom the Government had not
been disposed to accord the necessary exequatur. Its issue
was again delayed after Sarto had been chosen, not for any personal
reasons, but because the Government claimed that the right of
nomination was vested in the Italian crown. Venice had taken the
place of the old Patriarchate of Aquileia, whose pretensions to
be coeval as an ecclesiastical hierarchy had always been met by
Rome in a conciliatory spirit. Thus Venice had from early times
retained the right of choosing its own Patriarch. Crispi, who
in 1893 had his reasons for emphasizing a normal hostility to
the Church, maintained that the rights acquired by the Austrian
Empire, when the republic was absorbed, had passed to the King
of Italy with the cession of Venetia. The Vatican, on the other
hand, contended that the privileges of Aquileia were not susceptible
of transmission. Eventually opposition to the issue of the exequatur
was withdrawn. If at the time of his election Pius X would
not have been the choice of the Italian Government, he was none
the less Italianissimo, and he had the traditional sentiments
of a Venetian with regard to Austria. A friend of mine went to
see him some years later to inquire what progress had been made
in an investigation into the claims of a former member of his
family to canonization. It was that Marco d'Avezzano, who had
played a conspicuous part in the war against the Turks under Sobieski.
He was credited with many miracles, and his girdle which had been
preserved was regarded as a very potent relic by peasant women
who desired to become mothers. Marco d'Avezzano had died in Austria,
and was buried in the sepulchre of the Imperial family. Pius X
told my friend that he himself had submitted the case for his
canonization to the authorities at Rome. He went on to say that
though Marco had no doubt performed many miracles in his lifetime,
he had not any to his credit since his death. The fact was that
he had been buried "in very bad company." His remains
ought to be transferred to Italy, and then, no doubt, their miraculous
influence would revive.

 Pius was the ninth Venetian Pope. He had been nine years a
parish priest, nine years Bishop of Mantua, and nine years Cardinal
and Patriarch. He was commonly reported to have come to Rome with
a return ticket. It was no doubt very hard for him to reconcile
himself never to see again the beloved Venice, where he had moved
among the people, living a very simple and almost austere life,
which made it difficult for him to defer to the ceremonial obligations
as well as to the isolation of his exalted position. In one rather
endearing domestic detail he took his own way, and insisted on
occasionally having his old sisters to dine in the Vatican, an
innovation which rather scandalized the conventional retainers.

 The Coronation took place on the 10th of August. I reached
St. Peter's at eight in the morning, but had to remain sweltering
in the August sun until 10.30 before I could enter the church.
Tickets of admission were issued to all who applied for them,
and the ceremony was thus practically held with open doors. Some
50,000 people were estimated to have passed the gates. A new departure
was the prohibition, by handbills and placards, of all applause.
There were nevertheless one or two attempts at demonstrations
which the Pontiff himself repressed with a dignified gesture.

 I have devoted to the funeral of Leo XIII and the succession
of Pius X what may appear a disproportionate number of pages,
seeing that I was only an interested onlooker and in no way personally
associated with these events. But papal elections are relatively
rare. This one, moreover, took place in midsummer, and was therefore
witnessed by few strangers. I was once more in Rome when Pius
X died in 1914, and Cardinal della Chiesa became Benedict
XV. But I was then Ambassador, and even if I had had a moment
to spare from the pressing duties which devolved upon me in the
opening weeks of the Great War, I could not have wrestled with
the crowd in the Piazza or assisted incognito in the ceremonies.

 Lord Salisbury only survived his retirement for one year, and
in August, 1903, there passed away one of the last really
impressive figures of the old English political life. He had been
Prime Minister during nearly fourteen years. As a modest observer
and subordinate I could not always agree that his handling of
foreign issues justified the reputation which he enjoyed at home
of being a heaven-sent Foreign Minister. The imagination which
might have assisted a very British mentality to see things as
other nations see them was lacking, and he was occasionally betrayed
into ironical appreciations which are inopportune on the lips
of a Minister for Foreign Affairs. At Constantinople in 1876 the
professional diplomatist, Sir Henry Elliot, was right in the main,
and the politician plenipotentiary who recommended his recall
appears to have been easily cajoled by the astute Ignatieff. Some
eighteen months later he went to the opposite extreme in becoming
the champion of Turkey against Russia, and was thus largely responsible
for a policy which he afterwards straightforwardly admitted to
have been mistaken. These lessons and other later experiences
no doubt disposed him to place more confidence in the judgment
of the man on the spot, and made him in the end a chief who was
very loyally served. He was, so far as I could judge, more reserved
in expressing his views than any of the other ministers under
whom I have worked. But whatever his merits as a diplomatist may
have been, he certainly commanded the confidence of his countrymen.
He jealously guarded the great heritage of the Empire without
ignoring the legitimate claims of other nations, and he typically
represented the best Conservative tradition, which accepts change,
but only after convincing proof of its necessity.

 Not long before my friend, Jimmy Whistler, had passed to the
great silence. I had not seen him for some time, and twenty years
had gone by since the great days of the studio in Tite Street,
when every day was a merry adventure. That genial artist in uncompromising
aggressiveness had a very loyal and affectionate nature, and he
never got over the death of his wife, the widow of Godwin the
architect. I am afraid that in his latter years he was rather
embittered with life, which had never been easy for him, in spite
of the light-hearted bravado with which he carried his panache.
There was an element of tragedy in the fact that, no doubt
largely on account of his high-mettled and disputatious temperament,
the most serious of craftsmen was never taken quite seriously
in the country where so much of his best work was done. The Academicians
would have none of him, but the National Gallery has made amends.

 Another link with the past was severed that autumn by the death
of Menotti Garibaldi, the elder son of the liberator. True to
the family tradition he lived a poor man, and he left a good name
with the humble peasantry on his small estate. I attended his
funeral and walked with a crowd of old men in red shirts with
rows of medals. With every year of my residence in Italy these
have grown fewer and fewer, and the survivors ever more infirm.
But I never see them without a thrill of emotion, and it almost
overcame me when the last remnants in Rome of that band of veterans
marched up at the head of a cheering crowd to the British Embassy
on the declaration of war in May, 1915. That autumn the
King and Queen of Italy paid a visit to Paris, where the rapprochement
which had been achieved under the auspices of Prinetti secured
them an enthusiastic welcome. In October the Russian Emperor was
due in Rome to return the visit of the Italian Sovereigns.

 For some time before the date fixed, Russian police agent swarmed
in Italy, taking stock of the social conditions. It is probable
that they asked for the impossible in a democratic country. In
any case they could not obtain what they considered satisfactory
assurances regarding his safety on the railways, and at the eleventh
hour the announcement had to be made that the visit would not
take place. The extreme Socialists, who had been protesting against
the reception, were triumphant. They claimed to have, for the
first time, exercised an influence in a foreign issue. To the
vast majority in Italy, however, the decision caused profound
mortification and a certain sense of humiliation. Nelidow, the
Ambassador, took all the responsibility on himself. He could not
well do otherwise. But he incurred an unpopularity from which
he suffered until his retirement in the following December. It
may be questioned how far the most successful royal visits have
more than an ephemeral influence. But the renunciation under such
circumstances of a visit which had long been announced could only
have an unfortunate effect on relations. We had never heard the
end in Italy of the Austrian Emperor's failure to return the visit
of King Humbert. All the efforts made by Prinetti to bring about
a better understanding with Russia were thus neutralized. A brilliant
reception, however, of the King and Queen of Italy in England
did something to redress the balance.

 The Prime Minister Zanardelli, who was quite worn out now resigned,
but he only survived his resignation a few weeks. Giolitti's chance
had come, and he formed a composite administration from a number
of groups of varying political colour, endeavouring though without
success even to include the moderate Socialist Turati. One of
the members of his Cabinet most attacked by the extreme Left was
Tittoni, who now became Minister for Foreign Affairs. The successive
parliamentary combinations, which Giolitti thereafter continued
to manipulate so adroitly that he eventually became a virtual
dictator in Italian politics, were constituted of such diverse
elements that they offered little evidence to show which way his
own predispositions tended. Some of his intimates have, however,
assured me that the natural inclination of his typically opportunist
mind was towards the right.

 On the night of the 1st November the world ran the risk of
being made immeasurably poorer by a fire which broke out in the
Vatican just above the library with all its priceless treasures.
The pontifical pumps were ineffectual from long disuse, but fortunately
the Roman firemen were quickly on the spot, and no serious damage
was done. To reassure the learned and scientific world at home
I prepared a brief telegram for Bertie, giving an exact account
of the incident. It led to a curious revelation of the still prevailing
under-secretarial state of mind in my new chief, who had spent
so many years in the Foreign Office, amending drafts sent up to
him for revision, that it had become second nature to him never
to pass one without a number of corrections in red ink. The document
in question only contained a few lines, but it came back with
a large number of emendations, which so far altered its sense
that, as I explained to him, it no longer gave a true exposition
of the case. He admitted this, but was still so reluctant to pass
it in its original form that for a considerable part of the morning
he laboured at it only to come to the conclusion at last that
the matter could not well be stated in any other words than those
formulated in the first instance. No doubt after he went to Paris,
with greater experience of life in an Embassy, Bertie to some
extent shook off the bureaucratic habit, but it was still so strong
in him that during his comparatively short sojourn in Rome he
made his chancery, accustomed to less rigid methods, very uncomfortable.
It was interesting, on the other hand, to note the rapid transition
which took place in the attitude of so exacting a critic towards
his old department. When I had known him there no one could have
been more severe than he was in his judgments on our representatives
abroad. No sooner had he left the Foreign Office than he became
an uncompromising censor of the institution of which he had been
a pillar. He was continually coming to my room to expatiate on
some new instance which he had detected of what he described as
the incompetence of that department, or to read me some masterpiece
of acerbity which he had just addressed to one of the under-secretaries
who had replaced him. Being myself practically quarrel-proof,
Bertie was always a joy to me as a master in the art of quarrelling.
But then I had a real respect for his great ability and his shrewd,
if slightly insular, diagnosis of foreign questions. We got on
capital in spite of his expecting me to go beyond my proper function
and to act as a sort of supervisory head of the chancery. But
he was a difficult chief to serve.

 Before I left for England at the end of 1903 to take advantage
of some months of accumulated leave, Harrington arrived in Rome
to join in a conference with myself and the Director-General of
the Italian Colonial Department on the future policy of the two
Governments in Abyssinia, and after ten days' hard work we drew
up a series of recommendations, which were eventually adopted.

 London was extremely agreeable with its less formal winter
hospitalities during the months which we spent in our new house.
A dinner-party story told by Sir Spencer Walpole amused me. When
the late Lord Orford was very ill, and only a short time before
his death the King, who was always constant in his loyalty to
old friends, went to see him, and said to the butler who opened
the door: "Will you announce me---you know who I am?"
"Sir Henry Drummond Wollf, I believe," said the butler,
and led the way upstairs.

 I remember also a good evening spent as the guest of A. B.
Walkley, when he was entertaining Bernard Shaw, Barrie, Mason,
Street, and George Wyndham, with whom I sat up talking till two.
George was always incorrigible in that respect, but as his brilliant
life was not to be a long one, it was fortunate for his friends
that he did not waste any unnecessary time in bed. Sir Walter
Raleigh, with whom he had something in common, when first established
at Court, claimed to have devoted five hours to sleep, four to
reading, two to relaxation and the other thirteen to business.
This reference here to his mode of life is not irrelevant, as
I had spent my leave in completing a volume on the great Devonian
for Macmillan 's "Men of Action " series.

 Sir Charles Hardinge was now appointed to succeed our old friend
of Berlin days, Sir Charles Scott, as Ambassador at St. Petersburg.
He was only about a year senior to me in the service. Gorst, who
was junior to me, took his place as Assistant Under-Secretary
at the Foreign Office. I had reached my forty-fifth birthday,
and the prospect of realizing my ambition to become a minister
at forty-five seemed very uncertain. It was nevertheless to be
accomplished sooner than I anticipated. our second surviving son
Peter was born on the 16th of April, and as soon as possible afterwards
I returned to my post for one more summer.

 I had missed President Loubet's visit to Rome, but found that
it had left the atmosphere rather heavily charged. Recent utterances
in Italy and Germany confirming the solidarity of the Triple Alliance
had not been well received in Paris. Had they been made a little
earlier, occasion might indeed have been found to postpone the
visit which led to a crisis in the situation, already long strained,
between France and the Vatican. The Cardinal Secretary of State
had sent the French Government a protest, perhaps not couched
in an altogether felicitous form, against the omission to visit
the Pope in his own capital. It was reported that the note communicating
its text to other States in diplomatic relations with the Vatican
contained a sentence to the effect that if the Papal Nuncio was
still suffered to remain in Paris it was only for reasons of a
special nature. In Italy the Papal protest was represented by
politicians of the extreme Left as impugning the title of Italy
to Rome. But I afterwards learned that its terms had been submitted
to the Government before it was dispatched. The Papacy is regarded
by Italians as essentially an Italian institution, and any rebuff
to the Head of the Church is bound to arouse a little touch of
Chauvinism. The result of the step was that the French representative
was forthwith recalled, and in July relations with the Vatican
were definitely severed. Nor were they renewed during the critical
years when the events which led to the cataclysm of 1914 were
maturing.

 The health of Sir Thomas Sanderson, who had for so many years
acted as Permanent Under-Secretary at the Foreign Office, compelled
him for a time at any rate to renounce all active work, and Bertie,
who went to London in July, 1904, was detained there to take his
place. I was therefore once more to be for some time in charge
of the Embassy. The lease of our house in Rome was up, and I established
my family for the summer at Sorrento. Lord Lansdowne then in a
very kind and flattering letter offered me the Legation at Stockholm,
which counted as a first-class mission, and was about to become
vacant. My professional ambition was after all thus realized though
for service reasons I was not to proceed to my new post for some
little time.

 The summer life at Sorrento was pleasant enough, save for the
scorching journeys to Rome and back in the dog days. Vesuvius
entertained us with a mild eruption. One August afternoon we drove
across the peninsula to Positano on the southern side to witness
the festival of the Madonna at that picturesque rock-sheltered
town, which once rivalled Amalfi as a flourishing commercial port.
In the evening we were looking for a corner in which to unpack
the food we had brought with us, when a tall friendly man, who
spoke fair English, accosted us and offered his assistance. He
told us he had been for seventeen years in New York, where he
had prospered and now owned three hardware shops. He had been
ill for some time, and had convinced himself that he would never
get well unless he returned to his old home to offer a candle
to the Madonna of Positano on her festival. He had come over with
a return ticket, and had bought a candle so big that it had taken
two men to carry it. Now he was feeling quite well, and he intended
to go back to New York the following week. Coelum non animum
mutant qui trans mare currunt.

 The great event of the summer was the birth of an heir to the
throne of Savoy in mid-September. A suspected agitation for the
adoption of the title of Prince of Rome, desired by the anti-clericals,
was discounted by the immediate announcement that the heir would
be known as the Prince of Piedmont. Bertie was now appointed to
Paris, and Sir Edwin Egerton from Madrid was to succeed him in
Rome, where my place would be filled by Reginald Lister.

 During my last period in charge of the Embassy I had first
occasion to interest myself in the Layard bequest to the National
Gallery, with which I had once more to deal in 1913, when further
difficulties arose on the death of Lady Layard. Sir Henry Layard
had left the important group of pictures, almost exclusively of
the Italian school, which he had in his house at Venice, to the
British nation subject to the life interest of his widow. The
Italian Ministry of Public Instruction, which controls the Department
of Fine Arts, had sent a notification to Lady Layard that six
of the finest examples in the collection were to be placed in
the catalogue of pictures, the exportation of which from Italy
was prohibited. As such an inhibition would have nullified the
provisions of the will, Lady Layard appealed to the Embassy. The
Ambassador, after examining the terms of the edicts governing
such issues, discussed the matter with the competent minister,
and concluded that nothing could be done. I did not altogether
agree, and obtained his consent to a further investigation of
the matter. Co-operating with the Trustees of the National Gallery
I was eventually able to submit to the Italian authorities a sufficient
body of evidence in the form of old catalogues and newspaper reviews
to prove beyond all question that these six pictures had been
in England for several years, and that they had been publicly
exhibited in London at the Exhibition of 1851, at Manchester and
elsewhere, before they were conveyed to Venice to the house acquired
there some years later by Sir Henry Layard. There was, moreover,
evidence available to prove that he had taken such steps as were
open to him at the time to place on record the fact of their removal
from London to Venice, which suggested that, had the regulations
which now provide for temporary importation then been in force,
he would no doubt have fulfilled their prescriptions. The Italian
Government, after considering the evidence submitted, took an
equitable view of the case, and no longer insisted on the application
of subsequent legislation to these six pictures, which included
the portrait of Mohammed the Great. They, moreover, gave me an
assurance that when the time came for their transfer to the National
Gallery, no difficulty would be raised. The remaining pictures
were not at that time regarded as of such exceptional value as
to be included in the catalogue of non-exportable works of art.

 We left Rome in November full of regrets. But I had a presentiment
that I should return there some day.

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−	~~<HTML>~~	+	Early in the next year, 1903, I was directed to inquire whether
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−	~~<TITLE>Sir J. Rennell Rodd. Social and Diplomatic Memories. 1902-1919. Chapter II.</TITLE>~~	+
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−		+
−	~~<br><br><FONT COLOR="#4618c6" SIZE="+1">SOCIAL AND DIPLOMATIC MEMORIES</FONT><FONT~~	+
−	~~SIZE="+1">, </FONT><FONT COLOR="#4618c6" SIZE="+1">1902-1919<BR>~~	+
−	~~BY THE RIGHT HON.</FONT><FONT SIZE="+1"> </FONT><FONT COLOR="#4618c6"~~	+
−	~~SIZE="+1">SIR JAMES RENNELL RODD, G.C.B.</FONT>~~	+
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−	~~<P ALIGN=CENTER><FONT SIZE="+2" FACE="Times">CHAPTER II</FONT><FONT~~	+
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−	~~ROME, 1903-1904</FONT>~~	+
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−	~~<br><br><FONT COLOR="#996633" SIZE="+1">Sir F. Bertie, Ambassador.~~	+
−	~~King Victor Emmanuel. Prinetti's illness. Visit of King Edward~~	+
−	~~VII. Illness and death of Leo XIII. The funeral. The conclave~~	+
−	~~and the election of Pius X. Death of Lord Salisbury. Bertie as~~	+
−	~~Ambassador. Appointment to Stockholm. The Layard pictures.</FONT></BLOCKQUOTE>~~	+
−		+
−	~~<br><br>~~Early in the next year, 1903, I was directed to inquire whether	+
	the nomination of Sir Francis Bertie would be agreeable to the		the nomination of Sir Francis Bertie would be agreeable to the
	Italian Government. Prinetti, who expressed his regret that it		Italian Government. Prinetti, who expressed his regret that it
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	that I should return there some day.		that I should return there some day.

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−	~~<br><br><A HREF="Rodd03.htm"><FONT SIZE="+1">Chapter III</FONT></A>~~	+
−	~~<br><br><A HREF="RoddTC.htm#TC"><FONT SIZE="+1">Table of Contents</FONT></A>~~	+
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CHAPTER II: ROME 1903-1904 - Revision history

Hirgen at 04:24, 25 October 2008

Hirgen at 05:19, 23 October 2008

Hirgen at 03:24, 10 October 2008

Hirgen at 03:13, 10 October 2008