Constitutional Whig

Visit to the Sixtine Chapel, in Rome.—Last evening I accompanied an Irish Franciscan, who has resided upwards of thirty years in Rome, to the Vatican, to witness the imposing ceremony of pontifical vespers, in the splendid Sixtine Chapel, where, stationing ourselves within the railing, which ungallantly excludes the fair sex, I again beheld the Pope, seated on an elevated throne, his brow adorned with the triple tiara, clothed in gorgeous robes of white and gold, attended by a motley assemblage of Roman clergy, nobility, and foreign ambassadors dressed in the most glaring style of magnificence, and decked out in all colours, from the sober grey of the anchorites and mendicants, to the sombre black of the monks; from the purple of the monsignore to the crimson of the canon; and from the dazzling scarlet of the cardinal to the sovereign white of the supreme pontiff. If you imagine, however, that I am going to enter into a prolix detail of church ceremonies, I must beg leave to dispel the error, and to assure you, that I paid very little attention to them, amidst the superior attractions of the unrivalled Frescoes of Michael Angelo, which cover the walls of the Sixtine Chapel, and listening to the heavenly music of its full choir; or the great effect of the fine evening service of the Catholic church, is produced by the perfect training of the band of singers, who practice constantly together, without any accompaniment. The sopranos, I am sorry to say, are unfortunate castrati, sacrificed for the sake of sweet sounds. The Italian voice, though not always pleasing in conversation, soars in its higher tones into the richest and boldest musical expression.

The person who chiefly attracted my attention (and fortunately my Hibernian cicerone knew every person of distinction,) was the Cardinal della Gonsaga, from his strong resemblance to a well known ex-Lord Chancellor. They are about the same advanced age, both possessing the suaviter in modo, the same penetrating eyes, still lighted up with an almost youthful fire when directing a keen piercing glance, or occasionally the play of a Roman features relaxed into a Socratic smile. The cardinal was formerly gifted with considerable skill and address in the management of affairs, but now (unlike his British prototype) incapacitated for business, owing to a loss of memory, a strange negative quality for a minister of state, which office he yet holds. Nor is it only physically that he resembles the peer I have alluded to, for their minds seem to have been similarly constituted: they are equally attached to religion, Roman or Anglican, in all its exclusive spirit, and to all ancient institutions; they are equally opposed to innovations, and to the too hasty spread of knowledge, or to what is vulgarly called the "march of intellect"

Letter from Rome