A Little Protestant in Rome by Eglanton Thorne

Paul sees the Pope.

ALIGHTING from her carriage at the great bronze door of the Vatican, Mrs. Dunton led Paul into the broad corridor and up the wide staircase to the right. The boy's eyes surveyed with delight the Pope's Swiss guard in their picturesque parti-coloured uniform, stationed within the entrance. He began to ask questions eagerly in his high clear tones, to which Mrs. Dunton replied in a voice discreetly lowered, till, as they ascended the stone steps, the solemn, decorous atmosphere of the place affected even Paul, and he, too, became quiet, though nothing escaped his eager eyes.

Mrs. Dunton ascended to the second floor, and, entering a small office on the right, spoke in Italian to the sedate, demure official in suit of glossy broadcloth and white cravat, who advanced with noiseless tread to meet her. She gave him her card, and he ushered her into a small sitting-room to wait while he carried it to Monsignore Nero.

The room was furnished in a plain though substantial style and lighted from above. There was little in it to please Paul's eyes, and he grew weary of sitting still, as many minutes went by and the monsignore did not appear. He got down from his chair, and began to move restlessly about the room. Absorbed in her own thoughts, Mrs. Dunton left him to himself.

At last, the door opened and there entered a tall, large man with handsome features and dark eyes. In a soft, deep voice, with charming kindliness, he welcomed Mrs. Dunton, patted Paul on the head and called him "a fine little fellow; " then sank into a chair beside the lady, who was soon engaged in earnest talk with him.

Paul felt himself out of it, and decidedly bored. The door into the outer room stood open. There was the sound of voices and the stir of life outside. He wanted to see more of the strange, vast building in which he found himself, so, taking advantage of Mrs. Dunton's pre-occupation, he slipped out of the room, and crossing the next, came on to the open court which was at the top of the staircase.

Two Carabineers in their smart uniform stood on guard at the entrance to the court, but it chanced that their attention was at that moment engaged by an official of the Vatican, with whom they were in close consultation. The little boy slipped behind one of them, and ran across the courtyard and out by an exit on the other side, without attracting the attention of any of the three. Delighted with his freedom, he sped on along the passage in which he found himself, turned to the right, crossed another court, and came into a road at the back of St. Peter's, near the entrance to the Sculpture Gallery, where there were several carriages drawn up. A group of students in long black gowns with red sashes stood by the door. They were talking earnestly, and Paul slipped by them without attracting any special attention. He found himself beside a large iron gate which stood a little way open. Beyond he saw a broad gravel terrace, with tall trees and masses of bright flowers in the distance.

In a moment Paul was through the gate and running along the terrace. Instinct told him that he was on forbidden ground. These must be the beautiful old gardens of the Vatican, of which he had heard people speak. Well, here he was, and he would see all he could while he had the chance.

Paul was conscious of a strong and delicious perfume, as he ran along the terrace. It came from the orange and lemon trees planted against the walls, and covered with a wealth of white blossoms, enough to provide wreaths for all the brides of Christendom. Paul sniffed their fragrance with rapture as he hurried on, anxious to see as much as possible ere he was reprimanded and borne away, as he fully expected to be.

The sound of falling water reached his ears. He turned to the right, and saw a tiny cascade falling over stones, fringed with maiden-hair fern. He paused for a few moments to gaze at this, then went on, being now out of sight of the gate, and found fresh wonders and delights at every turn. There were roses in abundance, and of every species, from the tiny Banksia, trained over arbours and trellises, to the large thick cabbage roses and the exquisite pale yellow Maréchal Niel.

But, though he loved flowers, Paul presently came on what interested him more. Within a large fenced enclosure was a collection of curious animals-ostriches with their tall, swift limbs, and long awkward necks; a pelican, with its extraordinary bill; a few goats and deer; and a couple of sheep of a peculiar breed. Paul stood as if glued to the wire fence which enclosed these creatures. He started as a voice addressing him in Italian said: -

"Who is this little gentleman who admires so much the Pope's menagerie?"

Paul looked round, and saw an elderly man, wearing a grey suit of clothes and a broad straw hat, who was regarding him with an amused and benevolent expression.

"I do not know what you say," said Paul, looking up into the stranger's face with his open, fearless expression; "I am an English boy; I cannot speak Italian, except just a word or two, you know."

"Ah! He is an English boy," said the man, speaking Paul's native tongue in a way that the child thought rather funny; "I can speak the English, but it is not much. I have been to England. They know how to make the garden in England."

"Yes; but Janet says the Scotch are the best gardeners," said Paul. "She says a Scotch gardener would be ashamed to let the gardens get so untidy as they do in Italy."

"Ah! It is true; the Scotch does know how to gardener," replied the stranger, "and they does think that they does know better than everybody else. But how comes the little English boy into my garden?"

"Is it your garden? " said Paul in surprise. "I thought it was the Pope's."

"So it is, but I-I am the Pope's head of the gardeners," said the stranger with an air of importance, which was not lost upon Paul.