ing; the second none may behold but those who are bidden.
Who shall complain? There is little to observe in the Pope's apartments but his private life—and that he who lives the life of the man with the iron mask has a right to keep sealed from observation.
Apart from the aura of Sanctity, apart from venerable associations, this portion of the palace has nothing to show within which would compare with the work of the Borgias and della Roveres. It is only three hundred years old, and recent Popes have returned to Apostolic simplicity.
But it contains a few noble chambers, like the Hall of the Consistory, and is rendered impressive by the atmosphere and the velvet-liveried retainers of a Court.
What the Vatican lacks is architectural nobility. When you gaze on the glowing vaults of Raffaelle's Loggia, the triple tier of arcades which surround the superb Court of Saint Damasus, even when you move in the gorgeous baroque immensity of chambers like the Sala Regia, you feel their majesty. But the Vatican has neither the romantic splendour of Windsor, nor the grandeur of the Louvre. It looks more like a Parliament House than a Palace. Everyone, who lifts his eyes to it, must wish that
