March 25.
Annunciation, or Lady Day.
QUARTER DAY.
For the Every-Day Book.
Relentless, undelaying quarter-day!
Cold, though in Summer, cheerless, though in Spring,
In Winter, bleak; in Autumn, withering—
No quarter dost thou give, not for one day,
But rent and tax enforceth us to pay;
Or, with a quarter-staff, enters our dwelling,
Thy ruthless minion, our small chattels selling,
And empty-handed sending us away!—
Thee I abhor, although I lack not coin
To bribe thy “itching palm:” for I behold
The poor and needy whom sharp hunger gnawing
Compels to flit, on darksome night and cold,
Leaving dismantled walls to meet thy claim:—
Then scorn I thee, and hold them free from blame!
X.
The Last Day of Lent.
Lady Morgan describes the “sepulchres,” in the churches of Italy, to have been watched night and day by hundreds clad in deep mourning from the dawn of Holy Thursday till Saturday at mid-day, when the body is supposed to rise from the grave, and the resurrection is announced by the firing of cannon, the blowing of trumpets, and the ringing of bells which from the preceding Thursday had been carefully tied up to protect them from the power of the devil. “On this day, the whole foreign population of Rome rolls on, in endless succession, to the Vatican. The portico, colonnades, and vestibules, both of the church and palace, assume the air of the court of a military despot. Every epoch in the military costume is there gaudily exhibited. Halberdiers in coats of mail, and slate-coloured pantaloons, which pass upon the faithful for polished steel armour; the Swiss in their antique dresses of buff and scarlet, and lamberkeens; the regular troops in their modern uniforms; the guardia nobile, the pope’s voltigeurs, all feathers and feebleness, gold and glitter; generals of the British army, colonels and subalterns of every possible yeomanry, with captains and admirals of the navy, and a host of nondescripts, laymen, and protestant clergymen, who ‘for the nonce’ take shelter under any thing resembling an uniform, that may serve as a passe-partout, where none are courteously received but such as wear the livery of church or state militant;—all move towards the portals of the Sistine chapel, which, with their double guards, resemble the mouth of a military pass, dangerous to approach, and difficult to storm. The ladies press with an imprudent impetuosity upon the guards, who, with bayonets fixed and elbows squared, repress them with a resistance, such as none but female assailants would dare to encounter a second time. Thousands of tickets of admission are shown aloft by upraised hands, and seconded by high-raised voices; while the officer of the guard, who can read and tear but one at a time, leaves the task of repulsion to the Swiss, who manfully second their ‘allez fous en’ with a physical force, that in one or two instances incapacitated the eager candidates for further application. A few English favoured by the minister, and all the princes and diplomatists resident at Rome, pioneered by their guards of honour, make their way without let or molestation. One side of the space, separated from the choir by a screen, is fitted up for them apart; the other is for the whole female congregation, who are crushed in, like sheep in a fold. The men, if in uniform or full court dresses, are admitted to a tribune within the choir; while the inferior crowd, left to shift for themselves, rush in with an impetuosity none can resist; for though none are admitted at all to the chapel without tickets, yet the number of applicants (almost exclusively foreign) is much too great for the limited capacity of the place. A scene of indescribable confusion ensues. The guards get mingled with the multitude. English peers are overturned by Roman canons. Irish friars batter the old armour of the mailed halberdiers with fists more formidable than the iron they attack. Italian priests tumble over tight-laced dandies; and the ‘Via via’ of the Roman guard, and the ‘Fous ne restez pas issi’ of the Swiss mingle with screams, supplications and reproofs, long after the solemn service of the church has begun. The procession of the sacrament to the Paoline chapel succeeds; its gates are thrown open, and its dusky walls appear illuminated with thousands of tapers, twinkling in the rays of the noonday sun, through an atmosphere of smoke. Few are able to enter the illuminated chapel, or to behold the deposition of the sacrament; and many who are informed of the programme of the day, by endeavouring to catch at all the ceremonies, scarcely attain to any.”[101]
Easter Eve in Spain.
Mr. Blanco White says, that the service in the cathedral of Seville begins this morning without either the sound of bells or of musical instruments. The paschal chandle is seen by the north side of the altar. It is, in fact, a pillar of wax, nine yards in height, and thick in proportion, standing on a regular marble pedestal. It weighs eighty arrobas, or two thousand pounds, of twelve ounces. This candle is cast and painted new every year, the old one being broken into pieces on the Saturday preceding Whitsunday, the day when part of it is used for the consecration of the baptismal font. The sacred torch is lighted with the new fire, which this morning the priest strikes out of a flint, and it burns during service till Ascension-day. A chorister in his surplice climbs up a gilt-iron rod, furnished with steps like a flag-staff, and having the top railed in, so as to admit of a seat on a level with the end of the candle. From this crow’s nest, the young man lights up and trims the wax pillar, drawing off the melted wax with a large iron ladle.
High mass begins this day behind the great veil, which for the two last weeks in Lent covers the altar. After some preparatory prayers, the priest strikes up the hymn Gloria in excelsis Deo. At this moment the veil flies off, the explosion of fireworks in the upper galleries reverberates in a thousand echoes from the vaults of the church, and the four-and-twenty large bells of its tower awake, with their discordant though gladdening sounds, those of the one hundred and forty-six steeples which this religious town boasts of. A brisk firing of musketry, accompanied by the howling of the innumerable dogs, which, unclaimed by any master, live and multiply in the streets, adds strength and variety to this universal din. The firing is directed against several stuffed figures, not unlike Guy Fawkes of the fifth of November, which are seen hanging by the neck on a rope, extended across the least frequented streets. It is then that the pious rage of the people of Seville is vented against the arch-traitor Judas, whom they annually hang, shoot, draw, and quarter in effigy.
The church service ends in a procession about the aisles. The priest bears the host in his hands, visible through glass as a picture within a medallion. The sudden change from the gloomy appearance of the church and its ministers, to the simple and joyous character of this procession, the very name of pasqua florída, the flowery passover, and, more than the name, the flowers themselves, which well-dressed children, mixed with the censer-bearers, scatter on the ground, crowd the mind and heart with the ideas, hopes, and feelings of renovated life, and give to this ceremony, even for those who disbelieve the personal presence of a Deity triumphant over death, a character of inexpressible tenderness.[102]
Papal Conversion of the Jews.
The day before Easter Sunday at Rome, two or more Jews are procured to be baptized. An eye-witness of a couple of these converts, says, “The two devoted Israelites prepared for this occasion, attired in dirty yellow silk gowns, were seated on a bench within the marble front of the baptistery, which resembles a large bath, both in form and shape, conning their prayers out of a book, with most rueful visages. Fast to their sides stuck their destined godfathers, two black-robed doctors of divinity, as if to guard and secure their spiritual captives. The ancient vase at the bottom of the font, in which, according to an absurd legend, Constantine was healed of his leprosy by St. Sylvester, stood before them filled with water, and its margin adorned with flowers. The cardinal bishop, who had been employed ever since six o’clock in the benediction of fire, water, oil, wax, and flowers, now appeared, followed by a long procession of priests and crucifixes. He descended into the font, repeated a great many prayers in Latin over the water, occasionally dipping his hand into it. Then a huge flaming wax taper, about six feet high, and of proportionate thickness, painted with images of the virgin and Christ, which had previously been blessed, was set upright in the vase; more Latin prayers were mumbled—one of the Jews was brought, the bishop cut the sign of the cross in the hair, at the crown of his head, then, with a silver ladle, poured some of the water upon the part, baptizing him in the usual forms, both the godfathers and he having agreed to all that was required of them. The second Jew was then brought, upon whom the same ceremonies were performed; this poor little fellow wore a wig, and, when the cold water was poured on his bare skull, he winced exceedingly, and made many wry faces. They were then conveyed to the altar of the neighbouring chapel, where they were confirmed, and repeated the creed. The bishop then made the sign of the cross upon their foreheads, with holy oil, over which white fillets were immediately tied to secure it; he then pronounced a long exhortation, in the course of which he frightened them so that the little Jew with a wig began to cry most bitterly, and would not be comforted. This being over, the Jews were conducted, with great ceremony, from the baptistery to the door of the church, where they stopped, and, after some chanting by the bishop, they were allowed to pass the threshold; they were then seated within the very pale of the altar, in order that they might witness a succession of various ceremonies.”[103]
Greek Preparation for Easter.
The Rev. J. Conner describes the ceremonies of the Greek church at Jerusalem on Easter-eve. “I went to the church to spend the night there, that I might view all the different observances. It is a general belief among the Greeks and Armenians, that, on Easter-eve, a fire descends from heaven into the sepulchre. The eagerness of the Greeks, Armenians, and others, to light their candles at this holy fire, carried an immense crowd to the church, notwithstanding the sum which they were obliged to pay. About nine at night, I retired to rest, in a small apartment in the church. A little before midnight, the servant roused me to see the Greek procession. I hastened to the gallery of the church. The scene was striking and brilliant. The Greek chapel was splendidly illuminated. Five rows of lamps were suspended in the dome; and almost every individual of the immense multitude held a lighted candle in his hand.” The ceremonies on Easter Sunday were very grand.