his Holiness and General Goyon narrowly escaped being killed by the falling of a scaffold, from which they were inspecting the repairs at the church of St Agnese. On that day, in honour of the doubly joyful event, the Pope went to celebrate mass at the convent of St Agnese. The time was one when a popular demonstration in favour of the Pope was urgently required. It was in fact the beginning of the end. Victor Emmanuel was about to enter Bologna as king; the news of the Sicilian insurrection had just reached Rome; the Imperial Government had sent one of its periodical intimations, that the French occupation could not be prolonged indefinitely; and General De La Moricière had assumed the command of the Papal army, on his ill-fated and Quixotic crusade. At such a time it was deemed necessary to show Europe, that the Pope still reigned in the hearts of his people, and every effort was made to secure a demonstration. Government clerks and official personages received orders to be present at the ceremony; and all persons, over whom the Priests had influence, were urged to attend and swell the crowd. And yet what came of it all? Along the road between the Convent of Santa Agnese and the Porta
Pia, where the great demonstrations took place some weeks ago, there was little sign of crowd or excitement. The day was chilly and cheerless; but the chilliness of the wind itself precluded the idea of rain, so that it was not the weather which deterred the concourse of the faithful. The Patrizzi Villa, just outside the gate, had a few festoons hung over the garden wall, which fronts the road; but one of the Patrizzi family, I should mention, is a Cardinal. The villas on the road exhibited no decorations or signs of festivity whatever. Indeed, I only observed three houses in all which had placed hangings before their windows, or made any preparations in honour of the event. There were not many persons outside the gates. Every few steps you met patrols of six French soldiers headed by a gendarme. These patrols had been sent by General Goyon to keep the crowd in order; but, unfortunately, there was no crowd to keep in order; so that the soldiers looked and seemed to feel as if they were sent on a fool’s errand. At St Agnese there were some 150 carriages collected, almost all hired ones, of the poorer sort. The private vehicles were very few indeed; not a quarter of the muster at most.
The church itself was gaily filled, but not crowded in any part. Priests, monks, and women formed nine-tenths of the congregation. The sacrament was administered by the Pope himself to a number of communicants, amongst whom the English converts visiting Rome were as usual conspicuous. After mass was over the Pope had breakfast at the Convent, and returned about noon to the city. Meanwhile, something approaching to a crowd, that is about 600 people, half of whom were priests and the rest impiegati, were collected at the gates; and as the Pope passed to his coach and four, each of this crowd, with somewhat suspicious unanimity, drew a handkerchief from his pocket, and raised a feeble cheer. Inside the gates, and along the streets through which the Papal procession passed, there was no appearance of any unusual concourse of people. By the corner of the Gualtro Fontane street, near the new palace of Queen Christina, a large body of nuns and school-children, decked out in white, were drawn up on the pavement, who waved their hats, and threw flowers as the Pope went by; but this was all; and even the Pope himself could hardly have supposed what demonstration there was to be spontaneous. It is true the
Giornale made the most of it. Their narrative ran thus: “About half-past eleven in the morning his Holiness, accompanied by the applause of all who had joined to escort him, entered his carriage, and took the road towards his residence at the Vatican. Words are insufficient to express the enthusiastic affection, the joyous demonstrations, which, for the length of three miles from St Agnese to the Quirinal, were manifested towards him by the good people of this Sovereign City, who had crowded to behold his passage; and who, by any means in their power, expressed the tender affection which they could not but entertain for his sacred person. Infinite, too, was the number of carriages which followed the Royal cortége to the Pontifical palace of St Peter’s.”
To this I can only say, that many things are visible to the eye of faith, and hidden to the common world. To my unenlightened vision, the crowd of three miles in length was composed of a thousand persons in all; and the infinite number of carriages looked uncommonly like sixty.
And now for the converse picture.
The “Promised Land.”
Out of chill clouds and dull gloom, I passed into summer sunshine. Across barren moor-land and more barren mountains, by the side of marshy lakes, deserted and malaria-haunted, through squalid villages and decayed cities, my journey brought me into a rich garden-country, studded with thriving towns swarming with life, and watered with endless streams. I came into a land such as children of Israel never looked upon from over Jordan, after their weary wanderings in the wilderness; a land rich in oil and corn, and vineyards and cattle; a very “land of promise.” This, indeed, is the true Italy, the Italy of which all poets of all time have sung; and whose likeness all artists have sought to draw, and sought in vain. The sight, however, of this wondrous beauty was not new to me who write; still less is its record new to you who read. With this much of tribute let it pass unnoticed. Fortunately, it was my lot to see the promised land of Italy as for centuries past she has not been seen. I saw her free, and rejoicing in her freedom. Then let me seek to recall such of the epochs in that right royal progress—when
the chosen King came to take possession of his promised land—as stand most clearly forth.
I remember once seeing a collection of Indian portraits. There were rajahs and dervishes, jugglers and dancing-girls, depicted in every variety of garb and posture. For the whole set, however, there was but one face. Each portrait had a hole where the face should have been, and the picture was completed by placing the one head beneath the blank opening. In fact, you had one face beneath a hundred different draperies. So also, in my wanderings, I saw but one picture in a dozen frames; one sight in many cities. At some, the flags may have waved more gaily; at some again the lamps may have sparkled more brilliantly, and at others the crowd may have cheered more lustily; but the substance of the sight was the same throughout. Everywhere, some half-dozen of dusty open carriages, filled with officers in uniform, passing through crowded streets festooned with flowers, dressed out with banners—everywhere, the one figure of a plain, rough Soldier-king, bowing stiffly and slowly from time to time—everywhere, a surging, heaving, shouting crowd. Such is the one subject of my picture-gallery.