THE RETURN OF POPE PIUS IX. TO ROME.
The banishment of a Pope has hitherto been a rare event: the following detailed and graphic description of the return of Pius IX. to his seat of empire, superadds a certain degree of historical importance to its immediate interest. It is from the correspondence of the "London Times."
Velletri, Thursday, April 11.
All speculation is now set at rest—the last and the most important stage in the Papal progress has been made—the Pope has arrived at Velletri.
The Pope was expected yesterday at three o'clock, but very early in the morning every one in the town, whether they had business to execute or not, thought it necessary to rush about, here, there, and every where. I endeavored to emulate this activity, and to make myself as ubiquitous as the nature of the place, which is built on an ascent, and my own nature, which is not adapted to ascents, would allow me. At one moment I stood in admiration at the skill with which sundry sheets and napkins were wound round a wooden figure, to give it a chaste and classic appearance, which figure—supposed to represent Charity, Fortitude, Prudence, or Plenty—was placed as a basso relievo on the triumphal arch, where it might have done for any goddess or virtue in the mythology or calendar. At another moment I stood on the Grand Place, marveling at the arch and dry manner in which half a dozen painters were inscribing to Pio Nono, over the doors of the Municipality, every possible quality which could have belonged to the whole family of saints—one man, in despair at giving adequate expression to his enthusiasm, having satisfied himself with writing Pio Nono Immortale! Immortale! Immortale! Vero Angelo!
But to say the truth, there was something very touching in the enthusiasm of this rustic and mountain people, although it was sometimes absurdly and quaintly expressed; for instance, in one window there was a picture, or rather a kind of transparency, representing little angels, which a scroll underneath indicated as the children of His Holiness. Whether the Velletrians intended to represent their own innocence or to question that of His Holiness, I did not choose to inquire. Then there were other pictures of the Pope in every possible variety of dress; sometimes as a young officer, at another as a cardinal; again, a corner shop had him as a benevolent man in a black coat and dingy neck-cloth; but, most curious of all, he at one place took the shape of a female angel placing her foot on the demon of rebellion. The circumstance of his Protean quality arose from each family having turned their pictures from the inside outside the houses, and printed Pio Nono under each; but if the features of each picture differed, not so the feelings that placed them there: it was a touching and graceful sight to see the people as they greeted each other that morning.
As the day drew on, the preparations were completed, and the material of which every house was built was lost under a mass of scarlet and green. But, alas! about three o'clock the clouds gathered upon Alba; Monte Calvi was enveloped in mist, which sailed over the top of Artemisio; the weather turned cold; and the whole appearance of the day became threatening. The figure of the Pope on the top of the triumphal arch, to compose which sundry beds must have been stripped of their sheets—for it was of colossal dimensions—quivered in the breeze, and at every blast I expected to see the worst possible omen—the mitre, which was only fastened by string to the sacred head, falling down headless; but having pointed this out to some persons who were too excited themselves to see anything practical, a boy was sent up, and with two long nails secured the mitre more firmly on the sacred head than even Lord Minto's counsels could do. At three o'clock the Municipality passed down the lines of troops amid every demonstration of noisy joy. There were half a dozen very respectable gentlemen in evening dress, all looking wonderfully alike, and remarkably pale, either from the excitement or the important functions which they had to perform; but I ought to speak well of them, for they invited me to the reserved part of the small entrance square, where I had the good fortune to shelter myself from the gusts of wind which drove down from the hills. From three to six we all waited, the people very patient, and fortunately so crowded that they could not well feel cold. The cardinal's servants—strange grotesque-looking fellows in patchwork liveries—were running up and down the portico, and the soldiers on duty began to give evident signs of a diminution of ardor. Some persons were just beginning to croak, "Well, I told you he would not come," when the cannon opened from the heights, the troops fell in—a carriage is seen coming down the hill, but it is the wrong road. Who can it be? The troops seem to know, for the chasseurs draw their swords, the whole line present arms, the band strikes up, and the French General Baraguay d'Hilliers dashes through the gates. Again roar the cannon—another carriage is seen, and this time in the right direction; it is preceded by the Pope's courier, covered with scarlet and gold. The people cheered loudly, although they could not have known whom it contained; but they cheered the magnificent arms and the reeking horses. It was the Vice-Legate of Velletri, Monsignore Beraldi. The Municipality rushed to the door of the carriage, and a little, energetic-looking man in lace and purple descended, and was almost smothered in the embraces of the half dozen municipal officers, who confused him with questions—"Dove e la sua Santita!" "Vicino! Vicino!" "E a Frosinone, e a Valomontone?" "Bellissimo, bellissimo, recevimento! sorprendente! Tanto bello! tanto bello!" was all the poor little man could jerk out, and at each word he was stifled with fresh embraces; but he was soon set aside and forgotten, when half a dozen of the Papal couriers galloped up, splashed from head to foot. They were followed by several carriages with four or six horses, the postillions in their new liveries; then came a large squadron of Neapolitan cavalry, and immediately afterward the Pope. It was a touching sight. While the women cried, the men shouted; but however absurd a description of enthusiasm may be, in its action it was very fine. As he passed on, the troops presented arms, and every one knelt. He drew up in front of the municipality, who were so affected or so frightened that their speech ended in nothing. The carriage door was opened, and then the scene which ensued was without parallel; every one rushed forward to kiss the foot which he put out. One little Abbate, Don Pietro Metranga, amused me excessively. Nothing could keep him back; he caught hold of the sacred foot, he hugged it, he sighed, he wept over it. A knot of gentlemen were standing on the steps of the entrance, among others Mr. Baillie Cochrane, in the Scotch Archers' uniform, whom His Holiness beckoned forward, and put out his hand for him to kiss. Again the carriages would have moved on, for it was late, and Te Deum had to be sung; but for some time it was quite impossible to shake off the crowd at the door. At last the procession moved, and I, at the peril of my life—for the crowd, couriers, and chasseurs rode like lunatics—ran down to the cathedral. To my surprise, the Pope had anticipated me, and the door was shut. I was about to retire in despair, when I saw a little man creeping silently up to a small gate, followed by a very tall and ungainly prince in a red uniform, which put me very much in mind of Ducrow in his worst days. I looked again, and I knew it was my friend the Abbé, and if I followed him I must go right. It was as I expected. While we had been abusing the arrangements, he had gone and asked for the key of the sacristy, by which way we entered the church. It was densely crowded in all parts, and principally by troops who had preoccupied it. When the host was raised, the effect was grand in the extreme. The Pope, with all his subjects, bowed their heads to the pavement, and the crash of arms was succeeded by the most perfect silence. The next ceremony was the benediction of the people from the palace, which is situate on the extreme height of the town. Nerving myself for this last effort, I struggled and stumbled up the hill. There the thousands from the country and neighborhood were assembled, and in a few minutes the Pope arrived. In the interval all the façades of the houses had been illuminated, and the effects of the light on the various picturesque groups and gay uniforms was very striking. A burst of music and fresh cannon announced the arrival of His Holiness. He went straight into the palace, and in a few minutes the priests with the torches entered the small chapel which was erected on the balcony. The Pope followed, and then arose one shout, such as I never remember to have heard: another and another, and all knelt, and not a whisper was heard. As the old man stretched out his hands to bless the people, his voice rung clear and full in the night:
"Sit nomen Dei benedictum."
And the people, with one voice, replied: