"You shall hear, mamma—things to make one wild! Come nearer: so! You know all about the morning of the 21st, do you not? The other regiments entered: crowds, noise, music, as on the previous day, until twelve o'clock. At twelve o'clock, as if by common consent, the confusion ceased—first in the Corso, then in the other main streets, and gradually everywhere. The crowds of citizens stood still, formed groups and chatted in an undertone; then they dispersed in all directions, nodding to each other like people who expect to meet soon again. It seemed as if the order had circulated to prepare for some great event. People meeting in the street spoke to each other hastily, and then each one went his own way. From one end to the other of the Corso there was a general bustle, some going home, others going out; some calling from the street, others answering from the windows; the soldiers rushing to and fro as if they had heard a call; officers on horseback trotting by; men and boys passing with bundles of flags on their shoulders and in their arms; all active and hurrying as if they were being pursued. I, who knew nothing and no one, looked now at this face, now at that, to try and discover something. They all seemed happy, but did not exhibit their former boisterous, unrestrained joy: all betrayed a disturbing thought, a misgiving, almost an uneasiness: one could see that they were people concocting something. I turned into one of the smaller streets; went farther on; stopped at two or three crossways: everywhere was the same sight—great crowds, a great stir, great haste and an indescribable manner of speaking and gesticulating, which I had already remarked in the Corso, as if the whole mass of people wished to conceal something from some one, although it was visible to every one. Knots of people passed by me, troops, hundreds of men and women together, and not a cry was to be heard. All were going in the same direction, as if to a place of rendezvous."
"Where were they going?" asked the mother and father.
"Wait. I returned to the Corso. The nearer I approached, the more distinctly I heard a dull, continuous roar, like that of an immense crowd. I reached it: the Corso was full of people, who had all stopped and turned toward the Campidoglio, as if they were waiting for something from that quarter. From the Piazza del Popolo to the Piazza di Venezia there was such a press that it was impossible to move. There was a whispering here and there, 'They will be here in a little while;' 'They are coming yonder,'—'Who are coming yonder?'—'The main column.'—'The main column is coming.'—'Here it is!'—'No.'—'Yes.'—All at once the crowd began to move turbulently. Everybody cried on all sides, 'There they are!' And in less time than I can say it the street was cleared in the middle, as if to make way for a procession. All heads were uncovered. I, who had remained behind, elbowed my way across the street and looked. I seem to feel now a thrill that ran through me from head to foot. First advanced generals in full uniform and noblemen in black coats with tri-colored scarfs: in the midst of the nobles and generals came men, women and children with tattered, unbuttoned shirts; behind, work-people, country-people, women with babies on their backs, soldiers of all arms, grand ladies, students, whole families holding each other by the hands so as not to get lost; all crowded and pressed, so that it seemed strange they were able to walk; and yet only a monotonous murmur like a buzz was to be heard—not a sound on either side of the street, not a sound from the windows. It was a solemn sight: what with surprise and awe I was in a trance."
"But where were they going?" asked the father, mother and sisters eagerly.
"Let me finish," resumed the young man. "I was turned off in the mean while, and with me gradually all those who were leaning against the wall right and left were turned off also. Fancy what a tight squeeze! The crowd was just like a torrent, filling both pavements, pouring people like rushing waves into the shops, to the gates, wherever an inch of room could be found. As the procession advanced more swarms of people streamed into the Corso from the side streets, which were also thronged from end to end; and the procession continued to ascend from the Campidoglio, and the rumor spread that thousands more were coming from Campo Vaccino. Numbers of people arrived from the Piazza di Spagna, from the Via del Babbuino, from the Piazza del Popolo. All had something in their hands—some garlands of flowers, some olive and laurel branches, some banners, some rags tied on the top of sticks; some carried in both hands sacred images over their heads—inscriptions, emblems, portraits of the pope, of the king, of the princes and of Garibaldi. It was a mixture, a medley, a confusion of persons and things, such as I believe has never been seen under the sun; and always and everywhere that subdued murmur, that slow pace, that repose, that dignity, so singular and astonishing in such a multitude that I thought I must be dreaming."
The whole family pressed closer round the young man without speaking a word.
"At a certain point I perceived that the crowd had turned to the left: all fell back. Slowly, slowly, with great difficulty, trampled upon, crushed, jostled on all sides, unable to move their arms, panting for breath, they pressed on from street to street to the piazza in front of the bridge of St. Angelo. The bridge was overflowing with people: the crowd disappeared across the river in the direction of St. Peter's. The whole right bank was swarming. The passage of the bridge was a serious matter: it took more than a quarter of an hour. The unfortunate creatures who were at the sides, pressed by those in the middle, clung desperately to the railings for fear of being thrown over, and uttered cries of terror. It was said that some accidents occurred. By degrees all passed over. All the streets leading to the square filled up. When the crowd reached the entrance of one of the streets which lead directly to the Basilica, suddenly a low, hollow sound was heard, like a sea in a storm, now far off, now near, and coming toward us in waves. It was the multitude assembled in the Piazza di San Pietro. The crowd pressed forward more eagerly, one on top of another, carried forward, overturned—on, on, until it reached the piazza. Almighty God! if you had seen it! What an astounding spectacle!—all this immense square tightly packed, black, and all in motion: it was no longer a square—it was a sea. On all sides—between the four rows of columns, on the church-steps, under the portico, on the great terrace in front, in the galleries of the cupola, on the capitals of the pillars, on the pillars themselves; and behind—at the windows of the houses, on the balconies, on the roofs, above, below, right and left, wherever a human creature could plant his foot or clutch hold or hang on; everywhere heads, arms and legs dangling, banners, gestures, voices! All Rome was there!"
"Heavens! But the Vatican?" they all cried in great agitation.
"Closed. You know that one wing of the Vatican opens on the square, and in that is the pope's apartment. All the windows belonging to it were closed: it seemed like a deserted palace. At that moment it had the appearance of a cold, stern, impassive person looking down with fixed, wide-open eyes. The multitude looked up with a murmuring noise. On one side, toward the terrace, could be seen a great body of officers and noblemen, who appeared to give orders which were repeated from mouth to mouth. The agitation continued to increase. All heads were uncovered—white heads of old men, dark heads of soldiers, blond heads of children. A bright sun was shining; a thousand movements, a thousand noises, a thousand colors, were waving and mingling on this immense surface. Banners and rags fluttered, tossed back here and there as if they were floating on the water. The seething was such it seemed as if fire were burning under the earth. Suddenly, from all sides was heard and spread a cry, 'The boys! the children! Bring forward the children!' It was evidently a concerted plan. In a moment on all parts of the square people were seen holding up the children above their heads, and the men and women who were carrying them broke through the mass, all going in the direction of the Vatican: the bigger boys forced their own way, holding hands, rushing between the people's legs, ten and twenty at a time. In a few minutes hundreds of children—a whole population of creatures concealed until now—some by means of their own legs, some pushed, some carried, were crowded into one corner of the square, and in the mean while arose a deafening cry from the women, 'Take care! Slowly! My child!' Soon after another louder and more imperative call, 'The women! the women!' Another disturbance, another breaking through the crowd in all directions. Then a third and more formidable cry, 'The army! the soldiers! Forward!' And once more an indescribable upheaving, but simultaneous, resolute, rapid. There were none of the difficulties and delays usually seen in similar cases: all worked and helped to accomplish the end. There was an impetuosity, a fervor, and yet an astonishing accord: this innumerable crowd seemed ruled and controlled. By degrees the bustle ceased, all cries were hushed, arms were dropped, everybody looked around, and it seemed as if by enchantment the children, the women and the soldiers had disappeared. They all stood on the right side of the square, divided into three great masses, from the door of St. Peter's to the middle of the Colonnade, facing the Vatican, dense and compact. The multitude burst forth into boisterous applause."
"But the Vatican?" asked the family for the third time, all in the same breath.