"The song ceased, the cries were hushed: there was silence. There was not a living soul at the window. During a few moments the very breath of the multitude seemed suspended. Something like a shadow moved past the window, but inside, far back, and then disappeared. There seemed to be people passing to and fro, and a confusion within. All faces, all eyes, were fixed motionless on the spot. Suddenly the whole multitude, as if inspired at the same moment, pointed to the palace; thousands of women held up the children; the soldiers swung their caps on their bayonets; all banners were waved; a hundred thousand voices burst forth in one tremendous shout: 'Viva! viva! viva!' At the window of the Vatican something was seen fluttering, moving, shining, all at once floating in the air.—Great Heavens!" exclaimed the young man, throwing himself on his mother's neck, "it was the Italian flag!"
It would be impossible to describe the delight, the joy, the enthusiasm of those worthy people. The young man had spoken with so much fervor, he had become so enamored of his own deception, that by degrees he had finally ceased to be aware of the fact that he was inventing, and truly his eyes were moist and his voice trembled. However, not the shadow of a suspicion had crossed the minds of his parents and sisters. They embraced each other, laughed and wept. From how many scruples, how many grievous conflicts between Italian hearts and Catholic consciences, did they find themselves released! The reconciliation between Church and State! The dream of so many years! What peace of mind henceforward! What a beautiful life of love and concord! What free, secure repose!
"Heaven be praised!" exclaimed the mother, dropping into a low chair, exhausted by excitement.
And then again they all rushed around the young man, one seizing his hand, another pulling him by the coat: "Is it really true?"—"Is it not a dream?"—"Speak!"—"Go on: tell us about everything—the pope—the crowd—what happened."
"What followed?" resumed the young man in a fatigued voice. "To tell you the truth, I don't know myself: I don't remember. There was such a shouting, an upheaving, a frenzy, a delirium, that the very thought of it even now makes my head whirl. I no longer saw anything around me but upraised arms and banners, which concealed everything. An elbow-knock that I received in my breast in a terrible commotion of the crowd almost took my breath away. After a few moments I seemed to have a little more space, and I escaped into one of the streets leading to the bridge, determined to get out of the confusion. From all the streets of the Borgo Pio the people dashed with loud cries toward the square. It was said afterward that the crowd rushed to the doors of the Vatican to force an entrance: the soldiers had to keep them back, first with their breasts, then with their hands, finally with their weapons. I heard of people suffocated in the press. It is not known what happened in the interior of the Vatican: they said that the pope had given his blessing from the window. I did not see him. Weary, exhausted, I arrived at the bridge, and crossed it. People were still running from all sides, attracted by the news of the great event, which had spread like wildfire. Large troops of cavalry coursed by at full speed. Guides, aides-de-camp, carbiniers, sent to carry orders hither and thither, ran through the streets screaming. The people answered from the windows: decrepit old men, invalids, women with children in their arms, stood on the terraces, came down into the deserted streets, asked questions, wondered and kissed each other. I reached the Corso. Suddenly a terrific explosion was heard from the direction of the Pincio, then another from the Porta Pia, then a third from the Porta San Pancrazio: it was all the batteries of artillery belonging to the Italian army greeting the Pontiff with a tumultuous salute. Presently the chiming of the bell of the Campidoglio resounded: then gradually the bells of hundreds of churches blending into one magnificent concert. The crowd from the Borgo Pio rushed back impetuously to the left bank of the Tiber, invading in a very short time the streets, the squares and the houses; displayed the papal coat-of-arms, which had remained covered; carried in triumph busts of Pius IX., portraits and banners; thousands of people assembled in front of the palaces of the nobles most noted for their devotion to the pope and burst into applause, and these nobles appeared on their balconies and hung out the national colors. One moment: let me take breath."
As soon as he had breathed they immediately beset him with more questions: "And after that? and the Vatican? and the pope?"
"I don't know. I cannot tell you how beautiful, how grand, how wonderful, Rome was that evening. The night was transcendent, and there was an illumination such as never was seen or imagined since the creation of the world: the Corso appeared to be on fire. The churches were full of people, and priests preaching; in the streets were music, singing, dancing, citizens speaking to the people in the cafés and theatres. I wished to see the Piazza di San Pietro once more. The rumor had spread that His Holiness needed rest: Borgo Pio was as quiet as on the quietest nights; the square was lit up by the moon; a silent crowd was collected around the two fountains and on the steps: some were seated on the ground, some lying down; a great many of them, those most overcome by the fatigue and excitement of the day, were asleep—women, soldiers and children promiscuously; hundreds of people kneeling, and here and there sentinels of every corps with little flags and crosses tied to the barrels of their guns. The ground was strewn with banners, with leaves and flowers, and hats that had been lost in the tumult. The windows of the Vatican were illuminated; not a voice was to be heard; all these people seemed to be holding their breath. I left there excited, exalted, thinking over everything I had seen—of the effect that the news would produce on Italy, on the world, on all of you—more particularly on you, papa. I found myself at the station almost before I was aware: there was a confusion, a deafening noise. I stepped into a train, started off, and here I am. The news had arrived last evening in Florence: they told me it created a furore; the king had left; the news is already spread over the whole world."
At this point he sank into a low chair and stopped short, as if he had no more breath in his body.
The newspapers, which should have arrived at the villa by noon, did not come, so that the family retained their pleasant illusion until evening. The dinner was animated, the young man continued to jumble detail on detail, and the mother and family rapture on rapture, blessing on blessing, when suddenly they heard a hasty foot on the steps, and then a noisy ring at the bell. Presently the door opened, and a tall, dried-up priest, with a livid face and crooked mouth, appeared on the threshold. It was a priest whom the family had known only a short time, and of whom they were not particularly fond, but whom they received and welcomed at their house—more, however, out of respect for his garb than for his person. All except the young man grouped around him, crying out, "Well! have you heard the news? It is all over, thank Heaven! Tell us! speak!"