The morning of December 8th dawned—the Festival of the Immaculate Conception, and the day fixed for opening the council. A third repetition of the uproarious yet thrilling salutation awaked the sluggards, if there were any. We say if there were any; for although the clouds were hanging low and heavy, and the air was filled with mist, and at times the rain poured down, all Rome was astir. By five A.M., the murmur of voices and the tramping of pedestrians filled every street, and soon the rolling of carriages over the hard pavements sounded like distant thunder. By six A.M., tens of thousands were wending their way, despite the weather, to St. Peter's; and by seven, every eligible portion of the floor of the vast basilica was crowded. At half-past seven, the cardinals, archbishops, and bishops began to gather in the Vatican Palace, where they robed, putting on white copes and mitres, and then passed to the great hall at the front, and immediately over the vestibule of St. Peter's. Here the masters of ceremony assigned to each one his proper place, and they awaited the coming of the sovereign pontiff.
Punctual to the moment, he appeared. All knelt in prayer. In a clear and sonorous voice he intoned the Veni Creator Spiritus. The choir took up the strain, the bishops arose, and commenced to move in procession back to the Vatican Palace, through the ducal hall, down the unequalled Scala Regia, and into the vestibule of St. Peter's. Along the line the voice of chanting was heard. Without, the air was filled again with the sound of bells and the booming of cannon.
It was not like the grand processions on which Rome delights to look every year. The young orphan boys, with their snow-white dresses and angel faces, the various religious orders, Capuchins, Franciscans, Minor Observantists, Conventuals, Carmelites, Augustinians, Cistercians, Benedictines, Dominicans, and Canons Regular, in their varied and picturesque dresses, did not walk in it. There were no confraternities with their huge crosses, no groups of clergy from the many parish churches, no chapters of the ancient basilicas with their tent-like canopies and tolling bells. These appeared not in the ranks; but delegates from all of them formed lines on either side, between which, as guards, the prelates marched two and two, each one attended by his chaplain. It was a procession such as the world has seen but once before, and that six hundred years ago, at the Second Council of Lyons. First came the cross, surrounded with burning lights and clouds of incense from the censers, and a group of ecclesiastics attached to the Vatican and to St. Peter's. On came the long white line of mitred abbots, bishops, archbishops, primates, patriarchs, and cardinals, slowly moving, joining in the chanted hymn, or else with subdued voices reciting psalms and prayers. The hall, the grand stairway, and the vestibule were packed by thousands who despaired of being able to enter the church, and hoped at least to look on the procession. All eyes seemed to scrutinize the line of prelates with reverent curiosity. Some in the line had not yet lost the smoothness of their cheeks. They had not yet closed their eighth lustre. The great majority had passed the half-century of life. Labors, cares, and study had brought furrows to many a brow and many a cheek; gray hairs had come, often prematurely; but the firm step told of still unexhausted strength. Their faces, full of intellect and decision, told of long and sturdy labor in the vineyard; you felt they could still bear the heat of the day and the brunt of labor. Many of them, too, far more than the younger ones, were aged and venerable prelates, who, like the rest, had come at the summons of the chief pastor. But when they should have borne their testimony to the faith in this council, they would soon say, Nunc dimittis.
It was a glorious line. The spectators, of every nation, looked to recognize the bishops each of his own land. They pointed out and whispered to each other the names of those who had won for themselves a world-wide reputation in the church, and looked with special attention on the oriental prelates, scattered here and there through the line, robed, not like those of the Latin rite, in unadorned white copes and white linen mitres, but in richly ornamented chasubles or copes of oriental fashion, glittering with gold and precious stones and bright colors, and wearing on their heads tiaras radiant with gems. On they passed, Italians, Greeks, Germans, Persians, Syrians, Hungarians, Spanish and Copt, Irish and French, Scotch and Brazilian, Mexican and English, American and Chinese, Canadian and South American and Australian; abbots, bishops, archbishops, primates, and patriarchs.
Next came the cardinals—the senate of the church. If before you saw the strength of the church, here you looked on the embodiment of intelligence and wisdom, in the most venerable body in the world. Spotless purity of life, brilliant talents, long study, a longer experience of men and affairs in a series of responsible offices worthily filled—a thorough devotion of all their powers to the interests of religion, have led them to this dignity—Antonelli, Bilio, Bonnechose, Cullen, Schwartzenberg, Hohenlohe, Barnabo, Pitra, Patrizi—every one seemed worthy of, and to receive, special homage as they slowly moved on.
But even they were forgotten as the Holy Father approached. Surrounded by his chaplains and attendants, by Swiss guards in their picturesque costume, designed, it is said, with an eye to effect, by Michael Angelo himself, and by the Roman noble guard in their richest uniforms, he came borne, according to the old Roman custom which has come down from the times of the republic, in a curule chair, such as ediles and senators were borne in; such as that which the convert Senator Pudens appropriated to the Apostle St. Peter, which he and many of his successors used, and which is still preserved with care and veneration in St. Peter's. Pius IX. is, we believe, really eighty-one years of age. He is still robust, wonderfully so for that age. His countenance beams still with that paternal benevolence which has such power to charm. None ever looked on him without feeling it. No one, Catholic or Protestant, Israelite, Turk, or infidel, ever left his presence without carrying away a sense of reverence, and sweet memories of a blessing received. All knelt as he was borne by, blessing them on either side. In his train followed other attendants and the superiors of religious orders, who enter the council, but are not privileged to wear mitres. Conspicuous among them was the thin, ascetic, fleshless form of the superior-general of the Jesuits, in black—the little black pope, as they call him in Rome.
Meanwhile the head of the procession has long since reached the grand portals of the Basilica. From the door to the central line of the transept is about four hundred feet, and the nave of the church is about ninety-five feet wide. All this space is crowded with people standing so jammed together that there is not room to kneel, if one wished. Back on either side, under the broad arches, and into the side aisles, the vast mass of humanity extends. The bases of the columns and piers are seen to rise to the level of their heads, and, guided by this measure, the eye, for once, catches at a glance the immense proportions of this gigantic building. The partition which cuts off a portion of the transept for the special use of the council is not seen from the nave, and the church stands before you in all the grandeur of its architecture, unchanged for better or for worse by those vast masses of drapery and those lines of galloon, and the hundreds of immense chandeliers which sometimes are placed here to adorn it. To the Roman eye, familiar with every detail of the building, such an adornment may be pleasing as a change. But strangers love to see St. Peter's as they see it now, in its own native beauty and majesty. The eye loves to pass from the noble columns and the statues of pure Carrara to the unfading mosaics, the variegated marbles of the walls and piers, the ornaments in sculptured relief, the richly-wrought capitals, the vast line of cornice of classic accuracy, and the lofty arched ceiling, one hundred and fifty feet and more overhead, profusely decorated with panelling, roses, and richest gilding. It travels on to the main altar with its hundred ever-burning lamps around the tomb of the great apostle of Rome, and the spiral columns and canopy of bronze which rise full ninety feet above it. And hundreds of feet further away, in the western apsis, you catch a view of the bronze statues of the four great doctors of the church, who support the identical chair of St. Peter, and of the circular window of stained glass through which the Holy Dove seems to pour in a stream of golden light, giving life and heavenly beauty to that other flood which pours down into the church from the lofty dome.
Guards had kept free for the procession a passage-way through the crowd, from the door to the main altar. Up this lane the bishops walked with uncovered heads, for the blessed sacrament was exposed on the altar. Kneeling a moment in adoration, they arose, and, turning to the right, passed into the space set aside and prepared for the council hall. To each one, as he entered, his proper place was assigned by the masters of ceremony. The greater part were so placed, when a fuller burst of the choir told us that the Holy Father had reached the portals of the church, had been received by the chapter of canons, and was entering. He left the curule chair and doffed his mitre; for a greater than he is here enthroned, and even the pope must walk with uncovered head. He, and the cardinals with him, knelt at the main altar as the bishops had done, and waited until the last strophe of the hymn, Veni Sancte Spiritus, was finished by the choir. He arose, chanted the versicle and prayer to the Holy Ghost, and then, preceded by the cardinals, also entered the council hall. They passed each to his proper place, the pontiff to a prie Dieu prepared for him in the middle, to await the commencement of the high mass.
We have said that this council hall occupies nearly all of the northern arm of the great transept. That arm alone is over two hundred feet long, and ninety-five feet broad. Its northern extremity is a semi-circular apsis, and midway of its length it is crossed by the northern aisle of the church, which opens into it by a lofty and wide arch on either side. These arches are now closed at the top by temporary partition walls. In front—that is, on the south, toward the main altar and nave—another partition wall, perhaps fifty feet high, shuts the hall off from the main body of the building. All these walls are exquisitely colored, so as to correspond even in minute details with the decorations and color of the marbles of the church. In the last-named wall is a large doorway, fully twenty feet wide, through which the prelates and cardinals and the pontiff have passed in. It is open now, (though when necessary it can be closed,) and you may look in and see the interior arrangement. In the further extremity, the semi-circular apsis, a number of steps rise to a platform, in the middle of which other steps lead to the throne of the pontiff, surmounted by a canopy with hanging drapery. On either hand, elevated one step less, are placed the cardinals, before each one a kneeling-stand, which may be changed into a writing-desk. Before the cardinals, and a little lower, sit the patriarchs. Down either side of the hall, for the full length, run seven rows of benches with high backs. The front row is on the floor, the others rising as they recede, so that the last one next the wall is about the same level with the platform. In the middle, about one fifth of the way from the door, with its face toward the pope and the bishops, and its back toward the door stands a temporary altar prepared for the mass, with which every public session and every general congregation will commence. Here and there, on the floor, are seats and tables for the use of the secretaries, notaries, stenographers, and other officials. Of the altar we need not speak. It is simple though rich in materials, and without accessory ornamentation, which would take up space and impede the view. The platform is covered, as is the floor, with Brussels carpeting. The seats of the cardinals are covered with red damask; those of the patriarchs with purple. The seats of the bishops are covered with Brussels tapestry of a greenish hue. They are roomy. Each bishop uses the back of the seat before him as a prie Dieu when he kneels. Should he at other times wish to write, there is a table hinged to it in front of him, which he may raise up and render firm by a movable support. When he is done, he simply moves back the support and lets down the table to its former position. All is simple, yet very satisfactory. There is, near at hand, a refreshment room, and, indeed, every convenience that is needed. The artistic decorations of the hall also deserve attention. They are not many, but are excellent and appropriate, and were prepared, of course, for this occasion. Over the doorway, as you are about to enter from the church, there is a majestic painting of the Saviour enthroned in the clouds, holding the Gospel open in his left hand, while the right is stretched forth in command to the apostles. Underneath is the inscription, "Go, teach all nations. I am with you all days, even to the consummation of the world." In the interior of the hall, over the seat of the pope, is a painting of the Descent of the Holy Ghost. On either side are the Council of the Apostles at Jerusalem, and the Councils of Nice, of Ephesus, and of Trent. Higher up are large medallion paintings of the twenty-two popes who called or presided personally or by legates over the various œcumenical councils of the church; while higher still are colossal figures of the four great doctors of the church, St. Ambrose, St. Augustine, St. Jerome, and St. John Chrysostom. All the seats we have mentioned are for the prelates and officials. There are several galleries opening through the wall rather than projecting forward. On the left of the pope, as he is seated, is one for the singers of the Sistine chapel. On his right is another, to be occupied by sovereigns and members of royal families. The Empress of Austria, the Queen of Würtemberg, and the King of Naples were present at the opening. Another much larger one, on the side of the singers, is for the diplomatic corps. It was filled with ambassadors in their state uniforms, with full display of jewelled decorations. Two other similar galleries are for the theologians.
The council hall, as we have described it, is about two hundred feet long and nearly one hundred feet broad. The ceiling above is that of the transept; like that of the nave, arched, panelled, and decorated with gilding, and is one hundred and fifty feet above you. The seemingly low partition wall in front shuts out the view of the lower portions of the church, but you have a full view of the upper half of the columns and piers, with their statues and decorations, and of the cornice and lofty-arched ceiling, and above all, of the magnificent dome, with its mosaics of the evangelists and the angelic host. You see and feel all the time that you are in St. Peter's. But there are drawbacks. The size of the hall, the height of the ceiling, and, perhaps more than either, this want of disconnection from the church, render it impossible for any but the strongest voices with eminently clear enunciation to fill it and be understood. Weak, and even moderate voices, are simply inaudible to the majority. As things are now arranged, discussion would seem impossible, and already there is talk of changes which may have to be indicated in our next article. But let us return to the pope and the bishops, whom we left awaiting the commencement of the pontifical high mass. This should have been celebrated by Cardinal Mattei, the dean of the body. But his age and infirmities are too great to permit so great an exertion. Accordingly, the next in rank, Cardinal Patrizi, took his place, and was the celebrant. The pontiff approached the altar with him, recited the Judica and the Confiteor, and then retired to his own seat, and the cardinal ascended to the altar and continued the mass. The music was that of Palestrina, executed by the papal choir as they alone can sing, and without any instrumental accompaniment. Such voices as theirs need none. Just before the last gospel, a portable pulpit was brought out near the altar; Mgr. Passavalli, Archbishop of Iconium, ascended it, wearing cope and mitre, and preached the introductory sermon. It was in Latin—the language of the council—and occupied just forty minutes. It has since been published, and the reader will not fail to recognize and admire the eloquence and fervor of his thoughts and the elegance of his Latinity. But no pages can give an idea of the clear, ringing voice, the musical Italian intonations, and the dignified and impressive, almost impassioned gesture of the truly eloquent Capuchin. The sermon over, the pope gave the solemn blessing, the Gospel of St. John was recited, and the mass was over.