p. 253 | Untitled article

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Third-day, October 1, 1867.

The Canonization at Rome.

A brilliant morning, it was (June 29) when I started at 5½ o’clock, and found crowds in carriages or on foot, all tending toward one point. Many a window was hung with crimson tapestry; the Papal banner was floating over the Ponte St. Angelo, and Papal troops were dashing about in all directions. The Cardinals were indulging in an hour’s more sleep, secure of their places, but, with this exception, persons of all classes were en route. Thanks to kind friends, I entered the church by a private gate, the Porta Santa Maria, and from my place under the Embassador’s loggia, and close to the Papal throne, will now describe the scene which thousands beside myself were gazing at, even at that

early hour.

The taste displayed in the decorations is much more pure and simple than that which was shown in 1862 at the last great canonization. The effort has been to give the effect of color, and this has been done so as to bring out in bolder relief the architectural ornaments. It would be useless to note the materials employed. One looks at the whole, at the general effect, and this was rich and gorgeous in the extreme. Richer still it became when, about 7 o’clock, the Servitori began to light the great wax tapers which hung suspended in festoons beneath the arches under the colossal statues. Still, it was a fearful sight to watch these men at times suspended in mid air on a narrow bit of wood, and swinging backward and forward, apparently no bigger than crows. Twenty-five thousand tapers were thus soon made to shed their light upon the building, giving to the crimson tapestry a deeper hue, now that all daylight was excluded, and lending increased brilliancy to the gilding. Sometimes a puff of wind blew aside a curtain, and then down streamed on one particular spot, a sunbeam so bright and unexpected that it seemed like a flash of lightning, startling those around, as if danger were near. Grander, however, than all else in the way of light, was a colossal, inverted cross formed of prisms of glass, which had been sought for far and wide. Above it were the keys, gigantic in their proportions and formed of the same material, while above them still was suspended an enormous tiara of colored glass. Hanging as did these brilliant symbols of the Roman Catholic faith, in the center of the nave, and flashing and glittering with direct and reflected light, the spectacle was indescribably beautiful. We were looking and wondering at these grand effects of light when a general confusion ensued among the masses who were underneath the cupola. There was a murmur of many voices gradually swelling into a storm. Ladies were rising in their seats, and guards rushing here and there—indications, as some thought, of the approaching Papal procession, but, instead, it was a panic created by the curtain of one of the windows taking fire. There could be no danger in so substantial a building as St. Peter’s; but people do not reason on such occasions, and had it not been that the fire was extinguished, it is difficult to say what might have been the result of the panic. Another, and this is the only other painful incident which occurred, was, as it was reported, an act of suicide by a man named Achille Rossi, a native of Cremonia, before the chapel of the Holy Sacrament. The poor fellow, it appears, was so dazzled by the wonders of the scenes, that he lost his head, and cut his throat with a penknife, that he might enter at once on the enjoyment of a Paradise, which the glories around him were supposed to typify.

Soon after 8 o’clock some minor orders began to enter, and then came the Bishops, two and two, amounting to 480. Wearing a red cope in honor of the martyrs they presented a grand spectacle. Many of them wore a violet-colored beretta on the head, instead of a black one. Each carried his mitre, white for the most part, though there were varieties, as in the dress. Some had mitres resembling imperial crowns, studded with precious stones, while some wore over the cope a dress resembling a hussar’s jacket, with upright collars rigid with gold. Each bore a lighted taper, and as soon as they were seated, and the archbishops (among whom I recognized Dr. Manning) had arranged themselves on either side of the throne, the silver trumpets in the cloister announced the approach of the Pontiff. They always perform the same music, but sweeter notes it is impossible to conceive. In advance were the cardinals. They took their seats on the lower benches, on either side of the presbytery, 48 in number, and in the center of 523 princes and dignitaries of the church, Pius IX was borne in on his chair. So large a number has never, I believe, been assembled together in modern times; in 1862 there were not more than 250 bishops. Altogether, the Church possesses between 800 and 900, and 53 or 54 cardinals; so that more than one-half of her staff, so to speak, met on this occasion. Call it vanity, or what you like, Pius IX must have been more or less than human had he not felt deeply moved and gratified at the homage which he received.

When all was ready, the Cardinal charged to conduct the canonization advanced to the throne, accompanied by a master of ceremonies and an advocate of the consistory, who, in the name of the Cardinal, begged instanter that his holiness would permit the names of the 25 Beati, to be enrolled in the catalogue of saints. The Prelate Secretary of the Breves and Principes replied in Latin that the Holy Father was well acquainted with their virtues, but before deciding on so important an affair exhorted that intercession should be made to the Apostles and all the court of Heaven for light to guide him. The Pope and all the mitred host then knelt, while two singing chaplains intoned the Litany of the saints, the ecclesiastics joining in, and the vast multitude in the church responding as with the voice of many waters. There is a plaintive monotony in the notes which is very touching, and, familiar as they are to the members of the Roman Catholic Church, not a voice was silent, and a body of sound rose and swelled through the vast edifice that made one’s nerves thrill with emotion.

The same forms being observed as in the first instance, a second time the Cardinal advanced, and the request was made instanter et instantissime that the Beati should be canonized, when, in answer, prayers to the Holy Spirit, the source of light and holiness, were implored. Again the Pope and his prelates knelt and prayed, and rising, his Holiness intoned the Veni Creator Spiritus with a voice so clear and loud, and with a precision so remarkable, that people looked upon one another with astonishment. A third time the postulants advanced, and entreated instanter, instantius et instantissime that the canonization should take place, and an answer was returned, that the Holy Father, convinced that the act was approved of God, would now pronounce his definite decision, which he accordingly did, seated in his chair of state, with his mitre on his head. After some other forms the Confiteor or Decernimus, was repeated, the silver trumpets sounded, the cannon roared from St. Angelo, and all the bells of the city were rung for joy at the consummation of the hopes of the Church. The Pope now intoned the Te Deum, that fine old Ambrosian hymn. Oh, how grandly it rose and died away, as it was sung by the choir; and was then taken up by 40,000 voices, pealing forth with a power which lifted one above the world, and then dying away, as if the effort was too great for the human soul to sustain! Do not call this rant or over-excited enthusiasm. You should have heard and seen properly to have felt. I confess that even now I choke with emotion as I recall the impression it made upon me. That glorious hymn, chanted as it was by tens of thousands in unison, will ring in my ears forever, and I found myself joining in the universal song of praise, not as a Roman Catholic with Roman Catholics, but as a Christian man with his fellow man in acknowledgment of the Great Power whom we all worship.

High Mass was performed immediately after the conclusion of the ceremony of canonization. It presents no peculiarity, until we come to the offertory, which on this occasion included the presentation of the offerings made to the Pope by the friends of the new saints, or the religious orders to which they belonged. During the whole of the morning they lay on tables on the left of the high altar. They consisted first of five large wax candles, weighing two of them 60 Roman pounds, and three, 12 pounds each. These were beautifully painted with flowers, intermingled with arabesque, in gold and silver. Secondly, two large loaves, on silver salvers, one of which was gilt, bearing the arms of the Pontiff. Thirdly, two barrels, one plated with gold, the other with silver, filled, one with wine, and the other with water. Fourthly, three cages of elegant construction, in one of which were two turtle doves, in another two pigeons, and in the third various small birds of different kinds. Each saint presented the offerings above described, and the ceremony was conducted with great pomp. As many saints, so many processions, each formed by two macebearers and a master of the ceremonies, two cardinals preceded by their gentlemen, and followed by two members of the order to which the saint belonged or by two priests or laymen, the postulants of the cause and two other cardinals with their gentlemen bringing up the rear. The ceremony therefore continued for some time, and during this interval we were indulged with a Litany composed expressly for the occasion by the well-known soprano Mustafa, in which the names of the new saints were introduced for the first time. To give effect to the music three several choirs were formed, one of which was placed under the direction of Mustafa, near the High Altar; another over the great window at the entrance of the church, directed by Meluzzi; and a third, composed of 400 voices, in the cupola, under the direction of Capocci. Such delicious music surely was never heard, as the dulcet tones floated in a series of echoes through the vast building—first rising from earth in a full body of sound, then gradually diminishing in power, though not in distinctness, and then softly breathing forth as though they were angels’ whispers. As the High Mass proceeded, and the incense began to spread its misty veil over every object, nothing could exceed the beautiful effect of color. His Holiness took the sacrament in both kinds; the benediction was given, and the long-expected ceremonies of a day which will mark an important epoch in the history of the church were over.—Correspondence of the London Times.