July 1892 - The Emma Hardinge Britten Archive

Pontijex Maximus. 195
Then the sombre music of the mass for the dead stole
through the church from where the incense and the
candles burned, and after a while I heard the thin, small
voice of an old man in faint recitation. I t sounded,
attenuated by the immensity of the church, as though it
had passed through many atmospheres or pierced the
walls of a tomb. The quavering monotone ceased amid
a profound hush. God rest their souls ! Yes, there was
pathos in the scene for him who was attuned to the true
meaning of life.
When the procession returned from the altar to the
chapel door along the marble pavement, I could see the
Pope far down the cheering throng, swaying slightly
upon his lofty sedia, blessing as he passed, smiling with
polite serenity, gratified by the enthusiasm, but weary
with old age.
As he came nearer, the brilliancy of the whole spectacle
flashed upon me, and again its blasphemy insulted my
manhood. F or a moment it seemed impossible to repress
a cry of horror. The wrath of outraged humanity surged
within me at sight of this crude sho'W. I longed for the
" Carpenter" to come with his punishing scourge of
cords.
Thus I staggered into the piazza. The sun beat
joyously upon it from a luminous sky; the fountains
prattled to the bathing pigeons; there was the rumble of
Roman streets in the distance, and the joys of daily life
came back again.
After all, if we can suffer the vileness of the slums to
endure, we must also bear with Pontifex Maximus and
his train.
[NOTE BY THE EDITOR OF U. U.-The above is a
genuine picture of the present day following and head of
the Church founded in the name and for the honour of