The Sun.
London, England, 1867-07-03 00:00:00

THE 1?Oi1LIN FESTIVITIES.

(From the Univers.)
It is by the way of Susa one enters Italy—or, as
I feel tempted to call it—Ca vourland. Formerly,
Susa had all the honest and tranquil physiognomy
of honest and tranquil Piedmont, which used to
be one of the most respectable countries of the
globe. It was not quite Italy, but it bordered on
Italy ; one felt that this land received the visits
of the sun—that the sun came there in meekness,
without its fiercest rays, and, as it were, in repose.
I do not know what the sun does now at Susa,
but it makes a great deal of dust, and lights up
horrible and savage Customhouse officers. I have
seen in my time many of these gentry ; those of
old Italy, against whom such an outcry used to be
raised ; and then of France. Nowhere did they
ever appear to me as agreeable objects ; but the
Custom-house men of Susa are expressly meant
for the annoyance of the traveller. It is difficult
to imagine anything more puffed up with conceit,
more rude, and more stupid. The searcher of Susa
dives down to the very bottom of your portman-
teau, he unfolds your handkerchiefs, he opens your
hat-box, and even your spectacle-case ; and, after
having well examined, he again opens them, and
looks anxiously about for something to confiscate.
I happened to have a pound of tobacco with me.
He at first wanted to confiscate it, then to ex-
act a fine of 71fr., which he compromised for 4fr.
50c. Yet it was with the hope of abolishing, or, at
least, of modifying the Custom-house tariffs, that so
many well-meaning people applauded the revol-
utions of Italy.
Tnrin, like Susa, like Italy, like the world, has
about it the air of something incomplete, which
will crumble away before the day comes for the
famous crowning of the edifice.. Turin, once so
correct ! We bought the newspapers at:a pompous
and pretentious stall at the station, lined with
paintings and historic allusions, and decked with
all the gaudy trappings of a stall in the capital,
and bearing these decorations with the arrogance
of a café chantant. All the newspapers which we
found there were from Florence. There were
piles cf them. We asked for the Unita Cattolica,
but we had come too late. The two journals the
most thought of in Italy, and the most read, are
the Unita of Turin and the Civil/a Rome, and
jwo hu
irenha lalso
tthake ewtohrel
dfi. r s t
rpr
ecye
narnew toffli;
ye Cthought
o f
courage, they
andar are
react,probity f
rarely w- c thh ae t afl ;Di them nlsree,
with-
with
out suffering the least detriment, p found elsewhere, theand lot ev o luutt:si ounp,
e yhasenljeosys. to felairi etrheains
itlhoitsh
ne
ga
lorhl atrhi
et yulevvhoicllui
the opinion of honest men.- . Ido not know if any-
thin else could better paint the state of the world.
The first article on which myeyes fell in the first
1 opened bore evidence to that which
newspaperilo
Ivs o preoccupies attention in Italy. It is the
pilgrimkhe to Rome. l'he Italians are literally in a
state of stupefaction about it. All the leading ar-
ticles rave about it ; it forms the subject of every
caricature. One sees at once that the concoctors
of the Revolution really thought that they had
put the last stroke to the Catholic Church. They
really thought that it succumbed under the simul--
taneous and persistent efforts of their book, their
pamphlets, their articles, their robberies, and their
persecutions. But the multitude obey the call of
Vie Vicar of Christ, just as if M. Renan was not
more read than M. Peyrat, or than M. Mazade.
The Opinione, taking itsline in regard to this un-
expdilted event, seeks to make the best of it. It
debates on the indulgent serenity, on the good
humour, on the wonderful grandeur of soul with
which the Italians allowed all the priests to pass
on their way to Rome : " At least M. Veuillot may
see ivliether the Italians:eat, as he says they do, two
priests every day at their two meals, and whether
religion in Italy does not enjoy . the ',highest state
of liberty." M. Veuillot can bear testimony that
the Italians, really for the present, do not eat their
priests ; they content themselves with avoiding
theni, and not always without insult.
At Bologna, at Ancona—even at Florence, acme

,•*• 4
A-541
"*.
groups of our pilgrims were his :• - -
The caricaturists did their best to pa' ok:illiie*[*
ss.
demonstrations. I will not tell you anything or
those caricatures, which arc sold at all the railway
stations, and are affixed at street corners. In
France we see nothing so utterly ignoble, nothing
which shows such a depth of infamy. In such a
manner prisoners in the galleys write and draw
on the walls with the point of a stolen nail.
We passed one day at Florence. Alas ! I had
not seen Florence since IS3B. One of the things I
then remarked was the purity of the walls. All
this is now changed. Politics are added to obscen-
ity, and politics are seditious. In vain the police
efface those irreverent and unconstitutional chalk-
ings ; they reappear always. The cry of Cie wall
some days back was " Viva Polcinelli I" , This
Polcinelli is an honest man who said_ sthnething
in the Chamber of Deputies against the tax on
flour. " Norte" was also there in plenty.
I went into the Chamber of Deputies at Palazzo-
Vecchio. It is a great room—ve,ry dirty and very
dark. There were more spectators in it than
actors, and the greater part consisted of journal-
ists. The debate was about the muskets of the
National Guards. I had the satisfaction of hearing
the voice of the Minister of War, M. de Revel. lie
would certainly never gain a living as a tenor, yet •
he may possess other merits to be hereafter
revealed. It is, however, much to be doubted. I
wished to see M. Urbain Rattazzi, husband of
Madame Rattazzi, but this great personage was
not present. It is difficult to imagine how exces-
sively insignificant this assembly looks.
On the gate of the Palace they have left the
ancientAinscription of Florence, the Monogram of
Christ, and these words :—" Rex regum Dominus
dominantium"—The deputies pass by thisgate, and
bleated ,e 59 of Florence now sees nothing on
it. !,,
rime visited -A& famous: fL!onvert Stmw-,.
Mark, where St. Antonino, Savenorola, Fra An-
gelico, and Bartholomeo once lived. It is now
turned into a museum ; some monks still remain
there as guardians, waiting until another convent
is built for them, which they have a great chance
of never inhabiting. I have studied one by one,
for a less time than I could have wished, those
beautiful works of Fra Angelico. In prayer to
God, and in tears he painted in nearly every one
of the cells those incomparable vignettes, so that
each of the monks might constantly have before his
eyes an image of the Redeemer ; and to-day the
inspirations of his piety prevent his dear convent
from being delivered up to the profane men and to
the destroyers. The laws which they have made at
the Old Palace, will not last so long, and will not
preserve Italy.
At last through tunnels and through the dust we
have arrived at Rome. The first thing that we
learnt there was that the Government of the Holy
Father had dispensed with the searching of lug-
gage and the inspection of passports. The second
news was the approaching convocation of a Ge-
neral Council, which means that Rome, unarmed,
besieged, with without any visible support on
earth, takes officially in hand the reins of the
world. The passage from Florence to Rome is
like the passage from death to life. This seems
long. There arc tunnels to pass, abominable bar-
riers to get clear of ; but the light appears, and one
knows where one is going, and what one ought to
do, and what one ought not to do.
The morrow of my arrival was Corpus Christi.
After so many visits to Rome this divine function
was still unknown to me. They put up some
awnings ; they hang on the walls some pieces of
tapestry, beautiful from their antiquity; they hang
up some garlands, and fling a little sand on the
pavement, with shrubs. But the smallest village
goes to as much expense. After all, the whole de-
coration is trifling, indeed, in comparison with
those of the Opera or the Hotel de Ville of Paris;
but you feel you are in Rome, and then the pro-
cession unfolds itself on the square of the Vatican,
on the site of Nero's Circus, round the obelisks
erected in honour of Augustus and Tiberius, and
raised again by the hand of Sixtus Quintus, who
placed in it a piece of the wood of the Cross.
In the long files the religious orders, the Roman
clergy, the parish priests of 'Rome, the chapters of
the Basilicas, the bishops, the archbishops, the
patriarchs, and the cardinals passed—the noble-
ness, the splendour, the richnes=, the beauty of
the ornaments disappeared before the majesty of
names, of places, and of faces. I saw, again,
there, living and moving, all the types which I
had just admired at Florence in the paintings
of Angelico, of Florence—the same features, the
same expression. Thanks be to God, these men
still live, and the world will see them. There
were more than 300 bishops present. Several had
come from the ends of the earth, and one was
pointed out to me who had travelled more than
400 miles on foot, in the midst of the ice where he
dwells, to the first place where he could find means
of transport.
Among these august and venerable bishops we
' recognized and saluted in our hearts several of
our venerable bishops of France. Oh ! how
grand was that sight, and what a horizon it
opened before the eyes that are tired with con-
templating the dead and sterile splendoqrs of
mere matter ! At last the Pope appeared, on his
knees, the Holy Sacrament in his hands, calm in
the midst of the multitude, as if he were alone in
his oratory ; his brow bent on the golden mon-
strance, his eyes closed—and something told the
multitude that the motionless figure before them
was the support of the world.
In closing the eyes one could imagine one's
self in a desert—there was no other noise than the
distant murmur of fountains. What a moment!—
what sighs !—what tears in all eyes when faces were
lifted up and turned towards the splendid vision as
it passed! And this is the place over which Nero
went seated on his car between rows of Christians,
covered with pitch and burning as torches to
light up the games of the master of the empi
ut
re
the sovereign pontiff of the gods who had p
fetters on the human reason !

rCyr(a)fi
kd'o
Tsro
Vole.
—StlTElTiisYnnoitvEeLlLis.
aßryresGs,eochrgairamniang
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easure. 0
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roSt ilssi ;alto' l'cloOnneia.pnel;siviigi
spirited,Tyrrell i s
generous,a creation
kdoi
ifisdegwlaryro7a of
scarcely
true-hearted,
tle.
at-
tention. Frank Arnold and the other characters in the
book aro also very well drawn. The tone of the novel is
admirable. it is a pure story of homeiifo, and the taste
must indeed be vitiated which does not find in its freshly-
written, sparkling pages, genuine interest.—Star.
The London correspondent of the Round Table
states that the body of poor Artemus Ward has been. re-
moved from Kensal Green, and shipped, he believes, by
the Deutschland to the United States. The coffin was en-
closed in a case as a " statue," to honour the superstitious
horror of sailors embarking in a vessel with a corpse.
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