Daily Ohio statesman. [volume] (Columbus, Ohio) 1855-1870, 1868-04-10
no one is expected to kneel, and no one


must say amen.
At last only one candle remains light
ed. Then the tall wax tapers beside the
great altar are likewise extinguished.-
BY this time, you will of course under
stand, the evening has considerably dark
ened around the chapel. Twilight comes
suddenly in those narrow streets. The
apartment seems strangely lit with mere
ftful CLEANS falling on the wild forms of
the frescoed figures. The faces of the
audience grow dusky in the sombre at
mosphere yet you are able to see every
thing plainly, and that lonely, feeble can
die burns on silently, like spark from
heaven, the glimmer of hope in the sure
advance of a coming despair. You won
der whether by any possibility it can be
saved. The Nocturns meanwhile grow
more and more plaintive; the music sad
dens into tears.
The Pope suddenly removes his miter,
leaves his throne, and, going out into the
very centre of the open area, kneels SOL
emnly before the cross. All the assem-
bly, within that inclosure Immediately
follow, and are arranged behind him on
their bended knees-cardinals bishops,
senators and councillors of Rome.
Your Imagination is now fairly ar
rested. With a gaze of wistful inquiry,
you stand breathlessly watching what
will come next. You feel dread you
cannot control; fear that becomes op-
pressive, concerning this final light of
the race. Silently the vast assembly
bushes itself into awe-struck reverence
of waiting, and even while you look, the
candle is caught, rudely broken and
dashed on the floor. Then all the Sa-
cred College bow their heads on their
hands, and the music suddenly ceases.
In moment more, grave, murmuring
sound comes up from the kneeling
throng, as they repeat the Lords Prayer
almost inaudibly.
1t is impossible to resist the mysteri-
Gus influence. Tho air grows oppres
sive; the stiffness becomes burdensome.
A great calamity is on the race. Late
in the night, long after the pageant was
over,while my wearied eyes refused their
rest, 1 could not draw off the spell. I
kept saying to myself, Christ is dead!
They killed the Lord of glory This is
his crucifxion day! -
There, in that terrible silence, we
waited for brief interval, when sudden
ly the quiet air bore to our ears one of
the most penetrating notes of wailing
that mortal voice ever uttered. The
Miserere begun with the tender implor-
alton for pardon so familiar to Scrip
ture reader. The words throughout, are
those of the ffty-frst Psalm, as num-
bered in our version. 1t is sung in
Latin, of course, but with much precis-
ion and distinctness. The music, how
ever, suggests more than mere penitence.
1t seems intended to carry forward in
some measures the burden of the cruci-
fxion scene. No pen can give adequate
ly its effect. 1t was continued strain
of melody and harmony intermingled /;
all performed without instrumental ac-
compartment, by voices of unearthly
sweetness. compass and power.
Sadness was in every note of it. Pen
sive and plaintive, it seemed only one
overflow of unutterable tenderness and
grief; a cry such as one might imagine
Mary would lift when she saw Jesus
side pierced or such as John would
give when he first knew he had lost the
bosom he leaned upon; more full of pain
than of Indignation; concentrating its
force more in pity and irrepressible sym
pathy for the Crucifed than in reproach
of the chief priests or wrath against Pi-
late. For an entire half hour that won
derful weeping went on. Now it was
gentle and heavily sad, then wild and
distracted minor with distressful ex-
clamations, then suddenly major with
notes of triumph, as if trying to assure
faith boldly with recollections of prom
Use. But whatever the strain, winding
around with climax and cadence, there
was always the same return in senti-
ment-"See if any sorrow is like unto
mine !''