One cannot but be struck by the difference in this respect between the
Romans on a _festa_-day in the Corso and the Parisians during _fete_ in
the Champs Elysees,--the former are so much better dressed, and so much
happier, gayer, and handsomer.
During the morning, the Pope celebrates High Mass at San Pietro, and
thousands of spectators are there,--some from curiosity, some from
piety. Few, however, of the Roman families go there to-day;--they perform
their religious services in their private chapel or in some minor
church; for the crowd of _forestieri_ spoils St. Peter's for prayer.[A]
At the elevation of the Host, the guards, who line the nave, drop to
their knees, their side-arms ringing on the pavement,--the vast crowd
bends,--and a swell of trumpets sounds through the dome. Nothing can be
more impressive than this moment in St. Peter's. Then the choir from its
gilt cage resumes its chant, the high falsetti of the soprani soaring
over the rest, and interrupted now and then by the clear musical voice
of the Pope,--until at last he is borne aloft in his Papal chair on the
shoulders of his attendants, crowned with the triple crown, between
the high, white, waving fans; all the cardinals, monsignori, canonici,
officials, priests, and guards going before him in splendid procession.
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