Roma's abandonment was by this time complete; she was waving her
handkerchief and crying "Viva il Papa Re!"
"They're bearing him slowly along. He's coming this way. Look at the
Noble Guard in their helmets and jackboots. And there are the Swiss
Guard in Joseph's coat of many colours! We can see him plainly now. Do
you smell the incense? It's like the ribbon of Bruges. The pluviale?
That gold vestment? It's studded on his breast with precious stones. How
they blaze in the sunshine! He is blessing the people, and they are
falling on their knees before him."
"Like the grass before the scythe!"
"How tired he looks! How white his face is! No, not white--ivory! No,
marble--Carrara marble! He might be Lazarus who was dead and has come
back from the tomb! No humanity left in him! A saint! An angel!"
"The spiritual autocrat of the world!"
"Viva il Papa Re! He's going by! Viva il Papa Re! He has
gone.... Well!"
She was rising from her knees and wiping her eyes, trying to cover up
with laughter the confusion of her rapture.
"What is that?"
There was a sound of voices in the distance chanting dolorously.
"The cantors intoning Tu es Petrus," said Don Camillo.
"No, I mean the commotion down there. Somebody is pushing through the
Guard."
"It's David Rossi," said the American.
"Is that David Rossi? Oh, dear me! I had forgotten all about him." She
moved forward to see his face. "Why ... where have I ... I've seen him
before somewhere."
A strange physical sensation tingled all over her at that moment, and
she shuddered as if with sudden cold.
"What's amiss?"
"Nothing! But I like him. Do you know, I really like him."
"Women are funny things," said the American.
"They're nice, though, aren't they?" And two rows of pearly teeth
between parted lips gleamed up at him with gay raillery.
Again she craned forward. "He is on his knees to the Pope! Now he'll
present the petition. No ... yes ... the brutes! They're dragging him
away! The procession is going on! Disgraceful!"
"Long live the Workmen's Pope!" came up from the piazza, and under the
shrill shouts of the pilgrims were heard the monotonous voices of the
monks as they passed through the open doors of the Basilica intoning the
praises of God.
"They're lifting him on to a car," said the American.
"David Rossi?"