to God for sparing the city. On the 15th, the Pope set out in procession to accompany a famous black Madonna from the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore to St. Peter’s. Thrice he was stopped by storms. People crowded in to join from all the towns and villages in a circuit of many miles. The vast concourse, the excitement of the procession, and the violent rains to which they were exposed, barefoot and bareheaded, tended only to exasperate the power of the epidemic. On that day many persons died: the illusion vanished—it was admitted that the cholera was in Rome. Strangers and nobles fled, and for two months the most fearful scenes had place. The dead-cart went all night—people fell down in the streets, convulsed by the frightful spasms of that terrible disease; 15,000 persons (about one in ten of the whole population, 150,000) died at Rome.
The Pope shut himself up in the Quirinal. Every one who entered the palace was obliged to undergo fumigation—a thing abhorrent to the Romans, who detest every kind of perfume. An imperative order was issued that the cardinals, the heads of government, and various employés, should not quit the city—but it was very ill obeyed—government was indeed paralysed, and great fears were entertained, especially at first, of the violence
