"Portrait of Pope Pius IX (1871)" by George Healy |
I was introduced one morning into Pius IX's library, a pleasant room, simply enough furnished, full of book the table covered with papers. The Pope was dressed all in white cloth, with scarlet shoes; the hair was white, the face rather place with very bright eyes, not incapable of sparkle, for his Holiness knew how to take a joke.
He was a pretty good sitter, but somewhat restless, and curious also as to what his painter was about. On once occasion he arose from his seat to look over my shoulder. When I am earnestly at work, I wish my sitters in the attitude I have chosen. I exclaimed, perhaps a little abruptly: 'I beg your Holiness to sit down.' The Pope laughed and said, 'I am accustomed to give orders, not to receive them. But you see, My. Healy, that I also know how to obey,' and submissively went back to his chair.
Pius IX has been dead now many a year. I like to remember his quiet, pleasant talk, his rather Italian-sounding French, his judgments of men and things. One day, speaking of a monk who had left the Church and married, he observed, not without glee: 'He has taken his punishment in his own hands.' I often think, also, of Pius IX's gentle reproach to one of my countrymen who, in his American pride, refused to bend before him: 'My son, an old man's blessing never did harm to to any one."
To be continued
(Excerpts from "Reminiscences of a Portrait Painter" by G. P. A. Healy.)
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