At midnight, bolts of great doors clanged, and fell. A cool air crept in. Subsacristans set up iron candlesticks, huge, antique, here and there upon the marmoreal pavement. The burning torch of each made a little oasis of light in the immeasurable gloom. From far away, a slim white form which carried a crimson cloak swiftly came, shedding benedictions on the startled beholders; and disappeared in the chapel of the Sacrament.
On returning to His apartment, Hadrian went straight to bed, invoking the souls in purgatory to awaken Him at six o’clock. He slept instantly and well.
At seven o’clock He had paid His debt with the De Profundis; and was dressed and waiting in the throne-room. Entered to Him a dozen cardinals, two by two. Opening their ranks, they disclosed the Cardinal-Prior-Priest solemnly ostending the image of a cock in silver-gilt. Hadrian stood on the steps of the throne, still, erect, vivid. He seemed so brimming over with restrained energy that He resembled a white flame. Not a sound was uttered. In silence they came; and they went away in silence. When the Pontiff was alone again, He strode and stopped in the middle of the floor.
“No, Lord, I never will deny Thee—never!” He exclaimed with tremendous emphasis. “But keep me and teach me and govern me, that I may govern and teach and keep Thy Flock, O Thou Shepherd of the people.”
When the Bishop of Caerleon conveyed the extraordinary news to the Syndic of Rome, Prince Pilastro at once inquired what arrangements were made.
“No arrangements are made.”
“But look here,” said Marcantonio, who affected English brusqueness, “of course we are very happy that the Holy Father should come among us: but, you know, we are bound by our own guarantees to give Him all the honours of a sovereign-regnant. We shall be shamed in the eyes of Europe if we omit those. What I mean by that is this is a state-progress; and we shall have to turn out the troops, and stop the traffic and line the streets—”
“I don’t think His Holiness expects you to do all that, Prince. I’m not speaking officially; and I’m not bringing you an official request for anything of the kind which you name. The Holy Father says He is going quite simply—on foot, in fact.”
“Now I should just like to know what the devil (if Your Splendour will excuse the French) that means.”
“Perhaps His Holiness thinks that the movement of the sedia gestatoria, or of a litter, will make Him sick. It did with Leo, you know.”
“What’s the matter with a white mule?”
“I happen to know that He cannot ride.”
“Peuh! No sportsman, then! And yet He’s English?”
“Yes: but not the kind of sportsman you mean, Prince.”
“Well: what does He want me to do?”
“Let’s say that I am sent to warn you of His intention, in order that you may arrest Him for disturbing the traffic, if you choose.”
“Of course we shan’t do that.”
“No: of course you won’t. That’s only my way of putting it. I think He really means to advise you beforehand, so that it can never be said that He played you a trick, took you unawares, stole a march on you, so to speak.”
“I see. Well, this is one of the amazing things which you English do as a matter of course. It’s either frantic madness, or—Will His Holiness go in any sort of state?”
“I think not. You see time is short; and (between ourselves) I’m not at all sure that we’re all of one mind over there.”
“By rights, you know, I ought to walk with Orso, just before the ambassadors. Does Orso know about this walking business?”
“No. Only of the incoronation.”
“That means that there will be no formal procession. It is well. You see, as Pilastro, I walk with Orso in the Pope’s progress: while, as Syndic of Rome, I ought to walk at the head of the pontifical pages who precede His Blessedness. I can’t do both, can I? Well, I request Your Splendour to convey my respects to our Holy Father; and to say that Prince Pilastro will assist at the throne during the incoronation, and the Syndic of Rome will go before the Pope to Lateran.”
“You will not take the chance of coming to blows with Prince Orso on the question of precedence then?” joked the bishop.
“But no. During the incoronation I shall secure the right hand; and the Pope will be between us. Afterward, no question of precedence will arise, because Orso may or may not join in this promenade to Lateran; and in each case the Syndic will have the more honourable position. I may not be the rose: but at least I shall be near the Rose—a great deal nearer than Orso,” punned the versatile Marcantonio.
At eight in the morning, Hadrian descended to St. Peter’s. Miscellaneous multitudes paved the spaces with tumultuous eyes. He came down in ruddy vesture, gleaming with rubies and garnets and carbuncles like a fire borne high above the crowd, slowly, deliberately, dropping benedictions. His English phlegm was much admired. They roared at Him, “Long live the Pope-King.” Instantly He stopped His bearers; and the very air of Him struck sudden silence. People stared, and forgot to shout: the wave of acclamation ebbed in
