The Daughter of an Empress

On the following day there was a solemn high office in St. Peter's. All

Rome flocked there, to see this great and touching spectacle. A dense

crowd thronged the streets, and all shouted and cried when the pope,

surrounded by his Swiss guard, appeared in their midst in his gilded

armchair, and received the greetings of the people with a bland smile.

Toward St. Peter's waved the human throng, and to St. Peter's the pope

was borne. The features of Ganganelli had an expression of sadness, and

as he now glanced down upon the thousands of his subjects who,

shouting, followed him, he asked in his heart, "Who among you will be

my murderers? And how long will you yet allow me to live? Ah, were I

yet the poor Franciscan monk I was, then no one would take the pains to

assassinate me. Why, then, does the world, precisely now, seem so fair

to me, now, when I know that I must leave it so soon?" And the pope

shed a secret tear while, surrounded by royal splendor, he imparted his

blessing to the thousands who reverently knelt at his feet.

The bells rang, the organ resounded, the wide halls of St. Peter's were

penetrated by the marvellous singing of the Sistine chapel. Thousands

and thousands of wax tapers lighted the noble space of the church,

thousands and thousands of people pressed into the sacred halls. Under

his canopy, opposite the high altar, sat the vicegerent of God upon

his golden throne, surrounded by the consecrated cardinals and bishops,

protected by the Swiss guard! Who could have ventured to attack the holy

father--who would have been so foolhardy as to attempt to penetrate that

thick wall of Swiss guards and princes of the Church--who could have

been successful in such an attempt? No human being! But where the people

could not penetrate, where there was no room for the swinging of a

dagger, there the malignant poison lurked unseen!

Ganganelli sat upon his golden throne, intoxicated by the clang of

the organ and charmed by the singing of the high choir, and the pope,

looking down upon the human crowd, again asked himself: "Who among you

are my murderers?"

The singing ceased, the organ was silent, and only the solemn tones of

all the bells of St. Peter's resounded through the church. A death-like

stillness else; the people lay upon their knees and crossed themselves;

before the altar kneeling priests murmured prayers.

It was a solemn, a sublime moment, for the pope must now receive the

communion--the vicegerent of God must drink the blood of the Lamb. But

still the pope remains sacred; he cannot, like other mortals, make use

of his earthly feet; he must not, like them, approach the altar. Sitting

upon his throne, he has partaken of the holy wafer, and, as it was

unbecoming his dignity to descend to the altar in order to come to

Christ, the latter must decide to come to him!