"Why not? What are their vows of celibacy but conspiracies against us

poor women? Nearly every man a woman wants is either mated or has sworn

off in some way. Oh, how I should love to meet one of those anchorites

in real life and make him fly!"

"Well, I dare say the whisk of a petticoat would be more frightening

than all his doctors of divinity."

"Listen!"

From a part of the procession which had passed the balcony there came

the sound of harmonious voices.

"The singers of the Sistine Chapel! They're singing a hymn."

"I know it. 'Veni, Creator!' How splendid! How glorious! I feel as if

I wanted to cry!"

All at once the singing stopped, the murmuring and speaking of the crowd

ceased too, and there was a breathless moment, such as comes before the

first blast of a storm. A nervous quiver, like the shudder that passes

over the earth at sundown, swept across the piazza, and the people stood

motionless, every neck stretched, and every eye turned in the direction

of the bronze gate, as if God were about to reveal Himself from the Holy

of Holies. Then in that grand silence there came the clear call of

silver trumpets, and at the next instant the Presence itself.

"The Pope! Baron, the Pope!"

The atmosphere was charged with electricity. A great roar of cheering

went up from below like the roaring of surf, and it was followed by a

clapping of hands like the running of the sea off a shingly beach after

the boom of a tremendous breaker.

An old man, dressed wholly in white, carried shoulder-high on a chair

glittering with purple and crimson, and having a canopy of silver and

gold above him. He wore a triple crown, which glistened in the sunlight,

and but for the delicate white hand which he upraised to bless the

people, he might have been mistaken for an image.

His face was beautiful, and had a ray of beatified light on it--a face

of marvellous sweetness and great spirituality.

It was a thrilling moment, and Roma's excitement was intense. "There he

is! All in white! He's on a gilded chair under the silken canopy! The

canopy is held up by prelates, and the chairmen are in knee-breeches and

red velvet. Look at the great waving plumes on either side!"

"Peacock's feathers!" said a voice behind her, but she paid no heed.

"Look at the acolytes swinging incense, and the golden cross coming

before! What thunders of applause--I can hardly hear myself speak. It's

like standing on a cliff while the sea below is running mountains high.

No, it's like no other sound on earth; it's human--fifty thousand

unloosed throats of men! That's the clapping of ladies--listen to the

weak applause of their white-gloved fingers. Now they're waving their

handkerchiefs. Look! Like the wings of ten thousand butterflies

fluttering up from a meadow."




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