"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."