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 the great nave and transepts. He moved onward, sitting erect, god-like, with a frozen mien prohibiting personal homage. Mitred and enthroned, He was the servant of those who would serve Him: that was the import of His demeanour. A child acolyth of the lowest rank held up before him a salver containing flax: set it on fire; and shrilled,
"Behold most Holy Father, how that the glory of this world passeth away."
His features shewed no emotion. He well knew all about that. He was accepting, even insisting on, the observance of all rites to consolidate Him in the Supreme Pontificature: not that He cared for them, but that He might be free to act. It was not the glory of the world which He craved: but the combat, the combat—because one rests so much more sweetly after strife.
Slowly, and with all the unspeakable solemnity accumulated during centuries, the mass was sung. The Apostle elevated the Host to the four quarters of the globe. Cardinals ruffled like huge flamingoes round Him. He always was white and still. At the end, the Cardinal-Archpriest of St. Peter's brought Him a damask purse containing twenty-five gold coins, honorarium for a mass well-sung. He bestowed it on della Volta and Sega, who had intoned the Gospel in Greek and Latin; and they passed it to their train-bearers. Down the nave, He went again toward the great porch. Out of the crowd a voice cried "Christus regnat." As He sat enthroned amid the surging peoples, Macca crowned Him, saying,
"Receive this tiara adorned with three crowns, and know Thyself to be the Ruler of the World, the Father of Princes and Kings, the earthly Vicar of Jesus Christ our Saviour."
Hadrian understood the formula in no metaphorical, but in the plain and literal, sense of the words. He neither minimised nor magnified their significance. He had an opportunity which was entirely grateful to Him. He was Ruler, Father, Vicar. And He was altogether unafraid. He stood up, and blessed the City and the World.
In the Xystine Chapel, they relieved Him of the pontifical regalia, and the voluminous far-flowing petticoat of white taffetas, which is so sumptuous to the eye of the beholden and so ridiculously cumbersome to the legs of the wearer; and He ate some apples while Orezzo, on behalf of the Sacred College, recited time-honoured compliments.
"Lord Cardinals," said Hadrian, "We thank you for your service: and We invite those of you who are able and willing to attend Us, now, when We go to take possession of Our episcopal see."
He moved towards the door. The short train of His cassock trailed behind Him, and the Bishop of Caerleon stooped to it.