And the solitary watcher, dressed in the plain garb of a simple ecclesiastic, was the Legate who had done the bidding of the Pontiff over half the globe,—the Legate, Gulian Van Huyden.
"Will he turn his back upon the people, and cast himself into the hands of the tyrants? Will he, after his hand has grasped the plow of Human Progress, falter and turn back, and give the power of the church into the hands of the Iscariots of the human race? Can there be any truth in the rumor?"
And again he paused before the door, behind which was the chamber which held the sovereign Pontiff.
That door opened,—the Pope appeared. Clad not in the gorgeous costume which he wears, when high upon his throne, he is carried by his guards, through thousands and tens of thousands of his kneeling worshipers; but clad in a loose robe or gown of dark silk, which, thrown open in front, discloses his bared neck and disordered attire. For with his mild countenance,—a countenance marked by irresolution,—displaying every sign of perturbation, this "representative of God on earth," wears very much the air of one who is about to fly from a falling house.
"There can be no truth in this rumor, which I hear," and the Legate steps forward almost fiercely, addressing the Pope without one word of "majesty," or "holiness,"—"this rumor of flight?"
It is in a soft and tremulous voice, (in Italian of course,) the Pope replies,—
"If I stay, poison threatens me from above, the dagger from below."
And then with a gesture, supplicating silence and secrecy on the part of the Legate, the Pope retires and closes the door.
"Significant words! Poison threatens him from above,—from the cardinals,—the dagger from below,—from the people. The danger from the cardinals is not imaginary—there was once a Pope named Ganganelli, who suppressed the Jesuits, and in less than three months died horribly of poison. But the people, Pius? O, Pope without nerve, without faith in God, without hope in man, know you not, that were you to fulfill your apostolate of Liberty, the very women and children of Rome would, in your defense, build around you a rampart of their dead bodies?"
He walked to the window, up to which from the sleepless city, came the voices of arisen Rome: