Standing beside her queenly cousin, with a group of bower maidens clustering around, the damosel Rosalind glanced from side to side with a merry twinkle of her eye, and look of maidenly wonder, as the glare and the glitter, the pomp and the show of the scene broke on her vision, and came thundering on her ear.
Amid the throng of noble dames, towered the stately form of the Lady Di Albarone, with a proud smile on her lip, and a haughty glance in her eye, as she looked with all a mother’s pride upon her son’s advancement to his right of birth and honor.
And higher grew the sound of pipe and cymbal, mingling with the roll of drum, and the peal of trumpet, and deeply booming along the arches of the cathedral, came the voice of the swelling organ, seeming as though some spirit of light had trained the mountain thunder to the strains of harmony, now soft and gentle, now awful, now sublime, and ever filling the soul with high and glowing thoughts.
And now the bright sunbeams came flaunting through the arched windows of the cathedral, and every eye was fixed upon the throne, and every voice was hushed in expectation, as the moment of the approaching ceremony drew nigh.
A murmur ran along the aisles of the cathedral, and it deepened into a cry—
“He comes, the holy abbot of St. Peter’s of Florence!”
And every sound was hushed, as the venerable man of heaven raised the golden coronet, set with rarest jewels, and the sceptre of ivory from the altar of the cathedral, and ascending the steps of the throne he was received by Adrian Di Albarone with lowered head, and bended knee.
“Sound heralds, sound!”
And then the heralds, standing one on either side of the throne, gave a blast loud and long to the air, and proclaiming to the lineage, the title, and the birth of Lord Adrian Count Di Albarone, they flung each man, his glove upon the marble floor, challenging all the world to say aught against the right of descent claimed by the duke elect. There came no answer to the challenge.
“Lord Adrian Count Di Albarone,” thus spoke the abbot; “in the name of God, in the name of Christ and St. Peter, and by the blessing of the Holy Vicar of Christ upon earth, I proclaim thee Sovereign Lord of Florence, the city and the field, the mountain and the stream! I bestow upon thee the golden coronet—wear it with glory and honor. I place this sceptre of ivory in thy grasp—wield it with justice and truth. Arise Adrian, Lord Duke of Florence!”