man had never got over his discomfiture in his
scheme of disposing of his sister to that pillar
of the Church, the most reverend Cardinal
Farnese, or whether, as a bishop, he was especially
afraid of doing what might naturally be
supposed to be most offensive to the man who would
in all probability be pope in a few days, it is
certain that no instances could obtain from him
the desired consent. And the conclave was
sitting all this while—and it was a long journey
from Rome to Fossombrone—and precious time
was being lost. The conclave might declare
their election any day; and Vittoria might be
marched back again to St. Angelo as quickly
after the election of the new pope as she had
escaped from it after the death of the old one.
It was determined, however, to try one more
urgent appeal to the obstinate bishop brother,
and a courier was despatched, we are told, on
relays of horses, with orders to spare neither
horse nor man for the bringing back an answer
with the utmost speed.

In the mean time, however, the conclave of
cardinals had been getting on with their work,
and had arrived at the conclusion that the best
compromise to be made between the contending
parties was the election of the infirm Cardinal
di Montalto, who was sure not to last long,
sooner than had been expected. The old pope
had died on the 14th of April, and on the 24th
it was known that the election was made. The
courier from Fossombrone had not returned,
and Vittoria and her prince felt that, legal or
not legal, it was now or never the moment for
their marriage. There was not an instant to be
lost, and the wedding was solemnised on the
very same day that the Cardinal di Montalto
was proclaimed pope by the name of Sixtus the
Fifth.

Nothing could have been more insulting
to the new pope than this marriage;
performed as if in defiance of him, at the very
moment it was known that he was the new
sovereign. It was as if the parties to it had
hesitated to fly in the face of the late pope's
prohibition as long as they feared the possibility
of the election of some strong-handed and
energetic ruler, and had only ventured on defying
him when they were assured that they would
have to deal with the weak and all but imbecile
Cardinal di Montalto. But though deeply
offended at the manner in which the thing had
been done, it is probable that the old man was
not much surprised to find, when he came out
from the conclave, that Orsini and his niece-in-
law had availed themselves of the license of an
interregnum to effect what it was notorious that
they desired.

But if Pope Sixtus was not surprised, a very
great and by no means agreeable surprise
awaited the Prince Orsini, in common with all
the rest of the Eternal City.

The transformation of a cardinal into a pope
is, in all cases, a great and remarkable one,
watched, canvassed, and speculated on with
intense interest by the court and city of Rome,
and indeed, in those days, by the whole of
Christendom. But never had such a
transformation been seen as that which struck all
Rome mute with astonishment, and half of it
with terror, when the weak and meek old
Mendicant friar Felix Peretti came forth from the
conclave as Sixtus the Fifth. Upright as an
arrow, imperious and dignified in gesture and
bearing, firm of step and keen of eye, the new
pope advanced to the altar to celebrate the
service, which is a pope's first duty, and pronounced
the sacred words in strong ringing tones, which
came from as sound a chest as any man that
heard him could boast. The tottering gait, the
bent body, the distressing cough, the downcast
eye, the humble bearing, had all vanished as by
magic. The astonished cardinals quailed before
the power they had created, as Frankenstein
before the being he had called to life. The
deed was irrevocable. But probably there was
not a single cardinal there who would not have
given much to undo what had been done.
Nothing, of course, remained but to bend the head
with such humility as they might to a ruler who
evidently intended to rule them in earnest. The
congratulations and obeisances had to be made,
and were made humbly, to the peasant's son by
Estes, Farneses, Savellis, and all the greatest
and proudest names in Rome. The Cardinal
dei Medici only, as is recorded, ventured, in
offering his congratulations, to slide among them
some word of remark on the wondrously
restorative power which, by God's blessing, the
papal consecration had exercised on his holiness.

"Truly," replied Sixtus, "I have been many
years looking for the keys of St. Peter, and
had to keep my eyes on the earth to find them.
Having found them, I can raise my eyes to
heaven, henceforward to look earthwards no
more."

However alarmed and disgusted Rome was, at
the promise of vigour and strong-handed government
in the new sovereign, the Roman world
could not refuse its praise and admiration of the
skilful and consistent hypocrisy of years, which
had worked to so successful a result. And we,
while branding as it deserves so base and
degrading a system of ethics, and abominating the
social system which generates and fosters it,
must needs admit that the consummate
hypocrite—the "great friar," as old Gregory admiringly
called him—governed Rome and his states
to better purpose than any pope since. Justice
was, if severely, at least equitably exercised.
The peasant's son quailed before none of the
turbulent feudatories, who had been the terror
of preceding popes. Rome, to its infinite
surprise, became peaceable and safe. The brigands
and bandits were mercilessly extirpated. The
roads were no longer dangerous to property and
life. And malefactors, and lawless men of all
ranks, found that the States of the Pope, instead
of being, as hitherto, their own special refuge
and territory, were the least safe abiding-place
for them in all Italy.

Paolo Giordano Orsini was not among the least
thunderstruck at the new character in which