he daring Deacon was of the race that
made and unmade popes afterwards, and held half Italy with its
fortresses, giving its daughters to kings and taking kings' daughters
for its sons, till Vittoria Accoramboni of bad memory began to bring
down a name that is yet great. But Orsino he was called, and he had in
him much of the lawless strength of those namesakes of his who outfought
all other barons but the Colonna, for centuries; and romance may well
make him one of them.

Three hundred years later, and a little nearer to us in the dim
perspective of the dark ages, another scene is enacted in the same
cathedral. Martin the First was afterwards canonized as Saint Martin for
the persecutions he suffered at the hands of Constans, who feared and
hated him and set up an antipope in his stead, and at last sent him
prisoner to die a miserable death in the Crimea. Olympius, Exarch of
Italy, was the chosen tool of the Emperor, sent again and again to Rome
to destroy the brave Bishop and make way for the impostor. At last, says
the greatest of Italian chroniclers, fearing the Roman people and their
soldiers, he attempted to murder the Pope foully, in hideous sacrilege.
To that end he pretended penitence, and begged to be allowed to receive
the Eucharist from the Pope himself at solemn high Mass, secretly
instructing one of his body-guards to stab the Bishop at the very moment
when he should present Olympius with the consecrated bread.

Up to the basilica they went, in grave and splendid procession. One may
guess the picture, with its deep colour, with the strong faces of those
men, the Eastern guards, the gorgeous robes, the gilded arms, the high
sunlight crossing the low nave and falling through the yellow clouds of
incense upon the venerable bearded head of the holy man whose death was
purposed in the sacred office. First, the measured tread of the Exarch's
band moving in order; then, the silence over all the kneeling throng,
and upon it the bursting unison of the 'Gloria in Excelsis' from the
choir. Chant upon chant as the Pontiff and his Ministers intone the
Epistle and the Gospel and are taken up by the singers in chorus at the
first words of the Creed. By and by, the Pope's voice alone, still clear
and brave in the Preface. 'Therefore with Angels and Archangels, and all
the company of Heaven,' he chants, and again the harmony of many voices
singing 'Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Sabaoth.' Silence then, at the
Consecration,