hant; women shrieking in terror;
bishops praying in despair,--a world disordered, a pandemonium of devils
let loose, one terrific and howling mass of moral and physical
desolation such as had never been seen since Noah entered into the ark.

Amid this dreary wreck of the old civilization, which had been supposed
to be eternal, what were Leo's designs and thoughts? In this mournful
crisis, what did he dream of in his sad and afflicted soul? To flee
into a monastery, as good men in general despair and wretchedness did,
and patiently wait for the coming of his Lord, and for the new
dispensation? Not at all: he contemplated the restoration of the eternal
city,--a new creation which should succeed destruction; the foundation
of a new power which should restore law, preserve literature, subdue the
barbarians, introduce a still higher civilization than that which had
perished,--not by bringing back the Caesars, but by making himself
Caesar; a revived central power which the nations should respect and
obey. That which the world needed was this new central power, to settle
difficulties, depose tyrants, establish a common standard of faith and
worship, encourage struggling genius, and conserve peace. Who but the
Church could do this? The Church was the last hope of the fallen Empire.
The Church should put forth her theocratic aspirations. The keys of
Saint Peter should be more potent than the sceptres of kings. The Church
should not be crushed in the general desolation. She was still the
mighty power of the world. Christianity had taken hold of the hearts and
minds of men, and raised its voice to console and encourage amid
universal despair. Men's thoughts were turned to God and to his
vicegerents. He was mighty to save. His promises were a glorious
consolation. The Church should arise, put on her beautiful garments,
and go on from conquering to conquer. A theocracy should restore
civilization. The world wanted a new Christian sovereign, reigning by
divine right, not by armies, not by force,--by an appeal to the future
fears and hopes of men. Force had failed: it was divided against itself.
Barbaric chieftains defied the emperors and all temporal powers. Rival
generals desolated provinces. The world was plunging into barbarism. The
imperial sceptre was broken. Not a diadem, but a tiara, must be the
emblem of universal sovereignty. Not imperial decrees, but papal bulls,
must now rule the world. Who but the Bishop of Rome could wear