“There is not going to be any Last Judgment to-day,” said a young man, who looked as though he were a descendant of the Emperor Nero. “Anyhow, if it comes, death cannot introduce us to anything worse than we have had in life.” “It has always seemed to me that we are in hell. Headaches every morning, debts and disgrace, varied by occasional imprisonments.” “The Emperor sits naked in a grotto at the foot of Soracte.” “Vides ut alta stet nive candidum, Soracte.” “As we are speaking, life the envious flits away. Enjoy the present day, nor trust the morrow!” “And the Pope is going to hold a midnight mass--he who has no faith in it himself.” “But he must put a good face on it, and go through with it.” “I know one woman who will not go to mass to-day.” “That is the beautiful Stephania, the widow of Crescentius.” “But she watches for vengeance.” “What have these Germans to do in Rome? I wish the owner of this Golden House could rise from the dead. He was the last Roman!” “He was a man who did not caress his enemies. He feared nothing between heaven and earth, not even the lightning. Once there was a lightning-flash in his dining-hall as he reclined at table. What do you think he said? ‘To your health!’ and raised his goblet.” At this moment a heated stone fell from the vaulted roof into the fire, and caused a shower of sparks. The night wind rushed through the hole thus formed, and blew the smoke into the feasters faces. At first they were amused at the occurrence, but were soon obliged to leave the vault. “Let us go out and witness the end of the world!” cried one of the youths. They formed a procession of Bacchanals and Maenads, one in front carrying a filled wineskin. There were flute-players among them, and all carried goblets in their hands. * * * * * Below, in the old Basilica of St. Peter, stood the Pope before the altar, and performed in silence the midnight mass. The church was crowded, and everyone was on his knees. The silence was so deep that the rustle of the white sleeve of the officiant could be heard when he elevated the cup. But another sound was audible, which seemed to be measuring out the last moments of the Millennium. It beat like the pulse in the ear of a feverish man, and at the same rate. The door of the sacristy stood open, and the great clock which hung there ticked calmly and steadfastly, once in a second. The Pope, who was outwardly just as calm, had probably left the door open in order to produce the utmost effect at the great moment, for his face was pale with emotion, but he did not move, and his hands did not tremble. The mass was over, and a death-like silence ensued. The people expected the Lord’s servant at the altar to speak a few words of comfort. But he said nothing; he seemed absorbed in prayer, and had stretched out his hands towards heaven.