With joy too great and tender to find words, Sfondrato and his companions carried the precious casket up to the light of day, and deposited it for safety in the small chapel with grated windows where the nuns of the contiguous convent were accustomd to assist at Mass. Raised on a daïs hung with rich silk, surrounded with lighted tapers that shed a soft glow all around, half smothered in flowers, Cecilia lay there while all Rome, beside itself with joy, came to gaze upon her and entreat her prayers. No perfumes were permitted to be used, since the heavenly fragrance of roses and lilies still emanated from the coffin. The nuns knelt round her for a guard of honour, and soon the great Pope Clement VIII, who had barely recovered from a severe illness, travelled in from Frascati to pray beside her. The times were very evil just then for him and for the Church; Calvinism was devastating France and threatening to give her a sovereign dyed in its abominable impieties; England, Holland, Scandinavia, and a great part both of Germany and Switzerland were altogether lost to the faith and had become the bitterest enemies of the Church, and impious hands were scattering the bones of the saints on the public highways. Only two months had elapsed since the ghastly tragedy of the Cenci had thrown a pall of gloom over Rome itself; but everything was forgotten in the joy of having the beloved Cecilia’s remains restored to the veneration of her people. Clement himself, the “hard, stern” old man, was completely overcome when he beheld her; his tears choked his speech. The Romans of every class thronged to the place in such numbers that Sfondrato himself was almost crushed to death in the crowd and the Pontifical Swiss Guards had to be stationed there to keep order. Such was still the enthusiastic love with which our forbears regarded all that was dear to God!