Gregory XIII, on his part, never wavered in his ideas, and losing all hope that Philip II would help him in his plans for the kingdom of Tunis, he turned to another scheme which had been a failure in the time of Pius V, but which he desired to resuscitate with fresh life and vigour by confiding its execution to D. John of Austria, "because of his valour and good fortune," quoth the Pontiff, who matured in silence his secret project, which was to bring so much good to Christendom and so much glory to D. John, and until he could divulge it he contented himself with lavishing proofs of esteem and affection on him, such as were then only shown to kings and reigning princes. In March of that year, 1574, he sent to Naples by his Chamberlain the Golden Rose, blessed on Palm Sunday, which, according to ancient custom, the Pope was in the habit of sending to the king or queen who had deserved the most gratitude from the Holy See during the year. This unusual honour frightened the Viceroy of Naples, Cardinal de Granvelle, who was no friend of D. John, and he hastened to apprise Philip II of the fact. The Chamberlain arrived at Naples with the Golden Rose on the 24th of March, and on the 25th the solemn presentation took place in the church of St. Clara. The friars of St. Clara, great admirers of D. John, put a crimson velvet carpet on the Gospel side, to receive him, with _a chair and curtain_, as they would have done for an Infante of Spain. Granvelle knew of this, but held his tongue and let it pass, in order to have something against D. John, if he had accepted the honour; but he, warned in time, ordered the canopy to be removed and another chair to be placed at the left of his own for Granvelle. Great was the enthusiasm in Naples over the new honour bestowed on D. John, and all wished to take part in it. It was a point of honour with the ladies to go to the festival with symbolical roses in their head-dresses and at their breasts, and they bombarded everyone, from the Cardinal to the smallest acolyte, with demands for seats. It was, however, impossible to satisfy them all, and on this day noble ladies were seen in the gutter, crowded on the stairs, in the doorways, and even in the recesses of the chapel, anxious to see everything and to be seen. There were faintings from lack of air, cries of protest, bad-tempered pushing, crumpled ruffs, crooked caps, creased petticoats, unfastened shawls, lost jewels, and heaps of petals from the roses that had occupied such honourable positions. The necklace of the wife of an important Councillor was broken; it was a string of pearls, and only half a dozen could be recovered.