And the
weariness of all the waiting ones was so great, that most of them were
seated on the flagstones, some even dozing on the altar steps in heaps,
quite overpowered, relying on the beadle to come and rouse them.
For a moment Pierre walked about undecided. Was he going to wait like the
others? However, the scene determined him against doing so. At every
altar, at every mass, a crowd of pilgrims was gathered, communicating in
all haste with a sort of voracious fervour. Each pyx was filled and
emptied incessantly; the priests' hands grew tired in thus distributing
the bread of life; and Pierre's surprise increased at the sight. Never
before had he beheld a corner of this earth so watered by the divine
blood, whence faith took wing in such a flight of souls. It was like a
return to the heroic days of the Church, when all nations prostrated
themselves beneath the same blast of credulity in their terrified
ignorance which led them to place their hope of eternal happiness in an
Almighty God. He could fancy himself carried back some eight or nine
centuries, to the time of great public piety, when people believed in the
approaching end of the world; and this he could fancy the more readily as
the crowd of simple folk, the whole host that had attended high mass, was
still seated on the benches, as much at ease in God's house as at home.
Many had no place of refuge. Was not the church their home, the asylum
where consolation awaited them both by day and by night? Those who knew
not where to sleep, who had not found room even at the shelter place,
came to the Rosary, where sometimes they succeeded in finding a vacant
seat on a bench, at others sufficient space to lie down on the
flagstones.
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