hemselves and were vainly seeking their way. And
Pierre pictured himself in some gigantic gala hall or tremendous
vestibule in an immeasurable palace of reception. The broad sheets of
sunlight streaming through the lofty square windows of plain white glass
illumined the church with blending radiance. There was not a single stool
or chair: nothing but the superb, bare pavement, such as you might find
in a museum, shining mirror-like under the dancing shower of sunrays. Nor
was there a single corner for solitary reflection, a nook of gloom and
mystery, where one might kneel and pray. In lieu thereof the sumptuous,
sovereign dazzlement of broad daylight prevailed upon every side. And, on
thus suddenly finding himself in this deserted opera-house, all aglow
with flaring gold and purple, Pierre could but remember the quivering
gloom of the Gothic cathedrals of France, where dim crowds sob and
supplicate amidst a forest of pillars. In presence of all this ceremonial
majesty--this huge, empty pomp, which was all Body--he recalled with a
pang the emaciate architecture and statuary of the middle ages, which
were all Soul. He vainly sought for some poor, kneeling woman, some
creature swayed by faith or suffering, yielding in a modest half-light to
thoughts of the unknown, and with closed lips holding communion with the
invisible. These he found not: there was but the weary wandering of the
tourists, and the bustle of the prelates conducting the young priests to
the obligatory stations; while the vesper service continued in the
left-hand chapel, nought of it reaching the ears of the visitors save,
perhaps, a confused vibration, as of the peal of a bell penetrating from
outside through the vaults above.

And Pierre then understood that this was the splendid skeleton of a
colossus whence life was departing. To fill it, to animate it with a
soul, all the gorgeous display of great religious ceremonies was needed;
the eighty thousand worshippers which it could hold, the great pontifical
pomps, the festivals of Christmas and Easter, the processions and
_corteges_ displaying all the luxury of the Church amidst operatic
scenery and appointments. And he tried to conjure up a picture of the
past magnificence--the basilica overflowing with an idolatrous multitude,
and the superhuman _cortege_ passing along whilst every head was lowered;
the cross and the sword opening the march, the cardinals going two by
two, like twin divinities, in their r