in the air; and every instant the fall of day
renders the chapel more gloomy. It was not that voluptuous and
impassioned music which Oswald and Corinne had heard eight days before;
they were holy strains which counselled mortals to renounce every
earthly enjoyment. Corinne fell on her knees before the grating and
remained plunged in the most profound meditation. Oswald himself
disappeared from her sight. She thought that in such a moment one could
wish to die, if the separation of the soul from the body could take
place without pain; if, on a sudden, an angel could carry away on his
wings our sentiments and our thoughts--sparks of ethereal fire,
returning towards their source: death would then be, to use the
expression, only a spontaneous act of the heart, a more ardent and more
acceptable prayer.

The _miserere_, that is to say, _have mercy on us_, is a psalm,
composed of verses, which are sung alternately in a very different
manner. A celestial music is heard by turns, and the verse following, in
recitative, is murmured in a dull and almost hoarse tone. One would say,
that it is the reply of harsh and stern characters to sensitive hearts;
that it is the reality of life which withers and repels the desires of
generous souls. When the sweet choristers resume their strain, hope
revives; but when the verse of recitative begins, a cold sensation
seizes upon the hearer, not caused by terror, but by a repression of
enthusiasm. At length, the last piece, more noble and affecting than all
the others, leaves a pure and sweet impression upon the soul: may God
vouchsafe that same impression to us before we die.

The torches are extinguished; night advances, and the figures of the
prophets and the sybils appear like phantoms enveloped in twilight. The
silence is profound; a word spoken would be insupportable in the then
state of the soul, when all is intimate and internal; as soon as the
last sound expires, all depart slowly and without the least noise; each
one seems to dread the return to the vulgar interests of the world.

Corinne followed the procession, which repaired to the temple of St
Peter, then lighted only by an illuminated cross. This sign of grief,
alone and shining in the august obscurity of this immense edifice, is
the most beautiful image of Christianity in the midst of the darkness of
life. A pale and distant light is cast on the statues which adorn the
tombs. The living, who are perceived in crowds beneath thes