Rapidly and confusedly, the congregation in the basilica
pours through its lofty gates; the priests and penitents retire from the
altar's foot, and in the great church, so crowded by a few moments
before, there now only remains the figure of a solitary man.
Since the commencement of the service, neither addressed nor observed,
this lonely being has faltered round the circle of the congregation,
gazing long and wistfully over the faces that met his view. Now that
the sermon is ended, and the last lingerer has quitted the church, he
turns from the spot whence he has anxiously watched the different
members of the departing throng, and feebly crouches down on his knees
at the base of a pillar that is near him. His eyes are hollow, and his
cheeks are wan; his thin grey hairs are few and fading on his aged head.
He makes no effort to follow the crowd and partake their sustenance; no
one is left behind to urge, no one returns to lead him to the public
meal. Though weak and old, he is perfectly forsaken in his loneliness,
perfectly unsolaced in his grief; his friends have lost all trace of
him; his enemies have ceased to fear or to hate him now.
Pages:
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459