The enfeebled,
superstitious populace trembled while they gazed--a spectre driven on a
whirlwind would not have been more terrible to their eyes.
But the priest among the crowd, roused to fury by the murder of one of
their own body, revived the courage of those around them. Even the
shouts of Ulpius were now overpowered by the sound of their voices,
raised to the highest pitch, promising heavenly and earthly rewards--
salvation, money, absolution, promotion--to all who would follow them up
the steps and burst their way into the temple. Animated by the words of
the priests, and growing gradually confident in their own numbers, the
boldest in the throng seized a piece of timber lying by the river side,
and using it as a battering-ram, assailed the gate. But they were
weakened with famine; they could gain little impetus, from the necessity
of ascending the temple steps to the attack; the iron quivered as they
struck it, but hinge and lock remained firm alike. They were preparing
to renew the attempt, when a tremendous shock--a crash as if the whole
heavy roof of the building had fallen in--drove them back in terror to
the street.
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