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 rochets of lace and their mantles and robes of red moire, which train-bearers held up behind them; and at last, with Jove-like pomp, the Pope, carried on a stage draped with red velvet, seated in an arm-chair of red velvet and gold, and dressed in white velvet, with cope of gold, stole of gold, and tiara of gold.

The bearers of the _Sedia gestatoria_* shone bravely in red tunics broidered with gold.

Above the one and only Sovereign Pontiff of the world the _flabelli_ waved those huge fans of feathers which formerly were waved before the idols of pagan Rome.