se unknown flagellants.
Not a hundred steps from the church entrance, the door of a tavern was
thrown open, and a whole flock of carousers tumbled out, one on top of
the other. They placed themselves at the head of the procession and led
the way, singing and bellowing with grotesquely solemn gestures--all
except one who turned handsprings right up the grass-grown stones of
the church-steps. This, of course, caused laughter, and so all entered
peacefully into the sanctuary.

It seemed strange to be here again, to pass through this great cool
space, in this atmosphere pungent with the smell of old drippings from
wax candles--across the sunken flag-stones which their feet knew so well
and over these stones whose worn-down designs and bright inscriptions
had so often caused their thoughts to grow weary. And while their eyes
half-curiously, half-unwillingly sought rest in the gently subdued
light underneath the vaults or glided over the dim manifoldness of the
gold-dust and smoke-stained colors, or lost themselves in the strange
shadows of the altar, there rose in their hearts a longing which could
not be suppressed.

In the meantime those from the tavern continued their scandalous
behavior upon the high altar. A huge, massive butcher among them, a
young man, had taken off his white apron and tied it around his neck, so
that it hung down his back like a surplice, and he celebrated mass
with the wildest and maddest words, full of obscenity and blasphemy. An
oldish little fellow with a fat belly, active and nimble in spite of
his weight, with a face like a skinned pumpkin was the sacristan
and responded with the most frivolous refrains. He kneeled down and
genuflected and turned his back to the altar and rang the bell as though
it were a jester's and swung the censer round like a wheel. The others
lay drunk on the steps at full length, bellowing with laughter and
hiccoughing with drunkenness.

The whole church laughed and howled and mocked at the strangers. They
called out to them to pay close attention so that they might know what
the people thought of their God, here in Old Bergamo. For it was not so
much their wish to insult God that made them rejoice in the tumult; but
they felt satisfaction in knowing that each of their blasphemies was a
sting in the hearts of these holy people.

They stopped in the center of the nave and groaned with pain, their
hearts boiling with hatred and vengeance. They lifted their eyes and
ha