Over the
open spaces of the doorway fell great scarlet curtains,
through whose folds the hot June sunlight
glowed, as through the petals of red poppies in
a corn-field. The religious orders with their candles
and torches, the companies of the parishes
with their crosses and flags, lighted up the dim
side-chapels; and in the aisles the silken folds of
the processional banners drooped, their gilded
staves and tassels glinting under the arches. The
surplices of the choristers gleamed, rainbow-tinted,
beneath the coloured windows; the sunlight
lay on the chancel floor in chequered stains of
orange and purple and green. Behind the altar
hung a shimmering veil of silver tissue; and against
the veil and the decorations and the altar-lights
the Cardinal's figure stood out in its trailing white
robes like a marble statue that had come to life.
As was customary on processional days, he was
only to preside at the Mass, not to celebrate, so
at the end of the Indulgentiam he turned from the
altar and walked slowly to the episcopal throne,
celebrant and ministers bowing low as he passed.
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