" Dead, indeed, under the appalling heat of the morning the
whole place lay. No one was to be seen until we neared the ruins of
what had once been a little town-hall or meeting-place, a procession
turned the corner--a procession of a peasant with a tall lighted
candle, another peasant with a tattered banner, a priest in soiled
silk, a coffin of white wood on a haycart, and four or five
white-faced and apathetic women. A doleful singing came from the
miserable party. They did not look at us as we passed....
A rumble of cannon, once and again, sounded like the lazy snore of
some sleeping beast.
Near the town-hall we found a company of fantastic creatures awaiting
us. They were pressed together in a dense crowd as though they were
afraid of some one attacking them. There were many old men, like the
clowns in Shakespeare, dirty beyond belief in tattered garments,
wide-brimmed hats, broad skirts and baggy trousers; old men with long
tangled hair, bare bony breasts and slobbering chins.
Pages:
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361