The gate was
closed, the rest of the party had passed, but Sybil was left,
and found herself entirely among strangers.
In the meantime the castle was in possession of the mob. The
first great rush was to the cellars: the Bishop himself headed
this onset, nor did he rest until he was seated among the
prime binns of the noble proprietor. This was not a crisis of
corkscrews; the heads of the bottles were knocked off with the
same promptitude and dexterity as if they were shelling nuts
or decapitating shrimps: the choicest wines of Christendom
were poured down the thirsty throats that ale and spirits had
hitherto only stimulated; Tummas was swallowing Burgundy;
Master Nixon had got hold of a batch of tokay; while the
Bishop himself seated on the ground and leaning against an
arch, the long perspective of the cellars full of rapacious
figures brandishing bottles and torches, alternately quaffed
some very old Port and some Madeira of many voyages, and was
making up his mind as to their respective and relative merits.
While the cellars and offices were thus occupied, bands were
parading the gorgeous saloons and gazing with wonderment on
their decorations and furniture. Some grimy ruffians had
thrown themselves with disdainful delight on the satin couches
and the state beds: others rifled the cabinets with an idea
that they must be full of money, and finding little in their
way, had strewn their contents--papers and books and works of
art over the floors of the apartments; sometimes a band who
had escaped from below with booty came up to consummate their
orgies in the magnificence of the dwelling rooms.
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