And likewise the
original inventor of the toy pistol; in fact the absentees were
entirely too numerous to suit me. There was one thing, though,
to be said in praise of Michelangelo's Last Judgment; it was too
large and too complicated to be reproduced successfully on a
souvenir postal card; and I think we should all be very grateful
for that mercy anyway.
As I was saying, we had left the Sistine Chapel a mile or so
behind us and had dragged our exhausted frames as far as an arched
upper portico in a wing of the great palace, overlooking a paved
courtyard inclosed at its farther end by a side wall of Saint
Peter's. We saw, in another portico similar to the one where we
had halted and running parallel to it, long rows of peasants, all
kneeling and all with their faces turned in the same direction.
"Wait here a minute," said our guide. "I think you will see
something not included in the regular itinerary of the day."
So we waited. In a minute or two the long lines of kneeling
peasants raised a hymn; the sound of it came to us in quavering
snatches.
