He was one of the party who burst into the Sacristy, who poured out the communion wine, and stamped on the wafers, who rubbed their shoes with the holy oil and hung the priests' priceless copes and chasubles on their own shoulders.
Then they broke into the treasury; choice illuminated missals and chorals, robes, staffs, and chalices were hurled right and left, the elaborate cupboards and beautiful chests being ruthlessly smashed.
The wealth of the church was immense, the hoarded gatherings of centuries, and, it seemed to Duprès in his madness, as if he had at last found the Philosopher's Stone: was not everything gold and precious stones?
For as chest after chest was burst open and the contents scattered on the floor, the rioters stood ankle-deep in riches.
Crystal goblets, candlesticks, pattens, lamps, chains, reliquaries of fine gold; ewers, caskets, rings and staffs set with pearl, with sapphire, with ruby and emerald; vases and dishes of glowing enamel; statues and images in ivory and silver; rosaries in rare gems; lace vestures worth as much as gold; stoles, gloves, and staffs all of incomparable workmanship and all sparkling with jewels; books with gold covers; censers of pierced gold, lamps of pure gold, candlesticks six foot high of gold; altar cloths worked in gold thread, in silver thread, in magnificent silk embroidery, in women's hair—all these were cast out and defaced, torn and broken, dashed against the walls, and spurned with the feet.
But nothing was taken; stronger passions then cupidity were governing men. The ragged Protestants, many of whom had not the price of a supper in their pockets, scorned to pilfer the priests' treasure; with one accord they left the desecrated splendour and dashed back to the church.
Duprès would willingly have enriched himself, but dare not so much as take a single article.
In the cathedral the last outrage was being offered to the Romanist Faith.
Round the High Altar, now bare and broken, stood a circle of women holding aloft the flaring, smoking, perfumed holy candles to light a group of men who, by means of ropes and axes, were dragging the great marble Christ from His position.
St. John, the Maries, and St. Joseph had been already hurled to the ground, where they lay shattered on the marble pavement, and soon the colossal cross shivered and swayed against the background of murky shadows, fell forward within the ropes, and pitched on to the altar steps.