Liberalis did so, but all in vain; respect for Cæsar gave way to the insatiable desire for plunder. “Let us see the interior of the Golden House, ere it perish forever,” said Alexander. Speaking thus, he led the way; Titus and his staff followed, walking ankle-deep in blood. Entering the Propyleon, a magnificent porch with wings on each hand extending far beyond the width of the shrine, they stood before the great golden gate, and found it barred from within. “’Twill require a battering-ram to force it,” said Titus, hesitating at such a measure. There came into his mind tales told him by Berenice of Gentiles who had fallen dead for profaning a place sacred to the Jewish priesthood only. “There is a little wicket at the side by which the priest enters to unbar the door in the morning,” said Alexander. “The noble Agrippa will perhaps lead the way?” he added, addressing that king, who stood beside Titus. But Agrippa declined the honor. “Nay, I’ll give thee the precedency,” he answered. “Thy face is pale, Agrippa. Thou fearest,” sneered Alexander. What no orthodox Jew durst do, and what even the Roman hesitated at, was done by the apostate Alexander. Putting his shoulder to the little wicket he forced it wide, passed boldly within, and, having first drawn aside the Babylonian curtain, he unbarred the double doors, and flung open the Holy Place to the profane gaze of the Romans, who saw what they had never before seen, what no man would ever see again. A low murmur of admiration broke from Titus and his staff at the beauty of the golden interior all radiant in the wild light of the leaping flames. On the right or north side was seen the golden table, but without the twelve loaves of shewbread; on the left the seven-branched golden candlestick, unlighted; at the far end rose the golden altar of incense, standing in front of the solemn “veil,” a curtain of linen finely twined; in color an admirable mingling of blue, and scarlet, and purple, and wrought in golden thread with the figures of cherubim. “Let these things be brought forth and kept against the day of my triumph,” said Titus. Emboldened by the example of Alexander he passed into the Holy Place and came to the veil that hung at its far end. This Alexander lifted, and Titus gazed with curious eye upon the Holy of Holies, the place where the Shechinah had once dwelt. But the Divine Presence had long since departed; the place was empty save for an oblong stone upon which rested a golden ark with two golden cherubim, one on each side, having their faces bent downwards and their wings expanded. The stone itself was not without interest, seeing that, in Hebrew opinion, it marked the very center of the earth’s surface. Directing that the ark and the cherubim, with the other sacred furniture, should be carried to his own quarters, Titus came forth again. The imagination of Dante could scarcely conceive a scene more wild and weird than that now taking place.