the hour of seven
The throng has simultaneous perceptions and movements , a joint sense of power or of fear , a circulation of consciousness as complete as that which exists in the nerves of every individual . Thousands of men , of whom each alone would act differently from his fellows , are all irresistibly impelled to think the same thoughts , to feel the same emotions , to yield to the same influences , or to join in the same work of destruction . But no one of them all can tell why he so feels , thinks and acts ; the mystery of the crowd is upon him , and sways him whither it will , powerless , half unconscious , and wholly irresponsible . The deep cathedral bell tolled the hour of seven . Before the strokes were all counted , the hum of the multitude had swelled to twice its former strength , and every one felt himself jostled a little by his neighbour . Then came the sharp , clear voices of those who directed the forming of the procession , the shuffling of many feet , and the muffled but irritated movements of those who had to make way . Then rose a sudden flare of light in a corner of the dark mass , followed quickly by another and another , till many hundreds of torches were aflame , sputtering , smoking and sending up tongues of flame into the black air .