按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
ambition； close beside mementos which show the dust and oblivion in
which all must sooner or later terminate。 Nothing impresses the mind
with a deeper feeling of loneliness； than to tread the silent and
deserted scene of former throng and pageant。 On looking round on the
vacant stalls of the knights and their esquires； and on the rows of
dusty but gorgeous banners that were once borne before them； my
imagination conjured up the scene when this hall was bright with the
valor and beauty of the land； glittering with the splendor of jewelled
rank and military array； alive with the tread of many feet and the hum
of an admiring multitude。 All had passed away； the silence of death
had settled again upon the place； interrupted only by the casual
chirping of birds； which had found their way into the chapel； and
built their nests among its friezes and pendants… sure sign of
solitariness and desertion。
When I read the names inscribed on the banners； they were those of
men scattered far and wide about the world； some tossing upon
distant seas； some under arms in distant lands； some mingling in the
busy intrigues of courts and cabinets； all seeking to deserve one more
distinction in this mansion of shadowy honors： the melancholy reward
of a monument。
Two small aisles on each side of this chapel present a touching
instance of the equality of the grave； which brings down the oppressor
to a level with the oppressed； and mingles the dust of the bitterest
enemies together。 In one is the sepulchre of the haughty Elizabeth； in
the other is that of her victim； the lovely and unfortunate Mary。
Not an hour in the day but some ejaculation of pity is uttered over
the fate of the latter； mingled with indignation at her oppressor。 The
walls of Elizabeth's sepulchre continually echo with the sighs of
sympathy heaved at the grave of her rival。
A peculiar melancholy reigns over the aisle where Mary lies
buried。 The light struggles dimly through windows darkened by dust。
The greater part of the place is in deep shadow； and the walls are
stained and tinted by time and weather。 A marble figure of Mary is
stretched upon the tomb； round which is an iron railing； much
corroded； bearing her national emblem… the thistle。 I was weary with
wandering； and sat down to rest myself by the monument； revolving in
my mind the chequered and disastrous story of poor Mary。
The sound of casual footsteps had ceased from the abbey。 I could
only hear； now and then； the distant voice of the priest repeating the
evening service； and the faint responses of the choir； these paused
for a time； and all was hushed。 The stillness； the desertion and
obscurity that were gradually prevailing around； gave a deeper and
more solemn interest to the place：
For in the silent grave no conversation；
No joyful tread of friends； no voice of lovers；
No careful father's counsel… nothing's heard；
For nothing is； but all oblivion；
Dust； and an endless darkness。
Suddenly the notes of the deep…laboring organ burst upon the ear；
falling with doubled and redoubled intensity； and rolling； as it were；
huge billows of sound。 How well do their volume and grandeur accord
with this mighty building！ With what pomp do they swell through its
vast vaults； and breathe their awful harmony through these caves of
death； and make the silent sepulchre vocal！… And now they rise in
triumph and acclamation； heaving higher and higher their accordant
notes； and piling sound on sound。… And now they pause； and the soft
voices of the choir break out into sweet gushes of melody； they soar
aloft； and warble along the roof； and seem to play about these lofty
vaults like the pure airs of heaven。 Again the pealing organ heaves
its thrilling thunders； compressing air into music； and rolling it
forth upon the soul。 What long…drawn cadences！ What solemn sweeping
concords！ It grows more and more dense and powerful… it fills the vast
pile； and seems to jar the very walls… the ear is stunned… the
senses are overwhelmed。 And now it is winding up in full jubilee… it
is rising from the earth to heaven… the very soul seems rapt away
and floated upwards on this swelling tide of harmony！
I sat for some time lost in that kind of reverie which a strain of
music is apt sometimes to inspire： the shadows of evening were
gradually thickening round me； the monuments began to cast deeper
and deeper gloom； and the distant clock again gave token of the slowly
waning day。
I rose and prepared to leave the abbey。 As I descended the flight of
steps which lead into the body of the building； my eye was caught by
the shrine of Edward the Confessor； and I ascended the small staircase
that conducts to it； to take from thence a general survey of this
wilderness of tombs。 The shrine is elevated upon a kind of platform；
and close around it are the sepulchres of various kings and queens。
From this eminence the eye looks down between pillars and funeral
trophies to the chapels and chambers below； crowded with tombs；
where warriors； prelates； courtiers and statesmen； lie mouldering in
their 〃beds of darkness。〃 Close by me stood the great chair of
coronation； rudely carved of oak； in the barbarous taste of a remote
and Gothic age。 The scene seemed almost as if contrived； with
theatrical artifice； to produce an effect upon the beholder。 Here
was a type of the beginning and the end of human pomp and power；
here it was literally but a step from the throne to the sepulchre。
Would not one think that these incongruous mementos had been
gathered together as a lesson to living greatness？… to show it； even
in the moment of its proudest exaltation； the neglect and dishonor
to which it must soon arrive； how soon that crown which encircles
its brow must pass away； and it must lie down in the dust and
disgraces of the tomb； and be trampled upon by the feet of the meanest
of the multitude。 For； strange to tell； even the grave is here no
longer a sanctuary。 There is a shocking levity in some natures；
which leads them to sport with awful and hallowed things； and there
are base minds； which delight to revenge on the illustrious dead the
abject homage and grovelling servility which they pay to the living。
The coffin of Edward the Confessor has been broken open； and his
remains despoiled of their funereal ornaments； the sceptre has been
stolen from the hand of the imperious Elizabeth； and the effigy of
Henry the Fifth lies headless。 Not a royal monument but bears some
proof how false and fugitive is the homage of mankind。 Some are
plundered； some mutilated； some covered with ribaldry and insult…
all more or less outraged and dishonored！
The last beams of day were now faintly streaming through the painted
windows in the high vaults above me； the lower parts of the abbey were
already wrapped in the obscurity of twilight。 The chapels and aisles
grew darker and darker。 The effigies of the kings faded into
shadows； the marble figures of the monuments assumed strange shapes in
the uncertain light； the evening bre