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westminster abbey-第3章

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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 breeze crept through the aisles

like the cold breath of the grave; and even the distant footfall of

a verger; traversing the Poet's Corner; had something strange and

dreary in its sound。 I slowly retraced my morning's walk; and as I

passed out at the portal of the cloisters; the door; closing with a

jarring noise behind me; filled the whole building with echoes。

  I endeavored to form some arrangement in my mind of the objects I

had been contemplating; but found they were already fallen into

indistinctness and confusion。 Names; inscriptions; trophies; had all

become confounded in my recollection; though I had scarcely taken my

foot from off the threshold。 What; thought I; is this vast

assemblage of sepulchres but a treasury of humiliation; a huge pile of

reiterated homilies on the emptiness of renown; and the certainty of

oblivion! It is; indeed; the empire of death; his great shadowy

palace; where he sits in state; mocking at the relics of human

glory; and spreading dust and forgetfulness on the monuments of

princes。 How idle a boast; after all; is the immortality of a name!

Time is ever silently turning over his pages; we are too much

engrossed by the story of the present; to think of the characters

and anecdotes that gave interest to the past; and each age is a volume

thrown aside to be speedily forgotten。 The idol of to…day pushes the

hero of yesterday out of our recollection; and will; in turn; be

supplanted by his successor of tomorrow。 〃Our fathers;〃 says Sir

Thomas Brown; 〃find their graves in our short memories; and sadly tell

us how we may be buried in our survivors。〃 History fades into fable;

fact becomes clouded with doubt and controversy; the inscription

moulders from the tablet; the statue falls from the pedestal。 Columns;

arches; pyramids; what are they but heaps of sand; and their epitaphs;

but characters written in the dust? What is the security of a tomb; or

the perpetuity of an embalmment? The remains of Alexander the Great

have been scattered to the wind; and his empty sarcophagus is now

the mere curiosity of a museum。 〃The Egyptian mummies; which

Cambyses or time hath spared; avarice now consumeth; Mizraim cures

wounds; and Pharaoh is sold for balsams。〃*



  * Sir T。 Brown。



  What then is to insure this pile which now towers above me from

sharing the fate of mightier mausoleums? The time must come when its

gilded vaults; which now spring so loftily; shall lie in rubbish

beneath the feet; when; instead of the sound of melody and praise; the

wind shall whistle through the broken arches; and the owl hoot from

the shattered tower… when the garish sunbeam shall break into these

gloomy mansions of death; and the ivy twine round the fallen column;

and the fox…glove hang its blossoms about the nameless urn; as if in

mockery of the dead。 Thus man passes away; his name perishes from

record and recollection; his history is as a tale that is told; and

his very monument becomes a ruin。



                        

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