westminster abbey-第1章
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！
THE SKETCH BOOK
WESTMINSTER ABBEY
by Washington Irving
When I behold； with deep astonishment；
To famous Westminster how there resorte
Living in brasse or stoney monument；
The princes and the worthies of all sorte；
Doe not I see reformde nobilitie；
Without contempt； or pride； or ostentation；
And looke upon offenselesse majesty；
Naked of pomp or earthly domination？
And how a play…game of a painted stone
Contents the quiet now and silent sprites；
Whome all the world which late they stood upon
Could not content or quench their appetites。
Life is a frost of cold felicitie；
And death the thaw of all our vanitie。
CHRISTOLERO'S EPIGRAMS； BY T。 B。 1598。
ON ONE of those sober and rather melancholy days； in the latter part
of Autumn； when the shadows of morning and evening almost mingle
together； and throw a gloom over the decline of the year； I passed
several hours in rambling about Westminster Abbey。 There was something
congenial to the season in the mournful magnificence of the old
pile； and； as I passed its threshold； seemed like stepping back into
the regions of antiquity； and losing myself among the shades of former
ages。
I entered from the inner court of Westminster School； through a
long； low； vaulted passage； that had an almost subterranean look；
being dimly lighted in one part by circular perforations in the
massive walls。 Through this dark avenue I had a distant view of the
cloisters； with the figure of an old verger； in his black gown； moving
along their shadowy vaults； and seeming like a spectre from one of the
neighboring tombs。 The approach to the abbey through these gloomy
monastic remains prepares the mind for its solemn contemplation。 The
cloisters still retain something of the quiet and seclusion of
former days。 The gray walls are discolored by damps； and crumbling
with age； a coat of hoary moss has gathered over the inscriptions of
the mural monuments； and obscured the death's heads； and other
funereal emblems。 The sharp touches of the chisel are gone from the
rich tracery of the arches； the roses which adorned the key…stones
have lost their leafy beauty； every thing bears marks of the gradual
dilapidations of time； which yet has something touching and pleasing
in its very decay。
The sun was pouring down a yellow autumnal ray into the square of
the cloisters； beaming upon a scanty plot of grass in the centre；
and lighting up an angle of the vaulted passage with a kind of dusky
splendor。 From between the arcades； the eye glanced up to a bit of
blue sky or a passing cloud； and beheld the sun…gilt pinnacles of
the abbey towering into the azure heaven。
As I paced the cloisters； sometimes contemplating this mingled
picture of glory and decay； and sometimes endeavoring to decipher
the inscriptions on the tombstones； which formed the pavement
beneath my feet； my eye was attracted to three figures； rudely
carved in relief； but nearly worn away by the footsteps of many
generations。 They were the effigies of three of the early abbots；
the epitaphs were entirely effaced； the names alone remained； having
no doubt been renewed in later times。 （Vitalis Abbas。 1082； and
Gislebertus Crispinus。 Abbas。 1114； and Laurentius。 Abbas。 1176。） I
remained some little while； musing over these casual relics of
antiquity； thus left like wrecks upon this distant shore of time；
telling no tale but that such beings had been； and had perished；
teaching no moral but the futility of that pride which hopes still
to exact homage in its ashes； and to live in an inscription。 A
little longer； and even these faint records will be obliterated； and
the monument will cease to be a memorial。 Whilst I was yet looking
down upon these grave…stones； I was roused by the sound of the abbey
clock； reverberating from buttress to buttress； and echoing among
the cloisters。 It is almost startling to hear this warning of departed
time sounding among the tombs； and telling the lapse of the hour；
which； like a billow； has rolled us onward towards the grave。 I
pursued my walk to an arched door opening to the interior of the
abbey。 On entering here； the magnitude of the building breaks fully
upon the mind； contrasted with the vaults of the cloisters。 The eyes
gaze with wonder at clustered columns of gigantic dimensions； with
arches springing from them to such an amazing height； and man
wandering about their bases； shrunk into insignificance in
comparison with his own handiwork。 The spaciousness and gloom of
this vast edifice produce a profound and mysterious awe。 We step
cautiously and softly about； as if fearful of disturbing the
hallowed silence of the tomb； while every footfall whispers along
the walls； and chatters among the sepulchres； making us more
sensible of the quiet we have interrupted。
It seems as if the awful nature of the place presses down upon the
soul； and hushes the beholder into noiseless reverence。 We feel that
we are surrounded by the congregated bones of the great men of past
times； who have filled history with their deeds； and the earth with
their renown。
And yet it almost provokes a smile at the vanity of human
ambition； to see how they are crowded together and jostled in the
dust； what parsimony is observed in doling out a scanty nook； a gloomy
corner； a little portion of earth； to those； whom； when alive；
kingdoms could not satisfy； and how many shapes； and forms； and
artifices； are devised to catch the casual notice of the passenger；
and save from forgetfulness； for a few short years； a name which
once aspired to occupy ages of the world's thought and admiration。
I passed some time in Poet's Corner； which occupies an end of one of
the transepts or cross aisles of the abbey。 The monuments are
generally simple； for the lives of literary men afford no striking
themes for the sculptor。 Shakespeare and Addison have statues
erected to their memories； but the greater part have busts；
medallions； and sometimes mere inscriptions。 Notwithstanding the
simplicity of these memorials； I have always observed that the
visitors to the abbey remained longest about them。 A kinder and fonder
feeling takes place of that cold curiosity or vague admiration with
which they gaze on the splendid monuments of the great and the heroic。
They linger about these as about the tombs of friends and
companions； for indeed there is something of companionship between the
author and the reader。 Other men are known to posterity only through
the medium of history； which is continually growing faint and obscure：
but the intercourse between the author and his fellow…men is ever new；
active； and immediate。 He has lived for them more than for himself； he
has sacrificed surrounding enjoyments； and shut himself up from the
delights of social life； that he might the more intimately commune
with distant minds and distant ages。 Well may the world cherish his
renown； for it has been purchased； not by deeds of violence and blood；
but by the diligent dispensation of pleasure。 Well may posterity be
grateful to his memory； for he has left it an inheritance； not of
empty names and sounding actions； but whole treasures of wisdom；
bright gems of thought； and golden veins of language。
From Poet's Corner I continued my stroll towards that part of the
abbey which contains the sepulchres of the kings。 I wandered among
what once were chapels； but which are now occupied by the tombs and
monuments of the great。 At every turn I met with some illustrious
name； or the cognizance of some powerful house renowned in history。 As
the eye darts into these dusky chambers of death； it catches
glimpses of quaint effigies； some kneeling in niches； as if in
devotion； others stretched upon the tombs； with hands piously
pressed together： warriors in armor； as if reposing after battle；
pr
