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。