Seeing Europe with Famous Authors, Volume 1 | Page 7

of sorrow and meditation.
I continued in this way to move from tomb to tomb, and from chapel to
chapel. The day was gradually wearing away; the distant tread of
loiterers about the abbey grew less and less frequent; the sweet-tongued
bell was summoning to evening prayers; and I saw at a distance the
choristers, in their white surplices, crossing the aisle and entering the
choir. I stood before the entrance to Henry the Seventh's chapel. A
flight of steps lead up to it, through a deep and gloomy but magnificent
arch. Great gates of brass, richly and delicately wrought, turn heavily
upon their hinges, as if proudly reluctant to admit the feet of common
mortals into this most gorgeous of sepulchers.
On entering, the eye is astonished by the pomp of architecture and the
elaborate beauty of sculptured detail. The very walls are wrought into
universal ornament, incrusted with tracery and scooped into niches,
crowded with statues of saints and martyrs. Stone seems, by the
cunning labor of the chisel, to have been robbed of its weight and
density, suspended aloft, as if by magic, and the fretted roof achieved
with the wonderful minuteness and airy security of a cobweb.
Along the sides of the chapel are the lofty stalls of the Knights of the
Bath, richly carved of oak, tho with the grotesque decorations of Gothic
architecture. On the pinnacles of the stalls are affixt the helmets and
crests of the knights, with their scarfs and swords; and above them are
suspended their banners, emblazoned with armorial bearings, and
contrasting the splendor of gold and purple and crimson with the cold
gray fretwork of the roof. In the midst of this grand mausoleum stands
the sepulcher of its founder--his effigy, with that of his queen, extended
on a sumptuous tomb, and the whole surrounded by a superbly wrought
brazen railing....
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 opprest, and mingles the dust of the bitterest enemies together.
In one is the sepulcher 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 sepulcher
continually echo with 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 at the monument, revolving in my mind the
chequered and disastrous story of poor Mary....
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 sepulcher 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 upward
on this swelling tide of harmony!...
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