- end_line
- 5529
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:26.981Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 5474
- text
- crossing sundry minor platforms and irregular landings all the while on
a general ascent, at last I was delighted by catching sight of a small
round window in the otherwise dead-wall side of the tower, where the
tower attached itself to the main building. In front of the window was a
rude narrow gallery, used as a bridge to cross from the lower stairs on
one side to the upper stairs on the opposite.
As I drew nigh the spot, I well knew from the added clearness with which
the sound of worship came to me, that the window did indeed look down
upon the entire interior. But I was hardly prepared to find that no pane
of glass, stained or unstained, was to stand between me and the
far-under aisles and altar. For the purpose of ventilation, doubtless,
the opening has been left unsupplied with sash of any sort. But a sheet
of fine-woven, gauzy wire-work was in place of that. When, all
eagerness, and open book in hand, I first advanced to stand before the
window, I involuntarily shrank, as from before the mouth of a furnace,
upon suddenly feeling a forceful puff of strange, heated air, blown, as
by a blacksmith’s bellows, full into my face and lungs. Yes, thought I,
this window is doubtless for ventilation. Nor is it quite so comfortable
as I fancied it might be. But beggars must not be choosers. The furnace
which makes the people below there feel so snug and cosy in their padded
pews, is to me, who stand here upon the naked gallery, cause of grievous
trouble. Besides, though my face is scorched, my back is frozen. But I
won’t complain. Thanks for this much, anyway, that by hollowing one hand
to my ear, and standing a little sideways out of the more violent rush
of the torrid current, I can at least hear the priest sufficiently to
make my responses in the proper place. Little dream the good
congregation away down there, that they have a faithful clerk away up
here. Here, too, is a fitter place for sincere devotions, where, though
I see, I remain unseen. Depend upon it, no Pharisee would have my pew. I
like it, and admire it too, because it is so very high. Height, somehow,
hath devotion in it. The arch-angelic anthems are raised in a lofty
place. All the good shall go to such an one. Yes, heaven is high.
As thus I mused, the glorious organ burst, like an earthquake, almost
beneath my feet; and I heard the invoking cry--‘Govern them and _lift_
them up forever!’ Then down I gazed upon the standing human mass, far,
far below, whose heads, gleaming in the many-coloured window-stains,
showed like beds of spangled pebbles flashing in a Cuban sun. So, at
least, I knew they needs would look, if but the wire-woven screen were
drawn aside. That wire-woven screen had the effect of casting crape upon
all I saw. Only by making allowances for the crape, could I gain a right
idea of the scene disclosed.
Surprising, most surprising, too, it was. As said before, the window was
a circular one; the part of the tower where I stood was dusky-dark; its
height above the congregation-floor could not have been less than ninety
or a hundred feet; the whole interior temple was lit by naught but glass
dimmed, yet glorified with all imaginable rich and russet hues; the
approach to my strange look-out, through perfect solitude, and along
rude and dusty ways, enhanced the theatric wonder of the populous
spectacle of this sumptuous sanctuary. Book in hand, responses on my
tongue, standing in the very posture of devotion, I could not rid my
soul of the intrusive thought, that, through some necromancer’s glass, I
looked down upon some sly enchanter’s show.
- title
- Chunk 3