第23章 LETTER VII(4)

The chapel of Windsor may be an exception to this rule;I mean before it was in its present nice,clean state.When I first saw it,the pillars within had acquired,by time,a sombre hue,which accorded with the architecture;and the gloom increased its dimensions to the eye by hiding its parts;but now it all bursts on the view at once,and the sublimity has vanished before the brush and broom;for it has been white-washed and scraped till it has become as bright and neat as the pots and pans in a notable house-wife's kitchen--yes;the very spurs on the recumbent knights were deprived of their venerable rust,to give a striking proof that a love of order in trifles,and taste for proportion and arrangement,are very distinct.The glare of light thus introduced entirely destroys the sentiment these piles are calculated to inspire;so that,when I heard something like a jig from the organ-loft,Ithought it an excellent hall for dancing or feasting.The measured pace of thought with which I had entered the cathedral changed into a trip;and I bounded on the terrace,to see the royal family,with a number of ridiculous images in my head that I shall not now recall.

The Norwegians are fond of music,and every little church has an organ.In the church I have mentioned there is an inscription importing that a king James VI.of Scotland and I.of England,who came with more than princely gallantry to escort his bride home--stood there,and heard divine service.

There is a little recess full of coffins,which contains bodies embalmed long since--so long,that there is not even a tradition to lead to a guess at their names.

A desire of preserving the body seems to have prevailed in most countries of the world,futile as it is to term it a preservation,when the noblest parts are immediately sacrificed merely to save the muscles,skin,and bone from rottenness.When I was shown these human petrifactions,I shrank back with disgust and horror."Ashes to ashes!"thought I--"Dust to dust!"If this be not dissolution,it is something worse than natural decay--it is treason against humanity,thus to lift up the awful veil which would fain hide its weakness.The grandeur of the active principle is never more strongly felt than at such a sight,for nothing is so ugly as the human form when deprived of life,and thus dried into stone,merely to preserve the most disgusting image of death.The contemplation of noble ruins produces a melancholy that exalts the mind.We take a retrospect of the exertions of man,the fate of empires and their rulers,and marking the grand destruction of ages,it seems the necessary change of the leading to improvement.Our very soul expands,and we forget our littleness--how painfully brought to our recollection by such vain attempts to snatch from decay what is destined so soon to perish.Life,what art thou?Where goes this breath?--this _I_,so much alive?In what element will it mix,giving or receiving fresh energy?What will break the enchantment of animation?For worlds I would not see a form I loved--embalmed in my heart --thus sacrilegiously handled?Pugh!my stomach turns.

Is this all the distinction of the rich in the grave?They had better quietly allow the scythe of equality to mow them down with the common mass,than struggle to become a monument of the instability of human greatness.

The teeth,nails,and skin were whole,without appearing black like the Egyptian mummies;and some silk,in which they had been wrapped,still preserved its colour--pink--with tolerable freshness.

I could not learn how long the bodies had been in this state,in which they bid fair to remain till the Day of Judgment,if there is to be such a day;and before that time,it will require some trouble to make them fit to appear in company with angels without disgracing humanity.God bless you!I feel a conviction that we have some perfectible principle in our present vestment,which will not be destroyed just as we begin to be sensible of improvement;and I care not what habit it next puts on,sure that it will be wisely formed to suit a higher state of existence.Thinking of death makes us tenderly cling to our affections;with more than usual tenderness Itherefore assure you that I am yours,wishing that the temporary death of absence may not endure longer than is absolutely necessary.