His Vestments Are Of Gold, And He Wears A Golden Crown, But
The Humble Faithful Speak To Him Freely, And Even Touch His Gorgeous
Garments, That Might Be Those Of One Of The Wise Kings.
He smiles, and
letting fall the curtain, which covers the entrance to the tabernacle,
disappears again into this innocent mystery.
Even the least things here tell of decay. The flagstones, trodden by
the feet of numberless dead generations, are become uneven through the
settling of the soil. Everything is askew, bent, dusty and worn-out.
The daylight comes from above, through narrow barred windows. There is
a lack of air, so that one almost stifles. But though the sun does not
enter, a certain indefinable reflection from the whitened walls
reminds us that outside there is a flaming, resplendent Eastern
spring.
In this, the old grandfather, as it were, of churches, filled now with
a cloud of odorous smoke, what one hears, more even than the chanting
of the mass, is the ceaseless movement, the pious agitation of the
faithful; and more even than that, the startling noise that rises from
the holy crypt below - the sharp clashing of cymbals and those
multitudinous little wailings, that sound like the mewings of kittens.
But let me not harbour thoughts of irony! Surely not. If, in our
Western lands, certain ceremonies seem to me anti-Christian - as, for
example, one of those spectacular high masses in the over-pompous
Cathedral of Cologne, where halberdiers overawe the crowd - here, on
the contrary, the simplicity of this primitive cult is touching and
respectable in the extreme.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 77 of 206
Words from 20668 to 20934
of 55391
