‘This is too bad,’ said I, ‘here have I tramped this blessed Sunday
morning, all the way from the Battery, three long miles, for this
express purpose, prayer-book under arm; here I am, I say, and, after
all, I can’t get in.
‘Too bad. And how disdainful the great, fat-paunched, beadle-faced man
looked, when in answer to my humble petition, he said they had no
galleries. Just the same as if he’d said, they didn’t entertain poor
folks. But I’ll wager something that had my new coat been done last
night, as the false tailor promised, and had I, arrayed therein this
bright morning, tickled the fat-paunched, beadle-faced man’s palm with a
bank-note, then, gallery or no gallery, I would have had a fine seat in
this marble-buttressed, stained-glass, spick-and-span new temple.
‘Well, here I am in the porch, very politely bowed out of the nave. I
suppose I’m excommunicated; excluded, anyway. That’s a noble string of
flashing carriages drawn up along the curb; those champing horses, too,
have a haughty curve to their floam-flecked necks. Property of those
“miserable sinners” inside, I presume. I don’t a bit wonder they
unreservedly confess to such misery as _that_. See the gold hat-bands
too, and other gorgeous trimmings, on those glossy groups of low-voiced
gossipers near by. If I were in England now, I should think those chaps
a company of royal dukes, right honourable barons, etc. As it is,
though, I guess they are only lackeys. By the way, here I dodge about,
as if I wanted to get into their aristocratic circle. In fact, it looks
a sort of lackeyish to be idly standing outside a fine temple, cooling
your heels, during service. I had best move back to the Battery again,
peeping into my prayer-book as I go. But hold; don’t I see a small door?
Just in there, to one side, if I don’t mistake, is a very low and very
narrow vaulted door. None seem to go that way. Ten to one, that
identical door leads up into the tower. And now that I think of it,
there is usually in these splendid, new-fashioned Gothic temples, a
curious little window high over the orchestra and everything else, away
up among the gilded clouds of the ceiling’s frescoes; and that little
window, seems to me, if one could but get there, ought to command a
glorious bird’s-eye view of the entire field of operations below. I
guess I’ll try it. No one in the porch now. The beadle-faced man is
smoothing down some ladies’ cushions, far up the broad aisle, I dare
say. Softly now. If the small door ain’t locked, I shall have stolen a
march upon the beadle-faced man, and secured a humble seat in the
sanctuary, in spite of him. Good! Thanks for this! The door is not
locked. Bell-ringer forgot to lock it, no doubt. Now, like any
felt-footed grimalkin, up I steal among the leads.’
Ascending some fifty stone steps along a very narrow curving stairway, I
found myself on a blank platform forming the second story of the huge
square tower. I seemed inside some magic-lantern. On three sides, three
gigantic Gothic windows of richly dyed glass, filled the otherwise
meagre place with all sorts of sunrises and sunsets, lunar and solar
rainbows, falling stars, and other flaming fireworks and pyrotechnics.
But after all, it was but a gorgeous dungeon; for I couldn’t look out,
any more than if I had been the occupant of a basement cell in ‘the
Tombs.’ With some pains, and care not to do any serious harm, I
contrived to scratch a minute opening in a great purple star forming the
centre of the chief compartment of the middle window; when peeping
through, as through goggles, I ducked my head in dismay. The
beadle-faced man, with no hat on his head, was just in the act of
driving three ragged little boys into the middle of the street; and how
could I help trembling at the apprehension of his discovering a
rebellious caitiff like me peering down on him from the tower? For, in
stealing up here, I had set at naught his high authority. He whom he
thought effectually ejected, had burglariously returned. For a moment I
was almost ready to bide my chance, and get to the side-walk again with
all dispatch. But another Jacob’s ladder of lofty steps--wooden ones,
this time--allured me to another and still higher flight--in sole hopes
of gaining that one secret window where I might, at distance, take part
in the proceedings.
Presently I noticed something which, owing to the first marvellous
effulgence of the place, had remained unseen till now. Two strong ropes,
dropping through holes in the rude ceiling high overhead, fell a sheer
length of sixty feet, right through the centre of the space, and dropped
in coils upon the floor of the huge magic-lantern. Bell-ropes these,
thought I, and quaked. For if the beadle-faced man should learn that a
grimalkin was somewhere prowling about the edifice, how easy for him to
ring the alarm. Hark!--ah, that’s only the organ--yes--it’s the ‘Venite,
exultemus Domino.’ Though an insider in one respect, yet am I but an
outsider in another. But for all that, I will not be defrauded of my
natural rights. Uncovering my head, and taking out my book, I stood
erect, midway up the tall Jacob’s ladder, as if standing among the
congregation; and in spirit, if not in place, participated in those
devout exultings. That over, I continued my upward path; and after
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.
At length the lessons being read, the chants chanted, the white-robed
priest, a noble-looking man, with a form like the incomparable Talma’s,
gave out from the reading-desk the hymn before the sermon, and then
through a side-door vanished from the scene. In good time I saw the same
Talma-like and noble-looking man reappear through the same side-door,
his white apparel wholly changed for black.
By the melodious tone and persuasive gesture of the speaker, and the
all-approving attention of the throng, I knew the sermon must be
eloquent and well adapted to an opulent auditory; but owing to the
priest’s changed position from the reading-desk to the pulpit, I could
not so distinctly hear him now as in the previous rites. The text,
however, repeated at the outset, and often after quoted, I could not but
plainly catch: ‘Ye are the salt of the earth.’
At length the benediction was pronounced over the mass of low-inclining
foreheads; hushed silence, intense motionlessness followed for a moment,
as if the congregation were one of buried, not of living men; when,
suddenly, miraculously, like the general rising at the Resurrection, the
whole host came to their feet, amid a simultaneous roll, like a great
drum-beat, from the enrapturing, overpowering organ. Then, in three
freshets--all gay, sprightly nods and becks--the gilded brooks poured
down the gilded aisles.
Time for me, too, to go, thought I, as snatching one last look upon the
imposing scene, I clasped my book and put it in my pocket. The best
thing I can do just now is to slide out unperceived amid the general
crowd. Hurrying down the great length of ladder, I soon found myself at
the base of the last stone step of the final flight; but started
aghast--the door was locked! The bell-ringer, or more probably that for
ever prying, suspicious-looking, beadle-faced man has done this. He
would not let me in at all at first, and now, with the greatest
inconsistency, he will not let me out. But what is to be done? Shall I
knock on the door? That will never do. It will only frighten the crowd
streaming by, and no one can adequately respond to my summons, except
the beadle-faced man; and if he sees me, he will recognise me, and
perhaps roundly rate me--poor, humble worshipper--before the entire
public. No, I won’t knock. But what then?
For a long time I thought and thought, till at last all was hushed
again. Presently a clicking sound admonished me that the church was
being closed. In sudden desperation, I gave a rap on the door. But too
late. It was not heard. I was left alone and solitary in a temple which
but a moment before was more populous than many villages.
A strange trepidation of gloom and loneliness gradually stole over me.
Hardly conscious of what I did, I reascended the stone steps; higher and
higher still, and only paused when once more I felt the hot-air blast
from the wire-woven screen. Snatching another peep down into the vast
arena, I started at its hushed desertness. The long ranges of grouped
columns down the nave, the clusterings of them into copses about the
corners of the transept; together with the subdued, dim-streaming light
from the autumnal glasses; all assumed a secluded and deep-wooded air. I
seemed gazing from Pisgah into the forests of old Canaan. A Puseyitish
painting of a Madonna and Child, adorning a lower window, seemed showing
to me the sole tenants of this painted wilderness--the true Hagar and
her Ishmael.
With added trepidation I stole softly back to the magic-lantern
platform; and revived myself a little by peeping through the scratch,
upon the unstained light of open day. But what is to be done, thought I
again.
I descended to the door; listened there; heard nothing. A third time
climbing the stone steps, once more I stood in the magic-lantern, while
the full nature of the more than awkwardness of my position came over
me.
The first persons who will re-enter the temple, mused I, will doubtless
be the beadle-faced man and the bell-ringer. And the first man to come
up here, where I am, will be the latter. Now what will be his natural
impressions upon first descrying an unknown prowler here? Rather
disadvantageous to said prowler’s moral character. Explanations will be
vain. Circumstances are against me. True, I may hide, till he retires
again. But how do I know that he will then leave the door unlocked?
Besides, in a position of affairs like this, it is generally best, I
think, to anticipate discovery, and by magnanimously announcing
yourself, forestall an inglorious detection. But how announce myself?
Already have I knocked, and no response. That moment my eye, impatiently
ranging round about, fell upon the bell-ropes. They suggested the usual
signal made at dwelling-houses to convey tidings of a stranger’s
presence. But I was not an outside caller; alas, I was an inside
prowler. But one little touch of that bell-rope would be sure to bring
relief. I have an appointment at three o’clock. The beadle-faced man
must naturally reside very close by the church. He well knows the
peculiar ring of his own bell. The slightest possible hum would bring
him flying to the rescue. Shall I, or shall I not? But I may alarm the
neighbourhood. Ah, no; the merest tingle, not by any means a loud,
vociferous peal. Shall I? Better voluntarily bring the beadle-faced man
to me, than be involuntarily dragged out from this most suspicious
hiding-place. I have to face him, first or last. Better now than later.
Shall I?
No more. Creeping to the rope, I gave it a cautious twitch. No sound. A
little less warily. All was dumb. Still more strongly. Horrors! My
hands, instinctively clapped to my ears, only served to condense the
appalling din. Some undreamed-of mechanism seemed to have been touched.
The bell must have thrice revolved on its thunderous axis, multiplying
the astounding reverberation.
My business is effectually done this time, thought I, all in a tremble.
Nothing will serve me now but the reckless confidence of innocence
reduced to desperation.
In less than five minutes I heard a running noise beneath me; the lock
of the door clicked, and up rushed the beadle-faced man, the
perspiration starting from his cheeks.
‘You! Is it _you_? The man I turned away this very morning, skulking
here? You dare to touch that bell? Scoundrel!’
And ere I could defend myself, seizing me irresistibly in his powerful
grasp, he tore me along by the collar, and dragging me down the stairs,
thrust me into the arms of three policemen, who, attracted by the sudden
toll of the bell, had gathered curiously about the porch.
All remonstrances were vain. The beadle-faced man was bigoted against
me. Represented as a lawless violator, and a remorseless disturber of
the Sunday peace, I was conducted to the Halls of Justice. Next morning,
my rather gentlemanly appearance procured me a private hearing from the
judge. But the beadle-faced man must have made a Sunday night call on
him. In spite of my coolest explanations, the circumstances of the case
were deemed so exceedingly suspicious, that only after paying a round
fine, and receiving a stinging reprimand, was I permitted to go at
large, and pardoned for having humbly indulged myself in the luxury of
public worship.