Witch of Prague , livre ebook

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225 pages

English

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pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. A great multitude of people filled the church, crowded together in the old black pews, standing closely thronged in the nave and aisles, pressing shoulder to shoulder even in the two chapels on the right and left of the apse, a vast gathering of pale men and women whose eyes were sad and in whose faces was written the history of their nation. The mighty shafts and pilasters of the Gothic edifice rose like the stems of giant trees in a primeval forest from a dusky undergrowth, spreading out and uniting their stony branches far above in the upper gloom. From the clerestory windows of the nave an uncertain light descended halfway to the depths and seemed to float upon the darkness below as oil upon the water of a well. Over the western entrance the huge fantastic organ bristled with blackened pipes and dusty gilded ornaments of colossal size, like some enormous kingly crown long forgotten in the lumber room of the universe, tarnished and overlaid with the dust of ages. Eastwards, before the rail which separated the high altar from the people, wax torches, so thick that a man might not span one of them with both his hands, were set up at irregular intervals, some taller, some shorter, burning with steady, golden flames, each one surrounded with heavy funeral wreaths, and each having a tablet below it, whereon were set forth in the Bohemian idiom, the names, titles, and qualities of him or her in whose memory it was lighted

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	23 octobre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819917731
Langue	English

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CHAPTER I
A great multitude of people filled the church,crowded together in the old black pews, standing closely throngedin the nave and aisles, pressing shoulder to shoulder even in thetwo chapels on the right and left of the apse, a vast gathering ofpale men and women whose eyes were sad and in whose faces waswritten the history of their nation. The mighty shafts andpilasters of the Gothic edifice rose like the stems of giant treesin a primeval forest from a dusky undergrowth, spreading out anduniting their stony branches far above in the upper gloom. From theclerestory windows of the nave an uncertain light descended halfwayto the depths and seemed to float upon the darkness below as oilupon the water of a well. Over the western entrance the hugefantastic organ bristled with blackened pipes and dusty gildedornaments of colossal size, like some enormous kingly crown longforgotten in the lumber room of the universe, tarnished andoverlaid with the dust of ages. Eastwards, before the rail whichseparated the high altar from the people, wax torches, so thickthat a man might not span one of them with both his hands, were setup at irregular intervals, some taller, some shorter, burning withsteady, golden flames, each one surrounded with heavy funeralwreaths, and each having a tablet below it, whereon were set forthin the Bohemian idiom, the names, titles, and qualities of him orher in whose memory it was lighted. Innumerable lamps and tapersbefore the side altars and under the strange canopied shrines atthe bases of the pillars, struggled ineffectually with the gloom,shedding but a few sickly yellow rays upon the pallid faces of thepersons nearest to their light.
Suddenly the heavy vibration of a single pedal noteburst from the organ upon the breathing silence, long drawn out,rich, voluminous, and imposing. Presently, upon the massive bass,great chords grew up, succeeding each other in a simple modulation,rising then with the blare of trumpets and the simultaneous crashof mixtures, fifteenths and coupled pedals to a deafening peal,then subsiding quickly again and terminating in one long sustainedcommon chord. And now, as the celebrant bowed at the lowest stepbefore the high altar, the voices of the innumerable congregationjoined the harmony of the organ, ringing up to the groined roof inan ancient Slavonic melody, melancholy and beautiful, and renderedyet more unlike all other music by the undefinable character of theBohemian language, in which tones softer than those of the softestsouthern tongue alternate so oddly with rough gutturals andstrident sibilants.
The Wanderer stood in the midst of the throng,erect, taller than the men near him, holding his head high, so thata little of the light from the memorial torches reached histhoughtful, manly face, making the noble and passionate features tostand out clearly, while losing its power of illumination in thedark beard and among the shadows of his hair. His was a face suchas Rembrandt would have painted, seen under the light thatRembrandt loved best; for the expression seemed to overcome thesurrounding gloom by its own luminous quality, while the deep grayeyes were made almost black by the wide expansion of the pupils;the dusky brows clearly defined the boundary in the face betweenpassion and thought, and the pale forehead, by its slight recessioninto the shade from its middle prominence, proclaimed the man ofheart, the man of faith, the man of devotion, as well as theintuitive nature of the delicately sensitive mind and the quick,elastic qualities of the man's finely organized, but nervous bodilyconstitution. The long white fingers of one hand stirredrestlessly, twitching at the fur of his broad lapel which wasturned back across his chest, and from time to time he drew a deepbreath and sighed, not painfully, but wearily and hopelessly, as aman sighs who knows that his happiness is long past and that hisliberation from the burden of life is yet far off in thefuture.
The celebrant reached the reading of the Gospel andthe men and women in the pews rose to their feet. Still the singingof the long-drawn- out stanzas of the hymn continued withunflagging devotion, and still the deep accompaniment of theancient organ sustained the mighty chorus of voices. The Gospelover, the people sank into their seats again, not standing, as isthe custom in some countries, until the Creed had been said. Hereand there, indeed, a woman, perhaps a stranger in the country,remained upon her feet, noticeable among the many figures seated inthe pews. The Wanderer, familiar with many lands and many varyingtraditions of worship, unconsciously noted these exceptions,looking with a vague curiosity from one to the other. Then, all atonce, his tall frame shivered from head to foot, and his fingersconvulsively grasped the yielding sable on which they lay.
She was there, the woman he had sought so long,whose face he had not found in the cities and dwellings of theliving, neither her grave in the silent communities of the dead.There, before the uncouth monument of dark red marble beneath whichTycho Brahe rests in peace, there she stood; not as he had seen herlast on that day when his senses had left him in the delirium ofhis sickness, not in the freshness of her bloom and of her darkloveliness, but changed as he had dreamed in evil dreams that deathwould have power to change her. The warm olive of her cheek wasturned to the hue of wax, the soft shadows beneath her velvet eyeswere deepened and hardened, her expression, once yielding andchanging under the breath of thought and feeling as a field offlowers when the west wind blows, was now set, as though for ever,in a death-like fixity. The delicate features were drawn andpinched, the nostrils contracted, the colourless lips straightenedout of the lines of beauty into the mould of a lifeless mask. Itwas the face of a dead woman, but it was her face still, and theWanderer knew it well; in the kingdom of his soul the wholeresistless commonwealth of the emotions revolted together todethrone death's regent – sorrow, while the thrice-tempered springsof passion, bent but not broken, stirred suddenly in the palace ofhis body and shook the strong foundations of his being.
During the seconds that followed, his eyes wereriveted upon the beloved head. Then, as the Creed ended, the visionsank down and was lost to his sight. She was seated now, and thebroad sea of humanity hid her from him, though he raised himselfthe full height of his stature in the effort to distinguish eventhe least part of her head- dress. To move from his place was allbut impossible, though the fierce longing to be near her bade himtrample even upon the shoulders of the throng to reach her, as menhave done more than once to save themselves from death by fire incrowded places. Still the singing of the hymn continued, and wouldcontinue, as he knew, until the moment of the Elevation. Hestrained his hearing to catch the sounds that came from the quarterwhere she sat. In a chorus of a thousand singers he fancied that hecould have distinguished the tender, heart-stirring vibration ofher tones. Never woman sang, never could woman sing again, as shehad once sung, though her voice had been as soft as it had beensweet, and tuned to vibrate in the heart rather than in the ear. Asthe strains rose and fell, the Wanderer bowed his head and closedhis eyes, listening, through the maze of sounds, for the silveryring of her magic note. Something he heard at last, something thatsent a thrill from his ear to his heart, unless indeed his heartitself were making music for his ears to hear. The impressionreached him fitfully, often interrupted and lost, but as oftenrenewing itself and reawakening in the listener the certainty ofrecognition which he had felt at the sight of the singer'sface.
He who loves with his whole soul has a knowledge anda learning which surpass the wisdom of those who spend their livesin the study of things living or long dead, or never animate. They,indeed, can construct the figure of a flower from the dried web ofa single leaf, or by the examination of a dusty seed, and they canset up the scheme of life of a shadowy mammoth out of a fragment ofits skeleton, or tell the story of hill and valley from thecontemplation of a handful of earth or of a broken pebble. Oftenthey are right, sometimes they are driven deeper and deeper intoerror by the complicated imperfections of their own science. But hewho loves greatly possesses in his intuition the capacities of allinstruments of observation which man has invented and applied tohis use. The lenses of his eyes can magnify the infinitesimaldetail to the dimensions of common things, and bring objects to hisvision from immeasurable distances; the labyrinth of his ear canchoose and distinguish amidst the harmonies and the discords of theworld, muffling in its tortuous passages the reverberation ofordinary sounds while multiplying a hundredfold the faint tones ofthe one beloved voice. His whole body and his whole intelligenceform together an instrument of exquisite sensibility whereby theperceptions of his inmost soul are hourly tortured, delighted,caught up into ecstasy, torn and crushed by jealousy and fear, orplunged into the frigid waters of despair.
The melancholy hymn resounded through the vastchurch, but though the Wanderer stretched the faculty of hearing tothe utmost, he could no longer find the note he sought amongst thevibrations of the dank and heavy air. Then an irresistible longingcame upon him to turn and force his way through the dense throng ofmen and women, to reach the aisle and press past the huge pillartill he could slip between the tombstone of the astronomer and therow of back wooden seats. Once there, he should see her face toface.
He turned, indeed, as he stood, and he tried to movea few steps. On all sides curious looks were directed upon him, butno one offered to make way, and still the monotonous singingcontinued