LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume III, Issue 212, 12 February 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

AN ADVENTURE IN ST. PAUL’S. ( Concluded.) With all the eloquence of which I am master, I besought him to do me the good office of letting me into the sacred fane. He hesitated, shook his head; at last he relented. ‘ Very well,’ he said, ‘ it’s against the rules; but, as you say, it’s a long way to the Antipodes. I’ll let you in, if you don’t mind stopping inside alone for an hour; it will be that time before I return; and I must lock the door behind me. ‘ Do you still wish to go inside?’ I thanked him warmly, and said, * Certainly, yes.’ Indeed, I was delighted at the idea of an hour in perfect stillness and seclusion among the mighty columns and arches of St Paul’s. I got under the great dome, which hangs like a luminous cloud above, full of hazy, uncertain shadows, a faint circle of light rimming it round, arches and huge piers encompassing it. From the west, a subdued crimson glow; eastwards, the choir, dark and sombre; the windows of the apse showing as grey luminous patches, the altar glooming in the distance like some funeral catafalque. White figures gleaming here and there in shadowy recesses, marble warriors, heroes, statesmen. Under the dome, in the great open space, was a vast crowd of chairs—wooden rushbottomed chairs, lashed together in rows, looking towards the east. Choosing one of the most central of these, I sat down, and began to dream, peopling this wide area with a vast invisible congregation. In soft, long-drawn cadence, the Bell of St Paul’s struck out the hour of ten. I had been in the place nearly an hour. I felt chilled and numb. Enough of dreams. Let me walk briskly up and down, and think of the busy scenes awaiting me; the rapid flight over continents and seas; the wanderer’s return ; the warm, glad welcome; wife and children holding out eager arms—right on the other side of this huge world. I paced rapidly up and down an avenue between the chairs. I had seen enough; I was anxious to be released, to get away from the world of shadows into the living world outside. For a moment, I stood in what seemed to be the very centre of the dome, and looked upward. A faint circle of light marked the apex of the soaring vault, and just above my head I saw —my eyes being now accustomed to this half-light —I saw, 1

say, a rope hanging down from the vast height above. Then I remembered the spider-webs I seen outside about the ball and cross. And as I stood, and looked, and listened, I heard faint sounds of hammering and knocking. Men were at work, hundreds of feet above ; a light shone here and there, twinkling like a star.

In years gone by, I used to be a famous gymnast, and the sight of the rope hanging just above my head, put me in mind of my ancient prowess. I was heavier now, my muscles less elastic; still, there was some salt of youth in me. How many times, I wondered, could I, hanging to that rope, draw my chin up to my knuckles ? The rope was just out of reach, but I leapt up and caught it—once, twice, thrice. Itfelt a kind of emulation with my old self; I wanted to persuade myself that I had not lost much of my former prowess ; and so I went on drawing myself up and letting myself down, not touching the ground, till I grew tired, and stretched myself out, expecting just to reach the pavement with my toes. But I couldn’t reach it. Casting a glance below me, I saw with horror that the flooring had vanished from under me. ,1 waa swinging, suspended by my hands, high up in the dome.

Perhaps, If I had dropped at that moment, I might have escaped with only a serious shaking; but I hesitated, and was lost. Slowly and steadily, the rope was being wound up. I shut my eyes. Surely this was a hideous delusion, that another moment would dispel. But no, as I looked down the floor below was almost lost to my sight. There I swung, a tiny human speck, half-way between heaven and earth. I couldn’t hope to hang on much longer. My muscles were weariec with the task I had given them. I made a desperate effort to raise myself hand over hand, so that I might grasp the rope with my feet also; but it was impossible: I could not do it. Even the desperate energy of self-preserva-tion could extract no more force from my muscles; I could only hold on I was now on a level with the plinth that surmounts the great arches of the dome: the gilded ground work of a new fresco in the spandrel cast a sort of glow upon me, the colossal figures seemed to mock my agony. I must be half-way up now, and for the moment a ray of hope shone in upon me that I could hold on to the end. But, to my despair, I now saw that the seeming dome was a false one, above which rose the veritable conical roof, another hundred feet or more; and that through a vast round orifice in the sham dome, the rope was to ascend to the uppermost peak of the roof. In that moment of torture, I recognised my ftfte as inevitable. I might prolong my agony for a few seconds; my muscles were involuntarily relaxing; my grasp would fail; in another minute at furthest I must fall, to be dashed to pieces on the adamantine floor below. A thousand confused thoughts whirled through my brain, like the smoke and sparks of an approaching conflagration; but especially clear in my mind’s eye, I saw—l did not think, but saw this vision—the picture of my far-off home, the rolling plains of grass, the herds and flocks, a galloping horseman —there was my home. My wife stood in the portico, shading her eyes with her hand ; the children were clustering about her; there was news of daddy coming—perhaps daddy himself. It was bitter to die thus.

My limbs relaxed ; my senses almost deserted me; a merciful oblivion, the intoxication of despair, stole over me ; voices, I thought, were calling—perhaps a delusion of my failing senses—l was slipping, slipping, and I fell ‘ How do you feel now, sir ? ’ I heard a voice say close to my ear. Was it possible —was I still alive ? Yes; my brain was yet conscious. But the frame? Shattered, no doubt, a mere human wreck, to which life would be a mockery. I only dared to use my eyes. Any other muscular exertion might bring on torments to which I was then insensible; and yet I had no feeling of pain; perhaps some merciful paralysis had cut me off from torture.

An old man was bending over me, the same who admitted me: he had a wineglass in his hands with some liquor in it; a candle burned by his side, forming a little chamber of light about us, ‘Am I knocked all to pieces ? ’ I whispered. ‘ I don’t think so, sir; I don’t think you’re hurt a bit. Bless you! you didn’t fall more than three feet.’

I stretched out my arms—they were -whole ; my legs—they were sound and unhurt. What a happiness to be alive, after seeing death inevitable! ‘ How is this ? ’ I cried, sitting up, and looking about me. ‘ I thought I was carried up into the dome. ’ ‘ And so you were. You’d have been a dead man by this, but just in the nick of time I came back. I don’t suppose I should have noticed you, for the light was pretty nearly done; but I caught sight of you against the gilding, and then gave a sort of a moan ; and says I: There’s death here, if I can’t think of something all of a minute. And then I recollected that I’d heard the workmen chaps whistle three times, like this, when they wanted the rope lowered; and I piped away, and then the rope stopped, and began to come down. I shouted to you to hold on and keep your heart up; but I don’t think you heard me, for when your face came in sight it was white like death, and your eyes closed—but you still holding on—till, as I say, you came within three feet of the door, and then you gave a quiver, and fell; and I caught you in my arms, for you were in a dead-faint. But what were you about, to let them draw you up like that ? ’ Then I told him of my gymnastic feats. ‘ Oh, then, I suspect you shook the rope. That’s the signal to pull up, and up they pulled, and never knew what sort of a load they were hauling up. The men are working double shifts now, and in a hurry to get finished.’

When I left St. Paul’s I felt weak and nerveless, as if I had just gone through a long illness. I couldn’t start next morning, I was so upset; and I have written this account of what happened to me, as a sort of outlet for my feelings; for I don’t think I shall talk much about St. Paul’s when I get home.