" Everything stood open
to the passer-by. They went in timidly, groped their way to the marble
stairs, and mounted. All void and tenantless! At the top of the stairs
was a library with dim bookcases and marble floors and busts; but no
custode--no reader--not a sound!
"We seem to be all alone here--with St. Francis!" said Diana, softly, as
they descended to the street--"or is everybody at church?"
They turned their steps back to the Lower Church. As they went in,
darkness--darkness sudden and profound engulfed them. They groped their
way along the outer vestibule or transept, finding themselves amid a
slowly moving crowd of peasants. The crowd turned; they with it; and a
blaze of light burst upon them.
Before them was the nave of the Lower Church, with its dark-storied
chapels on either hand, itself bathed in a golden twilight, with figures
of peasants and friars walking in it, vaguely transfigured. But the
sanctuary beyond, the altar, the walls, and low-groined roof flamed and
burned. An exposition of the Sacrament was going on. Hundreds of slender
candles arranged upon and about the altar in a blazing pyramid drew from
the habitual darkness in which they hide themselves Giotto's thrice
famous frescos; or quickened on the walls, like flowers gleaming in the
dawn, the loveliness of quiet faces, angel and saint and mother, the
beauty of draped folds at their simplest and broadest, a fairy magic of
wings and trumpets, of halos and crowns.
Pages:
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443