{"id":"01KG8AMAHSZ3CNH0E0Q4DEJCHK","cid":"bafkreifga23govlzl3vi2mxiyq4itdsdjtst4uffysyzm3liw7dw5gj5w4","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":5587,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:26.981Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 4","source_file":"01KG89J1FFTGRE9J93Z3K29NGY","start_line":5523,"text":"approach to my strange look-out, through perfect solitude, and along\r\nrude and dusty ways, enhanced the theatric wonder of the populous\r\nspectacle of this sumptuous sanctuary. Book in hand, responses on my\r\ntongue, standing in the very posture of devotion, I could not rid my\r\nsoul of the intrusive thought, that, through some necromancer’s glass, I\r\nlooked down upon some sly enchanter’s show.\r\n\r\nAt length the lessons being read, the chants chanted, the white-robed\r\npriest, a noble-looking man, with a form like the incomparable Talma’s,\r\ngave out from the reading-desk the hymn before the sermon, and then\r\nthrough a side-door vanished from the scene. In good time I saw the same\r\nTalma-like and noble-looking man reappear through the same side-door,\r\nhis white apparel wholly changed for black.\r\n\r\nBy the melodious tone and persuasive gesture of the speaker, and the\r\nall-approving attention of the throng, I knew the sermon must be\r\neloquent and well adapted to an opulent auditory; but owing to the\r\npriest’s changed position from the reading-desk to the pulpit, I could\r\nnot so distinctly hear him now as in the previous rites. The text,\r\nhowever, repeated at the outset, and often after quoted, I could not but\r\nplainly catch: ‘Ye are the salt of the earth.’\r\n\r\nAt length the benediction was pronounced over the mass of low-inclining\r\nforeheads; hushed silence, intense motionlessness followed for a moment,\r\nas if the congregation were one of buried, not of living men; when,\r\nsuddenly, miraculously, like the general rising at the Resurrection, the\r\nwhole host came to their feet, amid a simultaneous roll, like a great\r\ndrum-beat, from the enrapturing, overpowering organ. Then, in three\r\nfreshets--all gay, sprightly nods and becks--the gilded brooks poured\r\ndown the gilded aisles.\r\n\r\nTime for me, too, to go, thought I, as snatching one last look upon the\r\nimposing scene, I clasped my book and put it in my pocket. The best\r\nthing I can do just now is to slide out unperceived amid the general\r\ncrowd. Hurrying down the great length of ladder, I soon found myself at\r\nthe base of the last stone step of the final flight; but started\r\naghast--the door was locked! The bell-ringer, or more probably that for\r\never prying, suspicious-looking, beadle-faced man has done this. He\r\nwould not let me in at all at first, and now, with the greatest\r\ninconsistency, he will not let me out. But what is to be done? Shall I\r\nknock on the door? That will never do. It will only frighten the crowd\r\nstreaming by, and no one can adequately respond to my summons, except\r\nthe beadle-faced man; and if he sees me, he will recognise me, and\r\nperhaps roundly rate me--poor, humble worshipper--before the entire\r\npublic. No, I won’t knock. But what then?\r\n\r\nFor a long time I thought and thought, till at last all was hushed\r\nagain. Presently a clicking sound admonished me that the church was\r\nbeing closed. In sudden desperation, I gave a rap on the door. But too\r\nlate. It was not heard. I was left alone and solitary in a temple which\r\nbut a moment before was more populous than many villages.\r\n\r\nA strange trepidation of gloom and loneliness gradually stole over me.\r\nHardly conscious of what I did, I reascended the stone steps; higher and\r\nhigher still, and only paused when once more I felt the hot-air blast\r\nfrom the wire-woven screen. Snatching another peep down into the vast\r\narena, I started at its hushed desertness. The long ranges of grouped\r\ncolumns down the nave, the clusterings of them into copses about the\r\ncorners of the transept; together with the subdued, dim-streaming light\r\nfrom the autumnal glasses; all assumed a secluded and deep-wooded air. I\r\nseemed gazing from Pisgah into the forests of old Canaan. A Puseyitish\r\npainting of a Madonna and Child, adorning a lower window, seemed showing\r\nto me the sole tenants of this painted wilderness--the true Hagar and\r\nher Ishmael.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 4"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJVQAF3STWRJS14NTRT8A","peer_type":"segment","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1FFTGRE9J93Z3K29NGY","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AMAHQSW9RYNZVXSCRTTH8","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AMAHVNM6ERHNFD6MS7AZF","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:33.337Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:40.542Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}