| 107 | 108 | 109 | 110 | 111 |
| 1 | 133 | 265 | 398 | 530 |
|
The light, creation's mind, was everywhere, and all things owned its
power.
The two pilgrims, often pressing each other's hands, or exchanging a
smile or cheerful look, pursued their way in silence. Bright and happy
as it was, there was something solemn in the long, deserted streets,
from which, like bodies without souls, all habitual character and
expression had departed, leaving but one dead uniform repose, that
made them all alike. All was so still at that early hour, that the few
pale people whom they met seemed as much unsuited to the scene, as
the sickly lamp which had been here and there left burning, was
powerless and faint in the full glory of the sun.
Before they had penetrated very far into the labyrinth of men's abodes
which yet lay between them and the outskirts, this aspect began to
melt away, and noise and bustle to usurp its place. Some straggling
carts and coaches rumbling by, first broke the charm, then others
came, then others yet more active, then a crowd. The wonder was, at
first, to see a tradesman's window open, but it was a rare thing soon
to see one closed; then, smoke rose slowly from the chimneys, and
sashes were thrown up to let in air, and doors were opened, and
servant girls, looking lazily in all directions but their brooms,
scattered brown clouds of dust into the eyes of shrinking passengers,
or listened disconsolately to milkmen who spoke of country fairs, and
told of waggons in the mews, with awnings and all things complete,
and gallant swains to boot, which another hour would see upon their
journey.
This quarter passed, they came upon the haunts of commerce and
great traffic, where many people were resorting, and business was
already rife. The old man looked about him with a startled and
bewildered gaze, for these were places that he hoped to shun. He
pressed his finger on his lip, and drew the child along by narrow
courts and winding ways, nor did he seem at ease until they had left it
far behind, often casting a backward look towards it, murmuring that
ruin and self-murder were crouching in every street, and would follow
if they scented them; and that they could not fly too fast.
Again this quarter passed, they came upon
a
straggling
neighbourhood, where the mean houses parcelled off in rooms, and
windows patched with rags and paper, told of the populous poverty
that sheltered there. The shops sold goods that only poverty could
buy, and sellers and buyers were pinched and griped alike. Here were
poor streets where faded gentility essayed with scanty space and
shipwrecked means to make its last feeble stand, but tax-gatherer and
creditor came there as elsewhere, and the poverty that yet faintly
struggled was hardly less squalid and manifest than that which had
long ago submitted and given up the game.
Page
Quick Jump
|