as our friends entered the church, their eyes rested at once on a remarkable object in the centre of the nave.it was either the actual body, or, as might rather have been supposed at first glance, the cunningly wrought waxen face and suitably draped figure of a dead monk.this image of wax or clay-cold reality, whichever it might be, lay on a slightly elevated bier, with three tall candles burning on each side, another tall candle at the head, and another at the foot.there was music, too; in harmony with so funereal a spectacle.from beneath the pavement of the church came the deep, lugubrious strain of a de profundis, which sounded like an utterance of the tomb itself; so dismally did it rumble through the burial vaults, and ooze up among the flat gravestones and sad epitaphs, filling the church as with a gloomy mist.
第62章（2 / 3）