thecapitalofBrabant.Havinggainedthesummitofthehill,andhavingstoodandlookedlongovertheculturedbutlifelesscampaign,Ifeltawishtoquitthehighroad,whichIhadhithertofollowed,andgetinamongthosetilledgrounds—fertileasthebedsofaBrobdignagiankitchen-garden—spreadingfarandwideeventotheboundariesofthehorizon,where,fromaduskgreen,distancechangedthemtoasullenblue,andconfusedtheirtintswiththoseofthelividandthunderous-lookingsky.AccordinglyIturnedupaby-pathtotherightIhadnotfolloweditfarereitbroughtme,asIexpected,intothefields,amidstwhich,justbeforeme,stretchedalongandloftywhitewallenclosing,asitseemedfromthefoliageshowingabove,somethicklyplantednurseryofyewandcypress,forofthatspecieswerethebranchesrestingonthepaleparapets,andcrowdinggloomilyaboutamassivecross,planteddoubtlessonacentraleminenceandextendingitsarms,whichseemedofblackmarble,overthesummitsofthosesinistertrees.Iapproached,wonderingtowhathousethiswell-protectedgardenappertainedIturnedtheangleofthewall,thinkingtoseesomestatelyresidenceIwascloseupongreatirongatestherewasahutservingforalodgenear,butIhadnooccasiontoapplyforthekey—thegateswereopenIpushedoneleafback—rainhadrusteditshinges,foritgroaneddolefullyastheyrevolved.Thickplantingemboweredtheentrance.Passinguptheavenue,Isawobjectsoneachhandwhich,intheirownmutelanguageofinscriptionandsign,explainedclearlytowhatabodeIhadmademyway.Thiswasthehouseappointedforalllivingcrosses,monuments,andgarlandsofeverlastingsannounced,“TheProtestantCemetery,outsidethegateofLouvain.”
Theplacewaslargeenoughtoaffordhalfanhour’sstrollingwithoutthemonotonyoftreadingcontinuallythesamepathand,forthosewholovetoperusetheannalsofgraveyards,herewasvarietyofinscriptionenoughtooccupytheattentionfordoubleortreblethatspaceoftime.Hitherpeopleofmanykindreds,tongues,andnations,hadbroughttheirdeadforintermentandhere,onpagesofstone,ofmarble,andofbrass,werewrittennames,dates,lasttributesofpomporlove,inEnglish,inFrench,inGerman,andLatin.HeretheEnglishmanhaderectedamarblemonumentovertheremainsofhisMarySmithorJaneBrown,andinscribeditonlywithhername.TheretheFrenchwidowerhadshadedthegraveofhisElmireorCelestinewithabrilliantthicketofroses,amidstwhichalittletabletrising,boreanequallybrighttestimonytohercountlessvirtues.Everynation,tribe,andkindred,mournedafteritsownfashionandhowsoundlesswasthemourningofall!Myowntread,thoughslowanduponsmooth-rolledpaths,seemedtostartle,becauseitformedthesolebreaktoasilenceotherwisetotal.Notonlythewinds,buttheveryfitful,wanderingairs,werethatafternoon,asbycommonconsent,allfallenasleepintheirvariousquartersthenorthwashushed,thesouthsilent,theeastsobbednot,nordidthewestwhisper.Thecloudsinheavenwerecondensedanddull,butapparentlyquitemotionless.Underthetreesofthiscemeterynestledawarmbreathlessgloom,outofwhichthecypressesstoodupstraightandmute,abovewhichthewillowshunglowandstillwheretheflowers,aslanguidasfair,waitedlistlessfornightdeworthunder-showerwherethetombs,andthosetheyhid,layimpassibletosunorshadow,torainordrought.
Importunedbythesoundofmyownfootsteps,Iturnedoffupontheturf,andslowlyadvancedtoagroveofyewsIsawsomethingstiramongthestemsIthoughtitmightbeabrokenbranchswinging,myshort-sightedvisionhadcaughtnoform,onlyasenseofmotionbuttheduskyshadepassedon,appearinganddisappearingattheopeningsintheavenue.Isoondiscerneditwasalivingthing,andahumanthingand,drawingnearer,Iperceiveditwasawoman,pacingslowlytoandfro,andevidentlydeemingherselfaloneasIhaddeemedmyselfalone,andmeditatingasIhadbeenmeditating.ErelongshereturnedtoaseatwhichIfancyshehadbutjustquitted,orIshouldhavecaughts