The people estranged,
the aristocracy faithless (when did they ever pardon one who was not of
themselves?)--the imperial fabric tumbles to the ground. If it teaches
nothing else, my dear, it teaches one a great point of policy--namely,
to stick by one's party.
While these thoughts (and sundry others relative to the horrible cold of
the place, the intense dulness of delay, the stupidity of leaving a warm
bed and a breakfast in order to witness a procession that is much better
performed at a theatre)--while these thoughts were passing in the
mind, the church began to fill apace, and you saw that the hour of the
ceremony was drawing near.
Imprimis, came men with lighted staves, and set fire to at least ten
thousand wax-candles that were hanging in brilliant chandeliers in
various parts of the chapel. Curtains were dropped over the upper
windows as these illuminations were effected, and the church was left
only to the funereal light of the spermaceti. To the right was the dome,
round the cavity of which sparkling lamps were set, that designed the
shape of it brilliantly against the darkness.
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