came over me at that time, when, as we were in one of the galleries of
the west front, we looked into the church, and found the vaulting but a
foot or two (or it seemed so) above our heads; also, while I was in the
galleries, now out of the church, now in it, the canons had begun to sing
complines, and the sound of their singing floated dimly up the winding
stair-cases and half-shut doors.

The sun was setting when we were in the roof, and a beam of it, striking
through the small window up in the gable, fell in blood-red spots on the
beams of the great dim roof. We came out from the roof on to the parapet
in the blaze of the sun, and then going to the crossing, mounted as high
as we could into the spire, and stood there a while looking down on the
beautiful country, with its many water-meadows, and feathering trees.

And here let me say something about the way in which I have taken this
description upon me; for I did not write it at Amiens; moreover, if I had
described it from the bare reminiscences of the church, I should have
been able to say little enough about the most interesting part of all,
the sculptures, namely; so, though remembering well enough the general
effect of the whole, and, very distinctly, statues and faces, nay, leaves
and flower-knots, here and there; yet, the external sculpture I am
describing as well as I can from such photographs as I have; and these,
as everybody knows, though very distinct and faithful, when they show
anything at all, yet, in some places, where the shadows are deep, show
simply nothing. They tell me, too, nothing whatever of the colour of the
building; in fact, their brown and yellow is as unlike as possible to the
grey of Amiens. So, for the facts of form, I have to look at my
photographs; for facts of colour I have to try and remember the day or
two I spent at Amiens, and the reference to the former has considerably
dulled my memory of the latter. I have something else to say, too; it
will seem considerably ridiculous, no doubt, to many people who are well
acquainted with the iconography of the French churches, when I talk about
the stories of some of the carvings; both from my want of knowledge as to
their meaning, and also from my telling people things which everybody may
be supposed to know; for which I pray forgiveness, and so go on to speak
of the carvings about the south transept door.

It is divided in the midst by a pillar, whereon stands the Virgin,
holding our