The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1903-08-23

the autumn of one of the later seventies
that the perhaps most extraordinary ex-
perience of my life occurred. and l wit
messed. by sheer accident. a sight, the like
Of which / should be equally 10th and I'M
likely to see again.
Ii was late one afternoon when. after
many wearying hours of sightseeing,
turned into an even more than usually pic
turesque old church i'm n quiet part of the
Eternal City. determined that it should be
the last place would visit that day. 1t was
a great. rambling. glorious building, of fas-
cinatngly beautiful architecture; its dead
stiffness was remarkable; the church
seemed quite deserted; the confessional
boxes were untenanted. | looked into the
sacristy. no one was there; passed through
narrow door out into the cloister, one side
of which was a kind of open gallery looking
down upon the Tibcr which ran sluggishIy
past.
L re-entered the church, and wandered in
a mood Of lazy admiration in and out of
the smaller chapels. of which there were
many. Passing from one To another i came
TO an hexagona chamber built out at the
eastern extremity of the church. and shut
off from it by a low pointed door. 1t bore
the appearance more of a small chapter
house or council chamber than a chapel,
although a somewhat dilapidated altar stood
against the farther side. The walls were
hung with decaying tapestries, and the
place seemed used as the lumber room of the
church.
Thoroughly tired by this time / blew the
dust from the seat of what had once been a
magnificent chair of ecclesiastical state,
and threw myself into it for a few minutes
rest. Loling back in this comfortable sup
port began, in fancy. 10 repeople the cham
Der with its generations of occupants, to re-
construct i'm my imagination the scenes it
might have witnessed.
Musng thus, and held inactive by pleas
ant sense of fatigue L dozed off, to be awak-
ened presently by sharp noise. the mean
ing of which / did not at first trouble my
self to realize. but which. when | had at
last come to rouse myself / knew to be the
turning of key in lock. Even then ii
did not occur to me that this locking sound
affected me materially; when, suddenly. it
did, / sprang up and ran to the door. only
| to find it made fast and myself prisoner.
Here was pretty predicament for tired,
| hungry man. At first L made light of it.
feeling sure that by calling out and banging
at the door / should obtain my release. 1t
was only when my blows and shouts found
no response that / began to reproach the
| laziness which had caused me to let the
chance go by of saving myself from impris-
! onment. Still L called and hammered away
until l became quite sure it was futile,
| when 1 retired to my chair to review in dis
| gust my most unpleasant situation.
There could be little doubt that | was TO
| be prisoner for the night, now fast falling,
| and | began to speculate as to the hour at
which the sacristan would be likely to un-
lock the church i'm the morning. Luckily my
prison was large and airy; moreover, 1 was
at a philosophical age. when comfort had
not become too much of q necessity. L found
with satisfaction a few biscuits i'm my pock-
| ct, and remembered that my flask was,
happily. but half empty. Having come to
the end of my frugal meal / turned my at
| tenton To making myself comfortable for
the night. This was not, upon consideration
of the places possibilities. very easy mat
| ter; and, To make the prospect less invit-
ing. with the coming on of night the chapel
seemed to grow chilly: certainly it was de-
pressing enough. Still | was too tired to
| care IlucH dbcut the aspect Oh SlccplnS
| apartment so long as 1 could contrive to get
a comfortable resting place. l was, indeed
| glad of my fatigue, which promised me OBJ
| livion through the irksome hours of my inn
prisonment. After several unsatisfactory
| experiments with the means at my disposal
/ at length made myself fairly comfortable
| in-of all pIaces-an old confessional box;
and there, wrapped in a curtain, / en-
sconced myself. "If am to be the last, GER
| tainly / am not the first man who has
| slumbered here" L told myself, and was
| soon fast asleep.
! When / awoke ii was with an unnatural
| start and sense, penetrating my half-un-
! consciousness, that l was not alone. The
| first idea that flashed To my mind was de-
| light at the chance of earlier release
than / had hoped for; then, as | was pre-
pairing to spring to my feet. an odd, unac-
countable feeling of caution seemed to hold
me down. / peeped out of the box's little
| window. L could not quite see the door. but
| knew il was open, since a light streamed
| into the chapel from that direction. The
| natural impulse was, of course. to show my
self. explain how / had been shut in, and
| make my way out of the church without de-
| lay. But something, an indefinable sense of
warning, held me back, so | remained, peer
ing through the window with its ragged
curtain i'm an almost breathless curiosity to
! see what sight might present itself.