The white marble steps were in groups of three, each surmounted by a low balustrade of alabaster hung with golden lilies between each snowy post. A broad purple-cushioned step surrounded the lower balustrade. Otherwise there was no seat nor resting-place but the pavement.
Tacita sank on her knees and gazed at that throne that shone full of sunshine, half expecting that the light would presently condense itself into the likeness of a Divine Face. The crown hung just where it might have rested on the brow of an heroic figure enthroned beneath. And was there not a quiver in the jewels as if they moved, catching and splintering the sunrays on diamond points, or drinking them in smooth rubies, or imprisoning their fluttering colors in white veiled opals, or showing in emeralds a promise of the immortal spring of Heaven! And was there not a whisper and a rustling as of a host preceding the advent of some supreme Presence?
She put aside her fancies, and made a heartfelt thanksgiving to him who was truly there, then rose and slowly approached the throne. The work was all beautiful. The fluting of the columns was exquisite, and every milk-white lily that was twined in their capitals was finished with a loving hand. On the fronts of the steps were names of prophets, apostles and saints, highest of all and alone, the name of Abraham surrounded by the words he spoke to his son, Isaac, as they went up the mountain in Moriah:—
My son, God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt-offering.
Lower down were names of beneficent gods and goddesses, all names which the children of men had lovingly and reverently worshiped, each light-bearing god or goddess with a star to his name.
Tacita remembered her grandfather’s declaration: “Show me the path by which any human soul has climbed to worship the highest that it could conceive of the Divine, and I will see there the footsteps of God coming down to meet that soul.”
Her heart expanded at the thought. It seemed the very spirit of the Good Shepherd gathering all into his fold—all who lifted up their hearts in search of something above their comprehension, but not above their love.
With a deep sigh of utter contentment she turned aside, and walked down one aisle and up the other, looking at the frescoes.
The wall of the three vestibules extended quite across the Basilica with a wide gallery above; and from the golden fringe of the portal to the purple fringe of the apsis, one scene melted into another with such artful gradations that there was no break in the picture; and all ended against the ceiling in mountain, or tree-top, or vine, or in a flock of birds, so that it did not seem an ending.
A glimpse of polar sea with an aurora of the north and icebergs began the panorama; and then came full streams overhung by dark pine-trees that presently showed green mosses and springing delicate flowers under their shadows. The scene softened, and grew yet softer, till a palm-tree was over-brushed by the purple curtain of the apse, and a line of silvery beach, and a glimpse of sea and of a far-away misty sun-steeped island just escaped its folds. There were sunsets shining through forest-reaches, brooks dancing over stones, the curve of a river, the violet outline of a mountain faint against the sky, lambs sunk in a green flowery meadow and half submerged, looking like scattered pearls. There were gray streaks of rain, and a glimpse of a rainbow; there was sunrise over bald crags where an eagle stood black against its opal background. The butterfly fanned its capricious way with widespread wings, the bee and humming-bird dived into the flower, the stag stood listening with head alert, the elephant pulled down the fruit-laden branches, the dragon-fly spread its gauzy wings; but nowhere was there any sign of man, nor of the works of man.