He conducted me through a portal rich with the crumbling
sculpture of former ages, which opened upon a gloomy passage
leading to the chapter-house and the chamber in which Doomsday
Book is deposited. Just within the passage is a small door on the
left. To this the verger applied a key; it was double locked, and
opened with some difficulty, as if seldom used. We now ascended a
dark narrow staircase, and, passing through a second door,
entered the library.
I found myself in a lofty antique hall, the roof supported by
massive joists of old English oak. It was soberly lighted by a
row of Gothic windows at a considerable height from the floor,
and which apparently opened upon the roofs of the cloisters. An
ancient picture of some reverend dignitary of the Church in his
robes hung over the fireplace. Around the hall and in a small
gallery were the books, arranged in carved oaken cases. They
consisted principally of old polemical writers, and were much
more worn by time than use. In the centre of the library was a
solitary table with two or three books on it, an inkstand without
ink, and a few pens parched by long disuse. The place seemed
fitted for quiet study and profound meditation. It was buried
deep among the massive walls of the abbey and shut up from the
tumult of the world.
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