But the towers in this city, which had been allowed to
remain on land, were roofless, hollow and empty. The gates were without
doors; sentinels and warriors had disappeared. All the glittering
splendour was gone. There was nothing left but the naked, gray stone
skeleton.
When the boy came farther into the city, he saw that the larger part of
it was made up of small, low houses; but here and there were still a few
high gabled houses and a few cathedrals, which were from the olden time.
The walls of the gabled houses were whitewashed, and entirely without
ornamentation; but because the boy had so lately seen the buried city,
he seemed to understand how they had been decorated: some with statues,
and others with black and white marble. And it was the same with the old
cathedrals; the majority of them were roofless with bare interiors. The
window openings were empty, the floors were grass-grown, and ivy
clambered along the walls. But now he knew how they had looked at one
time; that they had been covered with images and paintings; that the
chancel had had trimmed altars and gilded crosses, and that their
priests had moved about, arrayed in gold vestments.
The boy saw also the narrow streets, which were almost deserted on
holiday afternoons. He knew, he did, what a stream of stately people had
once upon a time sauntered about on them.
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