But, alas! Gräuben was far away; and I never hoped to see her again.
But if my uncle felt no attraction towards these romantic scenes he
was very much struck with the aspect of a certain church spire
situated in the island of Amak, which forms the south-west quarter of
Copenhagen.
I was ordered to direct my feet that way; I embarked on a small
steamer which plies on the canals, and in a few minutes she touched
the quay of the dockyard.
After crossing a few narrow streets where some convicts, in trousers
half yellow and half grey, were at work under the orders of the
gangers, we arrived at the Vor Frelsers Kirk. There was nothing
remarkable about the church; but there was a reason why its tall
spire had attracted the Professor's attention. Starting from the top
of the tower, an external staircase wound around the spire, the
spirals circling up into the sky.
"Let us get to the top," said my uncle.
"I shall be dizzy," I said.
"The more reason why we should go up; we must get used to it."
"But--"
"Come, I tell you; don't waste our time."
I had to obey. A keeper who lived at the other end of the street
handed us the key, and the ascent began.
My uncle went ahead with a light step. I followed him not without
alarm, for my head was very apt to feel dizzy; I possessed neither
the equilibrium of an eagle nor his fearless nature.
As long as we were protected on the inside of the winding staircase
up the tower, all was well enough; but after toiling up a hundred and
fifty steps the fresh air came to salute my face, and we were on the
leads of the tower. There the aerial staircase began its gyrations,
only guarded by a thin iron rail, and the narrowing steps seemed to
ascend into infinite space!
"Never shall I be able to do it," I said.
"Don't be a coward; come up, sir"; said my uncle with the coldest
cruelty.
I had to follow, clutching at every step. The keen air made me giddy;
I felt the spire rocking with every gust of wind; my knees began to
fail; soon I was crawling on my knees, then creeping on my stomach; I
closed my eyes; I seemed to be lost in space.
At last I reached the apex, with the assistance of my uncle dragging
me up by the collar.
"Look down!" he cried. "Look down well! You must take a lesson
in abysses."
I opened my eyes. I saw houses squashed flat as if they had all
fallen down from the skies; a smoke fog seemed to drown them. Over my
head ragged clouds were drifting past, and by an optical inversion
they seemed stationary, while the steeple, the ball and I were all
spinning along with fantastic speed. Far away on one side was the
green country, on the other the sea sparkled, bathed in sunlight. The
Sound stretched away to Elsinore, dotted with a few white sails, like
sea-gulls' wings; and in the misty east and away to the north-east
lay outstretched the faintly-shadowed shores of Sweden. All this
immensity of space whirled and wavered, fluctuating beneath my eyes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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