A Crystal Age: Chapter 3

Chapter 3

We ascended the steps, and passing through the portico went into the
hall by what seemed to me a doorless way. It was not really so, as I
discovered later; the doors, of which there were several, some of
colored glass, others of some other material, were simply thrust back
into receptacles within the wall itself, which was five or six feet
thick. The hall was the noblest I had ever seen; it had a stone and
bronze fireplace some twenty or thirty feet long on one side, and
several tall arched doorways on the other. The spaces between the doors
were covered with sculpture, its material being a blue-gray stone
combined or inlaid with a yellow metal, the effect being indescribably
rich. The floor was mosaic of many dark colors, but with no definite
pattern, and the concave roof was deep red in color. Though beautiful,
it was somewhat somber, as the light was not strong. At all events, that
is how it struck me at first on coming in from the bright sunlight. Nor,
it appeared, was I alone in experiencing such a feeling. As soon as we
were inside, the old gentleman, removing his cap and passing his thin
fingers through his white hair, looked around him, and addressing some
of the others, who were bringing in small round tables and placing them
about the hall, said: "No, no; let us sup this evening where we can look
at the sky."

The tables were immediately taken away.

Now some of those who were in the hall or who came in with the tables
had not attended the funeral, and these were all astonished on seeing
me. They did not stare at me, but I, of course, saw the expression on
their faces, and noticed that the others who had made my acquaintance at
the grave-side whispered in their ears to explain my presence. This made
me extremely uncomfortable, and it was a relief when they began to go
out again.

One of the men was seated near me; he was of those who had assisted in
carrying the corpse, and he now turned to me and remarked: "You have
been a long time in the open air, and probably feel the change as much
as we do."

I assented, and he rose and walked away to the far end of the hall,
where a great door stood facing the one by which we had entered. From
the spot where I was--a distance of forty or fifty feet, perhaps--this
door appeared to be of polished slate of a very dark gray, its surface
ornamented with very large horse-chestnut leaves of brass or copper, or
both, for they varied in shade from bright yellow to deepest copper-red.
It was a double door with agate handles, and, first pressing on one
handle, then on the other, he thrust it back into the walls on either
side, revealing a new thing of beauty to my eyes, for behind the
vanished door was a window, the sight of which came suddenly before me
like a celestial vision. Sunshine, wind, cloud and rain had evidently
inspired the artist who designed it, but I did not at the time
understand the meaning of the symbolic figures appearing in the picture.
Below, with loosened dark golden-red hair and amber-colored garments
fluttering in the wind, stood a graceful female figure on the summit of
a gray rock; over the rock, and as high as her knees, slanted the thin
branches of some mountain shrub, the strong wind even now stripping them
of their remaining yellow and russet leaves, whirling them aloft and
away. Round the woman's head was a garland of ivy leaves, and she was
gazing aloft with expectant face, stretching up her arms, as if to
implore or receive some precious gift from the sky. Above, against the
slaty-gray cloud-wrack, four exquisite slender girl-forms appeared, with
loose hair, silver-gray drapery and gauzy wings as of ephemerae, flying
in pursuit of the cloud. Each carried a quantity of flowers, shaped like
lilies, in her dress, held up with the left hand; one carried red
lilies, another yellow, the third violet, and the last blue; and the
gauzy wings and drapery of each was also touched in places with the same
hue as the flowers she carried. Looking back in their flight they were
all with the disengaged hand throwing down lilies to the standing
figure.

This lovely window gave a fresh charm to the whole apartment, while the
sunlight falling through it served also to reveal other beauties which I
had not observed. One that quickly drew and absorbed my attention was a
piece of statuary on the floor at some distance from me, and going to it
I stood for some time gazing on it in the greatest delight. It was a
statue about one-third the size of life, of a young woman seated on a
white bull with golden horns. She had a graceful figure and beautiful
countenance; the face, arms and feet were alabaster, the flesh tinted,
but with colors more delicate than in nature. On her arms were broad
golden armlets, and the drapery, a long flowing robe, was blue,
embroidered with yellow flowers. A stringed instrument rested on her
knee, and she was represented playing and singing. The bull, with
lowered horns, appeared walking; about his chest hung a garland of
flowers mingled with ears of yellow corn, oak, ivy, and various other
leaves, green and russet, and acorns and crimson berries. The garland
and blue dress were made of malachite, _lapis lazuli_, and various
precious stones.

"Aha, my fair Phoenician, I know you well!" thought I exultingly,
"though I never saw you before with a harp in your hand. But were you
not gathering flowers, O lovely daughter of Agenor, when that celestial
animal, that masquerading god, put himself so cunningly in your way to
be admired and caressed, until you unsuspiciously placed yourself on his
back? That explains the garland. I shall have a word to say about this
pretty thing to my learned and very superior host."

The statue stood on an octagonal pedestal of a highly polished
slaty-gray stone, and on each of its eight faces was a picture in which
one human figure appeared. Now, from gazing on the statue itself I fell
to contemplating one of these pictures with a very keen interest, for
the figure, I recognized, was a portrait of the beautiful girl Yoletta.
The picture was a winter landscape. The earth was white, not with snow,
but with hoar frost; the distant trees, clothed by the frozen moisture
as if with a feathery foliage, looked misty against the whitey-blue
wintry sky. In the foreground, on the pale frosted grass, stood the
girl, in a dark maroon dress, with silver embroidery on the bosom, and a
dark red cap on her head. Close to her drooped the slender terminal
twigs of a tree, sparkling with rime and icicle, and on the twigs were
several small snow-white birds, hopping and fluttering down towards her
outstretched hand; while she gazed up at them with flushed cheeks, and
lips parting with a bright, joyous smile.

Presently, while I stood admiring this most lovely work, the young man I
have mentioned as having raised Yoletta from the ground at the grave
came to my side and remarked, smiling: "You have noticed the
resemblance."

"Yes, indeed," I returned; "she is painted to the life."

"This is not Yoletta's portrait," he replied, "though it is very like
her;" and then, when I looked at him incredulously, he pointed to some
letters under the picture, saying: "Do you not see the name and date?"

Finding that I could not read the words, I hazarded the remark that it
was Yoletta's mother, perhaps.

"This portrait was painted four centuries ago," he said, with surprise
in his accent; and then he turned aside, thinking me, perhaps, a rather
dull and ignorant person.

I did not want him to go away with that impression, and remarked,
pointing to the statue I have spoken of: "I fancy I know very well who
that is--that is Europa."

"Europa? That is a name I never heard; I doubt that any one in the house
ever bore it." Then, with a half-puzzled smile, he added: "How could you
possibly know unless you were told? No, that is Mistrelde. It was
formerly the custom of the house for the Mother to ride on a white bull
at the harvest festival. Mistrelde was the last to observe it."

"Oh, I see," I returned lamely, though I didn't see at all. The
indifferent way in which he spoke of _centuries_ in connection with
this brilliant and apparently fresh-painted picture rather took me
aback.

Presently he condescended to say something more. Pointing to the marks
or characters which I could not read, he said: "You have seen the name
of Yoletta here, and that and the resemblance misled you. You must know
that there has always been a Yoletta in this house. This was the
daughter of Mistrelde, the Mother, who died young and left but eight
children; and when this work was made their portraits were placed on the
eight faces of the pedestal."

"Thanks for telling me," I said, wondering if it was all true, or only a
fantastic romance.

He then motioned me to follow him, and we quitted that room where it had
been decided that we were not to sup.

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