|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 64
But from the centre of the upward stream shone forms and faces of
angelic beauty; yet, on looking more narrowly, Balder discerned in
each one some ghastly peculiarity, revealing itself just when
enjoyment of the beauty was on the point of becoming complete. Such
was the effect that the most angelic forms were translated into
mocking demons, and where the light seemed brightest there was the
spiritual darkness most profound.
In the zenith was a white lustre which obliterated distinction of form
as much as did the cloudy obscurity at the end of the room. Now the
design seemed about to unfold itself; then again it eluded the gazer's
grasp. Suddenly at length it stood revealed. A gigantic face, with
wide-floating hair and beard, looked down into Balder's own. Its
expression was of infinite malignity and despair. The impersonation of
all that is wicked and miserable, its place was at the top of Heaven;
it was moulded of those aspiring forms of light, and was the goal
which the brightest attained. Moreover, either by some ugly
coincidence or how otherwise he could not conceive, this countenance
of supreme evil was the very reflex of Balder's,--a portrait minutely
true, and, despite its satanic expression, growing every moment more
unmistakable.
Was this accident, or the contrivance of an unknown and unfathomable
malice? Balder, Lord of Heaven, instinct with the essence of Hell! A
grim satire on his religious speculations! But what satirist had been
bitter enough so to forestall the years?--for the painting must have
been designed while Balder was still an infant.
He threw himself off the bed and stepped to the window, and saw the
blue sky and the river rhyming it. The breath of the orchard visited
him, and he was greeted by the green grass and trees, He sighed with
relief. There had been three mornings since his return to America. For
the first he had blessed his own senses; the second had looked him out
of countenance but the third came with a benediction, serene and
mighty, such as Balder's soul had not hitherto been open to.
"This is more than a plaster heaven," said he, looking up; "but I
fear, Balder Helwyse, your only heaven, thus far, has been of plaster.
You have seen this morning how the God of such a heaven looks. How
about the God of this larger Heaven, think you?"
Presently he turned away from the window; but he had quaffed so deeply
of the morning glory, that the sinister frescos no longer depressed
him. They were ridiculously unimportant,--nothing more than stains on
the wall, in fact. Balder could not tell why he felt light-hearted. It
was solemn light-heartedness,--not the gayety of sensuous spirits,
such as he had experienced heretofore. It had little to do with
physical well-being, for the young man was still faint and dizzy, and
weak from hunger. Behold, then, at the foot of the bed, a carved table
covered with a damask cloth and crowned with an abundant breakfast;
not an ordinary breakfast of coffee, rolls, omelette, and beefsteak,
but a pastoral breakfast,--fresh milk, bread and honey and fruit and
mellow cheese,--such food as Adam might have begun the day with.
In face of the yet unsolved mystery of his own presence in the room,
this new surprise caused Balder no special wonder. Beyond the
apparition of the ugly dumb woman, he recollected nothing of the
previous evening's experience. Could she have transported him hither?
Well, he would not let himself be disturbed by apparent miracles. "No
doubt the explanation is simple," thought he; and with that he began
his toilet. The dressing-table displayed a variety of dainty articles
such as a lady might be supposed to use,--pearl-handled brushes,
enamelled powder-boxes, slender vases of Meissen porcelain, a fanciful
ring-stand; from the half-open drawer a rich glimpse of an Indian fan;
a pair of delicate kid gloves, which only a woman's hands could have
worn, were thrown carelessly on the table. There were still the little
wrinkles in the fingers, but time had changed the pristine white to
dingy yellow.
"Whose hands could have worn them? whose chamber was this?" mused
Balder. "Not Gnulemah's; she knows nothing of kid gloves and powder!
and these things were in use before she was born. Whose face was
reflected in this glass, when those gloves were thrown down here? Was
that her marriage-bed? Were children born in it?"
His seizure of the night before must have dulled the edge of his wit,
else he had scarce asked questions which chance now answered for him.
A scratch on one corner of the polished mirror-surface showed, on
closer inspection, a name and a date written with a diamond. Shading
off the light with his hand, Balder read, "Helen, 1831."
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|