Bab Bab 14 · Chapter XIV

. Chapter XIV

“Your gallery

Have we pass’d through, not without much content

In many singularities; but we saw not

That which my daughter came to look upon,

The state of her mother.”

_Winter’s Tale_.

It seemed to me strange, that all this time I had heard no music in the

fairy palace. I was convinced there must be music in it, but that my

sense was as yet too gross to receive the influence of those mysterious

motions that beget sound. Sometimes I felt sure, from the way the few

figures of which I got such transitory glimpses passed me, or glided

into vacancy before me, that they were moving to the law of music; and,

in fact, several times I fancied for a moment that I heard a few

wondrous tones coming I knew not whence. But they did not last long

enough to convince me that I had heard them with the bodily sense. Such

as they were, however, they took strange liberties with me, causing me

to burst suddenly into tears, of which there was no presence to make me

ashamed, or casting me into a kind of trance of speechless delight,

which, passing as suddenly, left me faint and longing for more.

Now, on an evening, before I had been a week in the palace, I was

wandering through one lighted arcade and corridor after another. At

length I arrived, through a door that closed behind me, in another vast

hall of the palace. It was filled with a subdued crimson light; by

which I saw that slender pillars of black, built close to walls of

white marble, rose to a great height, and then, dividing into

innumerable divergent arches, supported a roof, like the walls, of

white marble, upon which the arches intersected intricately, forming a

fretting of black upon the white, like the network of a skeleton-leaf.

The floor was black.

Between several pairs of the pillars upon every side, the place of the

wall behind was occupied by a crimson curtain of thick silk, hanging in

heavy and rich folds. Behind each of these curtains burned a powerful

light, and these were the sources of the glow that filled the hall. A

peculiar delicious odour pervaded the place. As soon as I entered, the

old inspiration seemed to return to me, for I felt a strong impulse to

sing; or rather, it seemed as if some one else was singing a song in my

soul, which wanted to come forth at my lips, imbodied in my breath. But

I kept silence; and feeling somewhat overcome by the red light and the

perfume, as well as by the emotion within me, and seeing at one end of

the hall a great crimson chair, more like a throne than a chair, beside

a table of white marble, I went to it, and, throwing myself in it, gave

myself up to a succession of images of bewildering beauty, which passed

before my inward eye, in a long and occasionally crowded train. Here I

sat for hours, I suppose; till, returning somewhat to myself, I saw

that the red light had paled away, and felt a cool gentle breath

gliding over my forehead. I rose and left the hall with unsteady steps,

finding my way with some difficulty to my own chamber, and faintly

remembering, as I went, that only in the marble cave, before I found

the sleeping statue, had I ever had a similar experience.

After this, I repaired every morning to the same hall; where I

sometimes sat in the chair and dreamed deliciously, and sometimes

walked up and down over the black floor. Sometimes I acted within

myself a whole drama, during one of these perambulations; sometimes

walked deliberately through the whole epic of a tale; sometimes

ventured to sing a song, though with a shrinking fear of I knew not

what. I was astonished at the beauty of my own voice as it rang through

the place, or rather crept undulating, like a serpent of sound, along

the walls and roof of this superb music-hall. Entrancing verses arose

within me as of their own accord, chanting themselves to their own

melodies, and requiring no addition of music to satisfy the inward

sense. But, ever in the pauses of these, when the singing mood was upon

me, I seemed to hear something like the distant sound of multitudes of

dancers, and felt as if it was the unheard music, moving their rhythmic

motion, that within me blossomed in verse and song. I felt, too, that

could I but see the dance, I should, from the harmony of complicated

movements, not of the dancers in relation to each other merely, but of

each dancer individually in the manifested plastic power that moved the

consenting harmonious form, understand the whole of the music on the

billows of which they floated and swung.

At length, one night, suddenly, when this feeling of dancing came upon

me, I bethought me of lifting one of the crimson curtains, and looking

if, perchance, behind it there might not be hid some other mystery,

which might at least remove a step further the bewilderment of the

present one. Nor was I altogether disappointed. I walked to one of the

magnificent draperies, lifted a corner, and peeped in. There, burned a

great, crimson, globe-shaped light, high in the cubical centre of

another hall, which might be larger or less than that in which I stood,

for its dimensions were not easily perceived, seeing that floor and

roof and walls were entirely of black marble.

The roof was supported by the same arrangement of pillars radiating in

arches, as that of the first hall; only, here, the pillars and arches

were of dark red. But what absorbed my delighted gaze, was an

innumerable assembly of white marble statues, of every form, and in

multitudinous posture, filling the hall throughout. These stood, in the

ruddy glow of the great lamp, upon pedestals of jet black. Around the

lamp shone in golden letters, plainly legible from where I stood, the

two words—

TOUCH NOT!

There was in all this, however, no solution to the sound of dancing;

and now I was aware that the influence on my mind had ceased. I did not

go in that evening, for I was weary and faint, but I hoarded up the

expectation of entering, as of a great coming joy.

Next night I walked, as on the preceding, through the hall. My mind was

filled with pictures and songs, and therewith so much absorbed, that I

did not for some time think of looking within the curtain I had last

night lifted. When the thought of doing so occurred to me first, I

happened to be within a few yards of it. I became conscious, at the

same moment, that the sound of dancing had been for some time in my

ears. I approached the curtain quickly, and, lifting it, entered the

black hall. Everything was still as death. I should have concluded that

the sound must have proceeded from some other more distant quarter,

which conclusion its faintness would, in ordinary circumstances, have

necessitated from the first; but there was a something about the

statues that caused me still to remain in doubt. As I said, each stood

perfectly still upon its black pedestal: but there was about every one

a certain air, not of motion, but as if it had just ceased from

movement; as if the rest were not altogether of the marbly stillness of

thousands of years. It was as if the peculiar atmosphere of each had

yet a kind of invisible tremulousness; as if its agitated wavelets had

not yet subsided into a perfect calm. I had the suspicion that they had

anticipated my appearance, and had sprung, each, from the living joy of

the dance, to the death-silence and blackness of its isolated pedestal,

just before I entered. I walked across the central hall to the curtain

opposite the one I had lifted, and, entering there, found all the

appearances similar; only that the statues were different, and

differently grouped. Neither did they produce on my mind that

impression—of motion just expired, which I had experienced from the

others. I found that behind every one of the crimson curtains was a

similar hall, similarly lighted, and similarly occupied.

The next night, I did not allow my thoughts to be absorbed as before

with inward images, but crept stealthily along to the furthest curtain

in the hall, from behind which, likewise, I had formerly seemed to hear

the sound of dancing. I drew aside its edge as suddenly as I could,

and, looking in, saw that the utmost stillness pervaded the vast place.

I walked in, and passed through it to the other end.

There I found that it communicated with a circular corridor, divided

from it only by two rows of red columns. This corridor, which was

black, with red niches holding statues, ran entirely about the

statue-halls, forming a communication between the further ends of them

all; further, that is, as regards the central hall of white whence they

all diverged like radii, finding their circumference in the corridor.

Round this corridor I now went, entering all the halls, of which there

were twelve, and finding them all similarly constructed, but filled

with quite various statues, of what seemed both ancient and modern

sculpture. After I had simply walked through them, I found myself

sufficiently tired to long for rest, and went to my own room.

In the night I dreamed that, walking close by one of the curtains, I

was suddenly seized with the desire to enter, and darted in. This time

I was too quick for them. All the statues were in motion, statues no

longer, but men and women—all shapes of beauty that ever sprang from

the brain of the sculptor, mingled in the convolutions of a complicated

dance. Passing through them to the further end, I almost started from

my sleep on beholding, not taking part in the dance with the others,

nor seemingly endued with life like them, but standing in marble

coldness and rigidity upon a black pedestal in the extreme left

corner—my lady of the cave; the marble beauty who sprang from her tomb

or her cradle at the call of my songs. While I gazed in speechless

astonishment and admiration, a dark shadow, descending from above like

the curtain of a stage, gradually hid her entirely from my view. I felt

with a shudder that this shadow was perchance my missing demon, whom I

had not seen for days. I awoke with a stifled cry.

Of course, the next evening I began my journey through the halls (for I

knew not to which my dream had carried me), in the hope of proving the

dream to be a true one, by discovering my marble beauty upon her black

pedestal. At length, on reaching the tenth hall, I thought I recognised

some of the forms I had seen dancing in my dream; and to my

bewilderment, when I arrived at the extreme corner on the left, there

stood, the only one I had yet seen, a vacant pedestal. It was exactly

in the position occupied, in my dream, by the pedestal on which the

white lady stood. Hope beat violently in my heart.

“Now,” said I to myself, “if yet another part of the dream would but

come true, and I should succeed in surprising these forms in their

nightly dance; it might be the rest would follow, and I should see on

the pedestal my marble queen. Then surely if my songs sufficed to give

her life before, when she lay in the bonds of alabaster, much more

would they be sufficient then to give her volition and motion, when she

alone of assembled crowds of marble forms, would be standing rigid and

cold.”

But the difficulty was, to surprise the dancers. I had found that a

premeditated attempt at surprise, though executed with the utmost care

and rapidity, was of no avail. And, in my dream, it was effected by a

sudden thought suddenly executed. I saw, therefore, that there was no

plan of operation offering any probability of success, but this: to

allow my mind to be occupied with other thoughts, as I wandered around

the great centre-hall; and so wait till the impulse to enter one of the

others should happen to arise in me just at the moment when I was close

to one of the crimson curtains. For I hoped that if I entered any one

of the twelve halls at the right moment, that would as it were give me

the right of entrance to all the others, seeing they all had

communication behind. I would not diminish the hope of the right

chance, by supposing it necessary that a desire to enter should awake

within me, precisely when I was close to the curtains of the tenth

hall.

At first the impulses to see recurred so continually, in spite of the

crowded imagery that kept passing through my mind, that they formed too

nearly a continuous chain, for the hope that any one of them would

succeed as a surprise. But as I persisted in banishing them, they

recurred less and less often; and after two or three, at considerable

intervals, had come when the spot where I happened to be was

unsuitable, the hope strengthened, that soon one might arise just at

the right moment; namely, when, in walking round the hall, I should be

close to one of the curtains.

At length the right moment and the impulse coincided. I darted into the

ninth hall. It was full of the most exquisite moving forms. The whole

space wavered and swam with the involutions of an intricate dance. It

seemed to break suddenly as I entered, and all made one or two bounds

towards their pedestals; but, apparently on finding that they were

thoroughly overtaken, they returned to their employment (for it seemed

with them earnest enough to be called such) without further heeding me.

Somewhat impeded by the floating crowd, I made what haste I could

towards the bottom of the hall; whence, entering the corridor, I turned

towards the tenth. I soon arrived at the corner I wanted to reach, for

the corridor was comparatively empty; but, although the dancers here,

after a little confusion, altogether disregarded my presence, I was

dismayed at beholding, even yet, a vacant pedestal. But I had a

conviction that she was near me. And as I looked at the pedestal, I

thought I saw upon it, vaguely revealed as if through overlapping folds

of drapery, the indistinct outlines of white feet. Yet there was no

sign of drapery or concealing shadow whatever. But I remembered the

descending shadow in my dream. And I hoped still in the power of my

songs; thinking that what could dispel alabaster, might likewise be

capable of dispelling what concealed my beauty now, even if it were the

demon whose darkness had overshadowed all my life.