"Open the door in the wall opposite."
There was no door, and I said so.
Then she took my hand, and lo! there _was_ a door! And she pushed, and
we entered another suite of apartments that never could have been there
before; there had never been room for them--nor ever could have been--in
all Passy!
[Illustration: "'AND NEUHA LED HER TORQUIL BY THE HAND.'"]
"Come," she said, laughing and blushing at once; for she seemed nervous
and excited and shy--do you remember--
'And Neuha led her Torquil by the hand,
And waved along the vault her flaming brand!'
--do you remember your little drawing out of _The Island_, in the green
morocco Byron? Here it is, in the top drawer of this beautiful cabinet.
Here are all the drawings you ever did for me--plain and colored--with
dates, explanations, etc., all written by myself--_l'album de la fee
Tarapatapoum_. They are only duplicates. I have the real ones at my
house in Hampshire.
The cabinet also is a duplicate;--isn't it a beauty?--it's from the
Czar's Winter Palace. Everything here is a duplicate, more or less. See,
this is a little dining-room;--did you ever see anything so perfect?--it
is the famous _salle à manger_ of Princesse de Chevagné. I never use it,
except now and then to eat a slice of English household bread with
French butter and 'cassonade.' Little Mimsey, out there, does so
sometimes, when Gogo brings her one, and it makes big Mimsey's mouth
water to see her, so she has to go and do likewise. Would you like
a slice?
You see the cloth is spread, _deux couverts_. There is a bottle of
famous champagne from Mr. De Rothschild's; there's plenty more where
that came from. The flowers are from Chatsworth, and this is a lobster
salad for _you_. Papa was great at lobster salads and taught me. I mixed
it myself a fortnight ago, and, as you see, it is as fresh and sweet as
if I had only just made it, and the flowers haven't faded a bit.
Here are cigarettes and pipes and cigars. I hope they are good. I don't
smoke myself.
Isn't all the furniture rare and beautiful? I have robbed every palace
in Europe of its very best, and yet the owners are not a penny the
worse. You should see up-stairs.
Look at those pictures--the very pick of Raphael and Titian and
Velasquez. Look at that piano--I have heard Liszt play upon it over and
over again, in Leipsic!
Here is my library. Every book I ever read is there, and every binding
I ever admired. I don't often read them, but I dust them carefully. I've
arranged that dust shall fall on them in the usual way to make it real,
and remind one of the outer life one is so glad to leave. All has to be
taken very seriously here, and one must put one's self to a little
trouble. See, here is my father's microscope, and under it a small
spider caught on the premises by myself. It is still alive. It seems
cruel, doesn't it? but it only exists in our brains.
Look at the dress I've got on--feel it; how every detail is worked out.
And you have unconsciously done the same: that's the suit you wore that
morning at Cray under the ash-tree--the nicest suit I ever saw. Here is
a spot of ink on your sleeve as real as can be (bravo!). And this button
is coming off--quite right; I will sew it on with a dream needle, and
dream thread, and a dream thimble!
This little door leads to every picture-gallery in Europe. It took me a
long time to build and arrange them all by myself--quite a week of
nights. It is very pleasant to walk there with a good catalogue, and
make it rain cats and dogs outside.
Through this curtain is an opera box--the most comfortable one I've
ever been in; it does for theatres as well, and oratorios and concerts
and scientific lectures. You shall see from it every performance I've
ever been at, in half a dozen languages; you shall hold my hand and
understand them all. Every singer that I ever heard, you shall hear.
Dear Giulia Grisi shall sing the 'Willow Song' again and again, and you
shall hear the applause. Ah, what applause!
Come into this little room--my favorite; out of _this_ window and down
these steps we can walk or drive to any place you or I have ever been
to, and other places besides. Nothing is far, and we have only to go
hand in hand. I don't know yet where my stables and coach-houses are;
you must help me to find out. But so far I have never lacked a carriage
at the bottom of those steps when I wanted to drive, nor a steam-launch,
nor a gondola, nor a lovely place to go to.
Out of _this_ window, from this divan, we can sit and gaze on whatever
we like. What shall it be? Just now, you perceive, there is a wild and
turbulent sea, with not a ship in sight. Do you hear the waves tumbling
and splashing, and see the albatross? I had been reading Keats's 'Ode to
the Nightingale,' and was so fascinated by the idea of a lattice opening
on the foam
'_Of perilous seas by faery lands forlorn_'
that I thought it would be nice to have a lattice like that myself. I
tried to evolve that sea from my inner consciousness, you know, or
rather from seas that I have sailed over. Do you like it? It was done a
fortnight ago, and the waves have been tumbling about ever since. How
they roar! and hark at the wind! I couldn't manage the 'faery lands.' It
wants one lattice for the sea, and one for the land, I'm afraid. You
must help me. Mean while, what would you like there tonight--the
Yosemite Valley? the Nevski Prospect in the winter, with the sledges?
the Rialto? the Bay of Naples after sunset, with Vesuvius in eruption?...
--"Oh Mary--Mimsey--what do I care for Vesuvius, and sunsets, and the
Bay of Naples ... _just now_? ... Vesuvius is in my heart!"
* * * * *
Thus began for us both a period of twenty-five years, during which we
passed eight or nine hours out of the twenty-four in each other's
company--except on a few rare occasions, when illness or some other
cause prevented one of us from sleeping at the proper time.
Mary! Mary!