George Sand
The snow man
eBook
( March 9, 2015)
WILL the reader be kind enough to enter with us at once into the subject of this story, as he does when, in the theatre, the curtain rises upon a situation which the actors proceed to explain.
In the same way, we beg him to go with us straightway into the heart of the locality which is the scene of this narrative; — yet there is this difference, that in the theatre the curtain seldom rises upon an empty stage; while in the present instance, the narrator and the reader are to be for a few moments alone together.
The place into which we are thus conveyed, is sufficiently strange and not particularly agreeable. It is a four-sided room, at first sight apparently a regular square, but one of its angles is really more acute than the others, as we observe the moment we notice the dark-colored wooden ceiling whose projecting beams cross each other in a distinctly irregular manner in the north-east comer.
This irregularity is made still more obvious by a wooden staircase with a balustrade somewhat elaborately worked, and of a massive character, seemingly of the end of the sixteenth century or the beginning of the seventeenth. This staircase goes up six steps, pauses at a small landing-place, turns a right angle, and after six steps more ends abruptly in the wall. The arrangements of the building have been changed; and it would have been natural to remove the staircase at the same time, for it only encumbers the room. Why was Vhis not done? This, dear reader, is the question we put
to each other. But, notwithstanding this proof of respect or indifference, the apartment which we are examining has retained all its ancient comforts. An immense circular stove, in which no fire has been lighted for a long time, serves as a pedestal for a very handsome clock of the style of Boule, whose glasses, tarnished and almost iridescent with moisture, throw out metallic reflections into the gloom. A handsome copper chandelier of the Dutch fashion hangs from the ceiling, covered with a coat of verdigris so thick, that it looks like a piece of malachite work. Twelve wax candles, whole (with one exception), though yellow with age, are still standing in the wide metallic sockets, whose size has the advantage of not allowing a drop of wax to fall, and the disadvantage of casting a deep shadow on the floor, while the light is all reflected up to the ceiling. ...
In the same way, we beg him to go with us straightway into the heart of the locality which is the scene of this narrative; — yet there is this difference, that in the theatre the curtain seldom rises upon an empty stage; while in the present instance, the narrator and the reader are to be for a few moments alone together.
The place into which we are thus conveyed, is sufficiently strange and not particularly agreeable. It is a four-sided room, at first sight apparently a regular square, but one of its angles is really more acute than the others, as we observe the moment we notice the dark-colored wooden ceiling whose projecting beams cross each other in a distinctly irregular manner in the north-east comer.
This irregularity is made still more obvious by a wooden staircase with a balustrade somewhat elaborately worked, and of a massive character, seemingly of the end of the sixteenth century or the beginning of the seventeenth. This staircase goes up six steps, pauses at a small landing-place, turns a right angle, and after six steps more ends abruptly in the wall. The arrangements of the building have been changed; and it would have been natural to remove the staircase at the same time, for it only encumbers the room. Why was Vhis not done? This, dear reader, is the question we put
to each other. But, notwithstanding this proof of respect or indifference, the apartment which we are examining has retained all its ancient comforts. An immense circular stove, in which no fire has been lighted for a long time, serves as a pedestal for a very handsome clock of the style of Boule, whose glasses, tarnished and almost iridescent with moisture, throw out metallic reflections into the gloom. A handsome copper chandelier of the Dutch fashion hangs from the ceiling, covered with a coat of verdigris so thick, that it looks like a piece of malachite work. Twelve wax candles, whole (with one exception), though yellow with age, are still standing in the wide metallic sockets, whose size has the advantage of not allowing a drop of wax to fall, and the disadvantage of casting a deep shadow on the floor, while the light is all reflected up to the ceiling. ...
- Pages
- 568
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