The Castle of Twilight

by Margaret Horton Potter

Indeed, the Castle had set its seal upon every one of its inmates. The little household had acquired the peculiar characteristics that generally grow up in a secluded community. Every dweller in the Twilight Land was unconsciously possessed of the same quiet manner, the same air of tranquil repose, the same habit of abstracted thought. And these things had stolen upon them so unawares that none was conscious of it in any other, and least of all in herself. It was a singularly beautiful atmosphere in which to bring up a little being fresh to the world. In this place a new soul might have dwelt forever untainted by any mark of worldliness, of passion, or of sin; for these things were foreign to the whole place. No one in the Castle but had, at some time, been through the depths of human experience, been swayed by the most powerful emotions, and known the passion that is inherent in every mortal. But from these things the Twilight folk had been purified by long stretches of vain longing, vain struggles in the midst of solitude, and that continued repression that alone can eradicate mortal tendencies toward sin. And now the women of this Castle had reached, in their progress, the neutral vale of tranquillity that lies between the gorgeous meadows of delight and the grim crags of grief and disappointment.

There was no one in the Castle that did not at times reflect upon these things; but of them all, Eleanore saw most clearly whence they had all come, and where they now were. Whither they might be going—ah, that! that, who should say? But she could see and understand the quiet happiness that Lenore had reached through her child; and the increasing contentment, that was more than resignation, in Laure. And if she was ignorant of the route by which Courtoise, Alixe, and David had come into the kingdom of tranquillity, at least she knew that all had reached it, and was glad that it was so. To St. Nazaire, who was now her only connection with the outer world, she talked of all these things, and found in him not quite the spirit of her Castle, but yet a great understanding of human and spiritual matters.

Summer wove out its web over the Castle by the sea, and at length its golden heat began to give way before the attacks of chilly nights and shortening days. The earth grew rich and red with autumn. Chestnut fires began to blaze upon peasants’ hearths, and the early morning air had in it that little sting that brings the blood to the cheek and fire to the eye. It was still too early for flights of storks toward the Nile, and the year, hovering on the edge of dissolution, was at the zenith of its glory. It was the time when the smoke from the forest fires lingers pungently over the land for days on end, like incense proffered to the beauty of Mother Earth. It was the time when the sun rises and sets in a veil of mist that transcends the splendor of its golden gleams, till, before the incomparable richness and purity of its glory, the human spectator can only stand back, aghast and trembling with awe. In fine, it was that time when, Nature having reached the full measure of her maturity, she was turning to look back upon her youth, in retrospect of all the loveliness that had been hers, before she should start toward the darker, colder, grayer regions that lay about her coming grave.

It was late in the afternoon of such an autumn day that the three women of Le Crépuscule, Laure, Lenore, and Eleanore, each lightly wrapped about to protect her from the slight chill in the air, went out of the Castle to the terrace bordering the cliff, for their evening walk. In the hearts of all three lay that little wistful sadness that was part of the time of year, and in their surrounding solitude they involuntarily drew close each to the other. Yet their faces were not wholly sad. None of them wept at the thought of the long winter that was again upon them. Hand in hand, by the murmurous sea, they walked, looking off upon the broad plain of moving waters, each unconsciously seeking to read there the destiny of her remaining years.

The hour was a holy one, and there came no sound from the living world to pierce its stillness. Nature knelt before the great marriage of the sun and sea. The altar of the west was hung with golden and purple tapestries; and the ministers of the sky poured out a libation of crimson-flowing wine before the Lord of Heaven. And when the sacrifice was made, all could behold how the great sun slipped gently from his car into the embrace of the sea, and the two of them were presently hidden underneath the golden locks and shimmering veil of the beautiful bride; and thereafter Twilight, the swift-footed handmaid, aided by all the ocean nymphs, quickly pulled the broad curtains of gray and crimson across the portals of the bridal room.

The sweet dusk deepened, but it was not yet time for the rising of the moon. There was still a flush of red in the west, and still the breasts of the gulls that veered over the waters flashed white and luminous in the gathering gray. The silence was absolute, save for the silken swish of the tide rising gently along the shore. The spell of twilight, the great soul-twilight of the middle ages, hung heavy on the battlements of the Castle on the cliff. On the terrace the three women paused in their slow walk. Lenore, her white face uplifted, and a look in her face as if the gates of Heaven had opened a little before her eyes, said dreamily,—

“How sweet it is,—and how beautiful,—our home!”

The silence of the others throbbed assent to her whispered words.

The gulls were sinking slowly toward their nests. The drawbridge over the moat was just lifting for the night. A lapwing or two floated round the high turrets of the Castle; and from the doorway there, Alixe was coming forth, bearing Lenore’s baby in her arms. The stillness grew more intense, and over the edge of the eastern trees slipped the round, pink harvest moon. Then, one by one, a few great stars came sparkling out into the sky.

“See,” murmured Eleanore, very softly, “the east is clear around the rising moon.”