A RECESS IN THE LIBRARY
A portrait of "Martin the Giant," a big man clad in armour, looks down threateningly from one of the dark corners of the room. He was a great warrior and statesman in his native Lombardy, but finally went off to the Crusades, and after showing great prowess, is said to have been taken and skinned alive by the Saracens (1147).
The walls of the drawing-room, next to the library, are covered with pictures, mostly of religious subjects. I suppose I ought to expatiate on them, but the artistic side of my nature is exhausted, and I should probably admire the wrong ones.
What I can safely speak of is the view from the large terrace over the afore-mentioned tower, where we used to have breakfast. It was charming to sit there in the early morning and look out upon that grand expanse of boundless sea, with the little wavelets dancing in the sunshine; it was almost cool too at that time of the morning.
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Here the "energetic lady" remarks in an undertone that at this early hour she believes I was generally in bed, and that she did not remember having once seen me at breakfast on the terrace. Fortunately I can allow such remarks to pass unnoticed.
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There is a mysterious charm about all these old rooms, they are so quiet, so restful, with their stained floors, their black oak carving, the tapestried hangings, and the old furniture. There are no bright colours, everything is subdued; no glare, always a sombre half-light. One feels inclined to walk softly in them, and speak in whispers, so as not to disturb their restfulness. There is something almost sad about their silence; they belong to a time long ago, not to the present day, and they seem to be waiting—waiting for the years that have passed to come again.
