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Authors: Andre Norton
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crowded together, the heat of the lamps so great, that I felt both blinded and stifled. I had only a confused impression of cups and coffers cut in strange forms out of crystal or malachite, or even more precious materials, so embellished by further ornamentation that what lay beneath was three-quarters hidden. There were strange, even grotesquely ugly figures fashioned in the same way. Far too much to remember or enjoy looking at. In fact the whole display impressed me with being as tasteless as the beplumed bonnets the Gräfin delighted in.
Just before we reached the grill gate where all must turn, we did come upon something which caught my eye and slowed my steps, bringing from me a gasp of pure wonder.
A wide table stood just behind the bar wall and it was backed by a series of mirrors to amplify and repeat what lay before them until one could believe that one had been transformed to the size of a giant now viewing a miniature scene of real life.
Plainly a court had been duplicated in full magnificence. Enameled and begemmed figures, so gracefully and intricately made, so expressive in their tiny faces as to suggest that each was a replica of a living person executed by a master artist, had their places there. On a dais under a crimson canopy there were two thrones, each holding a seated figure. That of a man had his head turned toward his companion, one hand raised to beckon to several others who stood below the steps of the throne platform. Each of these bore either a cushion or a tray on which rested, in minute detail, tiny jewelry, boxes, crystal carvings.
The woman to whom this array of gifts was being offered wore, in beautiful cream and gold-tinted enamel, a faithful representation of the court dress of more than a hundred years earlier. Her small face had a proud, almost sullen cast (how very gifted had been the man who had fashioned her figure, for I felt that I would have recognized her immediately had I met her in life). She sat with her hands lying loosely on the golden billows of her full skirt. A stomacher of diamonds, so small that they could only have been chips of chips, was only part of her jewels. There was a circlet of delicate filigree, set with the same stones, on her fair head, a necklace about her long throat, lying across shoulders and breast nearly bare in the extreme décolleté fashion of that day.
Below the two rulers, and beyond those bearing gifts, were gathered members of the court, plus soldiers at stiff attention. However, one was hardly aware of them, for one's eyes returned to the two on the thrones. There was something oddly appealing in the attitude of the man. His shoulder-length curled hair fell forward but did not entirely shadow his face. If the woman was perfect in her frozen poise of boredom, the artist had not so flattered the king or prince. His features were harsh, and again must have been faithful representation of a once-living man. I had a queer feeling that though he was attempting to win his lady with gifts (perhaps he had already learned the unpleasant lesson that she was best so approached), he was clumsy and maladroit, that he was unhappy and to be pitied. It was so real—this miniature court—
Again the Gräfin tugged at my arm. “The birthday of the Electress Ludovika.” Her voice pulled me out of the fantasy which had begun to build within my mind. “Her last birthday—”
“Did she die so young—?”
The Gräfin's hold upon my arm became a pinch, so hurtful I gasped. She did not let go but rather pushed me past the table. I could not shake free without arousing the attention of those about us. She, too, glancedhurriedly right and left, as if she had feared my innocent question had been overheard.
We had reached the turn point at the stair gate and I caught a glimpse of movement beyond that. As I looked more intently at the barrier I met eyes I knew. Colonel Fenwick, wearing a most elaborate uniform jacket, in spite of the heat a befurred dolman
Just before we reached the grill gate where all must turn, we did come upon something which caught my eye and slowed my steps, bringing from me a gasp of pure wonder.
A wide table stood just behind the bar wall and it was backed by a series of mirrors to amplify and repeat what lay before them until one could believe that one had been transformed to the size of a giant now viewing a miniature scene of real life.
Plainly a court had been duplicated in full magnificence. Enameled and begemmed figures, so gracefully and intricately made, so expressive in their tiny faces as to suggest that each was a replica of a living person executed by a master artist, had their places there. On a dais under a crimson canopy there were two thrones, each holding a seated figure. That of a man had his head turned toward his companion, one hand raised to beckon to several others who stood below the steps of the throne platform. Each of these bore either a cushion or a tray on which rested, in minute detail, tiny jewelry, boxes, crystal carvings.
The woman to whom this array of gifts was being offered wore, in beautiful cream and gold-tinted enamel, a faithful representation of the court dress of more than a hundred years earlier. Her small face had a proud, almost sullen cast (how very gifted had been the man who had fashioned her figure, for I felt that I would have recognized her immediately had I met her in life). She sat with her hands lying loosely on the golden billows of her full skirt. A stomacher of diamonds, so small that they could only have been chips of chips, was only part of her jewels. There was a circlet of delicate filigree, set with the same stones, on her fair head, a necklace about her long throat, lying across shoulders and breast nearly bare in the extreme décolleté fashion of that day.
Below the two rulers, and beyond those bearing gifts, were gathered members of the court, plus soldiers at stiff attention. However, one was hardly aware of them, for one's eyes returned to the two on the thrones. There was something oddly appealing in the attitude of the man. His shoulder-length curled hair fell forward but did not entirely shadow his face. If the woman was perfect in her frozen poise of boredom, the artist had not so flattered the king or prince. His features were harsh, and again must have been faithful representation of a once-living man. I had a queer feeling that though he was attempting to win his lady with gifts (perhaps he had already learned the unpleasant lesson that she was best so approached), he was clumsy and maladroit, that he was unhappy and to be pitied. It was so real—this miniature court—
Again the Gräfin tugged at my arm. “The birthday of the Electress Ludovika.” Her voice pulled me out of the fantasy which had begun to build within my mind. “Her last birthday—”
“Did she die so young—?”
The Gräfin's hold upon my arm became a pinch, so hurtful I gasped. She did not let go but rather pushed me past the table. I could not shake free without arousing the attention of those about us. She, too, glancedhurriedly right and left, as if she had feared my innocent question had been overheard.
We had reached the turn point at the stair gate and I caught a glimpse of movement beyond that. As I looked more intently at the barrier I met eyes I knew. Colonel Fenwick, wearing a most elaborate uniform jacket, in spite of the heat a befurred dolman
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