CHAPTER III.
AN AWAKENING.
"No man could pass suddenly from Siberia into Senegal without losing consciousness."--HUMBOLDT.
The swoon of a man, even of one the most firm and energetic, under thesudden shock of an unexpected stroke of good fortune, is nothingwonderful. A man is knocked down by the unforeseen blow, like an ox bythe poleaxe. Francis d'Albescola, he who tore from the Turkish portstheir iron chains, remained a whole day without consciousness when theymade him pope. Now the stride from a cardinal to a pope is less thanthat from a mountebank to a peer of England.
No shock is so violent as a loss of equilibrium.
When Gwynplaine came to himself and opened his eyes it was night. He wasin an armchair, in the midst of a large chamber lined throughout withpurple velvet, over walls, ceiling, and floor. The carpet was velvet.Standing near him, with uncovered head, was the fat man in thetravelling cloak, who had emerged from behind the pillar in the cell atSouthwark. Gwynplaine was alone in the chamber with him. From the chair,by extending his arms, he could reach two tables, each bearing a branchof six lighted wax candles. On one of these tables there were papers anda casket, on the other refreshments; a cold fowl, wine, and brandy,served on a silver-gilt salver.
Through the panes of a high window, reaching from the ceiling to thefloor, a semicircle of pillars was to be seen, in the clear April night,encircling a courtyard with three gates, one very wide, and the othertwo low. The carriage gate, of great size, was in the middle; on theright, that for equestrians, smaller; on the left, that for footpassengers, still less. These gates were formed of iron railings, withglittering points. A tall piece of sculpture surmounted the central one.The columns were probably in white marble, as well as the pavement ofthe court, thus producing an effect like snow; and framed in its sheetof flat flags was a mosaic, the pattern of which was vaguely marked inthe shadow. This mosaic, when seen by daylight, would no doubt havedisclosed to the sight, with much emblazonry and many colours, agigantic coat-of-arms, in the Florentine fashion. Zigzags of balustradesrose and fell, indicating stairs of terraces. Over the court frowned animmense pile of architecture, now shadowy and vague in the starlight.Intervals of sky, full of stars, marked out clearly the outline of thepalace. An enormous roof could be seen, with the gable ends vaulted;garret windows, roofed over like visors; chimneys like towers; andentablatures covered with motionless gods and goddesses.
Beyond the colonnade there played in the shadow one of those fairyfountains in which, as the water falls from basin to basin, it combinesthe beauty of rain with that of the cascade, and as if scattering thecontents of a jewel box, flings to the wind its diamonds and its pearlsas though to divert the statues around. Long rows of windows rangedaway, separated by panoplies, in relievo, and by busts on smallpedestals. On the pinnacles, trophies and morions with plumes cut instone alternated with statues of heathen deities.
In the chamber where Gwynplaine was, on the side opposite the window,was a fireplace as high as the ceiling, and on another, under a dais,one of those old spacious feudal beds which were reached by a ladder,and where you might sleep lying across; the joint-stool of the bed wasat its side; a row of armchairs by the walls, and a row of ordinarychairs, in front of them, completed the furniture. The ceiling wasdomed. A great wood fire in the French fashion blazed in the fireplace;by the richness of the flames, variegated of rose colour and green, ajudge of such things would have seen that the wood was ash--a greatluxury. The room was so large that the branches of candles failed tolight it up. Here and there curtains over doors, falling and swaying,indicated communications with other rooms. The style of the room wasaltogether that of the reign of James I.--a style square and massive,antiquated and magnificent. Like the carpet and the lining of thechamber, the dais, the baldaquin, the bed, the stool, the curtains, themantelpiece, the coverings of the table, the sofas, the chairs, were allof purple velvet.
There was no gilding, except on the ceiling. Laid on it, at equaldistance from the four angles, was a huge round shield of embossedmetal, on which sparkled, in dazzling relief, various coats of arms.Amongst the devices, on two blazons, side by side, were to bedistinguished the cap of a baron and the coronet of a marquis. Were theyof brass or of silver-gilt? You could not tell. They seemed to be ofgold. And in the centre of this lordly ceiling, like a gloomy andmagnificent sky, the gleaming escutcheon was as the dark splendour of asun shining in the night.
The savage, in whom is embodied the free man, is nearly as restless in apalace as in a prison. This magnificent chamber was depressing. So muchsplendour produces fear. Who could be the inhabitant of this statelypalace? To what colossus did all this grandeur appertain? Of what lionis this the lair? Gwynplaine, as yet but half awake, was heavy atheart.
"Where am I?" he said.
The man who was standing before him answered,--"You are in your ownhouse, my lord."