Oscar Wilde.
Once upon a time there was nice lady who lived with her two daughters, Lilly and Rose. They were very happy -- until the nice lady married a very unpleasant man, who shouted all the time and ordered everyone about. Sometimes this man even struck the girls who were both in their teens, and he also hit their mother. Finally, the women decided to escape together from the house.
Suddenly, the nice mother became ill and was hospitalized before they could make their escape. The wicked stepfather would not hear of their departure and even slapped Lilly -- the youngest of the girls -- warning both young women that if they left home without his permission, he would kill them.
Rose would not allow her little sister to be hurt. She knew that their only hope was to escape the house together. They lived in a town called "Roselle."
They must go to the big city and find the hospital where their mother was to be operated.
One night, after their stepfather was asleep, Rose escaped with her younger sister. She had saved some pennies from her school money, purchased bus fare to get to the city and find the hospital where her mother was a patient. It was a cold and drizzly night. Rose gave her jacket to Lilly. The two girls were wet and tired by the time they arrived in the city. They walked for many blocks, until they found St. Vincent's Hospital, on 12th Street. It was there that they found their mother's room. They were told how ill she was and that she must not be disturbed. Only one visitor was allowed to spend the night with a patient. Rose insisted that it must be Lilly. The girls embraced, then Rose left to wait in the lobby until morning.
Rose was too tired to think. She knew that she could never go home again. She had no money and her mother was very sick. She did not tell Lilly about this. After the surgeon spoke to her privately, Rose only smiled -- confidently, with seeming indifference -- for her sister's benefit. Rose always tried to be strong for her little sister, accepting all of the responsibility of their shared troubles.
Rose was a very brave young woman and clever, although she was bored at school. So many of her school lessons were taught by men -- and even women -- who behaved like her father. They always shouted at her. There were too many rules and punishments at her school.
Rose hated to be shouted at or ordered about by people. Rose liked freedom and gardens filled with beautiful flowers. As a girl, she had loved pretty dolls with lovely dresses and tea sets. The doctors at this hospital were mostly men who shouted at Rose that she could not sleep in the lobby and must leave before midnight. Shortly before the twelfth hour struck the security guard escorted Rose out to the street.
It was very cold and raining heavily. Rose had no umbrella and no jacket, for she had left hers with Lilly, so that Lilly would be warm and safe with their mother. All that Rose could do was to walk aimlessly through the streets of the city. Men said things to her that frightened her. There were hypodermic needles on the streets. After a few hours, she could not walk any more. She was so tired and drenched that she collapsed on the sidewalk, crying, feeling her stomach muscles contract with hunger.
Rose heard what sounded like a lion's roar. Turning, she saw a man, wrapped in a great black coat with the collar pulled up very high, wearing a fine hat. In the darkness and rain, she could not see his face very well since he was bundled behind a long scarf, besides the coat and hat that he wore. He spoke with a lyrical, gentle and soft -- also sad -- voice. It was different from the voices of all the men that Rose had known. It was a voice that, she somehow knew, could never shout at her.
"You seem cold and wet. May I invite you to visit my home for some food and warmth. I promise to keep my distance. You will be safe with me. If you stay here, you will certainly become ill. Please come with me."
Rose was careful around strangers. Yet her situation was desperate. This man's voice was so soothing and kind that she decided to accept his invitation. A long black automobile, driven by a small rodent-like person wearing a cap, pulled up immediately (almost out of thin air) and the back door of the vehicle opened.
"Take us to the Metropolitian Museum of Art, Perrault."
The man in the long coat and hat said this to the driver.
"You live in the museum?"
"Certainly not. The museum is only a portal. It is an entrance to my home. There are many more. The library, for example."
Mozart was playing softly in the elegant car -- an antique Rolls Royce that was refurbished splendidly -- which was warm and comfortable.
When they arrived at the museum the driver accelerated so that the powerful black vehicle went up the stairs, into the lobby, then stopped. No effort was made to approach them. All of the other persons in the museum seemed frozen.
"We'll walk from here." Rose exited the beautiful car -- which, suddenly, was white -- as the driver opened the door for her, very ceremoniously. Removing his cap and bowing deeply, he said: "Welcome home, my lady."
The vehicle had a name written in shiny letters on the passenger's door -- "Le Magnifique." Rose noticed that the clock above the long marble stairs in the museum was stopped.
It was now exactly midnight.
"You see," The man said: "these works of art are like windows." He pulled his collar up even more, so that Rose could only see his big and very sad brown eyes. "They afford us a glimpse of the shadow world, where we really live."
Rose had never before visited this great museum. The paintings were so beautiful that she wanted to cry. One canvas seemed especially lovely. It was of a man and woman in elegant clothing, eighteenth century, French. She could not make out the painter's signature. The two subjects of this portrait seemed very much in love. They were in a garden and it was always Spring.
They climbed the long stairs, approaching the great marble copy of a famous Greek statue by Phidias -- "Perseus Holding the Head of Medusa" -- at the top of the stairs. When they arrived at the gallery of European paintings from the Renaissance to Abstract Moderns and Postmoderns, Rose noticed for the first time that she wore a beautiful silk dress, exactly like the one worn by the woman in the eighteenth century dual portrait. It was green, the color of her eyes, and decorated with jewels -- safires and pearls, mostly, also rubies.
The museum had become a castle. All of the artworks remained, but now there were furnishings from different periods, even medieval art, and some of the rooms were filled with books. There was music playing -- she recognized Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" and "Fur Elisse."
Rose was fond of music, feeling comfortable and at home already. She knew that she belonged here. She felt at peace. A huge fireplace suddenly roared with flames, giving an orange and purple glow to the gown she wore, bringing the jewels in her dress to life with color and light. Despite the enormity of the premises, a gentle illumination was provided by long candles in ancient silver candelabras and plush, very comfortable-looking chairs and sofas were available everywhere for their convenience.
There were plenty of safe places to read good books of stories. Rose liked stories, especially romantic ones. The shadows cast by these Deutsch candles seemed to dance and sway with the music. It was as though the shadows attended upon and caressed Rose, giving her a formal welcome, providing a feeling of safety and peace to Rose.
They came to a long room, with an immense table that might have seated a hundred people. It was set only for two. The dishes and silver dated from the sixteenth century. "He" said that they had belonged to someone called "Madame Leprince de Beaumont."
The goblets were crimson-colored Venetian crystal. There were exotic flowers in a central decoration of some kind on this table. The same man who had served as their driver was now dressed, magnificently, in red silk livery and wearing white gloves -- while another man who looked just like him, wearing identical clothes and also in white gloves -- poured wine for each of them from a tall decanter that sparkled in the candlelight.
Rose thanked her host for the wonderful food and complimented him on the surroundings. It all seemed very strange to her, mysterious, like most good things that happen to us.
Rose was afraid to inspect this experience too closely, fearing that it would vanish. She dreaded finding herself asleep in the rain on that sidewalk. She knew something magical was happening in her life and that it was good.
"I don't know how to thank you." Rose said.
"There is no need. Everything that you see here -- all of the paintings and everything that is in those books -- belongs to you. This place would not exist, except for you. All that you desire will be brought to you immediately. I ask only that you share a meal with me at midnight -- each night, for one week -- and tell me what you feel."
"I can't. You see, my mother is ill and I must be at her side in the morning."
"This place is outside of time in the world that you have known. A week here will consume as much or as little of your time, as we like. I promise that you will be returned to your mother's bedside exactly when you should be. But if you wish to leave at any time, you only need to say so and I will escort you myself anywhere you like. When you return to the day world, it will seem that only one night's journey has been completed, however much time we spend together." Then he added: "I have been waiting for you forever. All of this was only made with you in mind."
"But you don't know me."
"I've always known you. And you, like all women, have always expected someone like me, except that you did not know my name or what I would look like, only that I would be waiting for you, here. I have been looking for you -- the only person who would wear that gown -- and building this place in order to please you."
After they finished their meal, including a wonderful dessert and Turkish coffee, they strolled through the rooms of the castle. Rose enjoyed their conversation about medieval art and early Renaissance painters. He explained that each day, they would visit one room in the castle and examine canvases from a different period. They talked of poetry and philosophy. Rose felt the time vanish, "spellbound" by her host's charm and self-deprecating wit.
His suggestive comments were never shouted. There was no correction or instruction, only more gentle questioning, always, so that she found herself discovering how much she knew already and how much more she wanted to know, also how much she could teach him. He was helpless with machines and devices, childlike in his playfulness, sometimes nervous and awkward. They would sit and read to one another. He would tell her stories. Some made her laugh. She could never see his face or call him by name, he explained, until the moment of her departure.
When she asked: "Why, the disguise?"
He answered: "Only at your departure will you know my name because, at that instant, you will see my face."
Rose was escorted to her sleeping chamber by one of the servants. There were many servants, appearing silently when something was needed and disappearing, just as unobtrusively, when all was satisfied. She had only to wish for something, somehow, they would know her desires and appear; then they'd disappear again once she was happy. Her sleeping quarters were decorated with landscapes in large wooden frames; a huge canopy bed with layered white sheets and big pillows was the most comfortable bed on which she had ever slept; a low fire in a marble fireplace kept the room warm.
There was a dressing table with jewelry and all of her favorite things from home -- hair brushes, facial creams, very expensive ones that she never bought, also perfumes from France. And there was a large, silver-framed mirror, where she saw herself more beautiful than she had ever known herself to be.
This was the only mirror in which she hoped to see herself forever.
There was a private bathroom with a large tub to soak in and huge towels, also white aromatic candles. Adjacent to the bedroom was another large room with plush leather furniture from the forties, a large screen on one wall and a library of films available, as well as what seemed like genuine Picassos and Dalis, fitting in perfectly with painted movie posters from the early history of cinema.
A nightgown was placed on the bed, which was already prepared for Rose. On the nightable, next to the bed was a white book without a title and an eighteenth century clock (a clock which was stopped at midnight, like all the other clocks). As she settled in to sleep, she glanced at the book, which contained a single verse on the first page. All of the other pages were empty:
MY SOUL: I summon to the winding ancient stair;
Set all your mind upon the steep ascent,
Upon the broken, crumbling battlement,
Upon the breathless starlit air,
Upon the star that marks the hidden pole,
Fix every wandering thought upon
That quarter where all thought is done:
Who can distinguish darkness from the soul?
Rose awoke the next morning to find comfortable and casual clothes laid out for her and new shoes. The day was beautiful and the windows of the castle opened on to a verdant landscape.
What happend to the city?
Somehow she knew that, if she wanted the city, it would be there -- filled with cars and noise, lots of people walking about and traffic signals. This morning she liked the trees and lake in the distance of this perfect view.
"He" briefly joined Rose at breakfast and presented her with a pin. It was a beautiful golden sword that she must keep with her at all times. Rose promised that she would wear the sword pin, feeling happy and strong as soon as she did so.
They were off to the galleries of Baroque paintings for the day, then movies in the evening with popcorn in big buckets set before them. They ordered take out food from a great Chinese restaurant (Kosher!), whose delivery person looked exactly like Perrault and all the other servants, riding a white bicycle with the name "Le Magnifique" written on its side.
All of the servants seemed to speak with a voice similar to her host's -- and they were just as tactful and gentle as he was -- everyone's greatest concern was to make her happy.
She had never received such attention and treatment before.
Each day she visited a different gallery. Impressionist and modernist works competed for her affections with great masterpieces from earlier periods. Rose laughed so much at her new friend's jokes and seemed to have learned and taught -- effortlessly and with great joy -- more than she had imagined knowing in all of her previous life.
The music wrapped itself around her in the evenings, guiding her into the arms of soothing sleep; then, every morning -- magically -- a different view appeared outside her window ... some mornings it was Paris or Venice, other mornings London or Rome could be seen from her bedroom, even the ocean or mountains, if she wanted them -- all were within reach. She had never known such happiness and never wanted to leave.
Finally, the seventh day arrived and the view from her window that morning was of a dark, windy and bleak landscape. There was a chill in the air, flowers were wilting in all their vases, and a terrible sadness hung in the air. The book that rested on her nightstand had a new black cover and the single verse on the first page had changed providing Rose with an enigmatic message:
MY SELF: I am content to follow to its source,
Every event in action or in thought;
Measure the lot; forgive myself the lot!
When such as I cast out remorse
So great a sweetness flows into the breast
We must laugh and we must sing,
We are blest by everything,
Everything we look upon is blest.
At breakfast, that final morning, he seemed weaker and much sadder than usual, smaller and less imposing. Rose felt strong and loved, safe and powerful. Like the candles that had burned low, he seemed to be melting. He offered her a final gift, explaining that her mother would die unless she returned to her at once with this blue rose made of jewels which would cure her mother and keep them all safe.
Rose wore her golden sword pin and, again, asked his name. He only explained that she must return immediately to her bedroom and look in her mirror before the clocks began to strike. Only then would she return to her mother and also know his name.
Rose ran to her chamber, looked deeply into her mirror and saw reflected in the glass the man with brown eyes in the dual portrait by the French painter knowing that this man had been her host all along and that his name was "love."
At the next instant, Rose was at the hospital, wearing her old clothes, still with a pin made of gold and a jeweled rose in her pocket. Rose knew that she had to find her way back to the enchanted castle, that she must return to the kind man with the sad voice and bown eyes, whose name was love.
Rose could not be happy anywhere else. Her mother and sister would now be safe, she was certain of this, because they would live in the city.
Rose was allowed to enter her mother's room. After embracing her sister, "she" placed the sparkling flower next to her mother's sleeping form. Rose saw -- almost immediately -- a warm color enter her mother's cheeks. Lilly cried and smiled because she saw it, too. This was powerful magic. Rose explained that she must find the man who made this possible. In only one night, she had matured and developed, "blossomed" into a woman.
Rose ran all the way to the museum and entered with a crowd. People walked and stared at the art works -- often not seeing them. She knew that this made the paintings and sculptures sad. She searched for the entrance to their world. No luck. It was hopeless. Then she thought of the dual portrait -- was it Watteau? -- and ran to the galleries of French paintings. Standing before "their" paining was a man who was casually dressed. As he turned to her, he was smiling. He resembled the man in the portrait.
Rose knew then, at that instant, whispering to herself ... "Everything I look upon is blessed."
