D
DesEsseintes
Guest
A strange, dishevelled corner of Lit, with ferns and vines creeping through tumble-down marble columns. The library, comprising ancient manuscripts and even some papyrus from long-lost Alexandria, carries amid its dust the sweet scents of Araby - a reminder, perhaps, of their long journey on the Silk Road caravans. A gossamer table buckles gamely under the weight of a wind-up gramophone, through whose brass horn Furtwangler's reading of Tristan breathes solemnly into the thick air.
In the centre, an ornate fountain dances with the sole life in this room which otherwise seems like an anteroom to the real world. A vast Bacchus, sporting with nymphs, cavorts amid the waters, and fish born in distant China slip discreetly through the cool green shadows of the pool, gold and red and flamed with sudden sunset orange. Torches burn in the corners, and silk cushions in haphazard arrangements await the intrepid guest who dares broach the ivory-panelled portico. Copper steps, tinged the deep green of long-lost oceans, lead down to an exquisite cellar, whose contents were rifled from every great house in Europe and beyond. Here is Napoleon's brandy - there the Tsar's favourite champagne. And in the very depths, almost hidden and scarcely visible except through half-shut lids, a pair of hairy goat legs can sometimes be seen, and the faint whisper of pan-pipes drifts through those incomparable volumes of wine.
In the centre, an ornate fountain dances with the sole life in this room which otherwise seems like an anteroom to the real world. A vast Bacchus, sporting with nymphs, cavorts amid the waters, and fish born in distant China slip discreetly through the cool green shadows of the pool, gold and red and flamed with sudden sunset orange. Torches burn in the corners, and silk cushions in haphazard arrangements await the intrepid guest who dares broach the ivory-panelled portico. Copper steps, tinged the deep green of long-lost oceans, lead down to an exquisite cellar, whose contents were rifled from every great house in Europe and beyond. Here is Napoleon's brandy - there the Tsar's favourite champagne. And in the very depths, almost hidden and scarcely visible except through half-shut lids, a pair of hairy goat legs can sometimes be seen, and the faint whisper of pan-pipes drifts through those incomparable volumes of wine.
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