respect antiquities. Gothic has always been my passion in all its manifestations: interior, clothing, and architecture.
“You’ve heard yourself that for them this is just a museum in the forest that they want to get rid of,” Anton replied.
“Look! These are letters.” I tried to read at least one of them. “I can hardly make out anything. They are all written in old French. It says here: ‘Summer castle… trip… Father was out hunting ….’ Oh, it’s hard to make out. The signature is Francis de L*, and the date is on it.”
“Awesome! Is the letter 15th century?” Anton shouted.
Letters dated 1426 impressed us. It was also impressive that their owners so carelessly left them to the rats. I concluded that Francis was the son of the same Duchess Louise, the 11th great-grandmother of the count, judging by the dates on the letters.
“Yes! And they didn’t even want to let us in here. It’s crazy!”
I looked up.
“What’s in the closet?” I quizzed.
We easily opened the old closet, which was full of men’s suits, eaten by rats. There were also a lot of men’s medieval doublets hanging there. They were something like a man’s sweater, only made of heavy velvet and sewn from multicolored fabrics, some decorated with stones or beads. I have read a lot about the Middle Ages, and I know that during that time “tear out the eye” outfits were in fashion according to the color scheme. Colorful fabrics were embroidered with beads. It symbolized a love for life.
There was a medieval library, as well. I opened the doors; one door almost fell off, but I managed to grab it. There were medieval books in Latin mostly. There were poems and more poems which were terribly interesting. It would take years to read all of them.
“God, can you imagine their value? And they keep it all in such condition! After all, the fireplace has not been fired up here for 500 years! Although… maybe we don’t know everything.” I took it all to heart. “I don’t understand… why have not the rooms of the 15th century changed for so many years? Did none of the descendants occupy these rooms? It looks as if everything has been left here from that time. And in general, there are a lot of incomprehensible things here. It begins to alarm me.”
Anton was right: there is some kind of mystery.
“I agree there is something incomprehensible here, Anton remarked. “However, the count will refuse to discuss it, I understand. Let’s move on! It’s all incredible! It’s like I’ve been to the Middle Ages.”
I hadn’t thought that my dream would come true. It was wonderful; but at the same time, I felt anxiety and suspicion.
“You are the only woman I know who enjoys digging through dusty, old things,” Anton commented.
My husband does not share my ardent love for the old things.
We went out onto the spiral staircase. I stopped, turned around, and kissed my spouse for I was grateful for such an unforgettable gift. After a long kiss, we moved into the next room. Here it was obvious that the room belonged to a girl… rather, some fabulous, medieval princess. Yes, it was truly a princess’ room.
“This room was probably for one of Duchess Louise’s daughters,” I speculated.
The room had an indescribable atmosphere. It was quiet and peaceful but, at the same time, exuded a subtle, barely perceptible mysticism in it.
Tapestries remained hanging on the walls. They were terribly dusty, but the images remained distinguishable although gnawed by rats. Paintings depicting gardens with cupids gave off a rather Greek theme. There were no images of wars and fights as in the first room.
The bed was high with a wooden roof frame and a large, feather mattress also eaten by rats. The bed was decorated with a canopy of tender white, transparent in color. The bed was once gilded, which made the room even more feminine. Now, there wasn’t much paint left. There was a beautiful plum-colored, corduroy bedspread on top. It was pulled back, revealing a pillow. In general, there was a feeling that someone had recently slept in the bed. I even got goosebumps running down my back. If I hadn’t seen with my own eyes that the door was blocked, I would have assumed that someone lived here.
The dressing table by the window was in good condition. It was wooden and had a large, carved mirror. There were boxes and bottles on it. I rushed to the table and grabbed one of the bottles.
“Stop! They may have already turned into poison!” Anton cried out.
“I think it’s just perfume,” I answered.
I opened the bottle, inhaled, and immediately winced. Oh, what a smell… disgusting! Then I opened the boxes, one by one. The largest one contained wooden combs decorated with stones – very authentic.
“You’re not going to do your hair with this, are you?” Anton cautioned.
“I would like to,” I answered.
I looked at all the objects, fascinated.
“God!” I exclaimed. I threw a large, wooden comb from me in surprise.
“What is it?”
My cry startled my husband, and he jumped up to me. “There’s hair here. Look… white.” I was a little shocked.
“Are they also from the 15th century? It’s disgusting if that’s the case,” Anton insisted. “Put it down!”
My husband was scared for me, and I put the comb back in the box.
This seemed very strange. How could the hair have been preserved for so many centuries? Of course, I am not a scientist.
We went on exploring the room: to the left along the wall were wardrobes – larger than in the previous room – and massive chests. Women in any era remain women. I went to the cupboards to see what was there.
“Watch out! Rats!” my husband decided to joke, but I didn’t appreciate it. I was already a little scared.
Belts and collars were decorated with stones which, of course, had lost their former chic. Spectacular! The princess probably attended receptions and dinner parties in these dresses. However, two dresses hung unevenly. They fell off the hangers as if someone wanted to try them on. I picked them up to hang them back in place.
“My God, Anton! This is the best trip of my life. Thank you. These are princess dresses… just lovely. I want to take one home.”
I really wanted it because it was a living monument of history and a memento that would remind me I had actually been here.
“Crazy,” Anton said as he smiled.
“That’s it; let’s move on,” I suggested. “God, look! We almost missed it!” I suddenly exclaimed.
I was shocked again as I pointed my finger at the wall behind the closet. There was a painting on the wall. No wonder we didn’t notice it. It was terribly faded, small in size, and displayed in a worn, white marble frame. A young, blonde girl was clearly visible in it. It had been painted by a talented artist.
“Charming! This is the duchess’ daughter… so young… looks like a doll,” I said.
Her portrait reflected the Burgundian fashion of the 14th and 15th centuries. At that time women tried to shave their eyebrows or powder them, raise the forehead line high with all sorts of hairstyles and tricks, and make their faces white. It was believed that this way they became closer to angelic, pure beauty.
In this case, however, the effect was exactly the opposite. The girl’s long and lush hair was blond and curly and fell loose. On top she wore a silver tiara which tightened the hair at the temples. The girl had a pale face. Her eyebrows were powdered so that they were practically invisible, but her cheeks and upper eyelids were highlighted with a scarlet