A Modern Aladdin; or, The Wonderful Adventures of Oliver Munier: An Extravaganza in Four ActsPyle, Howard
History
A Modern Aladdin; or, The Wonderful Adventures of Oliver Munier: An Extravaganza in Four Acts
Pyle, Howard
Alchemists -- Fiction; France -- History -- Louis XV, 1715-1774 -- Fiction; Saint-Germain, comte de, -1784 -- Fiction
The other turned his head. "Gaspard!" said he. That was all; but the
perfect servant understood. He stepped forward and laid his hand upon
Oliver's wrist, and his fingers were like steel wires.
Oliver looked into his face with wide eyes. He saw there that which he
had seen the night before. "I--will--go," said he, in a choking voice.
He reached out blindly a hand as cold as death, and trembling as with
a palsy. One of the others, he knew not which, thrust the lantern into
it. Then he turned mechanically, and, automaton-like, began descending
the narrow steps. There were ten or a dozen of them, leading steeply
downward, and at the bottom was a small vestibule a few feet square.
Oliver looked back, and saw the two faces peering down at him through
the square opening above; then he turned again. In front of him was an
arched door-way like that through which he had first come. On the wall
around the door-way and on the floor was painted a broad, blood-red,
unbroken line, with this figure marked at intervals upon it:
[Symb 32]
The door was opened a crack. Oliver reached out and pushed it, and then
noiselessly, even in that dead silence, it swung slowly open upon the
darkness within.
SCENE FOURTH.--_The three mysterious rooms._
Oliver hesitated a moment, and then entered the cavernous blackness
beyond. There he stopped again, and stood looking about him by the
dusky glimmer of the lantern, which threw round swaying patches of
light upon the floor and on the ceiling above, and three large squares
of yellow light upon the walls around.
Oliver wondered dully whether he was in a dream, for such a place he
had never beheld before in all his life. Upon the floor lay soft, heavy
rugs and carpets, blackened and mildewed with age, but still showing
here and there gorgeous patches of coloring. Upon the wall hung faded
tapestry and silken hangings draped in dark, motionless, mysterious
folds. Around stood divans and couches covered with soft and luxurious
cushions embroidered with silk long since faded, and silver thread long
since tarnished to an inky blackness.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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