The lady guided me into a room lighted from the ceiling, where I found
a small white bed and a marble bath. Nothing else. "Is this to be my
room?" I wondered. "I should think there might at least be a looking
glass: how shall I know whether my hair is smooth?" But I did not dare
to say this to the still lady. She then walked before me into another
room, and we seated ourselves at a marble table. "Every thing is
marble," I said to myself, "even the lady." Then an old man entered
with a white beard, that looked like icicles frozen upon a
rock. "Marble too," I thought; but his eyes were very gentle. Not a
word was spoken; but white porcelain dishes stood before us, filled
with the most delicate food, and we ate in silence. Then the lady
arose, and I followed her into a lofty room. She seated herself, and
gazed into the fire, while I stood beside her, waiting for her to
speak; but she did not notice me. At length I asked, "Shall I not go
home now?" She did not glance at me, she did not speak. I looked
around the room. Mirrors, mirrors, every where; and in every mirror I
saw the lady, but started when I observed, that I nowhere saw myself
beside her. I went nearer to them. There were the lady and the fire,
reflected and re-reflected a thousand times; but poor little I was
nowhere to be seen. "Am I not, then, any where?" I exclaimed. "The
lady does not hear me! The mirrors do not hold me!" I clasped my hands
together to feel if there was any real life in them, but almost
thought there was not, they were so cold. I went into the marble hall.
Silent all; ah, how silent! I opened door after door. Silver and blue
were all the rooms; no crimson, no gold. Statues and columns were all
around; no paintings, no flowers. Was I not in a great cave full of
stalactites? Longing to tread once more the green earth, I ran down
the broad flight of stairs; but the entrance door was closed, and I
could not remember the word by which the lady had opened it. I went up