An Unusually Elaborate Dream
Oct. 4th, 2009 10:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bjarvisThis will probably bore the hell out of you but I wanted to write it down because it was so unusual for me...
I was with several other people inside a large Victorian era ballroom. The floors were marble, the ceiling high and dominated by a single huge crystal chandelier. The walls were unusual though: rather than being painted, they were all carved hardwood. There were decorative motifs embedded in the paneling, created by inlays of various shades and densities of more wood. But upon closer inspection, one could see one small detail of the inlays were indeed painted: fig leaves, appearing every few feet along the length of the walls, always at approximately eye level.
Legend has it that the manor house was built on land appropriated from a religious sect which included nudity in their most sacred ceremonies; the architect wasn't a member of the sect but felt the appropriation was especially unfair so this inlay detail was his subtle revenge on the lord of the manor.
I was attending a ball at the manor on a summer weekend. I, however, wasn't a guest: I was on the wait staff. After serving many trays of hors d'oeuvres and glasses of champagne to guests, the waltz and crowds were winding down around 1am; I and several other staffers were left to clean up the space by 2am.
In general chatter and conversation among the staff, there was a legend of a hidden object of value somewhere in the room. Some thought it to be a valuable jewel, others a deed to the property. Most thought it the silly imaginings of idle minds. I was intrigued though.
When the staff had finished, I volunteered to stay behind to turn off the lights. Looking carefully at the wall panels, there was only one inconsistency I could see: almost at ceiling level midway down the length of the hall, the east & west walls both had a single small inlaid image of a cherubim, each holding a wrapped gift in one hand and pointing to the north wall with their available hand. Looking to the north wall, I couldn't see anything unusual or different from the corresponding south wall. It then occurred to me that perhaps the feature of interest wasn't on this side of the north wall but on the opposite side, in the billiard room.
Checking the south wall of the billiard room, I couldn't find anything odd in the walnut paneling or the door frame. High up the wall was a large clock, one which hadn't worked in generations according to the household staff. We presumed it was decorative and kept out of sentimental value as part of the original furnishings of the house, now it its second century life existence. The more I thought about it though, the more inconsistent this seemed: when it was operating, the clock would need to be wound up periodically with a key but this would be impossible to do so in its current location without a fairly tall ladder. Why put a clock in a place where it couldn't possibly be kept functioning correctly?
So I got a ladder. It took a lot of work to avoid attracting notice, taking circuitous paths through the house to avoid populated areas while taking care not to accidentally bang a wall, slam a door or strike any valuables, but I was determined.
Finally, I could climb face-to-face with the clock. The time was set to 12:00 as it had for countless years. The glass door opened easily; the wind-up key was on its hook on the side, hidden behind the decorative facade. Out of fear of damaging the antique, I didn't try winding it especially since the clock face itself didn't seem overly secure in the clock housing: I could touch the clock face and feel it rock gently in its setting. And that's when an idea hit me...
Looking underneath the clock, hidden by another portion of the extended facade, was a metal fastening, ostensibly one of the mounting points for the internal clock mechanism. Pressing it firmly though, it sank inward until clicking audibly. Pressing gently on the left side of the clock face, the entire clock mechanism pivoted until it was completely inverted, revealing a booklet held in place to the backside with six evenly spaced metal hooks.
Bending the hooks slightly, it was easy to remove the booklet, a leather hardcover with a handwritten title refering to it as the "The Most Scandalous Journal of Sir Guy de la ----, 1893" (I can't remember the full name). Climbing down the ladder and bringing the book to better lighting, I flipped open a few pages. All handwritten it appeared to be a personal journal with each entry a single paragraph alternating between english and french.
In essence, the book was a daily gossip sheet: it contained daily accounts of embarrassing incidents, scandals, crimes, illicit love affairs, insults or personal slights conducted by or between members of the upper crust of the day. It was a gold mine of social dirt on people who would pay dearly to keep their skeletons hidden in the closet.
Sadly, this is where I woke up. I wish I could remember more details about what I was able to read in the book or think of what I might have done with it.
I was with several other people inside a large Victorian era ballroom. The floors were marble, the ceiling high and dominated by a single huge crystal chandelier. The walls were unusual though: rather than being painted, they were all carved hardwood. There were decorative motifs embedded in the paneling, created by inlays of various shades and densities of more wood. But upon closer inspection, one could see one small detail of the inlays were indeed painted: fig leaves, appearing every few feet along the length of the walls, always at approximately eye level.
Legend has it that the manor house was built on land appropriated from a religious sect which included nudity in their most sacred ceremonies; the architect wasn't a member of the sect but felt the appropriation was especially unfair so this inlay detail was his subtle revenge on the lord of the manor.
I was attending a ball at the manor on a summer weekend. I, however, wasn't a guest: I was on the wait staff. After serving many trays of hors d'oeuvres and glasses of champagne to guests, the waltz and crowds were winding down around 1am; I and several other staffers were left to clean up the space by 2am.
In general chatter and conversation among the staff, there was a legend of a hidden object of value somewhere in the room. Some thought it to be a valuable jewel, others a deed to the property. Most thought it the silly imaginings of idle minds. I was intrigued though.
When the staff had finished, I volunteered to stay behind to turn off the lights. Looking carefully at the wall panels, there was only one inconsistency I could see: almost at ceiling level midway down the length of the hall, the east & west walls both had a single small inlaid image of a cherubim, each holding a wrapped gift in one hand and pointing to the north wall with their available hand. Looking to the north wall, I couldn't see anything unusual or different from the corresponding south wall. It then occurred to me that perhaps the feature of interest wasn't on this side of the north wall but on the opposite side, in the billiard room.
Checking the south wall of the billiard room, I couldn't find anything odd in the walnut paneling or the door frame. High up the wall was a large clock, one which hadn't worked in generations according to the household staff. We presumed it was decorative and kept out of sentimental value as part of the original furnishings of the house, now it its second century life existence. The more I thought about it though, the more inconsistent this seemed: when it was operating, the clock would need to be wound up periodically with a key but this would be impossible to do so in its current location without a fairly tall ladder. Why put a clock in a place where it couldn't possibly be kept functioning correctly?
So I got a ladder. It took a lot of work to avoid attracting notice, taking circuitous paths through the house to avoid populated areas while taking care not to accidentally bang a wall, slam a door or strike any valuables, but I was determined.
Finally, I could climb face-to-face with the clock. The time was set to 12:00 as it had for countless years. The glass door opened easily; the wind-up key was on its hook on the side, hidden behind the decorative facade. Out of fear of damaging the antique, I didn't try winding it especially since the clock face itself didn't seem overly secure in the clock housing: I could touch the clock face and feel it rock gently in its setting. And that's when an idea hit me...
Looking underneath the clock, hidden by another portion of the extended facade, was a metal fastening, ostensibly one of the mounting points for the internal clock mechanism. Pressing it firmly though, it sank inward until clicking audibly. Pressing gently on the left side of the clock face, the entire clock mechanism pivoted until it was completely inverted, revealing a booklet held in place to the backside with six evenly spaced metal hooks.
Bending the hooks slightly, it was easy to remove the booklet, a leather hardcover with a handwritten title refering to it as the "The Most Scandalous Journal of Sir Guy de la ----, 1893" (I can't remember the full name). Climbing down the ladder and bringing the book to better lighting, I flipped open a few pages. All handwritten it appeared to be a personal journal with each entry a single paragraph alternating between english and french.
In essence, the book was a daily gossip sheet: it contained daily accounts of embarrassing incidents, scandals, crimes, illicit love affairs, insults or personal slights conducted by or between members of the upper crust of the day. It was a gold mine of social dirt on people who would pay dearly to keep their skeletons hidden in the closet.
Sadly, this is where I woke up. I wish I could remember more details about what I was able to read in the book or think of what I might have done with it.
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no subject
Date: 2009-10-04 04:28 pm (UTC)Perhaps you're meant to write it.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-04 04:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-04 04:36 pm (UTC)Oh, and dancing on marble floors is a bitch. I know, I've done it.
;-)
no subject
Date: 2009-10-04 07:59 pm (UTC)Oh, and of course, my nickname in French is "Guy!"