The Crystal City Under the Sea Read Online Free PDF Page A

miniature before him, he was completely nonplussed. Was it Greek art? Doubtless. But Greek, strictly speaking, like the words of the young girl and the old man, which sounded like Greek to René, “though he did not understand a word,” it certainly was not. He had never seen this style of ornamentation anywhere. It did not belong to the dawn of Grecian art, nor to its meridian, nor to its decline; he could find none of the essential features of the Doric, Ionic, Corinthian or Neo-Greek schools. He could not give a name to the marvellously chiselled faces in the setting right and left of the imperial pearl.
    No animal, no bird, no kind of fossil reembodied by science was represented here. The chimera, that strange creation of the ancient imagination, could not have suggested the design, for the singular feature of it was the expression, even more than the form, of the face. Whether it was the likeness of a veritable creature, or the capricious symbol of an obsolete creed, it was impossible to say. The material, of which the mounting was composed, was another subject of perplexity. It was impossible to decide whether it was metal, wood, or stone. One would judge it to be metal. But was it gold—silver—platinum? No. An unknown combination? Perhaps. It resembled nothing he had ever seen. It was altogether an enigma, Between the artist that had conceived it and those who at the moment contemplated it there was an abyss,— an abyss of time, of space, of religion, of thought, of genius, of race, of language, of manners. That was evident.
    “One might think that it had fallen from another planet,” said the doctor, involuntarily.
    “You think so!” said René, “I felt sure I had n’t dreamt it. But whether I was inclined to believe or disbelieve it, of one thing I am now perfectly certain, —that what I have told you of my doings has been seen and lived; I am as certain of it as I am of my accident on board

    Stephen Patrice examining the ring.

    the Hercules, and of my own identity. There! you may say what you like to the contrary. If I had any doubts, what can one say in answer to this tangible proof?”
    “I don’t know,” said the doctor, thoughtfully. “If only there were an inscription,” added René, turning the ring about.
    “An inscription! At the time in which this jewel was engraved I should be surprised to hear if they had recourse to our means of writing. Believe me, the arrangement of these faces constituted in itself a phrase legible to her for whom the ring was destined.”
    “To her for whom it was destined,” repeated René, in a dreamy voice. “Ah, if you had but seen her, Stephen, you would no longer be surprised at the ring, wonderful as it is!”
    “Possibly,” said the doctor, nodding his head; “but, if I may say all I think about it, I should not like to see you musing too much about these experiences of yours. I do not pretend to explain that which I do not understand, and I do not deny that which is beyond me. There are mysteries that may be good and safe to sound; but this does not appear to be one of them. Siren or mortal, goddess or daughter of the Evil One, I do not admire your goddess with her mysterious beverages and her enigmatical hospitality. Take my advice; put this ring away somewhere, or, better still, throw it into the sea, like the ancient who must have done so long ago, as a propitiatory offering to the gods; turn your back resolutely on these reminiscences which can only trouble your brain; cease to look into an unknown sphere, and fix your thoughts on things nearer home.”
    “Never!” cried the midshipman, indignantly, “Never! I? How can I forget this vision? No, my friend, I would not if I could. Look here! You speak of throwing it away and yet you are fascinated by it; you can’t take your eyes from it; your hand is held out, in spite of yourself, to take it again. Never mind, the power which ordains that I shall find these mysterious beings again, the