Of Hampton Court Palace

The paper stewing safely in its own juices, I shall take joy in turning away from writing to come to my blog and...write more.

Hampton Court Palace has been built and rebuilt during various eras. Some walls housed Henry VIII, some commissioned by James and his queen. Whispers ring down the halls of ancient spectres and vines cover up the cracks in the brilliant brick. The painted Roman busts have lost their sheen, but not their potency; an almost reverent atmosphere fills the air with once graced the presence of the Monarchs of Antiquity.

Yet, England has so often brought me the Feeling (that deep and almost painful yet beautiful one of seeing the rustic, the important, and the ancient) that I failed to regain it for some time, even in the palace. Here had the royals walked, and yet... It left me cold. Pleasantly cool, at least. The garden was beautiful and the company was absolutely wonderful. The tapestries hung in their sedate splendor on the walls, but somehow (even in my acknowledgement of the wonders surrounding me!), my historic paths did not bring what they always had.

Then, I came to the bathing room of Queen Anne. Behind the elaborate wall stood the grand tub, lavish. But, in front of the wall, a set of her possessions were displayed. In the center was her mirror.

The window at my back, my face was cast in shadow as I looked at it through the glass. The sunlight lit up my hair and left my blue eyes dark. I saw the face which had briefly greeted me every morning, then turned away to become more familiar to all others than to myself. There is a strange feeling in seeing oneself in the glass.

All other times, we depend on others to know ourselves. But at the glass, you stand there looking through yourself, beholding that which you know the least about in yourself. And, in that mirror, the Queen had seen herself. There, she had seen her eyes, her hair, her imperfections. Her perfections. This bore her back to herself without any flattery, any forgiveness.

And a mirror would have been rare in those days. Perhaps it was the royalty who needed it the most-something to keep their hold of who they really were. Almost less of a luxury than a punishment. No one but the royalty had to look their own selves in the eyes each morning, and no one needed to as much as the royalty.

The familiar lump filled my throat and my heart went deep. Here was the Feeling. It is a telling thing that it came from seeing myself reflected in antiquity. I love when the literal and the figurative merge.

Hampton Court was altogether beautiful, despite the tarnished silver, the clouding mirrors, and the fact that I never got to see the much-admired kitchens.