Piranesi

by Susanna Clarke

The Beauty of the House is immeasurable; its Kindness infinite.

And You. Who are You? Who is it that I am writing for? Are You a traveller who has cheated Tides and crossed Broken Floors and Derelict Stairs to reach these Halls? Or are You perhaps someone who inhabits my own Halls long after I am dead?

Is it disrespectful to the House to love some Statues more than others? I sometimes ask Myself this question. It is my belief that the House itself loves and blesses equally everything that it has created. Should I try to do the same? Yet, at the same time, I can see that it is in the nature of men to prefer one thing to another, to find one thing more meaningful than another.

I almost forgot to breathe. For a moment I had an inkling of what it might be like if instead of two people in the World there were thousands.

They were all enamoured with the idea of progress and believed that whatever was new must be superior to what was old. As if merit was a function of chronology!

‘Then, sir, may your Paths be safe,’ I said, ‘your Floors unbroken and may the House fill your eyes with Beauty.’

All around me doors into other worlds began appearing but I knew the one I wanted, the one into which everything forgotten flows. The edges of that door were frayed and worn by the passage of old ideas leaving this world.

I went to the Eighteenth North-Western Hall and had a long drink of water. It was delicious and refreshing (it had been a Cloud only hours before).

I placed my hand on my chest. Hush now! I said, Do not be afraid. You are safe. Go back to sleep. I will take care of us both. It seemed to me that Matthew Rose Sorensen fell asleep again.

‘What is the Other World like?’ I asked. Raphael looked as if she did not know quite how to answer this question. ‘There are more people,’ she said at last. ‘A lot more?’ I asked. ‘Yes.’ ‘As many as seventy?’ I asked, deliberately choosing a high, rather improbable number. ‘Yes,’ she said. Then she smiled.

Perhaps that is what it is like being with other people. Perhaps even people you like and admire immensely can make you see the World in ways you would rather not.

But she still wears the perfume – the first thing I ever knew of her – and it still makes me think of Sunlight and Happiness.

The Beauty of the House is immeasurable; its Kindness infinite.