The said alcove is provided with a double door, and when the latter is closed, peculiar skill, or else a lucky conjuncture of circumstances, is necessary to open it, seeing that the handle usually displays a remarkable degree of obstinacy, and calmly turns round in one’s hand unnumbered times without lifting the latch.
As to the other furniture of the room, the following is an accurate inventory:—
1. A small mirror in a polished wooden frame,—the glass consisting of two sections, each of a different colour. If you see yourself in the lower half you have a purple countenance, in the upper a green one, and in either case your features are cruelly distorted; in fact, no one ever looked into this mirror, either above or below, who did not instantly look out of it again,—so frightfully ugly does every one find him or herself, as the case may be.
2. A mahogany sécretaire, which, though it has lost some of the convolutions of the carved fretwork finishing it off at the top, is still, on the whole, tolerably fit for use, and has no other defects than these, that the lower drawer will not shut, that one of the hinges of the flap is loose,—necessitating great care in opening and closing,—and that one of the feet has long ago declined further service and preferred a horizontal to an upright position,—in spite of which, however, the article of furniture can be made to stand tolerably steady if propped up against the wall. On the top stands a bunch of paper flowers (the landlady’s property), protected by a glass shade, flanked to right and left by plaster busts of Homer and Cicero, and surrounded with several teacups, bearing in gilt letters such touching mottoes as “Many happy returns of the day,” “A trifle—but a token of good-will,” “Walk on roses,” “A token of respect,” &c. &c.
3. A white-wood corner cupboard, with a fluted sliding-door, which, if you go about to open it quietly, refuses to move, whereas if you use force you push the whole cupboard from its place. Only long experience, added to unwearying patience, will enable any one to bring to light the glasses, plates, and knives, or whatever the contents of the receptacle may be.
4. A tiled stove, whose top is pointed out as a frequent resting-place for glasses by a variety of circular stains. Next the stove stands a wooden tub containing coals, and behind it lie a heap of peats and a few blocks of wood, also a poker and tongs. The latter cannot be handled without pinching the skin of one’s forefinger, and the legs slip across each other as soon as one tries to pick up anything with them.