The old man stood, a little behind the shoulder of his beautiful daughter, the countess. Clad in regal red robes with a gold border, he was the count, aged now but obviously a man to the manor born. His usually stern face, the deep blue eyes shining thru, now wore a wondrous expression, as from behind her, he looked on at the face of the infant cradled in its mother's arms. The more discerning, saw the tiny tear that had escaped from his eyes and now lay nestled in the groove of his aristocratic nose and his lined cheeks.
Hurriedly, he turned away, towards the windows, brushing his cheeks with his sleeves. His thoughts went to the day his daughter, his only child had married her childhood sweetheart, a common soldier,a good ten years ago. Love for her had won over his opposition to the match, his wish to keep her happy, over riding all the opposition that he had faced.
The sadness that had lay in his heart when year after year passed and she stayed barren, his yearning to hold her child in his ageing arms,he had hidden from her. The grateful couple's love bordering on reverance for him, helped him to bid patience to his bleeding heart as he had stood at the same winndows surveying his lands stretching out as far as the eye could see.Who, he wondered would eventually defeat his formidable army and usurp his lands ? Today, he was a happy man. the vigil of many years had borne fruit, his grandchild lay in his mothers arms, a robust healthy child, crying lustily.
"Hey mum! Come on." shouted my daughter as she raced past, " You have to see the Mona Lisa." Snapped out of my reverie, i went, pulled along by my excited child.. My only child, born after twelve years of married life. But my eyes stayed glued to the Botticelli, the majestic painting that had drawn me to it magnetically, even amongst all the treasured paintings, housed in The Louvre. This was a painting that captured the imagination, swept you away with its ethos, forced you to stand before it and wonder at the angst on the protagonists face.
Mona Lisa's smile i remember, but what was real for me, what persists in my mind's eye is the tear on the old man's cheek.
Hurriedly, he turned away, towards the windows, brushing his cheeks with his sleeves. His thoughts went to the day his daughter, his only child had married her childhood sweetheart, a common soldier,a good ten years ago. Love for her had won over his opposition to the match, his wish to keep her happy, over riding all the opposition that he had faced.
The sadness that had lay in his heart when year after year passed and she stayed barren, his yearning to hold her child in his ageing arms,he had hidden from her. The grateful couple's love bordering on reverance for him, helped him to bid patience to his bleeding heart as he had stood at the same winndows surveying his lands stretching out as far as the eye could see.Who, he wondered would eventually defeat his formidable army and usurp his lands ? Today, he was a happy man. the vigil of many years had borne fruit, his grandchild lay in his mothers arms, a robust healthy child, crying lustily.
"Hey mum! Come on." shouted my daughter as she raced past, " You have to see the Mona Lisa." Snapped out of my reverie, i went, pulled along by my excited child.. My only child, born after twelve years of married life. But my eyes stayed glued to the Botticelli, the majestic painting that had drawn me to it magnetically, even amongst all the treasured paintings, housed in The Louvre. This was a painting that captured the imagination, swept you away with its ethos, forced you to stand before it and wonder at the angst on the protagonists face.
Mona Lisa's smile i remember, but what was real for me, what persists in my mind's eye is the tear on the old man's cheek.
nice and emotional yet gets a smile..
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