The Travels of D.B. Stanton
It was on the coldest year and of the most wretched when the antagonist of this story decided to go and travel for a more suitable place to call home. In every part of the world all he found was the same thing that he had left behind in his own country. Death of starvation as ice nipped at every crop.
A Scotsman by birth, an archaeologist by trade, D.B Stanton found himself to be in really rather good economical status in the world in the year of 1816. He had no children and was not married. Although many colleagues of his told him that he should get married and have children before his time was out.
D.B. Stanton said to a circle of his most trusted colleagues from Oxford on one rainy day in the month of June (it was merely a few years before the year of complete winter) "Pooh pooh!” and then began to hope the conversation would end quickly, “Besides, married life will only take me a way from what I love most. My life as an archaeologist is all I need and will ever love.” flashing a toothy smile and brushing at his somewhat red mustache with his fingers he gave each of his surrounding colleague a quizzical look.
One colleague, by the name of George Spindle laughed and said, “My dear sir it is only a suggestion!” the young man laughed nervously while looking around at the surrounding group. The young man waited for any of them to join in on the fray, but then he continued once he found himself to be quite alone, “I mean besides, take Audrey Hamilton for instance, isn’t she not a beauty?”
D.B. Stanton only gave a quick smile, and said, “I am sorry my young man but all I find that is beautiful in the world is ancient art,” then he stood up from the black leather sofa from which he sat, placed his hat back on his head, and told the crowd goodbye before opening up his umbrella and stepping out into the rain.
D.B. Stanton gave a heavy sigh and soon began to talk to himself in a low voice, “Fools do not understand the true nature of real beauty!” and in his rage he marched quickly along a sidewalk and was soon back home quicker than he had anticipated.
The young archaeologist began to pace the floor of his bedroom for a short while as he began to talk to himself. He wanted now more than ever to do something with his career as an archaeologist. Poor young Stanton was as penniless as they come in the year of 1814.
It was not until two years later when he decided to travel to Ireland and then to England before finally deciding to travel to America. He only spent a short while here before coming back to Europe when he found that the customs of the Americans were shortcoming to his tastes.
When he came back to Europe he found himself in France. Now here was a place that seemed promising for our archaeologist. Our D.B. Stanton knew the French language fairly well and decided to take up residence in Paris. The home in which he soon made residence was soon named Gardenia after a few years of living there. This name became into existence due to its alabaster floors and white marbled pillars. An extraordinary house it was indeed.
The place was equipped with a large marble fireplace that warmed D.B. Stanton throughout his stay in Paris of that most wretched year. When everyone was falling into disrepair our man found that he was living rather comfortably. After only six months of living in Paris did D.B. Stanton soon come to realize that the Gardenia was already the home to someone else.
While napping one evening upon a chaise lounge in the smoking room he saw a figure come walking by. Or more so gliding by. Now this figure seemed to take no notice of him even after he tried to get its attention. The figure appeared to be a lady dressed all in white as though she had just been married our was about to go out for the evening to an opera or some other elegant event.
D.B. Stanton called out, "Dear lady!" but the lady never turned to him. The lady never once made a turn to the left nor the right. She simply walked forwards. D.B. Stanton slowly got up from the chaise and went to try and follow this pale lady. Soon he found himself on the stairs and then after he was walking up the stairs he saw that the lady was going, as though there were steps, into the ceiling.
"Dearest me is there an attic to this wondrous house?" and then he began to look for a latch of a hatchway so that he could get into the attic also. Soon he found the latch, brought down the hatch, and saw that there was indeed an attic in the top part of the house the whole time he had been living at the Gardenia.
Soon he began to ascend only after first having a candle and a candlestick holder. Once he found himself inside the attic he stared around in wonder. His mouth agape and staring with unblinking amber eyes he saw, just before him, his first and truest wonder of the very beginnings of his archaeological career.
A treasure pot in the 19th century was shimmering in every corner of the attic. When he looked directly ahead of him he saw a figure sitting at a piano and playing a tune that was bittersweet and somewhat nostalgic to D.B. Stanton. He had never heard the song before but yet he felt that he must have heard it somewhere. It made him soon long for his country again. To see the green fields of old Scotland.
