The train sped swiftly through the heart of the mountains, crossing the legendary Tempelune range, reputed to be the highest on the continent. These peaks, so towering that some whisper the gods themselves reside there, offered Mero a spectacle that defied the imagination. The imposing and modern convoy of the Empire seemed to glide on rails carved into eternity, while through the large bay window of his cabin, Mero gazed upon a panorama of breathtaking beauty.
Before him, the Tempelune mountains rose majestically, their peaks almost brushing the clouds. The eternal snow covered the summits with a glittering mantle under the first rays of the sun, transforming each peak into a jewel of light. The rocky walls, steep and imposing, rose in defiance of gravity, while thin rivers, like silver ribbons, wound their way through crevasses and deep valleys. The air, pure and almost icy, filled the atmosphere with a subtle scent of stone and ice, enhanced by a slight mist that rose from the peaks to envelop the mountains in a veil of mystery.
Mero felt a shiver run down his spine as he silently listened to the legends that accompanied these lands. It was said that those who crossed these mountains with sincere respect were blessed by the benevolence of the deities, while others warned that a misstep could awaken the wrath of ancient spirits. Whatever the case, for the heir to the throne of Sel, this journey was more than just a trip: it was a communion with raw and timeless nature, a meditation on the fragility and grandeur of existence.
As the train wound higher, climbing steep slopes and skirting unfathomable precipices, Mero couldn't help but feel tiny in the face of the vastness of this natural setting. Man, shaped by the obligations of the imperial court and ancestral traditions, found himself here confronted with a wild and untamed nature, where every moment seemed suspended in time. This moment of wonder was all the more precious as it contrasted with the often rigid and codified life he led within the Empire.
Suddenly, a soft voice reached his ears, breaking the meditative silence. The train company's attendant, dressed in an impeccable uniform, pointed out that if Mero appreciated this grand view, he might find his happiness in the art gallery set up in the library car. A new artistic style, Romanticism, seemed to be captivating the enlightened minds of the Empire's travelers. Intrigued by this suggestion, Mero decided to visit this compartment where art mingled with travel.
Crossing the luxurious cars, decorated with elegant woodwork and refined carpets, Mero felt a particular excitement. Romanticism, a movement that exalted passion, the sublime, and melancholy, was still foreign to him, but the mere echo of its name evoked an intensity of emotions he had rarely known in the rigid world of imperial affairs. The atmosphere in the library car was both hushed and inspiring. A soft scent of polished wood and old paper mingled with the dim light filtered through heavy velvet curtains, creating a cocoon conducive to dreaming and contemplation.
The walls were adorned with carefully framed canvases, each seeming to tell a story both intimate and universal. Comfortable armchairs, placed here and there, invited passengers to sit and admire these works of art, as if offering a moment of softness in the heart of this eventful journey. Mero approached the first canvas, a striking painting depicting a ship battling a furious storm. Giant waves crashed against its hull while a black sky, streaked with lightning, dominated the scene. Yet, in the distance, a glimmer of light hinted at a faint hope. The raw emotion emanating from the scene, the desperate struggle of man against the implacable forces of nature, resonated within him, recalling his own inner battles.
Further on, another canvas caught his eye. This one depicted a mountain landscape, strikingly similar to the Tempelune range he was crossing. Atop an isolated peak, a solitary traveler stood, gazing at an infinite horizon. His coat, lifted by an invisible wind, seemed to testify to an inner quest, an unquenched desire for the absolute. Mero felt deeply moved by this image, as if in the traveler's posture, he recognized a fragment of his own soul seeking freedom and emancipation.
Romanticism, with its desire to transcend the mere representation of the world to capture its soul, seemed here to take on all its nuances. Each painting, each brushstroke, seemed to whisper a different story, a personal legend that spoke of love, pain, and hope. Mero stood still for long minutes, absorbed in the contemplation of these works. He felt in them a strange familiarity, as if they echoed his own feelings, his struggles, and his dreams. Art, in its rawest form, became for him a kind of mirror reflecting his own contradictions and aspirations.
As he browsed the gallery, one painting in particular caught his attention. It depicted a sea of deep blue under a stormy sky, in which a single ship cut through the waves with fierce determination. At the bow, a man stood, his face hidden under the shadow of his hat, but whose posture expressed unshakable strength. Mero couldn't help but see himself in this man, a symbol of his own struggle against life's storms, whether internal or external. The painting evoked for him courage and perseverance, qualities he strove to cultivate despite the obstacles in his path.
A slight clearing of the throat pulled him from his meditation. A middle-aged man, dressed with discreet elegance, stood nearby and observed him with benevolent curiosity. In a calm voice, the man addressed him:
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"These paintings seem to captivate you, young man. Are you an art lover, or is this the first time you've contemplated such works?"
Mero, slightly surprised by this interruption, replied in a calm and measured voice, while letting his sincere interest in the subject shine through. The man, sketching a knowing smile, continued:
"The train company displays these works not only for the pleasure of travelers but also to satisfy enlightened amateurs who wish to acquire a unique piece."
He then pointed to a small panel placed next to each painting. "The works bearing a golden seal belong to the private collection of the company's patron and are not for sale. However, those marked with a silver seal can be acquired."
Mero's gaze returned to the painting of the solitary ship, where a silver seal gleamed discreetly in the lower corner. Intrigued, he turned to the man and asked:
"And how much for this canvas?"
The man adjusted his gloves with a precise gesture and replied in a confident voice:
"This masterpiece, the work of a promising artist inspired by the great traditions of Romanticism, is offered at the price of 150 piastres."
Although the amount was substantial, Mero felt the irresistible call to possess such an evocative work. Yet, one question remained: did he really want to acquire it, or did he prefer to keep it in memory as a symbol of his inner journey?
In a thoughtful tone, he inquired about the painting depicting the mountains. The man then followed his gaze to a work where a majestic chain of mountains, bathed in an almost unreal golden light, stretched to infinity.
"Ah, that one..." he said, adjusting his glasses, "is a sublime interpretation of the Tempelune mountains, created by a local artist. It is offered at 120 piastres."
He paused, giving Mero time to contemplate the image, before adding:
"This canvas captures the immensity and spirituality attributed to these peaks. It is an ideal work for someone who appreciates the grandeur of nature."
Faced with this double temptation, Mero made a decision that revealed both his ambition and his love for art.
"I will take both," he declared with quiet assurance, "and I ask that they be sent to the royal car."
The man bowed slightly, visibly impressed by the heir's decision, and scribbled a few notes in his notebook before signaling to an assistant who hurriedly packed the canvases with the utmost care.
"An excellent choice, Your Highness," he added respectfully, "and if other artistic desires should arise in the future, know that our company collaborates with many imperial galleries. We would be honored to offer you other exceptional works."
Mero nodded politely, satisfied with his acquisition, and left the library car with a light heart, filled with new visions and creative hopes.
As he wandered the library again, his mind still filled with the emotions the art had conveyed, Mero couldn't help but ask the man about the lives of the exhibited artists.
"Tell me," he asked curiously, "do these artists travel often?"
The man, still smiling, nodded.
"Some do. Many are commissioned by imperial patrons or great aristocratic houses and travel the Empire to capture grand landscapes, notable events, or portraits of noble families. Others, more homebound, prefer to work in the quiet of their studios, receiving commissions from a distance. However, it is not uncommon for some to board trains like this one, seeking new inspiration or to exhibit their works."
He paused briefly before adding with a touch of enthusiasm:
"If Your Highness wishes to meet a particular artist, I could perhaps arrange a meeting during your stay in Mor or elsewhere. Art and nobility have always maintained close ties, have they not?"
Mero, his eyes shining with anticipation, replied:
"I would indeed like to meet an artist capable of traveling to the other end of the world to capture new horizons."
The man bowed slightly, manifesting his approval:
"I will pass the word, Your Highness. An artist ready to cross the world to immortalize your visions would be a most passionate challenge. Perhaps we will find one in Mor, the capital attracting many talents. Otherwise, I will inquire among the imperial artistic circles."
He resumed with a lower, more measured voice:
"Would you have a specific idea of what you would like them to paint? Landscapes of your kingdom, portraits, or simply the essence of your travels?"
Mero, thoughtfully, simply replied:
"A lot of everything."
The man sketched a satisfied smile and declared:
"A curious and ambitious spirit, that will please some artists. I will seek a painter capable of capturing both the beauty of landscapes and the depth of souls. As soon as I have a name, I will convey the information to your entourage."
With these words, the man bowed again before slipping away, leaving Mero alone among the canvases, meditating on the prospect of having an artist at his service to immortalize his journey and the emotions that filled him.
Over the hours, time seemed suspended, and the train continued to climb the mountains while revealing grand and inspiring panoramas to the traveler. Mero, his gaze still lifted towards the horizon, let himself be lulled by the soft clickety-clack of the rails and the harmony of the landscapes unfolding before him. Each moment was an invitation to reflection, reverie, and self-rediscovery. The works of art he had just acquired resonated within him like an echo of his own aspirations, reminding him that beauty could be found everywhere, even in the most unexpected corners of existence.
Finally, as night enveloped the mountains in a cloak of silence and mystery, Mero retired to his cabin to let his thoughts run free. Far from the tumult of the outside world, he felt at peace, aware that each step of his journey brought him closer to self-discovery and understanding of the universe around him.
The next day, as dawn broke over the Empire, Mero arrived in the capital. The city stretched as far as the eye could see: on one side, it nestled against the imposing flanks of the ancestral mountains, and on the other, it devoured the vast plain in an embrace of modernity and hope, ready to reveal new horizons.
