It banishes me away from the present an obscure yearning which fills my soul with confusing emotions. I long for a feeling that lives outside my body. It is not born within me; it penetrates from the exterior, for it is unknown and known, same as my ancestors. I know it is. And I feel it mine, but strange to me. As if I were within it, but it not within myself. And gazing around I breath ancient air, and I feel the past shrouding me. It is a ghost buried underneath the mists of time, and it resurrects long gone centuries, bringing them to the new days which rise in the present. Under layers of gathered burdens lies the castle. It lies on the sacred land of Miclauseni, its walls being touched by heavy years that have passed by.
The Sturdza Castle is the living window of the charm from the 1900s, keeping within itself the eternal breath of a history which is impregnated with Romanian air. This is yearning. We were born from it, for we are sons of the past that has turned into ashes. Walking on this ancient place it awakens inside us the thought that we belong to it, without knowing how or from where. Through us utters the Romanian blood which carries with it our identity as a nation, and which winces feeling close proofs anchored in contemporaneousness.
Thus, under its spell, I melt together with the perfume of the commemoration, letting the wave of sleeping moments to penetrate me. The memory is tangible and alive, for it is displayed on the scene of the present by the people from my time. They’ve all shook hands with the past, recalling a long gone époque. Thus, men and women have turned into respectable ladies and gentlemen, coloring an atmosphere of story. Elegant notes of classical music caress the hearing, gently vibrating on the background of a spiritual painting.
Taken under the wing of the Miclauseni Monastery, the castle abounds in divinity, enhancing is unique charm that squeezes sweetness from the eyes. The magical decorum shades the phantasms of the past, filling the yard of everything it used to be. A luxurious époque vehicle left in a place of honor on the dense grass steals the hearts of the ones who encounter it. Fine gents impeccably dressed proudly walk their ladies at their arms, while the latter spread affected smiles filled with emotion, for their men show them to the whole society.
Fine silhouettes unravel under the outline of the imposing dresses, seductively undulating below the dance of the feathers they are trimmed with. Laces, silks, satins bathed in exciting colors delighted their eyes which are caught in their spell. Round tables careful arranged on the grass form a harmony of new- fresh colors which invite you to enjoy the delights carefully prepared by the hosts. Smooth lips delicately sip from fancy glasses, and the joy is sang in sharp laughter which rise up the sky, competing with the birds’ thrills.
A carriage pulled by studhorses rides through the fascinating surroundings, letting the visitors admire the place. Getting away from the mutter of so many cheerful voices, the silence of the fir trees grows in intensity. Their raw branches swing in whispers, humming memories. A warm emotion flows in the air, waving in the rustle of the leaves… and it caresses my temples… it makes me dream of years and years, stopping the moment with its spell…