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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1ce5c7d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53380 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53380) diff --git a/old/53380-0.txt b/old/53380-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a5becfc..0000000 --- a/old/53380-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4369 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The republic of the southern cross and -other stories, by Valery Brussof - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The republic of the southern cross and other stories - -Author: Valery Brussof - -Release Date: October 27, 2016 [EBook #53380] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REPUBLIC OF THE SOUTHERN CROSS *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif, MFR and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - - CONSTABLE’S RUSSIAN LIBRARY UNDER THE - EDITORSHIP OF STEPHEN GRAHAM - - - - - THE REPUBLIC OF - THE SOUTHERN CROSS - - - - - CONSTABLE’S RUSSIAN LIBRARY - - _Edited with Introductions_ - - By STEPHEN GRAHAM - - - THE SWEET SCENTED NAME - - By Fedor Sologub - - WAR AND CHRISTIANITY - THREE CONVERSATIONS - - By Vladimir Solovyof - - THE WAY OF THE CROSS - - By V. Doroshevitch - - A SLAV SOUL AND OTHER STORIES - - By Alexander Kuprin - - THE EMIGRANT - - By L. F. Dostoieffshaya - - THE JUSTIFICATION OF THE GOOD - - By Vladimir Solovyof - - THE REPUBLIC OF THE SOUTHERN CROSS - AND OTHER STORIES - - By Valery Brussof - - - - - THE REPUBLIC OF - THE SOUTHERN CROSS - - AND OTHER STORIES - - BY - VALERY BRUSSOF - - WITH AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY - STEPHEN GRAHAM - - LONDON - CONSTABLE AND COMPANY LTD. - 1918 - - - - -INTRODUCTION - -VALERY BRUSSOF - - -Valery Brussof is a celebrated Russian writer of the present time. He is -in the front rank of contemporary literature, and is undoubtedly very -gifted, being considered by some to be the greatest of living Russian -poets, and being in addition a critic of penetration and judgment, a -writer of short tales, and the author of one long historical novel from -the life of Germany in the sixteenth century. - -He is a Russian of strong European tastes and temperament, a sort of -Mediterraneanised Russian, with greater affinities in France and Italy -than in his native land; an artificial production in the midst of the -Russian literary world. A hard, polished, and even merciless -personality, he has little in common with the compassionate spirits of -Russia. If Kuprin or Gorky may be taken as characteristic of modern -Russia, Brussof is their opposite. He sheds no tears with the reader, he -makes no passionate and “unmanly” defiance of the world, but is -restrained and concentrated and wrapped up in himself and his ideas. The -average length of a sentence of Dostoieffsky is probably about -twenty-five words, of Kuprin thirty, but of Brussof only twenty, and if -you take the staccato “Republic of the Southern Cross,” only twelve. His -fine virile style is admired by Russians for its brevity and directness. -He has been called a maker of sentences in bronze. - -It is curious, however, that the theme of his writing has little in -common with the virility of his style. As far as our Western point of -view is concerned it is considered rather feminine than masculine to -doubt the reality of our waking life and to give credence to dreams. Yet -such is undoubtedly the preoccupation of Brussof in these stories. - -He says in his preface to the second edition of that collection which -bears the title _The Axis of the Earth_, “the stories are written to -show, in various ways, that there is no fixed boundary line between the -world of reality and that of the imagination, between the dreaming and -the waking world, life and fantasy; that what we commonly call -‘imaginary’ may be the greatest reality of the world, and that which all -call reality the most dreadful delirium.” - -This volume, to which we have given the title of _The Republic of the -Southern Cross_ contains the best of Brussof’s tales, and they all -exemplify this particular attitude towards life. Six tales are taken -from _The Axis of the Earth_, but “For Herself or Another” is taken -from the volume entitled _Nights and Days_, and “Rhea Silvia” and -“Eluli, son of Eluli,” from the book bearing the title of _Rhea Silvia_, -in the Russian Universal Library. - -In Russia, as I have previously pointed out, the short story is -considered of much more literary importance than it is here. It is the -fashion to write short stories, and readers remember those they have -read and refer to them, as we do to the distinctive and memorable poems -on our intimate bookshelves. But, then, as a rule in Russia a short -story must possess as its foundation some particular literary idea and -conception. The story written for the sake of the story is almost -unknown, and as a general rule the sort of love story and “love -interest” so indispensable with us is not asked there. It often happens, -therefore, that a volume of short tales makes a real and vital -contribution to literature. I think possibly that these specimen volumes -of Russian stories which I have edited from Sologub Kuprin and Brussof -may be helpful in our own literary world as affording new conceptions, -new models, and showing new possibilities of literary form. Brussof’s -volume is an emotional study of reality and unreality cast in the form -of brilliant tales. - - * * * * * - -“Rhea Silvia,” the longest and perhaps the best, tells of the dream -which becomes reality in the Golden House of Nero which had been lost; -the subterranean Rome where a Goth can meet a crazed girl who imagines -she is the vestal Rhea Silvia, the mother of Romulus and Remus who -founded Rome itself, and that the Goth, one of the barbarian destroyers -of Rome, is the god Mars; the whole before and after intermingled. - - * * * * * - -In “The Republic of the Southern Cross” Brussof projects himself several -centuries into the future and imagines an industrial community of -millions of workers, so divorced from reality that they are living at -the South Pole where no life is possible, in a huge town called Star -City where no star is visible, because they have built an immense opaque -roof to the town--literally a “lid,” as they imagine it in New York, -where they give you the freedom of the city “with the lid off”; where -the polar cold is defied by machinery which keeps the temperature at the -same point for ever, and the six months’ polar night--and, indeed, no -night--is ever known, because the great box is kept constantly -illuminated by electric light; Star City, where the Town Hall is -actually built on the _spot_ of the South Pole, the centre of the town, -whence you can only walk northward, whence the six main roads, with -thirteen-story buildings on each side, go out like meridians of -longitude, and the cross-roads are concentric circles of latitude; Star -City, stricken at last by the disease of contradiction, which creates -anarchy between the ideal and the real, impulse and action, as if the -approximation of latitude and longitude had hypnotised men’s souls; -plague-stricken Star City, where the only refuge is the Town Hall where -all earthly meridians become one, is all used with appalling power by -Brussof to suggest his mental conceit. I once read outside a Russian -theatre, “People of weak will are asked to refrain from taking tickets -for this drama.” A similar caution might be addressed to those who turn -to read “The Republic of the Southern Cross.” - - * * * * * - -“The Mirror,” into which the vain woman looks and sees a reflection -which is not quite herself, who detects the particular personality of -her reflection, becomes afraid of it, is finally overcome by it and -forced to step into the mirror and let the reflection get out and walk -about the world, is subtly suggestive of the instability of what we call -the real, the solid ground under our feet. A characteristic detail is -that the special mirror before which the woman stands is a revolving -one, and when she gets angry she can make it go round like the earth on -its axis, and as the glass goes over and under, in again and out again, -so it is, as it were, night and day, dream and waking, reality and -unreality. - -The drunken locksmith, seeing the seventh-century-old Italian bust of a -woman in the house to which he has been called to repair a desk, and -becoming obsessed with the idea that it is the face of a woman whose -love he betrayed, the woman of his bright and fortunate days, who tells -the long sad story which is more real to him than the realities of the -prison or the doss-house, though he does not himself know whether the -story be truth or whether he invented it, is another hauntingly -suggestive tale. - - * * * * * - -In “Eluli, son of Eluli,” two excavators in the French Congo discover a -marvellous Phœnician tomb somewhere about the equatorial line and -only partially decipher the curse on those who shall disturb the rest of -the sleeping Eluli whose tomb it is. It is in a fever-stricken district -of exhausting climate, and the older and weaker of the archæologists -becomes obsessed with the reality of the dead Eluli, son of Eluli, who -visits his bedside and pronounces over him the awful curse. Both men -eventually perish. Only the normal and stronger man, namely, the one -further away from the axis of reality, remained untouched and unseeing. - - * * * * * - -“For Herself or Another,” one of the cleverest tales in this -selection, describes the doubt that a Russian tourist has that a -fellow-countrywoman whom he sees in the crowd is or is not his -long-cast-off sweetheart. She is so like as to be a perfect double. It -seems impossible that such similarity between two persons should exist. -The man conceives the idea that the woman is feigning to be someone else -merely to punish him. He is so persistent that she for her part agrees -to pretend that she is indeed his old-time friend, and some of the most -tantalising description is that in which she seems to pretend that she -is that she is. - - * * * * * - -What the new realists who dominate our Western schools of philosophy -would say to Valery Brussof would be curious. He is not an hysterical -type of writer and is not emotionally convinced of the truth of his -writing, but wilfully persistent, affirming unreality intellectually and -defending his conception with a sort of masculine impressionism. He -drives his idea to the reader’s mind clad in complete armour, no -tenderness, no apologetics, no willingness to please a lady’s eye in the -use of his words and phrases. - -The theme of several of the stories might have been worked out readily -by our Mr. Algernon Blackwood, but so would have been more discursive, -and the mystery of them better hidden. But Brussof, as it were, draws -the skull and crossbones at the top of the page before he writes a word -and then goes on. Inevitably the interest is reflected from the stories -to the personality of the author. - -It should be said that a slight strain of madness seems to cast a sort -of glamour on an artist in Russia, whereas in the West, unless the -artist be a musician, it is certainly a handicap. One of the strongest -prejudices against taking Nietzsche seriously in England is that he -finished his days in an asylum. And it is as prejudicial to be thought -_pas normal_ in France as to have lost a mental balance with us. But -Russia, with her epileptic Dostoieffsky, hypochondriac Gogol, inebriate -Nekrasof, has other traditions, and it is not unfitting that the artist -who made hundreds of marvellous studies of a primeval demon, the most -clever painter of modern Russia, Michael Vrubel, should have painted as -his last picture before removal to an asylum, Valery Brussof, the author -of these tales, a reproduction of this portrait serving aptly as a -frontispiece for this book. - -Both Bernard Shaw and H. G. Wells have been described as average or -standard types of intelligence, and both are proud of level-headedness. -But in the Russian literary world claims of that kind are not put -forward nowadays. In fact, Russia, though most heartily -progressive--perhaps too heartily from our point of view--does not -reckon the credibility of the earth and light and truth and ordinary -measurement as in any way superior to the credibility of the world of -fantasy. It is worth while writing in Russia, not so much to affirm the -real as to find and then set in ever more striking pose the paradoxes of -human life. - -Brussof’s poetry, for which he enjoys a great reputation, is dedicated -to the same ideas as his stories, though in them he is before all else a -most polished craftsman and cares more for perfection of technique than -for anything else. - -His poetry is not difficult, and can be recommended for those who read -Russian and prefer to study up-to-date matter. In my opinion, however, -the best volumes of Balmont have more lyrical beauty than the best of -Brussof. There is, moreover, a good deal of erotic verse which is -bankrupt of real vital thought, as there are stories of this kind not by -any means commendable for British consumption. Brussof evidently reads -English, and one or two of his poems are reminiscent of better things at -home. - -In the midst of his wide literary activities Brussof is also an -interesting critic, and I know few more elucidative volumes than -“_Dalekie i Bliskie_, Near and Far,” a collection of essays on the -Russian poets. - -STEPHEN GRAHAM. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - I. THE REPUBLIC OF THE SOUTHERN CROSS 1 - - II. THE MARBLE BUST 33 - - III. FOR HERSELF OR FOR ANOTHER 41 - - IV. IN THE MIRROR 55 - - V. PROTECTION 73 - - VI. THE “BEMOL” SHOP OF STATIONERY 84 - - VII. RHEA SILVIA 94 - -VIII. ELULI, SON OF ELULI 140 - - IX. IN THE TOWER 155 - - - - -THE REPUBLIC OF THE SOUTHERN CROSS - - -There have appeared lately a whole series of descriptions of the -dreadful catastrophe which has overtaken the Republic of the Southern -Cross. They are strikingly various, and give many details of a -manifestly fantastic and improbable character. Evidently the writers of -these descriptions have lent a too ready ear to the narratives of the -survivors from Star City (_Zvezdny_), the inhabitants of which, as is -common knowledge, were all stricken with a psychical distemper. For that -reason we consider it opportune to give an account here of all the -reliable evidence which we have as yet of this tragedy of the Southern -Pole. - -The Republic of the Southern Cross came into being some forty years ago, -as a development from three hundred steel works established in the -Southern Polar regions. In a circular note sent to each and every -Government of the whole world, the new state expressed its pretensions -to all lands, whether mainland or island, within the limits of the -Antarctic circle, as also all parts of these lands stretching beyond -the line. It announced its readiness to purchase from the various other -states affected the lands which they considered to be under their -special protectorate. The pretensions of the new Republic did not meet -with any opposition on the part of the fifteen great powers of the -world. Debateable points concerning certain islands lying entirely -outside the Polar circle, but closely related to the Southern Polar -state were settled by special treaties. On the fulfilment of the various -formalities the Republic of the Southern Cross was received into the -family of world states, and its representatives were recognised by all -Governments. - -The chief city of the Republic, having the name of Zvezdny, was situated -at the actual Pole itself. At that imaginary point where the earth’s -axis passes and all earthly meridians become one, stood the Town Hall, -and the roof with its pointed towers looked upon the nadir of the -heavens. The streets of the town extended along meridians from the Town -Hall and these meridians were intersected by other streets in concentric -circles. The height of all the buildings was the same, as was also their -external appearance. There were no windows in the walls, as all the -houses were lit by electricity and the streets were lighted by -electricity. Because of the severity of the climate, an impenetrable and -opaque roof had been built over the town, with powerful ventilators for -a constant change of air. These localities of the globe have but one day -in six months, and one long night also of six months, but the streets of -Zvezdny were always lighted by a bright and even light. In the same way -in all seasons of the year the temperature of the streets was kept at -one and the same height. - -According to the last census the population of Zvezdny had reached two -and a half millions. The whole of the remaining population of the -Republic, numbering fifty millions, were concentrated in the -neighbourhood of the ports and factories. These other points were also -marked by the settlement of millions of people in towns which in -external characteristics were reminiscent of Zvezdny. Thanks to a clever -application of electric power, the entrance to the local havens remained -open all the year round. Overhead electric railways connected the most -populated parts of the Republic, and every day tens of thousands of -people and millions of kilogrammes of material passed along these roads -from one town to another. The interior of the country remained -uninhabited. Travellers looking out of the train window saw before them -only monotonous wildernesses, white in winter, and overgrown with -wretched grass during the three months of summer. Wild animals had long -since been destroyed, and for human beings there was no means of -sustenance. The more remarkable was the hustling life of the ports and -industrial centres. In order to give some understanding of the life, it -is perhaps enough to say that of late years about seven-tenths of the -whole of the world’s output of metal has come from the State mines of -the Republic. - -The constitution of the Republic, according to outward signs, appeared -to be the realisation of extreme democracy. The only fully enfranchised -citizens were the metal-workers, who numbered about sixty per cent of -the whole population. The factories and mines were State property. The -life of the miners was facilitated by all possible conveniences, and -even with luxury. At their disposal, apart from magnificent -accommodation and a _recherché_ cuisine, were various educational -institutions and means of amusement: libraries, museums, theatres, -concerts, halls for all types of sport, etc. The number of working hours -in the day were small in the extreme. The training and teaching of -children, the giving of medical and legal aid, and the ministry of the -various religious cults were all taken upon itself by the State. Ample -provision for all the needs and even whims of the workmen of the State -factories having been made, no wages whatever were paid; but families of -citizens who had served twenty years in a factory, or who in their years -of service had died or become enfeebled, received a handsome -life-pension on condition that they did not leave the Republic. From -the workmen, by universal ballot, the representatives of the Law-making -Chamber of the Republic were elected, and this Chamber had cognisance of -all the questions of the political life of the country, being, however, -without power to alter its fundamental laws. - -It must be said that this democratic exterior concealed the purely -autocratic tyranny of the shareholders and directors of a former Trust. -Giving up to others the places of deputies in the Chamber they -inevitably brought in their own candidates as directors of the -factories. In the hands of the Board of Directors was concentrated the -economic life of the country. The directors received all the orders and -assigned them to the various factories for fulfilment; they purchased -the materials and the machines for the work; they managed the whole -business of the factories. Through their hands passed immense sums of -money, to be reckoned in milliards. The Law-making Chamber only -certified the entries of debits and credits in the upkeep of the -factories, the accounts being handed to it for that purpose, and the -balance on these accounts greatly exceeded the whole budget of the -Republic. The influence of the Board of Directors in the international -relationships of the Republic was immense. Its decisions might ruin -whole countries. The prices fixed by them determined the wages of -millions of labouring masses over the whole earth. And, moreover, the -influence of the Board, though indirect, was always decisive in the -internal affairs of the Republic. The Law-making Chamber, in fact, -appeared to be only the humble servant of the will of the Board. - -For the preservation of power in its own hands the Board was obliged to -regulate mercilessly the whole life of the country. Though appearing to -have liberty, the life of the citizens was standardised even to the most -minute details. The buildings of all the towns of the Republic were -according to one and the same pattern fixed by law. The decoration of -all buildings used by the workmen, though luxurious to a degree, were -strictly uniform. All received exactly the same food at exactly the same -time. The clothes given out from the Government stores were unchanging -and in the course of tens of years were of one and the same cut. At a -signal from the Town Hall, at a definite hour, it was forbidden to go -out of the houses. The whole Press of the country was subject to a sharp -censorship. No articles directed against the dictatorship of the Board -were allowed to see light. But, as a matter of fact, the whole country -was so convinced of the benefit of this dictatorship that the -compositors themselves would have refused to set the type of articles -criticising the Board. The factories were full of the Board’s spies. At -the slightest manifestation of discontent with the Board the spies -hastened to arrange meetings and dissuade the doubters with passionate -speeches. The fact that the life of the workmen of the Republic was the -object of the envy of the entire world was of course a disarming -argument. It is said that in cases of continued agitation by certain -individuals the Board did not hesitate to resort to political murder. In -any case, during the whole existence of the Republic, the universal -ballot of the citizens never brought to power one representative who was -hostile to the directors. - -The population of Zvezdny was composed chiefly of workmen who had served -their time. They were, so to speak, Government shareholders. The means -which they received from the State allowed them to live richly. It is -not astonishing, therefore, that Zvezdny was reckoned one of the gayest -cities of the world. For various _entrepreneurs_ and entertainers it was -a goldmine. The celebrities of the world brought hither their talents. -Here were the best operas, best concerts, best exhibitions; here were -brought out the best-informed gazettes. The shops of Zvezdny amazed by -the richness of their choice of goods; the restaurants by the luxury and -the delicacy of their service. Resorts of evil, where all forms of -debauch invented in either the ancient or the modern world were to be -found, abounded. However, the governmental regulation of life was -preserved in Zvezdny also. It is true that the decorations of lodgings -and the fashions of dress were not compulsorily determined, but the law -forbidding the exit from the house after a certain hour remained in -force, a strict censorship of the Press was maintained, and many spies -were kept by the Board. Order was officially maintained by the popular -police, but at the same time there existed the secret police of the -all-cognisant Board. - -Such was in its general character the system of life in the Republic of -the Southern Cross and in its capital. The problem of the future -historian will be to determine how much this system was responsible for -the outbreak and spread of that fatal disease which brought to -destruction the town of Zvezdny, and with it, perhaps, the whole young -Republic. - - * * * * * - -The first cases of the disease of “contradiction” were observed in the -Republic some twenty years ago. It had then the character of a rare and -sporadic malady. Nevertheless, the local mental experts were much -interested by it and gave a circumstantial account of the symptoms at -the international medical congress at Lhasa, where several reports of it -were read. Later, it was somehow or other forgotten, though in the -mental hospitals of Zvezdny there never was any difficulty in finding -examples. The disease received its name from the fact that the victims -continuously contradicted their wishes by their actions, wishing one -thing but saying and doing another. [The scientific name of the disease -is _mania contradicens_.] It begins with fairly feeble symptoms, -generally those of characteristic aphasia. The stricken, instead of -saying “yes,” say “no”; wishing to say caressing words, they splutter -abuse, etc. The majority also begin to contradict themselves in their -behaviour; intending to go to the left they turn to the right, thinking -to raise the brim of a hat so as to see better they would pull it down -over their eyes instead, and so on. As the disease develops -contradiction overtakes the whole of the bodily and spiritual life of -the patient, exhibiting infinite diversity conformable with the -idiosyncrasies of each. In general, the speech of the patient becomes -unintelligible and his actions absurd. The normality of the -physiological functions of the organism is disturbed. Acknowledging the -unwisdom of his behaviour the patient gets into a state of extreme -excitement bordering even upon insanity. Many commit suicide, sometimes -in fits of madness, sometimes in moments of spiritual brightness. Others -perish from a rush of blood to the brain. In almost all cases the -disease is mortal; cases of recovery are extremely rare. - -The epidemic character was taken by _mania contradicens_ during the -middle months of this year in Zvezdny. Up till this time the number of -cases had never exceeded two per cent of the total number of patients in -the hospitals. But this proportion suddenly rose to twenty-five per cent -during the month of May (autumn month, as it is called in the Republic), -and it continued to increase during the succeeding months with as great -rapidity. By the middle of June there were already two per cent of the -whole population, that is, about fifty thousand people, officially -notified as suffering from “contradiction.” We have no statistical -details of any later date. The hospitals overflowed. The doctors on the -spot proved to be altogether insufficient. And, moreover, the doctors -themselves, and the nurses in the hospitals, caught the disease also. -There was very soon no one to whom to appeal for medical aid, and a -correct register of patients became impossible. The evidence given by -eye-witnesses, however, is in agreement on this point, that it was -impossible to find a family in which someone was not suffering. The -number of healthy people rapidly decreased as panic caused a wholesale -exodus from the town, but the number of the stricken increased. It is -probably true that in the month of August all who had remained in -Zvezdny were down with this psychical malady. - -It is possible to follow the first developments of the epidemic by the -columns of the local newspapers, headed in ever larger type as the mania -grew. Since the detection of the disease in its early stages was very -difficult, the chronicle of the first days of the epidemic is full of -comic episodes. A train conductor on the metropolitan railway, instead -of receiving money from the passengers, himself pays them. A policeman, -whose duty it was to regulate the traffic, confuses it all day long. A -visitor to a gallery, walking from room to room, turns all the pictures -with their faces to the wall. A newspaper page of proof, being corrected -by the hand of a reader already overtaken by the disease, is printed -next morning full of the most amusing absurdities. At a concert, a sick -violinist suddenly interrupts the harmonious efforts of the orchestra -with the most dreadful dissonances. A whole long series of such -happenings gave plenty of scope for the wits of local journalists. But -several instances of a different type of phenomenon caused the jokes to -come to a sudden end. The first was that a doctor overtaken by the -disease prescribed poison for a girl patient in his care and she -perished. For three days the newspapers were taken up with this -circumstance. Then two nurses walking in the town gardens were overtaken -by “contradiction,” and cut the throats of forty-one children. This -event staggered the whole city. But on the evening of the same day two -victims fired the _mitrailleuse_ from the quarters of the town militia -and killed and injured some five hundred people. - -At that, all the newspapers and the society of the town cried for prompt -measures against the epidemic. At a special session of the combined -Board and Legal Chamber it was decided to invite doctors from other -towns and from abroad, to enlarge the existing hospitals, to build new -ones, and to construct everywhere isolation barracks for the sufferers, -to print and distribute five hundred thousand copies of a brochure on -the disease, its symptoms and means of cure, to organise on all the -streets of the town a special patrol of doctors and their helpers for -the giving of first aid to those who had not been removed from private -lodgings. It was also decided to run special trains daily on all the -railways for the removal of the patients, as the doctors were of opinion -that change of air was one of the best remedies. Similar measures were -undertaken at the same time by various associations, societies, and -clubs. A “society for struggle with the epidemic” was even founded, and -the members gave themselves to the work with remarkable self-devotion. -But in spite of all these measures the epidemic gained ground each day, -taking in its course old men and little children, working people and -resting people, chaste and debauched. And soon the whole of society was -enveloped in the unconquerable elemental terror of the unheard-of -calamity. - -The flight from Zvezdny commenced. At first only a few fled, and these -were prominent dignitaries, directors, members of the Legal Chamber and -of the Board, who hastened to send their families to the southern cities -of Australia and Patagonia. Following them, the accidental elements of -the population fled--those foreigners gladly sojourning in the “gayest -city of the southern hemisphere,” theatrical artists, various business -agents, women of light behaviour. When the epidemic showed no signs of -abating the shopkeepers fled. They hurriedly sold off their goods and -left their empty premises to the will of Fate. With them went the -bankers, the owners of theatres and restaurants, the editors and the -publishers. At last, even the established inhabitants were moved to go. -According to law the exit of workmen from the Republic without special -sanction from the Government was forbidden on pain of loss of pension. -Deserters began to increase. The employés of the town institutions fled, -the militia fled, the hospital nurses fled, the chemists, the doctors. -The desire to flee became in its turn a mania. Everyone fled who could. - -The stations of the electric railway were crushed with immense crowds, -tickets were bought for huge sums of money and only held by fighting. -For a place in a dirigible, which took only ten passengers, one paid a -whole fortune.... At the moment of the going out of trains new people -would break into the compartments and take up places which they would -not relinquish except by compulsion. Crowds stopped the trains which had -been fitted up exclusively for patients, dragged the latter out of the -carriages and compelled the engine-drivers to go on. From the end of May -train service, except between the capital and the ports, ceased to work. -From Zvezdny the trains went out overfull, passengers standing on the -steps and in the corridors, even daring to cling on outside, despite the -fact that with the speed of contemporary electric railways any person -doing such a thing risks suffocation. The steamship companies of -Australia, South America and South Africa grew inordinately rich, -transporting the refugees of the Republic to other lands. The two -Southern companies of dirigibles were not less prosperous, -accomplishing, as they did, ten journeys a day and bringing away from -Zvezdny the last belated millionaires.... On the other hand, trains -arrived at Zvezdny almost empty; for no wages was it possible to -persuade people to come to work at the Capital; only now and again -eccentric tourists and seekers of new sensations arrived at the towns. -It is reckoned that from the beginning of the exodus to the -twenty-second of June, when the regular service of trains ceased, there -passed out of Zvezdny by the six railroads some million and a half -people, that is, almost two-thirds of the whole population. - -By his enterprise, valour, and strength of will, one man earned for -himself eternal fame, and that was the President of the Board, Horace -Deville. At the special session of the fifth of June, Deville was -elected, both by the Board and by the Legal Chamber, Dictator over the -town, and was given the title of Nachalnik. He had sole control of the -town treasury, of the militia, and of the municipal institutions. At -that time it was decided to remove from Zvezdny to a northern port the -Government of the Republic and the archives. The name of Horace Deville -should be written in letters of gold among the most famous names of -history. For six weeks he struggled with the growing anarchy in the -town. He succeeded in gathering around him a group of helpers as -unselfish as himself. He was able to enforce discipline, both in the -militia and in the municipal service generally, for a considerable time, -though these bodies were terrified by the general calamity and decimated -by the epidemic. Hundreds of thousands owe their escape to Horace -Deville, as, thanks to his energy and organising power, it was possible -for them to leave. He lightened the misery of the last days of thousands -of others, giving them the possibility of dying in hospitals, carefully -looked after, and not simply being stoned or beaten to death by the mad -crowd. And Deville preserved for mankind the chronicle of the -catastrophe, for one cannot but consider as a chronicle his short but -pregnant telegrams, sent several times a day from the town of Zvezdny to -the temporary residence of the Government of the Republic at the -Northern port. Deville’s first work on becoming Nachalnik of the town -was to attempt to restore calm to the population. He issued manifestos -proclaiming that the psychical infection was most quickly caught by -people who were excited, and he called upon all healthy and balanced -persons to use their authority to restrain the weak and nervous. Then -Deville used the Society for Struggle with the Epidemic and put under -the authority of its members all public places, theatres, -meeting-houses, squares, and streets. In these days there scarcely ever -passed an hour but a new case of infection might be discovered. Now -here, now there, one saw faces or whole groups of faces manifestly -expressive of abnormality. The greater number of the patients, when they -understood their condition, showed an immediate desire for help. But -under the influence of the disease this wish expressed itself in various -types of hostile action directed against those standing near. The -stricken wished to hasten home or to a hospital, but instead of doing -this they fled in fright to the outskirts of the town. The thought -occurred to them to ask the passer-by to do something for them, but -instead of that they seized him by the throat. In this way many were -suffocated, struck down, or wounded with knife or stick. So the crowd, -whenever it found itself in the presence of a man suffering from -“contradiction,” took to flight. At these moments the members of the -Society would appear on the scene, capture the sick man, calm him, and -take him to the nearest hospital; it was their work to reason with the -crowd and explain that there was really no danger, that the general -misfortune had simply spread a little further, and it was their duty to -struggle with it to the full extent of their powers. - -The sudden infection of persons present in the audience of theatres or -meeting-houses often led to the most tragic catastrophes. Once at a -performance of Opera some hundreds of people stricken mad in a mass, -instead of expressing their approval of the vocalists, flung themselves -on the stage and scattered blows right and left. At the Grand Dramatic -Theatre, an actor, whose rôle it was to commit suicide by a revolver -shot, fired the revolver several times at the public. It was, of course, -blank cartridge, but it so acted on the nerves of those present that it -hastened the symptoms of the disease in many in whom it was latent. In -the confusion which followed several scores of people were killed. But -worst of all was that which happened in the Theatre of Fireworks. The -detachment of militia posted there in case of fire suddenly set fire to -the stage and to the veils by which the various light effects are -obtained. Not less than two hundred people were burnt or crushed to -death. After that occurrence Horace Deville closed all the theatres and -concert-rooms in the town. - -The robbers and thieves now began to constitute a grave danger for the -inhabitants, and in the general disorganisation they were able to carry -their depredations very far. It is said that some of them came to -Zvezdny from abroad. Some simulated madness in order to escape -punishment, others felt it unnecessary to make any pretence of -disguising their open robberies. Gangs of thieves entered the abandoned -shops, broke into private lodgings, and took off the more valuable -things or demanded gold; they stopped people in the streets and stripped -them of their valuables, such as watches, rings, and bracelets. And -there accompanied the robberies outrage of every kind, even of the most -disgusting. The Nachalnik sent companies of militia to hunt down the -criminals, but they did not dare to join in open conflict. There were -dreadful moments when among the militia or among the robbers would -suddenly appear a case of the disease, and friend would turn his weapon -against friend. At first the Nachalnik banished from the town the -robbers who fell under arrest. But those who had charge of the prison -trains liberated them, in order to take their places. Then the Nachalnik -was obliged to condemn the criminals to death. So almost after three -centuries’ break capital punishment was introduced once more on the -earth. In June a general scarcity of the indispensable articles of food -and medicine began to make itself felt. The import by rail diminished; -manufacture within the town practically ceased. Deville organised the -town bakeries and the distribution of bread and meat to the people. In -the town itself the same common tables were set up as had long since -been established in the factories. But it was not possible to find -sufficient people for kitchen and service. Some voluntary workers toiled -till they were exhausted, and they gradually diminished in numbers. The -town crematoriums flamed all day, but the number of corpses did not -decrease but increased. They began to find bodies in the streets and -left in houses. The municipal business--such as telegraph, telephone, -electric light, water supply, sanitation, and the rest, were worked by -fewer and fewer people. It is astonishing how much Deville succeeded in -doing. He looked after everything and everyone. One conjectures that he -never knew a moment’s rest. And all who were saved testify unanimously -that his activity was beyond praise. - -Towards the middle of June shortage of labour on the railways began to -be felt. There were not enough engine-drivers or conductors. On the 17th -of July the first accident took place on the South-Western line, the -reason being the sudden attack of the engine-driver. In the paroxysm of -his disease the driver took his train over a precipice on to a glacier -and almost all the passengers were killed or crippled. The news of this -was brought to the town by the next train, and it came as a thunderbolt. -A hospital train was sent off at once; it brought back the dead and the -crippled, but towards the evening of that day news was circulated that a -similar catastrophe had taken place on the First line. Two of the -railway tracks connecting Zvezdny with the outside world were damaged. -Breakdown gangs were sent from Zvezdny and from North Port to repair the -lines, but it was almost impossible because of the winter temperature. -There was no hope that on these lines train service would be resumed--at -least, in the near future. - -These catastrophes were simply patterns for new ones. The more alarmed -the engine-drivers became the more liable they were to the disease and -to the repetition of the mistake of their predecessors. Just because -they were afraid of destroying a train they destroyed it. During the -five days from the eighteenth to the twenty-second of June seven trains -with passengers were wrecked. Thousands of passengers perished from -injuries or starved to death unrescued in the snowy wastes. Only very -few had sufficient strength to return to the city by their own efforts. -The six main lines connecting Zvezdny with the outer world were rendered -useless. The service of dirigibles had ceased earlier. One of them had -been destroyed by the enraged mob, the pretext given being that they -were used exclusively for the rich. The others, one by one, were -wrecked, the disease probably attacking the crew. The population of the -city was at this time about six hundred thousand. For some time they -were only connected with the world by telegraph. - -On the 24th of June the Metropolitan railway ceased to run. On the 26th -the telephone service was discontinued. On the 27th all chemists’ shops, -except the large central store, were closed. On the 1st of July the -inhabitants were ordered to come from the outer parts of the town into -the central districts, so that order might better be maintained, food -distributed, and medical aid afforded. Suburban dwellers abandoned their -own quarters and settled in those which had lately been abandoned by -fugitives. The sense of property vanished. No one was sorry to leave his -own, no one felt it strange to take up his abode in other people’s -houses. Nevertheless, burglars and robbers did not disappear, though -perhaps now one would rather call them demented beings than criminals. -They continued to steal, and great hoards of gold have been discovered -in the empty houses where they hid them, and precious stones beside the -decaying body of the robber himself. - -It is astonishing that in the midst of universal destruction life tended -to keep its former course. There still were shopkeepers who opened their -shops and sold for incredible sums the luxuries, flowers, books, guns, -and other goods which they had preserved.... Purchasers threw down their -unnecessary gold ungrudgingly, and miserly merchants hid it, God knows -why. There still existed secret resorts, with cards, women, and wine, -whither unfortunates sought refuge and tried to forget dreadful reality. -There the whole mingled with the diseased, and there is no chronicle of -the scenes which took place. Two or three newspapers still tried to -preserve the significance of the written word in the midst of -desolation. Copies of these newspapers are being sold now at ten or -twenty times their original value, and will undoubtedly become -bibliographical rareties of the first degree. In their columns is -reflected the horrors of the unfortunate town, described in the midst of -the reigning madness and set by half-mad compositors. There were -reporters who took note of the happenings of the town, journalists who -debated hotly the condition of affairs, and even feuilletonists who -endeavoured to enliven these tragic days. But the telegrams received -from other countries, telling as they did of real healthy life, caused -the souls of the readers in Zvezdny to fall into despair. - -There were desperate attempts to escape. At the beginning of July an -immense crowd of women and children, led by a certain John Dew, decided -to set out on foot for the nearest inhabited place, Londontown. Deville -understood the madness of this attempt, but could not stop the people, -and himself supplied them with warm clothing and provisions. This whole -crowd of about two thousand people were lost in the snow and in the -continuous Polar night. A certain Whiting started to preach a more -heroic remedy: this was, to kill all who were suffering from the -disease, and he held that after that the epidemic would cease. He found -a considerable number of adherents, though in those dark days the -wildest, most inhuman, proposal which in any way promised deliverance -would have obtained attention. Whiting and his friends broke into every -house in the town and destroyed whatever sick they found. They massacred -the patients in the hospitals, they even killed those suspected to be -unwell. Robbers and madmen joined themselves to these bands of ideal -murderers. The whole town became their arena. In these difficult days -Horace Deville organised his fellow-workers into a military force, -encouraged them with his spirit, and set out to fight the followers of -Whiting. This affair lasted several days. Hundreds of men fell on one -side or the other, till at last Whiting himself was taken. He appeared -to be in the last stages of _mania contradicens_ and had to be taken to -the hospital, where he soon perished, instead of to the scaffold. - -On the eighth of July one of the worst things happened. The controller -of the Central Power Station smashed all the machinery. The electric -light failed, and the whole city was plunged in absolute darkness. As -there was no other means of lighting and warming the city, the people -were left in a helpless plight. Deville had, however, foreseen such an -eventuality and had accumulated a considerable quantity of torches and -fuel. Bonfires were lighted in all the streets. Torches were distributed -in thousands. But these miserable lights could not illumine the gigantic -perspectives of the city of Zvezdny, the tens of kilometres of straight -line highways, the gloomy height of thirteen-storey buildings. With the -darkness the last discipline of the city was lost. Terror and madness -finally possessed all souls. The healthy could not be distinguished from -the sick. There commenced a dreadful orgy of the despairing. - -The moral sense of the people declined with astonishing rapidity. -Culture slipped from off these people like a delicate bark, and -revealed man, wild and naked, the man-beast as he was. All sense of -right was lost, force alone was acknowledged. For women, the only law -became that of desire and of indulgence. The most virtuous matrons -behaved as the most abandoned, with no continence or faith, and used the -vile language of the tavern. Young girls ran about the streets demented -and unchaste. Drunkards made feasts in ruined cellars, not in any way -distressed that amongst the bottles lay unburied corpses. All this was -constantly aggravated by the breaking out of the disease afresh. Sad was -the position of children, abandoned by their parents to the will of -Fate. They died of hunger, of injury after assault, and they were -murdered both purposely and by accident. It is even affirmed that -cannibalism took place. - -In this last period of tragedy Horace Deville could not, of course, -afford help to the whole population. But he did arrange in the Town Hall -shelter for those who still preserved their reason. The entrances to the -building were barricaded and sentries were kept continuously on guard. -There was food and water for three thousand people for forty days. -Deville, however, had only eighteen hundred people, and though there -must have been other people with sound minds in the town, they could not -have known what Deville was doing, and these remained in hiding in the -houses. Many resolved to remain indoors till the end, and bodies have -been found of many who must have died of hunger in their solitude. It is -remarkable that among those who took refuge in the Town Hall there were -very few new cases of the disease. Deville was able to keep discipline -in his small community. He kept till the last a journal of all that -happened, and that journal, together with the telegrams, makes the most -reliable source of evidence of the catastrophe. The journal was found in -a secret cupboard of the Town Hall, where the most precious documents -were kept. The last entry refers to the 20th of July. Deville writes -that a demented crowd is assailing the building, and that he is obliged -to fire with revolvers upon the people. “What I hope for,” he adds, “I -know not. No help can be expected before the spring. We have not the -food to live till the spring. But I shall fulfil my duty to the end.” -These were the last words of Deville. Noble words! - -It must be added that on the 21st of July the crowd took the Town Hall -by storm, and its defenders were all killed or scattered. The body of -Deville has not yet been found, and there is no reliable evidence as to -what took place in the town after the 21st. It must be conjectured, from -the state in which the town was found, that anarchy reached its last -limits. The gloomy streets, lit up by the glare of bonfires of furniture -and books, can be imagined. They obtained fire by striking iron on -flint. Crowds of drunkards and madmen danced wildly about the bonfires. -Men and women drank together and passed the common cup from lip to lip. -The worst scenes of sensuality were witnessed. Some sort of dark -atavistic sense enlivened the souls of these townsmen, and half-naked, -unwashed, unkempt, they danced the dances of their remote ancestors, the -contemporaries of the cave-bears, and they sang the same wild songs as -did the hordes when they fell with stone axes upon the mammoth. With -songs, with incoherent exclamations, with idiotic laughter, mingled the -cries of those who had lost the power to express in words their own -delirious dreams, mingled also the moans of those in the convulsions of -death. Sometimes dancing gave way to fighting--for a barrel of wine, for -a woman, or simply without reason, in a fit of madness brought about by -contradictory emotion. There was nowhere to flee; the same dreadful -scenes were everywhere, the same orgies everywhere, the same fights, the -same brutal gaiety or brutal rage--or else, absolute darkness, which -seemed more dreadful, even more intolerable to the staggered -imagination. - -Zvezdny became an immense black box, in which were some thousands of -man-resembling beings, abandoned in the foul air from hundreds of -thousands of dead bodies, where amongst the living was not one who -understood his own position. This was the city of the senseless, the -gigantic madhouse, the greatest and most disgusting Bedlam which the -world has ever seen. And the madmen destroyed one another, stabbed or -strangled one another, died of madness, died of terror, died of hunger, -and of all the diseases which reigned in the infected air. - - * * * * * - -It goes without saying that the Government of the Republic did not -remain indifferent to the great calamity which had overtaken the -capital. But it very soon became clear that no help whatever could be -given. No doctors, nurses, officers, or workmen of any kind would agree -to go to Zvezdny. After the breakdown of the railroad service and of the -airships it was, of course, impossible to get there, the climatic -conditions being too great an obstacle. Moreover, the attention of the -Government was soon absorbed by cases of the disease appearing in other -towns of the Republic. In some of these it threatened to take on the -same epidemic character, and a social panic set in that was akin to what -happened in Zvezdny itself. A wholesale exodus from the more populated -parts of the Republic commenced. The work in all the mines came to a -standstill, and the entire industrial life of the country faded away. -But thanks, however, to strong measures taken in time, the progress of -the disease was arrested in these towns, and nowhere did it reach the -proportions witnessed in the capital. - -The anxiety with which the whole world followed the misfortunes of the -young Republic is well known. At first no one dreamed that the trouble -could grow to what it did, and the dominant feeling was that of -curiosity. The chief newspapers of the world (and in that number our own -_Northern European Evening News_) sent their own special correspondents -to Zvezdny--to write up the epidemic. Many of these brave knights of the -pen became victims of their own professional obligations. When the news -became more alarming, various foreign governments and private societies -offered their services to the Republic. Some sent troops, others -doctors, others money; but the catastrophe developed with such rapidity -that this goodwill could not obtain fulfilment. After the breakdown of -the railway service the only information received from Zvezdny was that -of the telegrams sent by the Nachalnik. These telegrams were forwarded -to the ends of the earth and printed in millions of copies. After the -wreck of the electrical apparatus the telegraph service lasted still a -few days longer, thanks to the accumulators of the power-house. There is -no accurate information as to why the telegraph service ceased -altogether; perhaps the apparatus was destroyed. The last telegram of -Horace Deville was that of the 27th of June. From that date, for almost -six weeks, humanity remained without news of the capital of the -Republic. - -During July several attempts were made to reach Zvezdny by air. Several -new airships and aeroplanes were received by the Republic. But for a -long time all efforts to reach the city failed. At last, however, the -aeronaut, Thomas Billy, succeeded in flying to the unhappy town. He -picked up from the roof of the town two people in an extreme state of -hunger and mental collapse. Looking through the ventilators Billy saw -that the streets were plunged in absolute darkness; but he heard wild -cries, and understood that there were still living human beings in the -town. Billy, however, did not dare to let himself down into the town -itself. Towards the end of August one line of the electric railway was -put in order as far as the station Lissis, a hundred and five kilometres -from the town. A detachment of well-armed men passed into the town, -bearing food and medical first-aid, entering by the northwestern gates. -They, however, could not penetrate further than the first blocks of -buildings, because of the dreadful atmosphere. They had to do their work -step by step, clearing the bodies from the streets, disinfecting the air -as they went. The only people whom they met were completely -irresponsible. They resembled wild animals in their ferocity and had to -be captured and held by force. About the middle of September train -service with Zvezdny was once more established and trains went -regularly. - -At the time of writing the greater part of the town has already been -cleared. Electric light and heating are once more in working order. The -only part of the town which has not been dealt with is the American -quarter, but it is thought that there are no living beings there. About -ten thousand people have been saved, but the greater number are -apparently incurable. Those who have to any degree recovered evince a -strong disinclination to speak of the life they have gone through. What -is more, their stories are full of contradiction and often not confirmed -by documentary evidence. Various newspapers of the last days of July -have been found. The latest to date, that of the 22nd of July, gives the -news of the death of Horace Deville and the invitation of shelter in the -Town Hall. There are, indeed, some other pages marked August, but the -words printed thereon make it clear that the author (who was probably -setting in type his own delirium) was quite irresponsible. The diary of -Horace Deville was discovered, with its regular chronicle of events from -the 28th of June to the 20th of July. The frenzies of the last days in -the town are luridly witnessed by the things discovered in streets and -houses. Mutilated bodies everywhere: the bodies of the starved, of the -suffocated, of those murdered by the insane, and some even half-eaten. -Bodies were found in the most unexpected places: in the tunnels of the -Metropolitan railway, in sewers, in various sheds, in boilers. The -demented had sought refuge from the surrounding terrors in all possible -places. The interiors of most houses had been wrecked, and the booty -which robbers had found it impossible to dispose of had been hidden in -secret rooms and cellars. - -It will certainly be several months before Zvezdny will become habitable -once more. Now it is almost empty. The town, which could accommodate -three million people, has but thirty thousand workmen, who are cleansing -the streets and houses. A good number of the former inhabitants who had -previously fled have returned, however, to seek the bodies of their -relatives and to glean the remains of their lost fortunes. Several -tourists, attracted by the amazing spectacle of the empty town, have -also arrived. Two business men have opened hotels and are doing pretty -well. A small café-chantant is to be opened shortly, the troupe for -which has already been engaged. - -_The Northern-European Evening News_ has for its part sent out a new -correspondent, Mr. Andrew Ewald, and hopes to obtain circumstantial news -of all the fresh discoveries which may be made in the unfortunate -capital of the Republic of the Southern Cross. - - - - -THE MARBLE BUST: - -A TRAMP’S STORY - - -He had been tried for burglary, and sentenced to a year’s imprisonment. -I was struck by the behaviour of the old man in court and by the -circumstances under which the crime had been committed. I obtained -permission to visit the prisoner. At first he would have nothing to do -with me, and would not speak; but finally he told me the story of his -life. - -“You are right,” said he. “I have seen better days, and I haven’t always -been a miserable wanderer about the streets, nor always slept in -night-houses. I had a good education. I--am an engineer. In my youth I -had a little money and I lived a gay life: every evening I went to a -party or to a ball and ended up with a drinking bout. I remember that -time well, even trifling details I remember. And yet there is a gap in -my recollections that I would give all the rest of my unworthy life to -fill up--everything which has anything to do with Nina. - -“She was called Nina, dear sir; yes, Nina. I’m sure of that. Her husband -was a minor official on the railway. They were poor. But how clever she -was in making of the pitiful surroundings of her life something elegant -and, as it were, specially refined. She herself did the cooking, but her -hands were, as it were, carefully wrought. Of her poor clothes she made -a marvellous dream. Yes, and the whole everyday world, on contact with -her, became fantastical. I myself, meeting her, became other than I was, -better, and shook off, as rain from my clothes, all the sordidness of -life. - -“May God forgive her sin in loving me. Everything around her was so -coarse that she couldn’t help falling in love with me, young and -handsome as I was and knowing so much poetry by heart. But when I first -made her acquaintance, and how--this I cannot now call to mind. Separate -pictures draw themselves out from the darkness. See, we are at the -theatre. She, happy, gay (this was so rare with her), is drinking in -every word of the play, and she is smiling at me.... I remember her -smile. Afterwards, we were together at some place or other. She bent her -head down to me, and said: ‘I know that you will not be my happiness for -very long; never mind, I shall have lived.’ I remember these words. But -what happened directly afterwards, and whether it is really true that -all this happened when I was with Nina, I don’t know. - -“Of course, it was I who first gave her up. This seems to me so natural. -All my companions acted in this way: they flirted with some married -woman, and then, after a while, cast her off. I only acted as everybody -else did, and it didn’t even enter my mind that I was behaving badly. To -steal money, not to pay one’s debts, to turn informer--this was bad, but -to cast off a woman whom one has loved was only the way of the world. A -brilliant future was before me, and I could not bind myself to a sort of -romantic love. It was painful, very painful, but I gained the victory -over myself, and I even saw a _podvig_ in my resolution to overcome this -pain. - -“I heard that Nina went away afterwards with her husband to the south, -and that soon after she died. But my memories of Nina were so tormenting -that I avoided at that time all news of her. I tried to know nothing -about her and not to think of her. I had not kept her portrait, I had -returned her letters, we had no mutual acquaintances--and so, little by -little, the image of Nina was erased from my soul. Do you understand? I -gradually came to forget Nina, forget her entirely, her face, her name, -and all her love. It came to be as if she had actually never existed at -all in my life.... Ah, there’s something shameful for a man in this -ability to forget! - -“The years went by. I won’t tell you now how I ‘made a career.’ Without -Nina, of course I dreamed only of external success, of money. At one -time I had nearly obtained the complete success at which I aimed. I -could spend thousands, could travel abroad. I married and had children. -Afterwards, everything turned to loss; the works which I designed were -unsuccessful; my wife died; finding myself left with children on my -hands, I sent them away to relatives, and now, God forgive me, I don’t -even know if my little boys are alive. As you may guess, I drank and -played cards.... I started an agency--it did not succeed; it swallowed -up my last money and energy. I tried to get straight by gambling, and -only just escaped being sent to prison--yes, and not entirely without -reason. My friends turned against me and my downfall began. - -“Little by little I got to the point where you now see me. I, so to -speak, ‘dropped out’ of intellectual society and fell into the abyss. -What place could I presume to take, badly dressed, almost always -drunken? Of late years I have worked for months, when not drinking, as a -labourer in various factories. And when I had a drinking bout--I would -turn up in the Thieves’ market and doss-houses. I passionately detested -the people I met, and was always dreaming that suddenly my fate would -change and I should be rich once more. I expected to receive some sort -of non-existent inheritance or something of that kind. And I despised my -companions because they had no such hope. - -“Well, one day, all shivering with cold and hunger, I wander into -someone’s yard without knowing why, and something happens. Suddenly the -cook calls out to me, ‘Hallo, my boy, you don’t happen to be a -locksmith, do you?’ ‘Yes, I’m a locksmith,’ says I. They wanted someone -to mend the lock of a writing-table. I found myself in a luxurious -study, gold all about, and pictures. I began to work and did what was -wanted, and the lady gave me a rouble. I took the money, and, all of a -sudden, I saw on a little white pedestal, a marble bust. At first I felt -faint. I don’t know why. I stared at it and couldn’t believe: Nina! - -“I tell you, dear sir, I had quite forgotten Nina, and at this moment -specially, for the first time, I understood it, understood that I had -forgotten her. Suddenly her image swam before my eyes, and a whole -universe of feelings, dreams, thoughts, buried in my soul as in some -sort of Atlantis--woke, rose again, lived again.... I look at the marble -bust, all trembling, and I say: ‘Permit me to ask, lady, whose bust is -that?’ ‘Oh, that,’ says she, ‘is a very valuable thing; it was made five -hundred years ago, in the fifteenth century.’ She told me the name of -the sculptor, but I didn’t catch it, and she said that her husband had -brought this bust from Italy, and that because of it there had arisen a -whole diplomatic correspondence between the Italian and Russian -Cabinets. ‘But,’ says the lady to me, ‘you don’t mean to say it pleases -you? What an up-to-date taste you have! Don’t you see that the ears,’ -says she, ‘are not in the right place, and the nose is irregular -...?’--and she went away; she went away. - -“I rushed out as if I were suffocating. This was not a likeness, but an -actual portrait; nay more--it was a sort of re-creation of life in -marble. Tell me, by what miracle could an artist in the fifteenth -century make those same tiny ears, set on awry, which I knew so well, -those same eyes, just a tiny bit aslant, that irregular nose, and the -high sloping forehead, out of which unexpectedly you got the most -beautiful, the most captivating woman’s face? By what miracle could -there live two women so much alike--one in the fifteenth century, the -other in our own day? And that she whom the sculptor had modelled was -absolutely the same, and like to Nina not only in face but in character -and in soul, I could not doubt. - -“That day changed the whole of my life. I understood all the meanness of -my behaviour in the past and all the depth of my fall. I understood Nina -as an angel, sent to me by Destiny and not recognised by me. To bring -back the past was impossible. But I began eagerly to gather together my -remembrances of Nina as one might gather up the shattered bits of a -precious vase. How few they were! Try as I would I could get nothing -whole. All were fragments, splinters. But how I rejoiced when I -succeeded in making out in my soul something new. Thinking over these -things and remembering, I would spend whole hours; people laughed at me, -but I was happy. I was old; it was late for me to begin life anew, but I -could still cleanse my soul from base thoughts, from malice towards my -fellows and from murmuring against my Creator. And in my remembrances of -Nina I found this cleansing. - -“I wanted desperately to look once more at the statue. I wandered whole -evenings near the house where it was and I tried to see the marble bust, -but it stood a long way from the windows. I spent whole nights in front -of the house. I knew all the people who lived there, how the rooms were -arranged, and I made friends with a servant. In the summer the lady went -away into the country. And then I could no longer fight against my -desire. I thought that if I could see the marble Nina once again, I -should at once remember everything, to the end. And that would be for me -ultimate bliss. So I made up my mind to do that for which I’ve been -sentenced. You know that I didn’t succeed. They caught me in the hall. -And at the trial it came out that I’d been in the rooms on pretence of -being a locksmith, and that I’d often been seen near the house.... I was -a beggar, I had forced the locks.... However, the story’s ended now, -dear sir!” - -“But we’ll make an appeal for you,” said I. “They will acquit you.” - -“But why?” objected the old man. “No one grieves over my sentence, and -no one will go bail for me, and isn’t it just the same where I shall -think about Nina--in a doss-house or in a prison?” - -I didn’t know what to answer, but the old man suddenly looked up at me -with his strange and faded eyes and went on: - -“Only one thing worries me. What if Nina never existed, and it was -merely my poor mind, weakened by alcohol, which invented the whole story -of this love whilst I was looking at the little marble head?” - - - - -FOR HERSELF OR FOR ANOTHER - - -I - -“It is she! No, it can’t be, but yet of course it is!” said Peter -Andreyevitch Basmanof to himself, as a lady who had previously attracted -his attention passed for the fifth or sixth time the little table at -which he was sitting. - -He no longer doubted that it was Elizavieta. Certainly, they had not met -for nearly twelve years, and no woman’s face could remain unchanged -during such a period. The features, formerly thin and sharply defined, -had become somewhat fuller; the glance, once confiding as a child’s, was -now cold and stern, and in the whole face there was an expression of -self-confidence which used not to be there. But were they not the same -eyes which Basmanof had loved to liken to St. Elma’s fires, was it not -that same oval which by its purity of outline alone had often calmed his -passion, were they not the same tiny ears which he had found so sweet to -kiss? Yes, it must be Elizavieta: there could not be two women so much -alike--as much alike as the reflections in two adjoining mirrors! - -Basmanof’s mind went quickly over the history of his love for -Elizavieta. Not for the first time did he thus survey it, for of all his -memories none was dearer or more sacred than this love. The young -advocate, just stepping forth into life, had met a woman somewhat older -than himself who had loved him with all the blindness of a fierce, -unreasoning, ecstatical passion. Elizavieta’s whole soul had been -absorbed by this love, and nothing else in the world had mattered to her -except this one thing--to possess her beloved, give herself to him, -worship him. She had been prepared to sacrifice all the conventions of -their “set,” she had begged Basmanof to allow her to leave her husband -and go to live with him; and in society not only had she not been -ashamed of her connection with him--which, of course, had been talked -about--but she had, as it were, gloried in it. Basmanof had never since -come across a love so self-forgetful, so ready to sacrifice itself, and -he could not have doubted that if at any time he had demanded of -Elizavieta that she should kill herself she would have fulfilled his -behest with a calm submissive rapture. - -How had Basmanof profited by such a love, which comes to us only once in -life? He had been afraid of it, afraid of its immensity and its -strength. He had understood that where infinite sacrifices are made they -are necessarily accompanied by great demands. He had been afraid to -accept this love because it would have been necessary to give something -in exchange for it, and he felt himself spiritually lacking. And he had -been afraid that his just-blossoming career might be checked.... -Basmanof, like a thief, had stolen half a year’s love, which could not -have been his had he been frank and shown his real character from the -first, and then he had taken advantage of the first trifling excuse to -“break off the connection.” - -Ah, how ashamed he was now to recall their last meeting before this took -place. Elizavieta, blinded by her love for him, could not understand, -could not see, that her beloved was too low for her to abase herself -before him, and she had begged him on her knees not to forsake her. He -remembered how she, sobbing, had embraced his feet and let herself be -dragged along the floor, how in despair she had beaten her head against -the wall. He had learnt afterwards that his desertion had sent -Elizavieta nearly out of her mind, that at one time she had wished to -enter a convent, and that later when she became a widow she had gone -abroad. Since then he had lost all trace of her. - -Was it possible that here at Interlaken he was meeting her now again, -twelve years after their rupture, calm, stern, beautiful as ever, with -her inexplicable fascination for him and her tormentingly-sweet -reminders of the past? Basmanof, sitting at the little café table, -watched the tall lady in the large Paris hat as she went by, and his -whole being burned feverishly with images and sensations of the past, -suffusing in a moment the memory of his mind and the memory of his body. -It was she, it was she, Elizavieta, whom he had not allowed to love him -as fully as she had wished, and whom he himself had not dared to love as -fully as he might, as much as he had wished! It was she, his better -self, restored again to him when his life had almost passed, she, alive -still, the possibility incarnate of reviving that which had been, of -completing and restoring it. - -In spite of his self-possession Basmanof’s head was in a whirl. He paid -the waiter for his ice, got up from his seat, and walked out by the path -along which the tall lady had passed. - - -II - -When Basmanof overtook the tall lady he raised his hat deferentially and -bowed to her. But the lady showed no sign of recognition. - -“Is it possible you do not recognise me, Elizavieta Vasilievna?” asked -Basmanof, speaking in Russian. - -After some hesitation the lady answered in Russian, though with a slight -accent. - -“Pardon me, but you’ve probably made a mistake. I am not an acquaintance -of yours.” - -“Elizavieta Vasilievna!” exclaimed Basmanof deeply hurt by such a reply. -“Surely you must recognise me! I am Peter Andreyevitch Basmanof.” - -“It’s the first time I’ve heard that name,” said the lady, “and I don’t -know you at all.” - -For several seconds Basmanof gazed at the lady who thus spoke to him, -asking himself whether he had not made a mistake. But there was such an -undoubted likeness, he so definitely recognised her as Elizavieta, that -blocking up the pathway to this lady in the large Paris hat, he repeated -insistently-- - -“I recognise _you_, Elizavieta Vasilievna! I understand that _you_ may -have reasons for concealing your true name. I understand that you may -not wish to meet your former acquaintances. But you must know that it’s -absolutely necessary for me to speak a few words to you. I have gone -through too much since we separated. I must put myself right with you. I -don’t want you to despise me.” - -Basmanof hardly knew himself what he was saying. He wanted only one -thing--that Elizavieta would acknowledge that it was she. He was afraid -that she might go away and not come back, might vanish for evermore, and -that this meeting might prove to be a dream. - -The lady moved quietly to one side, and said in French: - -“_Monsieur, laissez-moi passer, s’il vous plaît! Je ne vous connais -pas._” - -She showed no agitation whatever, and at Basmanof’s words the expression -of her face did not change in the least. But all the same he could not -let her go, but followed her. - -“Elizavieta!” cried he. “Curse me if you will, call me the most -worthless of men, tell me that you no longer wish to know me--I will -take it all humbly, as I ought. But do not pretend that you do not -recognise me; that I cannot endure. You dare not, ought not, to insult -me so.” - -“I assure you,” the lady interrupted in a more severe tone, “that you -mistake me for someone else. You call me Elizavieta Vasilievna, but that -is not my name. I am Ekaterina Vladimirovna Sadikova, and my maiden name -was Armand. Surely that is sufficient evidence for you to allow me to -continue my walk, as I wish to do?” - -“But why, then,” cried Basmanof, making a last attempt, “why have you -borne with me so long? If I am an utter stranger to you why didn’t you -at once order me to be silent, or call a policeman? No one behaves as -gently as you have done towards a scoundrel of the street!” - -“I see quite clearly,” answered the lady, “that you are not a street -scoundrel, and that you would not allow yourself to take any liberties. -You’ve simply made a mistake: my likeness to some lady of your -acquaintance has led you into an error. That is no crime, and I’ve no -occasion whatever to call the police. But now everything has been -explained--good-bye!” - -Basmanof could insist no longer. He stood aside, and the lady walked -slowly past him. But the whole of the conversation, the tone of the -lady’s voice, her movements, everything about her--only accentuated his -belief that this was--Elizavieta. - -Disturbed and agitated, he went back to his room at the hotel. Beyond -the green meadow, like some gigantic phantom, shone the eternal snow of -the Yungfrau. It seemed near, but was immeasurably far. Was it not like -to Elizavieta, who had seemed risen from the dead, but who had again -retreated into the far unknown? - -It was not difficult for Basmanof to discover the address of the lady -whom he had met. After some hesitation he wrote her a letter, in which -he said that he had no wish to argue about what was evident. He had -clearly made a mistake in taking an unknown lady for an old acquaintance -of his, but their short encounter had made a deep impression on him, and -he begged permission to bow to her when they met, in memory of an -accidental acquaintance. The letter was couched in extremely cautious -and respectful terms. When on the following day Basmanof met the lady -who called herself Mme. Sadikova she bowed to him first and herself -began to speak to him. And so their acquaintance began. - - -III - -Mme. Sadikova gave no signs of ever having previously known Basmanof. -Quite the contrary; she treated him as someone whom she had never met -before. They talked about unimportant matters, connected chiefly with -life at the watering-place. Mme. Sadikova’s conversation was interesting -and clever, and she appeared to be very well read. But when Basmanof -tried to pass to more intimate, more painful questions his companion -lightly and deftly evaded them. - -Everything convinced Basmanof that she was Elizavieta. He recognised her -voice, her favourite turns of speech; recognised that intangible -something which expresses the individuality of a person but which it is -difficult to define in words. He could have sworn that he was not -mistaken. - -Certainly there were slight marks of difference, but could not these be -explained by the interval of twelve years? It was natural that from -Elizavieta’s flaming passions the experiences of life should have forged -a steely coldness. It was natural that living abroad for many years -Elizavieta should have somewhat forgotten her native tongue and speak -it with an accent. Finally it was natural that in her behaviour, in her -gestures, in her laughter, there should appear new features which had -not been there before.... - -All the same, Basmanof was sometimes seized by doubt, and then he began -mentally to notice hundreds of tiny peculiarities which distinguished -Ekaterina from Elizavieta. But he only needed to look once more into -Mme. Sadikova’s face, to hear her speak, and all his doubts would -disperse like a mist. He felt in himself and his soul was aware that -this was she whom he had once loved. - -Of course he did all he could to unravel the mystery. He tried to -confuse her by asking unexpected questions; she was always on her guard, -and she easily escaped out of all his snares. He tried to question her -acquaintances; no one knew anything about her. He even went so far as to -intercept a letter addressed to her; it proved to be from Paris, and -consisted only of impersonal French phrases. - -One evening, when the two were together in a restaurant, Basmanof could -endure the continuous strain no longer, and he suddenly exclaimed-- - -“Why do we keep up this tormenting game? You are Elizavieta--I am sure -of it. You can’t forget how you once loved me. And of course you can’t -forget how basely I cast you off. But now I bring you all my soul’s -repentance. I despise myself for my former conduct. This is what I -propose: take me for the whole of my life if you can forgive me. But I -say this to Elizavieta, I give myself to her, not to any other woman.” - -Mme. Sadikova listened in silence to this little speech, transgressing -as it did the limits of Society small-talk, and answered calmly-- - -“Dear Peter Andreyevitch. If you are speaking to me I might answer you, -perhaps, but as you warn me that you are speaking to Elizavieta there’s -nothing for me to say.” - -In the greatest excitement Basmanof got up from his seat and asked her: - -“Do you wish to insist that you are not Elizavieta? Well, say so once -more to my face without blenching and I will go away, I will at once -hide myself from your eyes, I will vanish out of your life. Then there -will be no more reason for my living.” - -Mme. Sadikova smiled sweetly. - -“Do you wish so much that I were Elizavieta?” asked she. “Very well, I -will be Elizavieta.” - - -IV - -Then the second game began, a more cruel one perhaps than the first. -Mme. Sadikova called herself Elizavieta and treated Basmanof as an old -acquaintance. When he spoke of the past she pretended to remember the -persons and events of which he spoke. When he, all trembling, reminded -her of her love for him, she, laughing, agreed that she had loved him; -but she hinted that in the course of time this love had died down, as -every flame dies down. - -In order to play her part conscientiously, Mme. Sadikova herself would -sometimes speak of the happenings of the past, but she mixed up the -dates, remembered the wrong names, imagined things which had never -occurred. It was especially tormenting that when she spoke of her love -for Basmanof she referred to it as to a light flirtation, the accidental -amusement of a lady in society. This seemed to Basmanof an insult to -sacred things, and almost with a wail he besought her to be silent. - -But this was little. Imperceptibly, step by step, Mme. Sadikova poisoned -all Basmanof’s most holy recollections. By her hints she discrowned all -the most beautiful facts of the past. She gave him to understand that -much of what had appeared to him as evidence of her self-forgetful love -had been only hypocrisy and make-believe. - -“Elizavieta!” implored Basmanof once of her. “Is it possible for me to -believe that your passionate vows, your sobs, your despair, when you -threw yourself unconscious on the floor--that all this was feigned? The -most talented dramatic actress could not act so well. You are defaming -yourself.” - -Mme. Sadikova, answering to the name of Elizavieta, as she had been -doing for some time, said with a smile-- - -“How can one distinguish where acting ends and sincerity begins? I -wanted at that time to feel strongly and so I allowed myself to pretend -to be despairing and out of my senses. If in your place had been not you -but some other, I should have acted just the same. And yet at that very -moment it would have cost me nothing to overcome myself and not sob at -all. Aren’t we all like that in life--actors--we don’t so much live as -act the part of living?” - -“That’s not true,” exclaimed Basmanof. “You say this because you do not -know how Elizavieta loved. She would never have spoken so. You are only -playing her part. It’s evident you are not she--you are Ekaterina.” - -Mme. Sadikova laughed, and then said in a different tone-- - -“Just as you like, Peter Andreyevitch. I only played the part to please -you. If you wish it I will become myself again, Ekaterina Vladimirovna -Sadikova.” - -“How can I know where you are real?” hissed Basmanof through his teeth. - -He began to feel that he was going out of his mind. Fiction and reality -for him had become confused. For some minutes he doubted who he was -himself. - -In the meantime Mme. Sadikova got up and proposed a walk and she again -began to speak to him as Elizavieta. - - -V - -The days went by. The season at Interlaken came to an end. - -Basmanof, obsessed by his connection with this mysterious acquaintance -of his, began to forget everything else; forgot why he had come to -Interlaken, forget all his business, answered no letters from home, -lived a sort of senseless life. Like a maniac, he thought only of one -thing: how to guess the secret of Elizavieta-Ekaterina. - -Was he in love with this woman?--he could not have said. She drew him to -herself as to an abyss, as to a horror, to a place of destruction. -Months and years might go by and he would be glad to go on with this -duel of mind and ready wit, this struggle of two minds, one of which -sought to preserve her secret and the other strove to tear it from her. - -But suddenly, early in October, Mme. Sadikova left Interlaken. She went -away, neither saying good-bye to Basmanof nor warning him of her -departure. On the following day, however, he received a letter from her, -posted from Berne. - -“I will not deprive you of the satisfaction of guessing who I am,” wrote -Mme. Sadikova. “I leave the solution of this problem to your sharp wit. -But if you are tired of guessing, and would like to have the simplest -solution, I will tell it you. Suppose that I was really a complete -stranger to you. Learning from your own agitated accounts, how cruelly -you had once treated a certain Elizavieta, I determined to avenge her. I -think I have attained my object; my revenge has been accomplished: you -will never forget these weeks of torture at Interlaken. And for whom I -took this vengeance, for myself or for another, is it not all the same -in the long run? Good-bye, you will never see me again. -Elizavieta-Ekaterina.” - - - - -IN THE MIRROR - - -I have loved mirrors from my very earliest years. As an infant I wept -and trembled as I looked into their transparently truthful depths. My -favourite game as a child was to walk up and down the room or the -garden, holding a mirror in front of me, gazing into its abyss, walking -over the edge at every step, and breathless with giddiness and terror. -Even as a girl I began to put mirrors all over my room, large and small -ones, true and slightly distorted ones, some precise and others a little -dull. I got into the habit of spending whole hours, whole days, in the -midst of inter-crossing worlds which ran one into the other, trembled, -vanished, and then reappeared again. It became a singular passion of -mine to give my body to these soundless distances, these echoless -perspectives, these separate universes cutting across our own and -existing, despite our consciousness, in the same place and at the same -time with it. This protracted actuality, separated from us by the smooth -surface of glass, drew me towards itself by a kind of intangible touch, -dragged me forward, as to an abyss, a mystery. - -I was drawn towards the apparition which always rose up before me when I -came near a mirror and which strangely doubled my being. I strove to -guess how this other woman was differentiated from myself, how it was -possible that my right hand should be her left, and that all the fingers -of this hand should change places, though certainly on one of them -was--my wedding-ring. My thoughts were confused when I attempted to -probe this enigma, to solve it. In _this_ world, where everybody could -be touched, where voices were heard--I lived, actually; in _that_ -reflected world, which it was only possible to contemplate, was she, -phantasmally. She was almost as myself and yet not at all myself; she -repeated all my movements, but not one of these movements exactly -coincided with those I made. She, that other, knew something I could not -divine, she held a secret eternally hidden from my understanding. - -But I noticed that each mirror had its own separate and special world. -Put two mirrors in the very same place, one after the other, and there -will arise two different universes. And in different mirrors there rose -up before me different apparitions, all of them like me but never -exactly like one another. In my small hand-mirror lived a naïve little -girl with clear eyes, reminding me of my early youth. In my circular -boudoir mirror was hidden a woman who knew all the diverse sweetness of -caresses, shameless, free, beautiful, daring. In the oblong mirrors of -the wardrobe door there always appeared a stern figure, imperious, cold, -inexorable. I knew still other doubles of myself--in my dressing-glass, -in my folding gold-framed triptych, in the hanging mirror in the oaken -frame, in the little neck mirror, and in many other mirrors which I -treasured. To all the beings hiding themselves in these mirrors I gave -the possibility and pretext to develop. According to the strange -conditions of their world they must take the form of the person who -stands before the glass but under this borrowed exterior they preserve -their own personal characteristics. - -There were some worlds of mirrors which I loved; others which I hated. -In some of them I loved to walk up and down for whole hours, losing -myself in their attractive expanse. Others I fled from. In my secret -heart I did not love all my doubles. I knew that they were all hostile -toward me, if only for the fact that they were forced to clothe -themselves in my hated likeness. But some of these mirror women I -pitied. I forgave their hate and felt almost friendly to them. There -were some whom I despised, and I loved to laugh at their powerless fury; -there were some whom I mocked by my own independence and tortured by my -power over them. There were others, on the other hand, of whom I was -afraid, who were too strong for me and who dared in their turn to mock -at me, to command me. I hastened to get rid of the mirrors where these -women lived, I would not look in them, I hid them, gave them away, even -broke some in pieces. But every time I destroyed a mirror I wept for -whole days after, conscious of the fact that I had broken to pieces a -distinct universe. And reproachful faces stared at me from the broken -fragments of the world I had destroyed. - -The mirror with which my fate was to become linked I bought one autumn -at a sale of some sort. It was a large pier-glass, swinging on screws. I -was struck by the unusual clarity of its reflection. The phantasmal -actuality in it was changed by the slightest inclination of the glass, -but it was independent and vital to the edges. When I examined this -pier-glass at the sale the woman who reflected me in it looked me in the -eyes with a kind of haughty challenge. I did not wish to give in to her, -to show that she had frightened me, so I bought the glass and ordered it -to be placed in my boudoir. As soon as I was alone in the room, I -immediately went up to the new mirror and fixed my eyes upon my rival. -But she did the same to me, and standing opposite one another we began -to transfix each other with our glance as if we had been snakes. In the -pupils of her eyes was my reflection, in mine, hers. My heart sank and -my head swam from her intent gaze. But at length by an effort of will I -tore my eyes away from those other eyes, tipped the mirror with my foot -so that it began to swing, rocking the image of my rival pitifully to -and fro, and went out of the room. - -From that hour our strife began. In the evening of the first day of our -meeting I did not dare to go near the new pier-glass; I went to the -theatre with my husband, laughed exaggeratedly, and was apparently -light-hearted. On the morrow, in the clear light of a September day I -went boldly into my boudoir alone and designedly sat down directly in -front of the mirror. At the same moment, she, the other woman, also came -in at the door to meet me, crossed the room, and then she too sat down -opposite me. Our eyes met. In hers I read hatred towards myself; in mine -she read hatred towards her. Our second duel began, a duel of eyes--two -unyielding glances, commanding, threatening, hypnotising. Each of us -strove to conquer the other’s will, to break down her resistance, to -force her to submit to another’s desire. It would have been a painful -scene for an onlooker to witness; two women sitting opposite each other -without moving, joined together by the magnetic attraction of each -other’s gaze, and almost losing consciousness under the psychical -strain.... Suddenly someone called me. The infatuation vanished. I got -up and left the room. - -After this our duels were renewed every day. I realised that this -adventuress had purposely forced herself into my home to destroy me and -take my place in this world. But I had not sufficient strength to deny -myself this struggle. In this rivalry there was a kind of secret -intoxication. The very possibility of defeat had hidden in it a sort of -sweet seduction. Sometimes I forced myself for whole days to keep away -from the pier-glass; I occupied myself with business, with amusements, -but in the depths of my soul was always hidden the memory of the rival -who in patience and self-reliance awaited my return. I would go back to -her and she would step forth in front of me, more triumphantly than -ever, piercing me with her victorious gaze and fixing me in my place -before her. My heart would stop beating, and I with a powerless fury -would feel myself under the authority of this gaze. - -So the days and weeks went by; our struggle continued, but the -preponderance showed itself more and more definitely to be on the side -of my rival. And suddenly one day I realised that my will was in -subjection to her will, that she was already stronger than I. I was -overcome with terror. My first impulse was to flee from my home and go -to another town, but I saw at once that this would be useless. I should, -all the same, be overcome by the attractive force of this hostile will -and be obliged to return to this room, to this mirror. Then there came a -second thought--to shatter the mirror, reduce my enemy to nothingness; -but to conquer her by brutal strength would mean that I acknowledged -her superiority over myself: this would be humiliating. I preferred to -remain and continue this struggle to the end, even though I were -threatened with defeat. - -Soon there could be no doubt that my rival would triumph. At every -meeting there was concentrated in her gaze still greater and greater -power over me. Little by little I lost the possibility of letting a day -pass without once going to my mirror. _She_ ordered me to spend several -hours daily in front of her. _She_ directed my will as a hypnotist -directs the will of a sleepwalker. _She_ arranged my life, as a mistress -arranges the life of a slave. I began to fulfil her demands, I became an -automaton to her wordless orders. I knew that deliberately, cautiously, -she would lead me by an unavoidable path to destruction, and I already -made no resistance. I divined her secret plan--to cast me into the -mirror world and to come forth herself into our world--but I had no -strength to hinder her. My husband and my relatives seeing me spend -whole hours, whole days and nights in front of my mirror, thought me -demented and wanted to cure me. But I dared not reveal the truth to -them, I was forbidden to tell them all the dreadful truth, all the -horror, towards which I was moving. - -One of the December days before the holidays turned out to be the day -of my destruction. I remember everything clearly, precisely, -circumstantially. Nothing in my remembrance is confused. As usual, I -went into my boudoir early, at the first beginnings of the winter dawn -twilight. I placed a comfortable armchair without a back in front of the -mirror, sat down and gave myself up to _her_. Without any delay she -appeared in answer to my summons, she too placed an armchair for -herself, she too sat down and began to gaze at me. A dark foreboding -oppressed my soul, but I was powerless to turn my face away, and I was -forced to take to myself the insolent gaze of my rival. The hours went -by, the shadows began to fall. Neither of us lighted a lamp. The glass -of the mirror glimmered faintly in the darkness. The reflections had -become scarcely visible, but the self-reliant eyes gazed with their -former strength. I felt neither terror nor ill-will, as on other days, -but simply an intolerable anguish and a bitter consciousness that I was -in the power of another. Time swam away and on its tide I also swam into -infinity, into a black expanse of powerlessness and lack of will. - -Suddenly she, that other, the reflected woman, got up from her chair. I -trembled all over at this insult. But something invincible, something -forcing me from within compelled me also to stand up. The woman in the -mirror took a step forward. I did the same. The woman in the mirror -stretched forth her arms. I did so too. Looking straight at me with -hypnotising and commanding eyes, she moved forward and I advanced to -meet her. And it was strange--with all the horror of my position, with -all my hate towards my rival, there fluttered somewhere in the depths of -my soul a painful consolation, a secret joy--to enter at last into that -mysterious world into which I had gazed from my childhood and which up -till now had remained inaccessible to me. At moments I hardly knew which -of us was drawing the other towards herself, she me or I her, whether -she was eager to occupy my place or whether I had devised all this -struggle in order to displace her. - -But when, moving forward, my hands touched hers on the glass I turned -quite pale with repugnance. And _she_ took my hand by force and drew me -still nearer to herself. My hands were plunged into the mirror as into -burning-icy water. The cold of the glass penetrated into my body with a -horrible pain, as if all the atoms of my being had changed their mutual -relationship. In another moment my face had touched the face of my -rival, I saw her eyes right in front of my own, I was transfused into -her with a monstrous kiss. Everything vanished from me in a torment of -suffering unlike any other--and when I came to my senses after this -swoon I still saw in front of me my own boudoir on which I gazed _from -out of_ the mirror. My rival stood before me and burst into laughter. -And I--oh the cruelty of it! I who was dying with humiliation and -torture was obliged to laugh too, to repeat all her grimaces in a -triumphant joyful laugh. I had not yet succeeded in considering my -position when my rival suddenly turned round, walked towards the door, -vanished from my sight, and I at once fell into torpor, into -non-existence. - -Then my life as a reflection began. It was a strange, half-conscious but -mysteriously sweet life. There were many of us in this mirror, dark in -soul, and slumbering of consciousness. We could not speak to one -another, but we felt each other’s proximity and loved one another. We -could see nothing, we heard nothing clearly, And our existence was like -the enfeeblement that comes from being unable to breathe. Only when a -being from the world of men approached the mirror, we, suddenly taking -up his form, could look forth into the world, could distinguish voices, -and breathe a full breath. I think that the life of the dead is like -that--a dim consciousness of one’s ego, a confused memory of the past -and an oppressive desire to be incarnated anew even if only for a -moment, to see, to hear, to speak.... And each of us cherished and -concealed a secret dream--to free one’s self, to find for one’s self a -new body, to go out into the world of constancy and steadfastness. - -During the first days I felt myself absolutely unhappy in my new -position. I still knew nothing, understood nothing. I took the form of -my rival submissively and unthinkingly when she came near the mirror and -began to jeer at me. And she did this fairly often. It afforded her -great delight to flaunt her vitality before me, her reality. She would -sit down and force me also to sit down, stand up and exult as she saw me -stand, wave her arms about, dance, force me to repeat her movements, and -burst out laughing and continue to laugh so that I should have to laugh -too. She would shriek insulting words in my face and I could make no -answer to them. She would threaten me with her fist and mock at my -forced repetition of the gesture. She would turn her back on me and I, -losing sight, losing features, would become conscious of the shame of -the half-existence left to me.... And then suddenly, with one blow she -would whirl the mirror round on its axle and with the oscillation throw -me completely into nonentity. - -Little by little, however, the insults and humiliations awoke a -consciousness in me. I realised that my rival was now living my life, -wearing my dresses, being considered as my husband’s wife, and occupying -my place in the world. Then there grew up in my soul a feeling of hate -and a thirst for vengeance, like two fiery flowers. I began bitterly to -curse myself for having, by my weakness or my criminal curiosity, -allowed her to conquer me. I arrived at the conviction that this -adventuress would never have triumphed over me if I myself had not aided -her in her wiles. And so, as I became more familiar with some of the -conditions of my new existence, I resolved to continue with her the same -fight which she had carried on with me. If she, a shadow, could occupy -the place of a real woman, was it possible that I, a human being, and -only temporarily a shadow, should not be stronger than a phantom? - -I began from a very long way off. At first I pretended that the mockery -of my rival tormented me quite unbearably. I purposely afforded her all -the satisfaction of victory. I provoked in her the secret instinct of -the executioner throwing himself upon his helpless victim. She gave -herself up to this bait. She was attracted by this game with me. She put -forth the wings of her imagination and thought out new trials for me. -She invented thousands of wiles to show me over and over again that -I--was only a reflection, that I had no life of my own. Sometimes she -played on the piano in front of me, torturing me by the soundlessness of -my world. Sometimes, seated before the mirror she would drink in tiny -sips my favourite liqueurs, compelling me only to pretend that I also -was drinking them. Sometimes, at length, she would bring into my boudoir -people whom I hated, and before my face she would allow them to kiss -her body, letting them think that they were kissing me. And afterwards -when we were alone she would burst into a malicious and triumphant -laugh. But this laugh did not wound me at all; there was sweetness in -its keenness: my expectation of revenge! - -Unnoticeably, in the hours of her insults to me, I would accustom my -rival to look me in the eyes and I would gradually overpower her gaze. -Soon at my will I could already force her to raise and lower her eyelids -and make this and that movement of the face. I had already begun to -triumph though I hid my feeling under a mask of suffering. Strength of -soul grew up within me and I began to dare to lay commands upon my -enemy: To-day you shall do so-and-so, to-day you shall go to -such-and-such a place, to-morrow you shall come to me at such a time. -And _she_ would fulfil them. I entangled her soul in the nets of my -desires woven together with a strong thread in which I held her soul, -and I secretly rejoiced when I noticed my success. When one day, in the -hour of her laughter, she suddenly caught on my lips a victorious smile -which I was unable to hide, it was already too late. _She_ rushed out of -the room in a fury, but as I fell into the sleep of my nonentity I knew -that she would return, knew that she would submit to me. And a rapture -of victory gushed out over my involuntary lack of strength, piercing -with a rainbow shaft of light the gloom of my seeming death. - -She did return! She came up to me in anger and terror, shrieked to me, -threatened me. But I was commanding her to do it. And she was obliged to -submit. Then began the game of a cat with a mouse. At any time I could -have cast her back into the depths of the glass and come forth myself -again into sounding and hard actuality. But I delayed to do this. It was -sweet to me to indulge in non-existence sometimes. It was sweet to me to -intoxicate myself with the possibility. At last (this is strange, is it -not?) there suddenly was aroused in me a pity for my rival, for my -enemy, for my executioner. Everything in her was something of my own, -and it was dreadful for me to drag her forth from the realities of life -and turn her into a phantom. I hesitated and dare not do it, I put it -off from day to day, I did not know myself what I wanted and what I -dreaded. - -And suddenly on a clear spring day men came into the boudoir with planks -and axes. There was no life in me, I lay in the voluptuousness of -torpor, but without seeing them I knew they were there. The men began to -busy themselves near the mirror which was my universe. And one after -another the souls who lived in it with me were awakened and took -transparent flesh in the form of reflections. A dreadful uneasiness -agitated my slumbering soul. With a presentiment of horror, a -presentiment even of irretrievable ruin, I gathered together all the -might of my will. What efforts it cost me to struggle against the -lassitude of half-existence! So living people sometimes struggle with a -nightmare, tearing themselves from its suffocating bands towards -actuality. - -I concentrated all the force of my suggestion into a summons, directed -towards her, towards my rival--“Come hither!” I hypnotised her, -magnetised her with all the tension of my half-slumbering will. There -was little time. The mirror had already begun to swing. They were -already preparing to nail it up in a wooden coffin, to take it away: -whither I knew not. And with an almost mortal effort I called again and -again, “Come!” And I suddenly began to feel that I was coming to life. -_She_, my enemy, opened the door, and came to meet me, pale, half-dead, -in answer to my call, with faltering steps as men go to punishment. I -fastened my eyes on hers, bound up my gaze with hers, and when I had -done this I knew already that I had gained the victory. - -I at once compelled her to send the men out of the room. _She_ submitted -without even making an attempt to oppose me. We were alone together once -more. To delay was no longer possible. And I could not bring myself to -forgive her craftiness. In her place, in my time, I should have acted -otherwise. Now I ordered her, without pity, to come to meet me. A moan -of torture opened her lips, her eyes widened as before a phantom, but -she came, trembling, falling--she came. I also went forward to meet her, -lips curving triumphantly, eyes wide open with joy, swaying in an -intoxicating rapture. Again our hands touched each other’s, again our -lips came near together, and we fell each into the other, burning with -the indescribable pain of bodily exchange. In another moment I was -already in front of the mirror, my breast filled itself with air, I -cried out loudly and victoriously and fell just here, in front of the -pier-glass, prone from exhaustion. - -My husband and the servants ran towards me. I could only tell them to -fulfil my previous orders and take the mirror away, out of the house, at -once. That was wisely thought, wasn’t it? You see she, that other, might -have profited by my weakness in the first minutes of my return to life, -and by a desperate assault might have tried to wrest the victory from my -hands. Sending the mirror out of the house, I could ensure my own -quietude for a long time, as long as I liked, and my rival had earned -such a punishment for her cunning. I defeated her with her own tools, -with the blade which she herself had raised against me. - -After having given this order I lost consciousness. They laid me on my -bed. A doctor was called in. I was treated as suffering from a nervous -fever. For a long while my relatives had thought me ill, and not normal. -In the first outburst of exultation I told them all that had happened to -me. My stories only increased their suspicions. They sent me to a home -for the mentally afflicted, and I am there now. All my being, I agree, -is profoundly shaken. But I do not want to stay here. I am eager to -return to the joys of life, to all the countless pleasures which are -accessible to a living human being. I have been deprived of them too -long. - -Besides--shall I say it?--there is one thing which I am bound to do as -soon as possible. I ought to have no doubt that I am _this_ I. But all -the same, whenever I begin to think of her who is imprisoned in my -mirror I begin to be seized by a strange hesitation. What if the real -I--is there? Then I myself who think this, I who write this, I--am a -shadow, I--am a phantom, I--am a reflection. In me are only the poured -forth remembrances, thoughts and feelings of that other, the real -person. And, in reality, I am thrown into the depths of the mirror in -nonentity, I am pining, exhausted, dying. I know, I almost know that -this is not true. But in order to disperse the last clouds of doubt, I -ought again once more, for the last time, to see that mirror. I must -look into it once more to be convinced, that there--is the impostor, my -enemy, she who played my part for some months. I shall see this and all -the confusion of my soul will pass away, and I shall again be free from -care--bright, happy. Where is this mirror? Where shall I find it? I -must, I must once more look into its depths!... - - - - -PROTECTION: - -A CHRISTMAS STORY - - -Colonel R. told me this story. We were staying together at the estate of -our mutual relatives, the M’s. It was Christmas-time, and in the -drawing-room one evening the talk turned on ghosts. The Colonel took no -part in the conversation, but when we were alone together--we slept in -the same room--he told me the following story. - - * * * * * - -This happened five-and-twenty years ago, and more: it was in the middle -of the seventies. I had only just got my commission. Our regiment was -stationed at *, a small provincial town in the government of X. We spent -our time as officers usually do: we drank, played cards, and paid -attentions to women. - -Among the people living in the neighbourhood, one stood out above the -rest, Mme. C---- Elena Grigorievna. Strictly speaking, she did not -belong to the society there, for until lately she had always lived at -Petersburg. But being left a widow a year previously she had settled -down to live on her country estate, about ten versts from the town. She -was somewhat over thirty years of age, but in her eyes, almost -unnaturally large, there was something childlike, which gave her an -inexplicable charm. All our officers were attracted by her; but I fell -in love with her, as only twenty can fall in love. - -The commander of our company was a relative of Elena Grigorievna, and we -obtained access to her house. She had become somewhat tired of being a -recluse, and liked to have visits from young folks, though she lived -almost alone. We sometimes went to dinner, and spent whole evenings -there. But she behaved with so much tact and goodness that no one could -boast of the slightest intimacy with her. Even malicious provincial -tongues could bring no gossip against her. - -I was sick of love for her. What tortured me more than all was the -impossibility of frankly confessing my love. I would have done anything -in the world just to fall on my knees before Elena Grigorievna and say -aloud to her: “I love you.” Youth is a little like intoxication. For the -sake of having half an hour alone with her whom I loved, I resolved on a -desperate measure. There was much snow that winter. In the Christmas -holidays there was not a day but the wind raised the dry snow from the -ground into the air in whirling eddies. I chose an evening when the -weather was particularly bad, ordered my horse to be saddled, and set -out over the fields. - -I don’t know how it was I didn’t perish by the way. Everywhere the snow -was whirling and the air was so thick with it that at two paces from me -there stood, as it were, grey walls of snow. On the road the snow was -almost up to one’s knees. Twenty times I lost my way. Twenty times my -horse refused to go further. I had a flask of cognac with me, and but -for it I should have frozen. It took me just on three hours to travel -the ten versts. - -By some sort of miracle I arrived at the house. It was already late, and -I hardly succeeded in knocking up the servants. When the watchman -recognised me he exclaimed in wonder. I was all over snow, covered with -ice, and looked like a Christmas mummer. Of course I had prepared a -story to account for my appearance. My calculations were not at fault. -Elena Grigorievna was obliged to receive me and she ordered a room to be -prepared for me to stay the night. - -In half an hour’s time I was seated in the dining-room, alone with her. -She pressed me to have supper, wine, tea. The logs crackled on the open -fire, the light of a hanging-lamp enclosed us in a circle which to me -seemed magical. I felt not the slightest tiredness and was more in love -than ever. - -I was young, handsome, and certainly no fool. I had every right to the -notice of a woman. But Elena Grigorievna, with unusual dexterity, evaded -all talk of love. She compelled me to talk to her exactly as if we had -been at a party in the midst of many other people. She laughed at my -witticisms, but pretended not to understand any of my hints. - -In spite of this, a special kind of intimacy sprang up between us, -allowing us to speak more openly. And at length, knowing that it was -nearly time to say good-night, I made up my mind. My consciousness, as -it were, reminded me that such a suitable occasion would not repeat -itself. “If you don’t take advantage of to-day,” said I to myself, “you -have only yourself to blame.” By a great effort of will, I suddenly -broke off the conversation in the middle of a word, and in a moment, -somewhat incoherently and awkwardly, I said out all that had been hidden -in my soul. - -“Why are we pretending, Elena Grigorievna? You know very well why I came -to-day. I came to tell you that I love you. And now I say it to you. I -cannot but love you and I want you to love me. Drive me away and I will -humbly depart. If you don’t tell me to go I shall take it as a sign that -you love me. I don’t want anything in between. I want either your anger -or your love.” - -The childlike eyes of Elena Grigorievna became cold. They looked like -crystal. I read such a clear answer in her countenance that I got up -without another word and wanted to go off straight away. But she stopped -me. - -“That’s enough! Where are you going? Don’t behave like a little boy. Sit -down.” - -She made me sit down near her and began to speak to me as if she had -been an elder sister talking to a wayward child. - -“You are too young yet, and love is something new to you. If another -woman were in my place you would fall in love with her. In a month’s -time you would begin to love a third. But there is another kind of love -which drains the depths of the soul. Such a love I had for Sergey, my -husband, who is dead. I have given to him all I can ever feel. However -much you may speak to me of love, I shall hear you no more than if I -were dead. You must understand that I have no longer any capacity to -attach any meaning to such words. It’s just as if you spoke to someone -who could not hear you. Reconcile yourself to this. You can no more be -offended than if you were unable to make a dead woman love you.” - -Elena Grigorievna spoke with a slight smile. This appeared to me to be -almost insulting. I imagined that she was laughing at me, in thus -putting forward her own love for her dead husband. I felt myself grow -pale. I remember the tears springing to my eyes. - -My agitation was not unobserved by Elena Grigorievna. I saw the -expression of her cold eyes begin to change. She understood that I was -suffering. Restraining me with her hand, as she saw I wanted to get up -without replying, she drew her chair nearer mine. I felt her breath on -my face. Then lowering her voice, although we were alone in the room, -she said to me, with a real frankness and tender intimacy: - -“Forgive me, if I’ve offended you. Perhaps I am mistaken about your -feeling, and it’s more serious than I thought. So I will tell you the -whole truth. Listen. My love for Sergey is not dead, but living. I love -him, not for the past, but in the present. I am not separated from him. -I take your confession to me seriously; take mine in the same way. From -the very day of his death, Sergey began to show himself to me, invisibly -but clearly. I am conscious of his nearness, I feel his breath, I hear -his caressing whisper. I answer him and I have quiet talks with him. At -times he almost openly kisses me, on my hair, my cheeks, my lips. At -times I see his reflection dimly in the half-light, in a mirror. As soon -as I am alone, he at once shows himself to me. I am accustomed to this -life with a shadow. I go on loving Sergey in this other form of his, -just as passionately and tenderly as I loved him before. I want no other -love. And I will not break faith with the man who has not left me, even -though he has passed beyond the bounds of this life. If you tell me -that I rave, that I have an hallucination, I shall answer that it makes -no difference to me what you think. I am happy in my love, why should I -refuse my happiness? Let me be happy.” - -Elena Grigorievna spoke this long speech of hers gently, without raising -her voice, and with deep conviction. I was so impressed by her -earnestness that I could find no answer. I looked at her with a certain -awe and pity, as at someone whom grief had crazed. But she had become -the hostess again and spoke now in another tone, as if all she had said -previously might have been a joke: - -“Well, it’s time for us to go to bed. Matthew will show you your -bedroom.” - -Matthew was an old servant of the house. I mechanically kissed the hand -she held out to me. And in another minute Matthew was asking me, in a -lugubrious voice, to follow him. He led me to the other side of the -house, showed me the bed which had been prepared for me, wished me good -night, and left me. - -Only then did I recover myself a little. And, isn’t it strange, my first -feeling was that of shame? I felt ashamed at having played such an -unenviable rôle. I felt ashamed to think that though I had been alone -for two hours with a young woman, in an almost empty house, I hadn’t -even got so far as to kiss her lips. At that moment I felt more malice -than love towards Elena Grigorievna and a wish to revenge myself upon -her. I had ceased to think that her mind might be unhinged, I thought -she had been making fun of me. - -Sitting down on my bed, I began to think matters over. I was familiar -with the house. I knew that I was in the dead Sergey Dmitrievitch’s -study. The room next was his bedroom, where everything was left exactly -as in his lifetime. On the wall in front of me hung his portrait in -oils. He was in a black coat and was wearing the ribbon of the French -Order of the Legion of Honour, which he had received--I don’t know how -or why--in the time of the Second Empire. And by some sort of strange -connection of ideas, it was this ribbon specially which gave me the idea -of the strangest, wildest plan. - -My face was not unlike that of the dead Sergey Dmitrievitch. Of course -he was older than I. But we both wore a moustache and did our hair -alike. Only his hair was grey. I went into his bedroom. The wardrobe was -unlocked. I looked for the black coat of the portrait and put it on. I -found the ribbon of the Order. I powdered my hair and my moustache. In a -word, I dressed myself up as the dead man. - -Probably if my design had been successful I should be ashamed to tell -you about it. I confess that what I planned was much worse than a simple -joke. It would have been absolutely unpardonable had I not been so -young. But I received the due reward of my action. - -Having finished the change of my attire, I directed my steps towards -Elena Grigorievna’s bedroom. Have you ever chanced to creep along at -night in a sleeping house? How distinct is every rustle, how terribly -loud is the creak of every floor-board in the silence! Several times it -seemed to me that I should arouse all the servants. - -At length I gained the wished-for door. My heart beat. I turned the -handle.... The door opened noiselessly. I went in. The room was lighted -by a lamp, which was burning brightly. Elena Grigorievna had not yet -gone to bed. She was seated in a large armchair in her dressing-gown, in -front of a table, deep in thought, in remembrance. She had not heard me -come in. - -I stood for some minutes in the half-shadow, not daring to take a step -forward. Suddenly, Elena Grigorievna, becoming conscious of my presence, -or hearing some sort of noise, turned her head. She saw me and began to -tremble. My stratagem had succeeded better than I might have expected. -She took me for her dead husband. Getting up from the armchair with a -faint cry she stretched out her arms to me. I heard her voice of joy: - -“Sergey! It is you! At last!” - -And then, all trembling with agitation, she sank down again, seemingly -unconscious, into her chair. - -Not fully aware of what I wanted to do, I ran towards her. But the -instant I came close to the armchair I saw before me the form of another -man. This was so unexpected that I stood still, as if the rigour of -death had overtaken me. Afterwards I reflected that a large mirror must -have stood there. This other man was a perfect replica of myself. He too -wore a black coat; on his breast he too wore the ribbon of the Legion of -Honour. And in a moment I understood that this was he whose form I had -stolen, he who had come from beyond the grave to protect his wife. A -sharp terror ran through all my limbs. - -For several seconds we stood facing one another by the chair in which -lay unconscious the woman for whom we were striving. I was unable to -make the slightest movement. And he, this phantom, quietly raised his -hand and made a threatening gesture towards me. - -I took part afterwards in the Turkish War. I have looked on death and -have seen all that would be counted terrible. But I have never again -experienced such horror as then overcame me. This threat from the other -world stopped the beating of my heart and the flow of blood in my veins. -For a moment I almost became a corpse myself. Then without another -glance, I rushed to the door. - -Holding on by the walls, staggering along, not caring how loudly my -steps resounded, I reached my own room. I had not sufficient courage to -look at the portrait hanging on the wall. I threw myself flat on the -bed, and a sort of black stupor held me fast there. - -I wakened at dawn. I was still wearing the same false attire. In an -agony of shame I took it off and hung it up in its place. Dressing -myself in my own uniform, I went to find Matthew, and told him I must -leave at once. He was evidently not in the least surprised. I asked the -housemaid Glasha if her mistress were still asleep, and got the answer -that she was sleeping peacefully. This cheered me. I begged her to say -that I apologised for leaving without saying good-bye, and galloped off. - -A few days later I went with some friends to visit Elena Grigorievna. -She received me with her usual courtesy. Not by a single hint did she -remind me of that night. And to this day, it is a mystery to me; did she -or did she not understand what happened? - - - - -THE “BEMOL” SHOP OF STATIONERY - -From the life of “one of the least of these.” - - -As soon as Anna Nikolaevna had finished school a place was found for her -as saleswoman in the stationery shop “Bemol.”[A] Why the shop was called -by this name would be difficult to say; probably music had once been -sold there. It was situated in a turning off one of the boulevards, had -few customers, and Anna Nikolaevna used to spend whole days almost -alone. Her only assistant, the boy Fedka, lay down to sleep after -morning tea, woke up when it was time to run to the cookshop for dinner, -and on his return slept again. In the evening the proprietor, an old -German woman, Carolina Gustavovna, came in for half an hour, collected -the takings, and reproached Anna Nikolaevna for her inability to attract -customers. Anna Nikolaevna was dreadfully afraid of her and listened to -her without daring to utter a word. The shop was closed at nine; Anna -Nikolaevna went home to her aunt, drank weak tea with stale biscuits, -and went at once to bed. - - [A] Russian shops are often given fantastic names which are printed - above the windows instead of the names of the owners. - -At first Anna Nikolaevna thought she could find distraction in reading. -She got as many novels and old magazines as she could, and read them -conscientiously through page by page. But she mixed up the names of the -heroes in the novels, and she could never understand why they wrote -about the various imaginary Jeans and Blanches, and why they described -beautiful mornings, all of them exactly like one another. Reading was -for her labour and not relaxation, so she gave up books. Young men did -not unduly pester her with their attentions, for they did not find her -interesting. If one of the customers stayed too long talking -amiabilities to her, she went away into the little room behind the shop -and sent Fedka out. If any one tried to speak to her on her way home, -she would say no word, but either hasten her steps or just run as fast -as she could to her own door. She had no friends, she did not keep up a -correspondence with any of her schoolfellows, she only spoke to her aunt -about two words a day. And in this way the weeks and months went by. - -Then Anna Nikolaevna began to make friends with the world which lay -around her--the world of paper, envelopes, postcards, pencils, pens, the -world of pictures, pictures in sets, pictures in relief, pictures for -cutting out. This world was to her more comprehensible than that of -books and was more friendly to her than the world of people. She soon -learned to know all the kinds of paper and pens, all the series of -postcards, and she named them all instead of calling them by numbers; -she began to love some of them and to count others as her enemies. To -her favourites she allotted the best places in the shop. She kept the -very newest boxes, those with an edging of gold paper, for the -writing-paper from a certain factory in Riga having the watermark of a -fish. The sets of pictures representing types of ancient Egyptians were -arranged in a special drawer in which she kept only these and some -penholders with little doves at the end of the holder. The postcards on -which were drawn “The Way to the Stars” she wrapped up separately in -rose-coloured paper and sealed them with a wafer like a forget-me-not. -But she hated the thick bloated-looking glass inkstands, hated the lined -transparent paper which would never keep straight and seemed always to -be laughing at her, hated the rolls of crinkled paper for lampshades, -proud and sumptuous looking. These things she would hide away in the -remotest corner of the shop. - -Anna Nikolaevna rejoiced when she sold any of her favourite articles. It -was only when her store of this or that kind of thing began to run short -that she would get anxious and even dare to beg Carolina Gustavovna to -obtain a new supply as soon as possible. Once she unexpectedly got sold -out of the parts of the little letter-weights which acted badly and of -which she had grown fond because of their misfortune, the proprietor -herself sold the last one evening and would not order any more. Anna -Nikolaevna wept for two whole days after. When she sold the articles she -did not care for she felt vexed. When a customer took whole dozens of -ugly exercise books with blue flowers on the covers, or highly coloured -postcards with the portraits of actors, it seemed to her that her -favourites had been insulted. On such occasions she so stubbornly -dissuaded the customers from buying that many of them went out of the -shop without purchasing anything at all. - -Anna Nikolaevna was convinced that everything in the shop understood -her. When she turned over the leaves of the quires of her beloved paper -they rustled so welcomingly. When she kissed the little doves on the -ends of the penholders they fluttered their little wooden wings. In the -quiet wintry days when it was snowing outside the hoar-frosted -window-pane with its ugly circles made by the warmth of the lamps, when -for whole hours no one came into the shop, she would hold long -conversations with all the things standing on the shelves or lying in -the drawers and boxes. She would listen to their unuttered speech and -exchange smiles and glances with the things she knew. In a rapture she -would spread out on the counter her favourite pictures--of angels, -flowers, Egyptians--and tell them fairy tales and listen to their -stories. Sometimes they all sang to her in a hardly audible chorus, a -soothing lullaby. Anna Nikolaevna would listen to this until an entering -customer would smile unkindly, thinking he had awakened her from sleep. - -Before Christmas Anna Nikolaevna had a bad time. Customers were -unusually frequent. The shop was filled up with a pile of gaudy -eye-offending cards, with ugly crackers and gilt Christmas-tree -decorations, exposed in flimsy boxes. On the walls hung pull-off -calendars with portraits of great men. The shop was full of people and -there was no escape from them. But all the summer Anna Nikolaevna had a -complete rest. There was hardly any trade, very often the day passed -without a copeck being taken. The proprietor went away from Moscow for -whole months. In the shop it was dusty and suffocating, but quiet. Anna -Nikolaevna distributed her favourite pictures all over the shop, placed -her favourite pencils, pens and erasers in the best positions in the -glass cases. She cut out narrow ribbons from coloured cigarette-paper -and wreathed them round the stiff columns of the cupboards. She spoke in -loud whispers to her beloved objects, telling them about her own -childhood, about her mother, and weeping as she did so. And it seemed -to her that they comforted her. And so months and years went by. - -Anna Nikolaevna never dreamed that her life might change. But one autumn -day Carolina Gustavovna, having come back to Moscow in a particularly -bad and quarrelsome mood, declared that there would be a general -stock-taking. The following Sunday a notice was pasted on the door: -“This shop is closed to-day.” Anna Nikolaevna looked on mournfully while -the proprietor’s fat fingers turned over the leaves of her best -notepaper, those delicate and elegant sheets, crumpling the edges; -carelessly flinging on to the counter her cherished penholders with the -doves. In the trade-book, where Anna Nikolaevna had written in her timid -pale handwriting, the proprietor scrawled rude remarks with flourishes -and ink-blots. Carolina Gustavovna found many things missing--whole -stacks of paper, some gross of pencils, and various separate articles--a -stereoscope, magnifying glasses, frames. Anna Nikolaevna felt sure she -had never seen them in the shop. Then Carolina Gustavovna calculated -that the takings had been growing less every month. This she brought to -the notice of Anna Nikolaevna and blamed her for it, called her a thief, -said she had no further use for her services, and dismissed her from her -post. - -Anna Nikolaevna burst into tears, but did not dare to utter a word of -protest. When she got home, of course, she had to listen to her aunt’s -reproaches, who at first called her a good-for-nothing, and then changed -her tone and threatened to prosecute the German woman, saying she -couldn’t allow her niece to be insulted. But Anna Nikolaevna was not so -much afraid of losing her place nor troubled by the injustice of -Carolina Gustavovna; she could not bear to be separated from the beloved -things in the shop. She thought of the pictured angels balancing on the -clouds, of the heads of Marie Stuart, of the paper bearing the watermark -of a fish, of the familiar boxes and drawers, and sobbed unceasingly. -She remembered that happy evening hour when the lamps had just been -lighted, remembered her silent conversations with her friends and the -almost inaudible chorus sounding from the shelves, and her heart was -rent with despair. At the thought that never, never should she see her -loved ones again, she threw herself down upon her little bed and prayed -that she might die. - -After about six weeks her aunt was happy to find her a new situation, -once more in a stationery shop, but in a much-frequented and busy -street. Anna Nikolaevna entered upon her new duties with a pang at her -heart. There were two others beside herself in the shop, another girl -and a young man. The master also spent the greater part of the day -there. There were many customers, for the shop was near several -educational institutions. All day Anna Nikolaevna was under the eyes of -the others, and they laughed at her and despised her. She did not find -her former beloved objects in the new shop. All the things were ordered -through other agents from different firms. Paper, pencils, pens--nothing -here seemed to be alive. And if there were any things like those in -“Bemol,” they did not recognise Anna Nikolaevna and it was useless for -her when she had a moment to whisper to them their tenderest names. - -The only pleasure she had now was to look in at the windows of her old -shop on her way home in the evening, as it closed later than the new -one. She gazed through the dusty windowpanes into the well-known room. -Behind the counter stood the new saleswoman, a good-looking German girl -with her hair in curling-pins. In Fedka’s place was a tall -fifteen-year-old lad. Customers came laughing out of the shop, they had -found it pleasant inside. But Anna Nikolaevna believed that her friends, -the pictures and penholders and exercise books, remembered her and liked -it better in the old days, and this belief comforted her. - -For a long while Anna Nikolaevna nursed the fancy that she would one day -go inside the shop once more and look again on the old cupboards and -show-cases, to show her beloved things that she still remembered them. -Several times she said to herself that it should be that day, but -changed her mind, being specially afraid of meeting the proprietor. But -one evening she saw Carolina Gustavovna come out of the shop and drive -away in a cab. This gave her courage. She opened the shop door and -entered with a beating heart. The German girl in the curl-papers was -preparing a captivating smile, but seeing a lady customer she contented -herself with a slight inclination of the head. - -“What can I do for you, miss?” - -“Give me ... give me ... some note-paper ... a quire ... with the -fishes.” - -The German girl smiled condescendingly, guessing what was meant, and -went to the cupboard. Anna Nikolaevna watched her with distrustful and -mournful eyes. In her time this paper had been kept in the box with a -gold border. But the box was not there now. In its place there were ugly -black drawers labelled No. 4, 20 copecks, Ministry Paper 40 copecks. The -best places in the cupboards were occupied by the glass inkstands. A -pile of crinkled paper took up the whole of the lower shelf. The -postcards with the portraits of actors were arranged fan-wise and -fastened here and there on the walls. Everything had been moved, -displaced, changed. - -The German girl put the paper in front of Anna Nikolaevna, asking her -which sort she wanted. Anna Nikolaevna eagerly took into her hands the -beautiful sheets which once had responded to her caressing touch, but -now they were stiff as death, and as pale. She looked round piteously, -everything was dead, everything was deaf and dumb. - -“Thirty three copecks to you, miss.” - -Even the price was altered. Anna Nikolaevna paid the money and went out -of the shop into the cold, holding the roll of paper tightly in her -hand. The October wind penetrated her short, well-worn coat. The light -of the street lamps was diffused in large blobs in the mist. All was -cold and hopeless. - - - - -RHEA SILVIA - -A STORY FROM THE LIFE OF THE SIXTH CENTURY - - -I - -Maria was the daughter of Rufus the Scribe. She was not yet ten years -old when on the 17th of December, 546, Rome was taken by Totila, the -king of the Goths. The magnanimous victor ordered bugles to be blown all -night, so that the Roman people might escape from their native town as -soon as they realised the danger of remaining there. Totila knew the -violence of his soldiers and he had no wish that all the population of -the ancient capital of the world should perish by the swords of the -Goths. So Rufus and his wife Florentia fled with their little daughter -Maria. An enormous crowd of refugees from Rome left the city through the -night by the Appian Way; hundreds of them falling exhausted on the road. -The greater number, among whom were Rufus and his family, succeeded in -getting as far as Bovillæ, where, however, very many were unable to find -shelter. Many of them had to camp out in the open. Later on they were -all scattered in various directions, seeking some place of refuge. Some -went to the Campagna and were taken prisoners by the Goths, who were in -possession there; some got as far as the sea and were even able to set -out for Sicily. The rest either remained as beggars in the neighbourhood -of Bovillæ or managed to get into Samnium. - -Rufus had a friend living near Corbio. To this poor man, Anthony by -name, who earned a living by rearing pigs on a small plot of land, Rufus -brought his family. Anthony took the fugitives in and shared with them -his scanty store. And while living in the swineherd’s wretched hut Rufus -heard of all the misfortunes which came upon Rome. At one time Totila -threatened to raze the Eternal City to its foundations and turn it into -a place of pasture. But the Gothic king afterwards relented and -contented himself by burning several districts of the town and pillaging -all that still remained from the cupidity and violence of Alaric, -Genseric and Ricimer. In the spring of 547 Totila left Rome, but he took -off with him all the inhabitants who had remained in the city. For forty -days the capital of the world stood empty: there was not a human being -left in it, and along its streets wandered only frightened animals and -wild beasts. Then, timidly, a few at a time, the Romans began to return -to their city. And a little later Rome was occupied by Belisarius and -was once more united to the dominions of the Eastern empire. - -Then Rufus and his family returned to Rome. They sought out their little -house on the Remuria, which by reason of its insignificance had been -spared by the spoilers. Almost all the poor belongings of Rufus were -found to be intact, including the library and its rolls of parchment, so -precious to the scribe. It seemed as if it might be possible to forget -all the misfortunes they had undergone, as in some oppressive dream, and -to continue their former life. But very soon it became clear that such a -hope was deceptive. The war was far from being at an end. Rome had to -endure another siege by Totila when again the inhabitants died in -hundreds from hunger and lack of water. Then when the Goths at length -raised their unsuccessful siege, Belisarius also left Rome, and the city -acknowledged the rule of the covetous Byzantine Konon, from whom the -Romans fled as from an enemy. At a later period the Goths, taking -advantage of treacherous sentries, occupied Rome for the second time. -This time, however, Totila not only refrained from plundering the city, -but he even strove to bring into it some kind of order, and he wished to -restore the ruined buildings. At length, after the death of Totila, Rome -was taken by Narses. This was in 552. - -It would be difficult to show clearly how Rufus managed to live through -these six calamitous years. In the time of war and siege no one had need -of the art of a scribe. No one any longer gave Rufus an order for a -transcription from the works of the ancient poets or the fathers of the -Church. In the city there were no authorities to whom it might be -necessary to address petitions of various kinds. There were not many -people, money was very scarce and food supplies scarcer still. He had to -make a living by any kind of accidental work, serving either Goths or -Byzantines, not disdaining to be a stone-mason when the town walls were -being repaired or to be a porter of baggage for the troops. And with all -this the entire family often went hungry, not only for days, but for -whole weeks. Wine was not to be thought of; the only drink was bad water -from the cisterns or from the Tiber, for the aqueducts had been -destroyed by the Goths. It was only possible to endure such privations -by knowing that everybody without exception was subject to them. The -descendants of senators and patricians, the children of the richest and -most illustrious families would ask on the streets for a piece of bread, -as beggars. Rusticiana, the daughter of Symmachus and widow of Boethius, -held out her hand for alms. - -It was not to be wondered at that during these years the little Maria -was left very much to her own devices. In her early childhood her father -had taught her to read both Greek and Latin. But after their return to -Rome he had no time to occupy himself further with her education. For -whole days together she would do just what she thought she would. Her -mother did not require her help in housekeeping, for there was hardly -any housekeeping to be done. In order to pass the time Maria used to -read the books which were still preserved in the house as there was no -one who would buy them. But more often she would go out of the house and -wander like a little wild animal about the deserted streets, forums and -squares, much too broad for the now insignificant populace. The few -passers-by soon became accustomed to the black-eyed girl in ragged -garments, who ran about everywhere like a mouse, and they paid no -attention to her. Rome became, as it were, an immense home for Maria. -She knew it better than any writer who had described its noteworthy -treasures of old time. Day after day she would go out into the immense -area of the city, where over a million people had once dwelt, and she -would learn to love some corners of it and detest others. And it was -often not until late evening that she would return to her father’s -cheerless roof, where it often happened that she would go supperless to -bed, after a whole day spent on her feet. - -In her wanderings through the town Maria would visit the most remote -districts on either side of the Tiber, where there were empty partly -burnt down houses, and there she would dream of the greatness of Rome -in the past. She would examine the few statues which still remained -whole in the squares--the immense bull on the Bull forum, the giant -elephants in bronze on the Sacred Way, the statues of Domitian, Marcus -Aurelius, and other famous men of ancient time, the columns, obelisks -and bas-reliefs, striving to remember what she had read about them all, -and if her knowledge was scanty, she would supplement it by any story -she had read. She would go into the abandoned palaces of people who had -once been rich, and admire the pitiful remains of former luxury in the -decoration of the rooms, the mosaic of the floors, the various-coloured -marble of the walls, the sumptuous tables, chairs, candlesticks, which -in some places still remained. In this way she visited the ruined baths, -which were like separate towns within the city, and were entirely -deserted because there was no water to supply their insatiable pipes; in -some of the buildings could still be seen magnificent marble reservoirs, -mosaic floors, bathing chairs, baths of precious alabaster or porphyry, -and in places some half-destroyed statues which had escaped being used -by Goths and Byzantines as material for hurling at the enemy from the -ballista. In the quietness of the enormous rooms Maria would hear echoes -of the rich and careless lives of the thousands and thousands of people -who had gathered there daily to meet friends, to discuss literature or -philosophy, and to anoint their effeminate bodies before festival -banquets. In the Grand Circus--which now looked like a wild ravine, for -it was all overgrown with weeds and tall grasses--Maria thought of the -triumphant horse-racing competitions, on which thousands of spectators -had gazed and deafened the fortunate victors with a storm of applause. -She could not but know of these festivals, for the last of them (oh! -pitiful shadow of past splendour) had been arranged once more in her own -lifetime by Totila during his second sovereignty in Rome. Sometimes -Maria would simply walk along the Tiber bank, sit down in some -comfortable spot under some half-ruined wall, and look at the yellow -waters of the river, made famous by poets and artists, and in the -quietness of the deserted place she would think and dream, and think and -dream again. - -She became accustomed to live in her dreams. The half-ruined, -half-abandoned town fed her imagination generously. Everything she heard -from her elders, everything she read in her disorderly fashion from her -father’s books, mingled itself together in her brain into a strange, -chaotic, but endlessly captivating representation of the great and -ancient city. She was convinced that the former Rome had been in reality -the concentration of all beauty, a marvellous town where all was -enchantment, where all life had been one continuous festival. Centuries -and epochs were confused in her poor little head, the times of Orestes -seemed to her no further away than the rule of Trajan, and the reign of -the wise Numa Pompilius as near as that of Odoacer. For her, antiquity -comprised all that preceded the Goths; far away but still happy was the -olden time, the rule of the great Theodoric; the new time began for her -at her birth, at the time of the first siege of Rome, in the time of -Belisarius. In antiquity everything seemed to Maria to be marvellous, -beautiful, wonderful; in the olden time all was attractive and -fortunate, in modern times everything was miserable and dreadful. And -she tried not to notice the cruel reality of the present, but to live in -her dreams in the antiquity which she loved, with her favourite heroes, -among whom were the god Bacchus; Camillus, the second founder of the -city; Caesar, who had been exalted up to the stars in the heavens; -Diocletian, the wisest of all people, and Romulus Augustulus, the -unhappiest of all the great. All these and many others whose names she -had only heard by chance were the beloved of her reveries and the -ordinary apparitions of her half-childish dreams. - -Little by little in her dreams Maria created her own history of Rome, -not at all like that which was told at one time by the eloquent Livy and -afterwards by other historians and annalists. As she admired the -statues which still remained whole and read their half-erased -inscriptions, Maria interpreted everything in her own way and found -everywhere corroboration of her own unrestrained imagination. She said -to herself that such and such a statue represented the young Augustus, -and nothing would then have convinced her that it was--a bad portrait of -some half-barbarian who had lived only fifty years ago, and had forced -some ignorant maker of tombs to immortalise his features in a piece of -cheap marble. Or when she looked at a bas-relief depicting some scene -from the Odyssey she would create from it a long story in which her -beloved heroes would again figure--Mars, Brutus, or the emperor -Honorius, and would soon be convinced that she had read this story in -one of her father’s books. She would create legend after legend, myth -after myth, and live in their world as one more real than the world of -books, and still more real than the pitiful world which encompassed her. - -After she had dreamed for a sufficiently long time, and when she felt -tired out by walking and exhausted by hunger, Maria would return home. -There her mother, who had become bad-tempered from the misfortunes she -had endured, would meet her gloomily, roughly push towards her a piece -of bread and a morsel of cheese, or a head of garlic if there happened -to be one in the kitchen, adding occasionally some scolding words to -the meagre supper. Maria, unsociable as a captive bird, would eat what -was given her and then hasten away to her little room and its hard bed -to dream again until she slept and then dream again in her sleep about -the blessed, dazzling times of antiquity. On especially happy days, when -her father happened to be at home and in a good temper, he would -sometimes have a chat with Maria. And their talk would quickly turn to -the ancient times, so dear to them both. Maria would question her father -about bygone Rome, and then hold her breath while the old scribe, led -away by his theme, would begin to talk of the great empire in the time -of Theodosius, or recite verses from the ancient poets, Virgil, Ausonias -and Claudian. And the chaos in her poor little head would fall into -still greater confusion, and at times it would begin to seem to her that -her actual life was only a dream, and that in reality she was living in -the blessed times of Ennius Augustus or Gratian. - - -II - -After the occupation of Rome by Narses, life in the city began to take -more or less its ordinary course. The ruler established himself on the -Palatine, some of the desolated rooms of the Imperial palace were -renovated for him, and in the evenings they were lit up with lamps. The -Byzantines had brought money with them, and trade in Rome began to -revive. The main streets became comparatively safe and the impoverished -inhabitants of the empty Campagna brought provisions into Rome to sell. -Here and there wine taverns were reopened. There was even a demand for -articles of luxury, which were purchased mainly by the frivolous women -who, like a flock of ravens, followed the mongrel armies of the great -eunuch. Monks went to and fro along all the streets, and from them also -it was possible to make some sort of profit. The thirty or forty -thousand inhabitants now gathered together in Rome, including the -troops, gave to the city, especially in the central districts, the -appearance of a populous and even of a lively place. - -There was found at length some real work for Rufus. Narses, and -afterwards his successor, the Byzantine general, received various -complaints and petitions for the copying of which the art of a scribe -was in request. The edicts of Justinian, acknowledging some of the acts -of the Gothic kings and repudiating others, afforded pretext for endless -chicanery and processes of law. Rufus sometimes had to copy papers -addressed directly to His Holiness the Emperor in Byzantium, and for -these he was comparatively well paid. And more important orders came to -him. A new monastery wanted to have a written list of its service-books. -A whimsical person ordered a copy of the poems of the famous Rutilius. -In the house of Rufus there was once more a certain sufficiency. The -family could have dinner every day and need no longer feel anxious about -the morrow. - -Everything might have been well in Rufus’ home if the scribe, who had -aged greatly in consequence of years of deprivation, had not taken to -drink. Oftentimes he left all his earnings in some tavern or other. This -was a heavy blow for Florentia. She struggled in every way to combat the -unhappy passion of her husband and tried to take from him all the money -he earned, but Rufus descended to every sort of artifice and always -found means of getting drunk. Maria, on the contrary, loved the days of -her father’s drunken bouts. Then he would come home in a gay mood and -pay no attention to the tears and reproaches of Florentia, but would -eagerly call Maria to him, if she were at home, talk to her again -endlessly about the old greatness of the Eternal City, and read to her -verses from the old poets and those of his own composition. The -half-witted girl and her drunken father somehow understood one another, -and they often sat together till late in the night, after the angry -Florentia had left them and gone to bed alone. - -Maria herself did not change her way of life. In vain her father when -sober forced her to help him in his work. In vain her mother was angry -with her daughter for not sharing with her the cares of housekeeping. -When Maria was obliged she would against her will sullenly transcribe a -few lines or peel a few onions, but at the first opportunity she would -run out of the house to wander all day again in her favourite corners of -the city. She was scolded on her return, but she listened silently to -all reproaches and made no reply. What mattered scoldings to her when in -her vision there still glistened all the sumptuous pictures with which -her imagination had been soothed while she had been hidden near a -porphyry basin in the baths of Caracullus or had lain secreted in the -thick grass on the banks of old Tiber. For the sake of not having her -visions taken from her she would willingly have endured blows and every -kind of torture. In these visions were all her life. - -In the autumn of 554 Maria saw in the streets of Rome the triumphal -procession of Narses--the last triumph celebrated in the Eternal City. -The eunuch’s troops of many different races--among whom were Greeks, -Huns, Heruli, Gepidæ, Persians--passed in an inharmonious crowd along -the Sacred Way, bearing rich booty taken from the Goths. The soldiers -sang gay songs in the most diverse languages and their voices mingled in -wild and deafening cries. The general, crowned with laurel, drove in a -chariot drawn by white horses. At the gates of Rome he was met by men -dressed in white togas making themselves out to be senators. Narses went -through half-demolished Rome, along streets in which the grass had grown -up between the mighty paving-stones, in the direction of the Capitol. -There he laid down his crown before a statue of Justinian, obtained from -somewhere or other for this occasion. Then he went on foot through the -town once more, going back to the Basilica of St. Peter, where he was -met by the Pope and clergy in festival robes. The Roman people crowded -into the streets and gazed at the spectacle without any special -enthusiasm, though the chief actors had done their utmost to make it -magnificent. The Byzantine triumph was for Romans something foreign, -almost like a triumph of the enemies of their native land. - -And on Maria the triumphal procession made no impression whatever. She -looked with indifferent eyes upon the medley of colours in the soldiers’ -garments, on the triumphal toga of the eunuch--a small, beardless old -man with shifty eyes--and on the festal robes of the priests. The songs -and martial cries of the soldiers only aroused her horror. It all seemed -to her so different from the triumphs she had so often imagined in her -lonely visions--the triumphs of Augustus Vespasian, Valentian! Here -everything appeared to her to be strange and ugly; there, all had been -magnificence and beauty! And without waiting to see the whole of the -procession, Maria ran away from the basilica of St. Peter on to the -Appian Way, to the ruined baths of Caracullus, which she loved, so that -in the quietness of the marble hall she might weep freely over the -irrevocable past and see it anew in her dreams, living and beautiful as -it alone could be. Maria went home late that day and did not wish to -answer any questions as to whether she had seen the procession. - -At this time Maria was nearly eighteen. She was not beautiful. She was -thin, her figure was undeveloped and with her wild black eyes and the -hectic colour in her cheeks she rather affrighted than attracted -attention. She had no friend. When the young girls of the neighbourhood -spoke to her she answered abruptly and in monosyllables, and hastened to -bring the conversation to an end. How could they--these other -girls--understand her secret dreams, her sacred visions? Of what could -she speak with them? She was thought not so much to be stupid as -imbecile. And then, she never went to church. Sometimes, on the deserted -streets a drunken passer-by would come up to her and try to take her arm -or embrace her. Then Maria would turn on him like a wild cat, -scratching, biting, hitting out with her fists, and she would be left in -peace. One young man, however, the son of a neighbouring coppersmith, -had wanted to pay attentions to her. When her mother spoke to her about -him Maria heard the news with unfeigned horror. When her mother became -insistent, saying that she could not now find a better husband anywhere -Maria began to sob in such desperation that Florentia left her alone, -making up her mind that her daughter was either too young to be married -or that she was indeed not quite in her right mind. So Maria was allowed -to live in freedom and to fill up her endless leisure time as she -pleased. - -So passed days and weeks and months. Rufus worked and drank. Florentia -busied herself over her housekeeping and scolded. Both thought -themselves unhappy, and cursed their wretched fate. Maria alone was -happy in the world of her fancies. She began to pay less and less -attention to the hateful actuality of her surroundings. She went deeper -and deeper into the kingdom of her visions. She already held -conversations with the forms which her imagination created as with -living people. She used to return home with the conviction that to-day -she had met the goddess Vesta or the dictator Sulla. She would remember -the things she had imagined as if they had actually taken place. When -she talked with her father at nights she would tell him all her -remembrances, and the old Rufus would not be amazed. Every story of hers -gave him a pretext for being ready with some lines of poetry--he would -complete and develop the insane fancies of his daughter, and as she -listened sleepily to their strange conversations Florentia would -sometimes spit and pronounce a curse, sometimes cross herself and -whisper a prayer to the Holy Virgin. - - -III - -In the spring following the triumphal procession of Narses Maria was one -day wandering near the ruined walls of the baths of Trajan, when she -noticed that in one place, where evidently the Esquiline Hill took its -rise, there was a strange opening in the ground, like an entrance -somewhere. The district was a deserted one; all around there were only -deserted and uninhabited houses; the pavements were broken and the steep -slope of the hill was overgrown with tall grass. After some effort Maria -succeeded in getting to the opening. Beyond it was a dark and narrow -passage. Without hesitation she crawled into it. She had to crawl for a -long way in utter darkness and in a stifling atmosphere. At the end of -the passage there was a sudden drop. When Maria’s eyes grew accustomed -to the darkness she could distinguish by the faint light which came from -the opening by which she had entered that in front of her was a spacious -hall of some unknown palace. After a little reflection the girl -considered that she would not be able to see it without a light. She -went back cautiously, and all that day she wandered about, pondering on -the matter. Rome seemed to her to be her own property, and she could -not endure the idea that there was anything in the city about which she -knew nothing. - -The next day, having secured a home-made torch, Maria returned to the -place. Not without some danger to herself she got down into the hall she -had discovered and there lighted the torch. A stately chamber presented -itself to her gaze. The lower half of the walls was of marble, and above -it were painted marvellous pictures. Bronze statues stood in niches, -amazing work, for the statues seemed to be living people. It was -possible to distinguish that the floor, now covered with earth and -rubbish, was of mosaic. After admiring this new spectacle, Maria was -emboldened to go further. Through an immense door she passed into a -whole labyrinth of passages and cross-passages leading her into a new -hall, still more magnificent than the first. Further on was a long suite -of rooms, decorated with marble and gold, with wall paintings and -statuary; in many places there still remained valuable furniture and -various domestic articles of fine workmanship. Spiders, lizards, -sow-bugs ran all around; bats fluttered here and there; but Maria, -enthralled by the unique spectacle, saw nothing of them. Before her was -the life of ancient Rome, living, in all its fulness, discovered by her -at last. - -How long she enjoyed herself there on that first day of her discovery -she did not know. She was overcome, either by her strong agitation or by -the foul atmosphere. When she came to her senses again she was on the -damp stone floor, and her torch was extinguished, having burnt itself -out. In utter darkness she began gropingly to seek a way out. She -wandered for a long time, for many hours, but only became confused in -the countless passages and rooms. In the misty consciousness of the girl -there was a glimmer of a notion that she was fated to die in this -unknown palace, which was itself buried under the ground. Such an idea -did not alarm Maria; on the contrary, it seemed to her both beautiful -and desirable to end her life among the splendid remains of ancient -life, in a marble hall, at the foot of a beautiful statue somewhere or -other. She was only sorry for one thing--that darkness lay around her, -and that she was not fated to see the beauty in the midst of which she -was to die.... Suddenly a ray of light shone before her. Gathering up -her strength, Maria went towards it. It was the light of the moon -shining through an opening like that by which she had entered the -palace. But this opening was in an entirely different hall. By great -efforts, scrambling up by the projections of the walls Maria got out -into the open air in an hour when the whole city was already asleep and -the moon reigned in her full glory over the heaps of the half-ruined -buildings. Keeping close by the walls, in order to attract no attention, -Maria reached home almost dead from exhaustion. Her father was absent, -he did not come home all that night, and her mother only uttered a few -coarse outcries. - -After this Maria began daily to visit the subterranean palace she had -discovered. Little by little she learnt all its corridors and halls, so -that she could wander about them in utter darkness without fear of -losing her way again. She always carried with her, however, a little -lamp or a resin torch, so that she could adequately enjoy the sumptuous -decorations of the rooms. She learnt to know all about them. She knew -the rooms which were covered with paintings and decorations in crimson, -others where a yellow colour predominated, others which by the green of -the paintings reminded her of fresh meadows or of a garden, others which -were all white with ornamentations of black ebony: she knew all the wall -paintings, some of which depicted scenes from the lives of gods and -heroes, some showed the great battles of antiquity, some showed the -portraits of great men, others the ridiculous adventures of fauns and -cupids; she knew all the statues that were preserved in the palace, both -bronze and marble, the small busts in the niches, the glorious piece of -sculpture of entire figures of enormous size which represented three -people, a man and two youths, who were encircled in the coils of a -gigantic serpent and were vainly striving to free themselves from its -fatal embrace. - -But of all the decorations in the underground palace Maria specially -loved one bas-relief. It represented a young girl, slim and graceful, -resting in a deep sleep in a kind of cave; near her stood a youth in -warlike armour, with a noble face of marvellous beauty; above them, and -as it were in the clouds, was depicted a woven basket containing two -young children, floating on a river. It seemed to Maria that the -features of the young girl in the picture were like her own. She -recognised herself in this slim sleeping princess, and for whole hours -she would untiringly admire her, imagining herself in her place. At -times Maria was ready to believe that some ancient artist had -marvellously divined that at some time a young girl Maria would appear -in the world, and that he had by anticipation, created her portrait in -the bas-relief of the mysterious enchanted palace, which must have been -preserved untouched under the earth for hundreds of years. The -significance of the other figures in the bas-relief was not realised by -her for a long while. - -But one evening Maria happened once more to have a talk with her father, -who had come home drunk and in a gay mood. They were alone, for -Florentia, as usual, had left them to their foolish chattering and had -gone to bed. Maria told her father of the underground palace she had -discovered and of its treasures. The old Rufus listened to this story in -the same way as he heard all the other fancies of his daughter. When she -used to tell him that she had that day met Constantine the Great in the -street and that he had graciously conversed with her, Rufus would not be -surprised, but he would begin to talk about Constantine. And now, when -Maria spoke to him of the treasures of the underground palace the old -scribe at once talked about this palace. - -“Yes, yes, little daughter,” said he. “Between the Palatine and the -Esquiline, it really is there. It is the Golden House of the emperor -Nero, the most beautiful palace ever built in Rome. Nero had not -sufficient space for it and he set fire to Rome. Rome was burnt, and the -emperor recited verses about the burning of Troy. And afterwards, on the -space that had been cleared, he built his Golden House. Yes, yes, it was -between the Palatine and the Esquiline; you’re right. There was nothing -more beautiful in the city. But after Nero’s death other emperors -destroyed the palace out of envy, and heaped earth upon it; it existed -no longer. They built houses and baths on its site. But it was the most -beautiful of all the palaces.” - -Then, having become bolder, Maria told her father about her beloved -bas-relief. And again the old scribe was not surprised. He at once -explained to his daughter what the artist had wished to express-- - -“That, my daughter, is Rhea Silvia, the vestal virgin, daughter of King -Numitor. But a youth--this god Mars, fell in love with the maiden and -sought her out in the sacred cave. Twin sons were born to them, Romulus -and Remus. Rhea Silvia was drowned in the Tiber, the infants were -suckled by a wolf and they became the founders of the City. Yes, that is -how it all was, my daughter.” - -Rufus told Maria in detail the touching story of the guilty vestal Ilia, -or Rhea Silvia, and he at once began to recite some lines from the -“Metamorphoses” of the ancient Naso: - - _Proximus Ausonias iniusti miles Amuli_ - _Rexit opes ..._ - -But Maria was not listening to her father, she was repeating quietly to -herself: - -“It is--Rhea Silvia! Rhea Silvia!” - - -IV - -After that day Maria spent still more of her time looking at the -wonderful bas-relief. She would take a scanty luncheon with her, as well -as a torch, so that she might stay some hours longer in the underground -palace, which she considered to be more her own home than her father’s -house. She would lie on the cold and slippery floor in front of the -sculptured daughter of Numitor, and by the faint light of her resinous -torch she would gaze for long hours at the features of the slender -maiden sleeping in the sacred cave. With every day it became more -apparent to Maria that she was strangely like this ancient vestal, and -little by little in her dreams, she became less able to distinguish -which was poor Maria, the daughter of Rufus the Scribe, and which the -unhappy Ilia, daughter of the King of Alba Longa. She always called -herself Rhea Silvia. Lying in front of the picture she would dream that -to her, in this new sacred cave, the god Mars would appear, and that -from their divine embraces there would be born of her the twins Romulus -and Remus, who would become the founders of the Eternal City. True, she -would have to pay for this by her death--and be drowned in the muddy -waters of the Tiber--but could death terrify Maria? She often fell -asleep while musing thus before the bas-relief, and dreamed of this same -god Mars with his noble face of marvellous beauty and his divine, -consuming embrace. And when she awoke she would not know whether it had -been dream or reality. - -It was already scorching July, when the streets of Rome at midday were -as empty as after the terrible command of King Totila. But in the -underground palace it was damp and cool. Maria, as before, went there -every day to muse, in her habitual sweet reveries, before the pictured -Ilia, who lay dreaming of the god destined for her. And one day, when -in a slight doze, she was once again giving herself up to the ardent -caresses of the god Mars, suddenly a noise of some kind forced her to -awake. She opened her eyes, not understanding anything as yet, and -glanced around. By the light of the little torch which she had placed in -a cranny between the stones, she saw before her a young man. He was not -in warlike armour, but wore the dress usually worn at that time by poor -Romans; his face, however, was full of nobility, and to Maria it -appeared radiant with a marvellous beauty. For some moments she looked -with amazement on the unexpected apparition, on the man who had found -his way into this enchanted palace which she had thought unknown to -anyone save herself. Then, sitting upright on the floor, the girl asked -simply: - -“You have come to me?” - -The young man smiled a quiet and attractive smile, and answered by -another question. - -“But who are you, maiden? The genius of this place?” - -Maria answered: - -“I--am Rhea Silvia, a vestal virgin, daughter of King Numitor. And are -you not the god Mars, come in search of me?” - -“No, I am no god,” objected the young man. “I am a mortal, my name is -Agapit, and I was not searching here for you. But all the same, I am -glad to find you. Greeting to you, daughter of King Numitor!” - -Maria invited the young man to sit down beside her, and he at once -consented. So they sat together, youth and maiden, on the damp floor, in -the magnificent hall of Nero’s Golden House, buried under ground, and -they looked into each other’s eyes and knew not at first what to talk -about. Then Maria pointed out the bas-relief to the young man and began -to tell him all the legend of the unhappy vestal. But the youth -interrupted her story. - -“I know this, Rhea,” said he, “but how strange! The face of the girl in -the bas-relief is actually like yours.” - -“It is I,” answered Maria. - -So much conviction was in her words that the youth was perplexed and -knew not what to think. But Maria gently placed her hand on his shoulder -and began to speak ingratiatingly, almost timidly. - -“Do not deny it:--you are the god Mars in the form of a mortal. But I -recognise you. I have expected you for a long while. I knew that you -would come. I am not afraid of death. Let them drown me in the Tiber.” - -For a long while the young man listened to Maria’s incoherent speech. -All around was strange. This underground palace, known to no one, with -its magnificent apartments where only lizards and bats were living. And -the obscurity of this immense hall, barely lighted by the faint light of -the two torches. And this obscure maiden, like the Rhea Silvia of the -ancient bas-relief, with her unintelligible speeches, who in some -marvellous fashion had lighted upon the buried Golden House of Nero. The -young man felt that the rude actuality of the life he had lived just -before his entrance into the underground dwelling had vanished into thin -air as a dream disappears in the morning. In another moment he might -have believed that he himself was the god Mars, and that he had met here -his beloved, Ilia the vestal, the daughter of Numitor. Putting the -greatest restraint upon himself, he broke in upon Maria’s speech. - -“Dear maiden,” said he, “listen to me. You are mistaken about me. I am -not he for whom you take me. I will tell you the whole truth. Agapit is -not my real name. I am a Goth, and my name is really Theodat. But I am -obliged to conceal my origin, for I should be put to death if it were -known. Haven’t you heard, by my pronunciation, that I am not a Roman. -When my fellow-countrymen left your city, I did not follow them. I love -Rome, I love its history and its tradition. I want to live and die in -the Eternal City, which once belonged to us. So now, under the name of -Agapit, I am in the service of an armourer; I work by day, and in the -evenings I wander about the city and admire its memorials which have -escaped destruction. As I knew that Nero’s Golden House had been built -on this spot, I got in to this underground palace so that I could admire -the remains of its former beauty. That is all. I have told you the whole -truth, and I do not think you will betray me, for one word from you -would be enough to have me put to death.” - -Maria listened to the words of Theodat with incredulity and -dissatisfaction. After a little thought she said: “Why are you deceiving -me? Why do you wish to take the form of a Goth? Can I not see the nimbus -round your head? Mars Gradivus, for others thou art a god, for me thou -art my beloved. Do not mock thy poor bride, Rhea Silvia!” - -Theodat looked again for a long while at the young girl who spoke such -foolish words, and he began to guess that Maria was not in her right -mind. And when this thought came into his head he said to himself, “Poor -girl! I will never take advantage of your unprotected state! This would -be unworthy of a Goth.” Then he gently put his arms around Maria and -began to talk to her as to a little child, not contradicting her strange -fancies but acknowledging himself to be the god Mars. And for a long -while they sat side by side in the semi-darkness, not exchanging one -kiss, talking and dreaming together of the future Rome which would be -founded by their twin sons Romulus and Remus. At last the torches began -to burn low, and Theodat said to Maria: - -“Dear Rhea Silvia, it is already late. We must go away from here.” - -“But you will come again to-morrow?” asked Maria. - -Theodat looked at the young girl. She seemed to him strangely -attractive, with her thin, half-childish figure, the hectic flush on her -cheeks and her deep black eyes. There was an incomprehensible attraction -in this meeting of theirs in the dim hall of the buried palace, before -the marvellous bas-relief of an unknown artist. Theodat desired to -repeat these minutes of strange intercourse with the poor crazy girl, -and he answered: - -“Yes, maiden, to-morrow at this hour, after my day’s work, I will come -again to you here.” - -Hand in hand they went in the direction of the way out. Theodat had a -rope ladder with him. He helped Maria to climb up to the hole which -served as an entrance to the palace. Evening had already fallen when -they reached the streets. - -Before they separated Theodat said once more, looking into Maria’s eyes: - -“Remember, maiden, you must not tell anyone that you have met me. It -might cost me my life. Good-bye until to-morrow.” - -He got out first into the open-air and was soon out of sight round a -bend of the road. Maria went slowly home. If it happened that evening -that she had a talk with her father, she would not tell him that at last -Mars Gradivus had come to her. - - -V - -Theodat did not deceive Maria. Next day, towards evening he really came -again to the Golden House and to the bas-relief representing Mars and -Rhea Silvia, where Maria was already awaiting him. The young man had -brought with him some bread and cheese and some wine, and they had their -supper together in the magnificent hall of Nero’s palace. Maria mused -aloud again about the beauty of life in the past, about gods, heroes, -and emperors, mixing up stories of her own experiences with the -wanderings of her fancy; but Theodat, with his arm around the girl, -gently stroked her hand or her shoulder, and admired the black depth of -her eyes. Then they walked together through the empty underground rooms, -shedding the light of their torches on the great creations of Greek and -Roman genius. When they parted they again exchanged a promise to meet on -the following day. - -From that time, every day, when Theodat had finished his dull labour at -the armourer’s workshop, where they made and repaired helmets, pikes, -and armour for the company of Byzantines who were garrisoning Rome, he -went to meet the strange young girl who thought herself to be the vestal -virgin Ilia, alive once more. There was an unconquerable attraction for -the young man in the lissom body of the girl and in her half-foolish -words, to which he was ready to listen for whole hours together. They -explored together all the halls, corridors, and rooms of the palace, as -far as they could get; they rejoiced together over each newly-found -statue, each newly-noticed bas-relief, and there was never a day but -some unexpected discovery filled their souls with a new rapture. Day -after day they lived in an unchanging happiness--enjoying the creations -of Art, and in moments of emotion before a new-found marble sculpture, -the work perhaps of Praxiteles, young man and maiden would lean towards -one another and embrace in a pure and blessed kiss. - -Imperceptibly Theodat began to consider the Golden House of Nero as his -own home, and Maria became to him the nearest and dearest being in the -world. How this happened Theodat himself did not know. But all the rest -of the time which he spent on the earth seemed to him a burdensome and -distasteful obligation, and only the time that he spent with Rhea -Silvia underground, in the palace of the ancient emperor, seemed to him -to be real life. The whole day the young man awaited in a torture of -impatience the moment when he could at last leave the brass helmets and -hammers and pincers, and with the rope ladder hidden under his garments -run off to the slope of the Esquiline for his secret meeting. Only by -these meetings did Theodat reckon his days. If he had been asked what -attracted him in Maria he would have found it difficult to answer. But -without her, without her simple talk, without her strange eyes--all his -life would have seemed empty and void. - -On the earth, in the armourer’s workshop, or in his own pitiful little -room which he rented from a priest, Theodat could reason sanely. He -would say to himself that this Rhea Silvia was a poor crazy girl, and -that he himself perhaps was doing wrong in corroborating her pernicious -fancies. But when he went down into the cool damp obscurity of the -Golden House, Theodat, as it were, changed everything--his thoughts and -his soul. He became something different, not what he was in the sultry -heat of the Roman day or in the stifling atmosphere of the forge. He -felt himself in another world there, where in reality could be met both -the vestal virgin Ilia, daughter of King Numitor, and the god Mars, who -had taken upon himself the form of a young Goth. In this world -everything was possible and all miracles were natural. In this world -the past was still living, and the fables of the poets were clearly -realised at every step. - -Not that Theodat fully believed in Maria’s delusions. But when, before -some statue of an ancient emperor she would begin to speak of meeting -him on the Forum and talking with him, it seemed to Theodat that -something of the sort had actually taken place. When Maria told him -about the riches of her father, King Numitor, Theodat was ready to think -that she was speaking the truth. And when she had visions of the glories -of the future Rome, which would be founded by the new Romulus and Remus, -Theodat himself was led to develop these visions, and to speak about the -new victories of the Eternal City, its new conquests of territory, its -new world-wide fame.... And together they would imagine the names of the -coming emperors who would rule in their children’s city.... Maria always -spoke of herself as Rhea Silvia and of Theodat as Mars, and he became so -accustomed to these names that there were times when he deliberately -called himself by the name of the ancient Roman god of war. And when -both of them, young man and maiden, were intoxicated by the darkness and -by the marvellous creations of Art, by their nearness to one another and -by their strange half-crazy dreams, Theodat almost began to feel in his -veins the divine ichor of an Olympian god. - -And again the days went by. At the very beginning of his acquaintance -with Maria, Theodat had promised himself to spare the crazy girl and not -to take advantage of her weak intellect and her unprotected state. But -with each new meeting it became in every way more and more difficult for -him to keep his word. Meeting every day the girl he already loved with -all the passion of youthful love, spending long hours with her alone in -this isolated place, in the half-darkness, touching her hands and -shoulders, feeling her breathing close beside him, and exchanging kisses -with her;--Theodat was obliged to use greater and greater effort not to -press the girl to himself in a strong embrace, not to draw her to him -with those caresses with which the god Mars had once drawn to himself -the first vestal. And Maria not only did not avoid such caresses, but -she even, as it were, sought them, leaning towards him, attracting him -to her with all her being. She lingered in Theodat’s arms when he kissed -her, she herself pressed him to her bosom when they were admiring the -statues and pictures, she seemed every moment to be questioning the -youth with her large black eyes, as if she were asking him, “When?” -“Will it be soon?” “I am tired of waiting.” Theodat would ask himself -“---- And can it be true that she is crazy? Then I must be crazy too! -And is not our craziness better than the reasonable life of other -people. Why should we deny ourselves the full joy of love?” - -And so that which was inevitable came to its fulfilment. The marriage -chamber of Maria and Theodat was one of the magnificent halls of the -Golden House of Nero. The resin twists, lighted and placed in ancient -bronze candlesticks in the form of Cupids, were their bridal torches. -The union of the young couple was blessed by the marble gods, sculptured -by Praxiteles, who looked down with unearthly smiles from their niches -of porphyry. The great silence of the buried palace hid in itself the -first passionate sighs of the newly-wedded pair and their pale faces -were overshadowed by the mysterious obscurity of the underground palace. -There was no solemn banquet, no marriage songs, but long ages of glory -and power overshadowed the bridal couch, and its earth and ashes seemed -to the lovers softer and more desirable than the down of Pontine swans -in the sleeping apartments of Byzantium. - -From that evening Maria and Theodat began to meet as lovers. Their long -talks were mingled with long caresses. They exchanged passionate -confessions and passionate vows--in almost senseless speeches. They -wandered again through the empty rooms of the Golden House, not so much -attracted now by the pictures and statues, the marble walls and the -mosaics, as by the possibility in the new room to fall again and again -into each other’s embraces. They still dreamed of the future Rome which -would be founded by their children, but this happy vision was already -eclipsed by the happiness of their unrestrained kisses in whose burning -atmosphere vanished not only actuality but also dreams. They still -called themselves Rhea Silvia and the god Mars, but they had already -become poor earthly lovers, a happy couple, like thousands and thousands -of others living on the earth after thousands and thousands of -centuries. - - -VI - -Never, outside the hall of the subterranean palace, did Theodat try to -meet Maria nor she him. They only existed for one another in the Golden -House of Nero. Perhaps they might even not have recognised one another -on the earth. Theodat might have ceased to be for Maria the god Mars, -and Maria would not have seemed to Theodat beautiful and wonderful. -Truly, after their union, the honourable young Goth had said to himself -that he ought to find out the real relatives of the young girl, to marry -her and openly acknowledge her as his wife before all people. But day -after day he put off the fulfilment of this resolve; it would have been -terrible for him to destroy the fairy-like enchantment in which he was -living, terrible to exchange the unheard of ways of the underground hall -for the ordinary realities. Perhaps Theodat did not thus explain his -delay to himself, but, all the same, he did not hasten to bring to an -end the burning happiness of these secret meetings, and every time he -parted with Maria he renewed his vow to her that on the morrow he would -come again. And she expected him and asked for nothing more; for her -this visionary blessedness was sufficient--to be the beloved of a god. - -“Thou wilt always love me?” Theodat would ask, pressing the lissom body -of Maria in his strong arms. - -But she would shake her head and say: - -“I will love thee until death. But thou art an immortal, and soon I must -die. They will drown me in the waters of the Tiber.” - -“No, no,” Theodat would say, “that will not happen. We shall live -together and die together. Without thee I do not wish to be immortal. -And after death we shall love each other just the same there in our -Olympus.” - -But Maria would look at him distrustfully. She expected death and was -prepared for it. She only wished one thing--to prolong her happiness as -long as it was possible. - -The young man told himself that he ought secretly to follow Maria and -find out where she lived--go to her real home and to her true father -and tell him that he, Agapit, loved this young girl and wanted to make -her his wife. But when the hour of parting drew near, when Maria having -heard Theodat vow that he would come again to-morrow to the Golden -House, glided away like a thin shadow into the evening distance--the -youth would once more postpone his action. “Let this be put off another -day! Let us meet once more as Rhea Silvia and the god Mars! Let this -fairy tale still continue.” And he would go home, to the little room he -rented from the priest, to dream all night of his beloved and solace -himself with the new happiness of remembrance. And Theodat never asked -anyone about the strange black-eyed girl, though almost everyone in Rome -knew Maria. But in reality he did not wish to know anything about her -except this--that she was the vestal Ilia, and that every evening she -lovingly awaited him in the subterranean hall of Nero’s underground -palace. - -But one day Maria having waited till the evening, awaited Theodat in -vain; the youth did not come. Grieved and disturbed, Maria went home -again. Her mind had in a way become somewhat clearer since she had given -herself to Theodat and she was able to console herself with the thought -that something must have prevented him from coming. But the youth did -not come the next day, nor the next. He suddenly disappeared completely -and it was in vain that Maria waited for him at the appointed place hour -after hour, day after day--waited in anguish, in despair, sobbing, -praying to the ancient gods, and using the words which her mother had -once taught her: there came no answer to her tears and prayers. As -before, an unearthly smile played over the faces of the gods in their -niches in the walls; as before, the superb rooms of the ancient palace -gleamed with paintings and mosaics, but the Golden House suddenly became -empty and terrible for Maria. From a blessed paradise, from the land of -the Elysian fields, it had suddenly been changed into a hall of cruel -torture, into a black Tartarus where was only horror and solitude, -unendurable grief and unbearable pain. With an insane hope Maria went -every day as before to the underground dwelling, but now she went there -as to a place of torture. There awaited her the hours of disappointed -expectation, the terrible reminders of her late happiness and her -long-renewed inconsolable tears. - -It was most terrible of all, most distressing of all, near the -bas-relief which represented Rhea Silvia sleeping in the sacred cave -with the god Mars coming towards her. All her remembrances drew Maria to -this bas-relief, yet near it the most unconquerable grief would -overwhelm her soul. She would fall on the floor and beat her head -against the stone mosaic pavement, closing her eyes that she might not -behold the radiant face of the god. “Come back, come back!” she would -repeat in her frenzy. “Come just once again! Divine, immortal; have pity -on my sufferings. Let me see thee once again. I have not yet told thee -all, have not given thee all my kisses; I must, I must see thee once -again in life. And after that let me die, let them cast me into the -waters of the Tiber, and I will not resist. Have pity on me, Divine -One!” And Maria would open her eyes again, and by the faint light of the -torch she would see the unmoved face of the sculptured god and then once -more the remembrance of the blessedness which had suddenly been taken -away from her would overwhelm her and she would burst into new tears and -sobs and wails. And she herself would hardly know if the god Mars had -come to her, if in her life there had been those days of perfect -happiness or if she had dreamed them amongst thousands of other dreams. - -With every day her expectations grew more hopeless. Every day she would -return to her home more anguished and more shaken. In those hours when -there were glimmerings of consciousness in her soul she remembered dimly -all that Theodat had once told her about himself. Then she would wander -through the streets of Rome, and under various pretexts she would look -into all the armourer’s workshops, but nowhere did she meet with him she -sought. To speak to anyone of her grief and of her vanished happiness -was impossible for her and no one would have believed the stories of the -poor crazy girl--everyone would have considered them to be new -wanderings of her disordered imagination. So Maria lived alone with her -grief and her despair, and her mother only shook her head dejectedly as -she saw her becoming thinner and more wasted, her cheeks more sunken and -her eyes burning more feverishly and with more strange and fiery -reflections. - -But the days passed by inconsolably--for the poor crazy girl, for the -despoiled Eternal City, and for the whole world in which a new life was -slowly coming to birth. The days went by; Justinian celebrated his final -victories over the remaining Goths, the Lombards thought out their -Italian campaign, the popes secretly forged the links of that chain -which in the future would connect Rome with all the world, the Romans -continued to live their poor and oppressed lives, and one day Maria -understood at last that she would become a mother. The vestal Rhea -Silvia to whom the god Mars had condescended from his Olympus, began to -feel within herself the pulsations of a new life--were they not the -twins, the new Romulus and Remus who must found the new Rome? - -To no one, neither to father nor to mother, did Maria speak of what she -felt. It was her secret. But she was strangely quieted by her discovery. -Her dreams were being completely fulfilled. She must give birth to the -founders of Rome and afterwards await death in the muddy waters of the -Tiber. - - -VII - -Sometimes guests would gather together in the house of old Rufus, a -neighbouring merchant who sold cheap women’s finery on the Forum, the -coppersmith’s son who at one time had wished to court Maria, an infirm -orator who could no longer find a use for his learning, and a few other -poverty stricken people who were dejectedly living out their days, only -meeting one another to complain of their unhappy lot. They would drink -poor wine and eat a little garlic, and among their customary complaints -they would cautiously interpolate bitter words about the Byzantine rule -and the inhuman demands of the new general who lived on the Palatine in -place of the departed eunuch Narses. Florentia would serve the guests, -and pour out wine for them, and at the speeches of the old orator she -would quietly cross herself at the mention of the accursed gods. - -At one of these gatherings Maria was sitting in a corner of the room, -having come home that day earlier than usual from her wanderings. Nobody -paid any attention to her. They were all accustomed to see among them -the silent girl whom they had long ago considered to be insane. She -never joined in the conversation and no one ever addressed a remark to -her. She sat with her head bent in a melancholy fashion and never moved, -apparently hearing nothing of the speeches made by the drinking party. - -On this day they were talking especially about the severity of the new -general. But the coppersmith’s son took upon himself to defend him. - -“We must take into account,” said he, “that at the present time it is -necessary to act rigorously. There are many spies going about the city. -The barbarians may fall on us again. Then we should have to endure -another siege. These accursed Goths, when they took themselves out of -the town for good, had hidden their treasures in various places. And now -first one and then another of them comes back to Rome secretly and in -disguise, digs up the hidden treasure and carries it away. Such people -must be caught, and it would never do to be easy with them; the Romans -will have all their riches stolen.” - -The words of the coppersmith’s son aroused curiosity. They began to ask -him questions. He readily told all that he knew about the treasures -hidden by the Goths in various parts of Rome, and how those of them who -had escaped destruction strove to seek out these stores and carry them -off. Then he added: - -“And it’s only lately they caught one of them. He was clambering up the -Esquiline, where there is an opening in the ground. He had a -rope-ladder. They caught him and took him to the general. The general -promised to spare him if the accursed one would show exactly where the -treasure was hidden. But he was obstinate and would say nothing. They -tortured him and tortured him, but got nothing out of him. So they -tortured him to death.” - -“And is he dead?” asked someone. - -“Of course he’s dead,” said the coppersmith’s son. - -Suddenly an unexpected illumination lit up the confused mind of Maria. -She stood up to her full height. Her large eyes grew still larger. -Pressing both hands to her bosom, she asked in a breaking voice: - -“And what was his name, what was the name ... of this Goth?” - -The coppersmith’s son knew all about it. So he answered at once: - -“He called himself Agapit; he was working quite near here, in an -armourer’s workshop.” - -And with a shriek, Maria fell face downwards on the floor. - - * * * * * - -Maria was ill for a long while, for many weeks. On the first day of her -illness a child was born prematurely, a pitiful lump of flesh which it -was impossible to call either a boy or a girl. Florentia, with all her -harshness, loved her daughter. While Maria lay unconscious for many days -her mother tended her and never left her side. She called in a midwife -and a priest. When at length Maria came to her senses Florentia had no -reproachful tears for her, she only wept inconsolably and pressed her -daughter to her bosom. Her mother-soul had divined everything. Later on, -when Maria was a little better her mother told her all that had happened -and did not reproach her. - -But Maria listened to her mother with a strange distrust. How could Rhea -Silvia believe it, when she was destined, by the will of the gods, to -bring forth the twins Romulus and Remus? Either the girl’s mind was -entirely overclouded or she believed her former dreams more than -actuality--at the words of her mother she merely shook her head in -weakness. She thought her mother was deceiving her, that during her -illness she had borne twins which had been taken from her, put into a -wicker-basket and thrown into the Tiber. But Maria knew that a wolf -would find and nourish them, for they must be the founders of the new -Rome. - -As long as Maria was so weak that she could not raise her head no one -wondered that she would answer no questions and would be silent whole -days, neither asking for food nor drink nor wishing to pronounce a -monosyllable. But when she recovered a little and found strength to go -about the house Maria continued to be silent, hiding in her soul some -treasured thought. She did not even want to talk to her father any more -and she was not pleased when he began to declaim verses from the ancient -poets. - -At length, one morning when her father had gone out on business and her -mother was at market Maria unexpectedly disappeared from home. No one -noticed her departure. And no one saw her again alive. But after some -days the muddy waters of the Tiber cast her lifeless body on the shore. - -Poor girl! Poor vestal of the broken vows! One would like to believe -that throwing thy body into the cold embraces of the water thou wert -convinced that thy children, the twins Romulus and Remus, were at that -moment drinking the warm milk of the she-wolf, and that in time to come -they would raise up the first rampart of the future Eternal City. If in -the moment of thy death thou hadst no doubt of this, thou wert perhaps -the happiest of all the people in that pitiful half-destroyed Rome -towards which were already moving from the Alps the hordes of the wild -Lombards. - - - - -ELULI, SON OF ELULI - -A STORY OF THE ANCIENT PHŒNICIANS - - -I - -The young scholar Dutrail, whose works on the head ornaments of the -Carthaginians had already attracted attention, and Bouverie, his former -tutor, now his friend, a corresponding-member of the Academy of -Inscriptions, were working at some excavations on the western coast of -Africa, in the French Congo, south of Myamba. It was a small expedition, -fitted out by private means, and originally consisting of eight members. -Most of them, however, had been unable to endure the deadly climate, and -on one pretext or another had gone away. There remained only Dutrail, -whose youthful enthusiasm conquered all difficulties, and the old -Bouverie, who having all his life dreamed of taking part in important -excavations where his special knowledge was concerned, had in his old -age--thanks to the patronage of his young friend--obtained his desire. -The excavations were extremely interesting; no one had supposed the -Phœnician colony to have spread itself so far south on the West Coast -of Africa, extending even beyond the Equator. Every day’s work enriched -science and opened up new perspectives as to the position of Phœnicia -and her commercial relations in the ninth century B.C. - -The work was, however, extremely arduous. No European had remained with -Dutrail and Bouverie except their servant Victor; all the workmen were -negroes of the place. True, it had been decided that in place of those -who had left other archæologists should come and bring with them not -only some French workmen and a new store of necessary instruments, guns, -and food supplies, but also the letters, books, and newspapers of which -Dutrail and Bouverie had long been deprived. But day followed day, and -the wished-for steamer did not appear. Their stores were decreasing, -they were obliged to hunt for their food, and Dutrail was especially -anxious about the exhaustion of their supply of cartridges; the natives -were already sullen and insubordinate, and in the event of a riot among -them their lack of arms might be dangerous. Besides this, the Frenchmen -suffered greatly from the climate and from the intolerable heat, which -was so great that in the daytime it was impossible to touch a stone -without burning the hand. And now at last the bold archæologists seemed -likely to be overcome by the malevolent local fever which had attacked -several of the company before their departure. - -Dutrail triumphed over everything. Day after day he subsisted on the -flesh of seabirds tasting strongly of fish, and drank the warmish water -from a neighbouring spring; he kept the mutinous crowd of negro-workmen -in check and himself worked with them, and yet still found time at night -to write his diary and to keep a detailed account of all the -archæological treasures they had obtained. In the tiny hut which they -had built under the shelter of a cliff he had already put in order a -whole museum of wonderful things which had lain almost three centuries -in the earth and now being restored to the world would soon bring about -a revolution in Phœnician lore. Bouverie, on the contrary, though -desiring with all his soul to remain with his young friend, was -manifestly becoming weaker. It was more difficult for an old man to -struggle against misfortunes and deprivation. Often, as he worked, his -spade or his gun would simply drop from his hands and he himself would -fall unconscious to the ground. Added to this he had begun to have -attacks of the local fever. Dutrail tried to cure him with quinine and -the other medicines which were in their travelling medicine-chest, but -the old man’s strength was utterly giving way; his cheeks had fallen in, -his eyes burned with an unhealthy glitter, and at night-time he was -tortured by paroxysms of dry coughing, shivering fits, fever and -delirium. - -Dutrail had long ago made up his mind to compel his friend to return to -Europe as soon as the steamer should come, but for a long while he had -been afraid to speak about the matter. He felt that the old man would -certainly refuse--would prefer, as a scholar, to die at his post, the -more so as lately he had often spoken of death. To Dutrail’s -astonishment, however, Bouverie himself began to speak of leaving, -saying it was evident that they must part, and although it was bitter -for him to abandon the work he had begun, his illness compelled him to -go, so that he might die in his native land. In the depths of his soul -Dutrail was almost offended by these last remarks of the old man, who -could prefer his superstitious desire--to be in his native land at the -moment of his death--before the high interest of scientific research, -but explaining this by Bouverie’s illness he at length applauded his -friend’s resolution, and said all that might be expected from him under -the circumstances--that the fever was not so dangerous, that it would -pass with the change of climate, that they would still do much work -together, and so forth. - -Two days later Bouverie astonished his friend still further. On that day -the excavators had come upon a new and rich tomb. Dutrail was in ecstasy -over such a discovery and he could neither speak nor think of anything -else. But in the evening Bouverie called his former pupil to his side in -his half of the little hut and begged him to witness his will. - -“I’m much to blame,” said Bouverie, “not to have made my will before, -but I’ve never had the time. All my life I’ve been entirely taken up -with science, and I have never had time to think about my own affairs. -But my health is getting so much worse that perhaps I shall never get -away from here, so I must formulate my last desires. We are only three -Europeans here, but you and Victor are enough to witness my will.” - -So as not to agitate the old man, Dutrail agreed. The will was quite an -ordinary one. Bouverie left the little money he had to dispose of to a -niece, for he was unmarried and had no other relatives. He left small -sums to his old servant, to the owner of the house in which he had lived -for forty years, and to various other people. His collection of -Phœnician and Carthaginian antiquities, gathered together during his -long lifetime, the old man bequeathed to the Louvre, and some separate -small things--to his friends, Dutrail among the number. - -Coming at length to the last clause, Bouverie said, in an agitated -manner: - -“This, strictly speaking, ought not to be included in the will. It is -simply--my request to you personally, Dutrail. But listen to it all the -same.” - -The request was that after his death Bouverie wanted his body to be sent -to France and buried in his native town by the side of his mother. As he -read this last clause of the will the old man could not restrain his -tears. In a breaking voice he began to implore that whatever might -happen his request should be fulfilled. - -By a great effort Dutrail controlled his anger and answered as gently -and tenderly as he could. - -“Devil take it, dear friend! You see, I’m quite sure you’re not so ill -as you think. If I agreed to witness your will, I did so for one reason, -to please you, and for another, because it is never superfluous to put -one’s affairs in order. But as I am strongly convinced that you will get -better and will laugh at your present anxiety about yourself, I will -permit myself to make some objections.” - -With the greatest caution Dutrail pointed out to Bouverie that his -request could hardly be fulfilled; there were no means at hand for -embalming the body and no coffin which could be hermetically sealed. And -he asked whether it were worse to be after death under African palms -side by side with the dead of the great past than in some small -provincial French cemetery. The only thing it was possible to promise in -any case, under such circumstances, was that his body should be buried -here in Africa at first and afterwards taken to France, though this -would be difficult, troublesome, and, above all, useless. - -“That’s what I was afraid of!” cried the old man despairingly. “I was -afraid that you would say just that. But I beg of you, I conjure you, to -fulfil my request, whatever it may cost you, even though ... even though -you may have to give up the excavations for a time.” - -Bouverie entreated, begged, wept. And at last, in order to pacify the -old man, Dutrail was obliged to consent, to give his word of honour and -even his oath. The will was signed. - - -II - -Next day, even before the sun had risen, their labours were resumed. -They began to excavate the magnificent tomb which they had come across -the evening before. It was evident that the Phœnician settlement -would show itself much more significant than they had at first supposed. -At least, the tomb they had discovered had clearly belonged to a rich -and powerful family, several generations of which had not only spent -their whole lives under the inhospitable skies of equatorial Africa, but -had also prepared here for themselves an eternal resting-place. The -sepulchre was built of massive blocks of stone and ornamented with -bas-reliefs. Dutrail untiringly directed the workmen and often took a -pick or a spade himself. - -After great difficulty they succeeded in discovering the entrance to the -tomb--an enormous iron door that in spite of the twenty-eight centuries -which had elapsed since it was closed had to be carefully broken to -pieces. Having succeeded at last in forcing an entrance and letting -fresh air flow into the recesses of the tomb Dutrail and Bouverie went -in themselves, carrying torches in their hands. The picture which -presented itself to their gaze was enough to send an archæologist out of -his mind with delight. The tomb was apparently absolutely untouched. In -the midst of it a stone coffin was raised upon a stone platform in the -shape of a fantastic monster, and around this were many articles for -household use, some fine specimens of crescent-shaped lamps, implements -of war, images of gods, and other articles whose significance it would -have been difficult to define at once. - -But the most striking fact was that the inner walls of the tomb were -almost entirely covered with paintings and inscriptions. With the inrush -of the fresh air, the colours of the paintings, as is always the case, -swiftly began to fade, but the inscriptions, which were written in some -sort of black composition and even cut out to some depth in the stone, -seemed as if wrought but yesterday. This especially enraptured Dutrail, -for until then he had come across very few Phœnician inscriptions. He -already had visions of unearthing here entirely new historical data, -information, for example, about the connection of the Phœnicians with -Atlantis, of which Shleeman’s nephew had read in a Phœnician -inscription on a vase found in Syria. - -In spite of the scorching heat, Dutrail busied himself in transferring -all the things they had found to the museum, and he did not stop until -the last crescent-shaped lamp had been placed in the wished-for spot. -Then, carefully closing up the entrance to the tomb, the young scholar -lay down to rest; but no sooner had the heat abated a little than he was -again at work. He occupied himself in copying and deciphering the -inscriptions, a work which with all his splendid knowledge of the -language was extremely complicated. When evening came he had succeeded -in copying only an insignificant number of the inscriptions and in -approximately deciphering still fewer. - -That night, sitting in their little hut, by the dim light of a lamp, -Dutrail shared his discoveries with Bouverie and begged his help in the -interpretation of various difficult expressions. One series of -inscriptions was clearly a simple genealogy leading up through ten or -twelve generations. But one contained an adjuration against violators of -the peace of the tomb. Dutrail interpreted it approximately thus: - -“In the name of Astarte who has been down into hell may there be peace -for me, Eluli, son of Eluli, buried here. May I lie here for a thousand -years and for eternity. Nearest and dearest, fellow-countrymen and -strangers, friends and foes, I adjure: ‘Touch not my ashes, nor my gold, -nor the things belonging to me. If people persuade thee, give no ear to -them. And thou, bold man, reading these words which no human eye should -ever see, cursed be thou upon the earth and under the earth where is -neither eating nor drinking. Mayest thou never receive a place of rest -with Rephaim, never be buried in a tomb, never have a son nor any issue. -May the sun not warm thee, may wood never bear thee up upon water, may -there not depart from thee for one hour the demon of torture, formless, -pitiless, whose strength never becomes less.’” - -The inscription was continued further, but the end was unintelligible. -Bouverie listened to the translation in profound silence and did not -wish to take any share in deciphering the rest. Pleading illness, he -went off to his own half of the hut behind a wooden partition. But -Dutrail sat on for a long while over his notes, consulting books they -had brought with them, thinking over every expression and striving to -understand every shade of meaning in the inscription. - - -III - -Late that night, when Dutrail was already sleeping the sound sleep of a -wearied man, he was suddenly awakened by Bouverie. The old man had -lighted a candle, and by its light he seemed still paler than usual. His -hair was in disorder, his whole appearance indicated an extreme degree -of terror. - -“What is the matter, Bouverie?” asked Dutrail. “You’re ill?” - -Though it was difficult to struggle against his desire to sleep, Dutrail -made an effort to awake, remembering the serious illness of his old -friend. But Bouverie did not answer the question; he asked, in a broken -voice: - -“Did you see him too?” - -“Whom could I see?” objected Dutrail. “I’m so tired at the end of the -day that I sleep without dreaming.” - -“This was not a dream,” said Bouverie sadly, “and I saw him go from me -towards you.” - -“Whom?” - -“The Phœnician whose tomb we dug out.” - -“Your mind’s wandering, dear Bouverie,” said Dutrail. “You have fever: -I’ll prepare a dose of quinine for you.” - -“I’m not wandering,” objected the old man obstinately. “I saw this man -quite clearly. He was shaven and beardless, with a wrinkled face, and he -was dressed as a soldier. He stood by my bed and looked threateningly at -me, and said....” - -“Wait a moment,” interrupted Dutrail, trying to bring the old man to -reason--“in what language did he speak to you?” - -“In Phœnician. I don’t know if perhaps at another time I should have -understood the Phœnician language, but at that moment I understood -every word.” - -“What did the apparition say to you?” - -“He said to me: ‘I--am Eluli, son of Eluli, he whose peaceful repose -you, strangers, have disturbed, not dreading my curse. Therefore I will -have vengeance on thee, and what has befallen me shall come upon thee. -Thy ashes shall not rest in thy native land, but shall be the prey of -the hyena and jackal. I will torment thee both sleeping and waking, all -thy life and after thy life, and until the end of time.’ When he had -said this he went towards you, and I thought you would see him too.” - -Dutrail felt convinced that his friend’s state was the result of -illness, easily explained by the heat, by his continuous thinking about -death, and by the agitation consequent on their remarkable discovery. -Wishing to bring the old man into a reasonable frame of mind, Dutrail -did not remind him that apparitions were a delusion of sight, but he -tried to make clear all the implausibility of the vision. - -“We did not excavate the tomb,” said he, “to insult the ashes lying -there, or to profit by the things collected there; we had a -disinterested scientific object. Eluli, son of Eluli, has no reason for -being angered with us. Science resurrects the past, and we, in raising -up Phœnician antiquities, have also raised up this Eluli. The old -Phœnician ought rather to be grateful to us for calling him from -oblivion. If it hadn’t been for us, who in our day would have known that -a thousand years before Christ there once lived in Africa a certain -Eluli, son of Eluli?” - -Dutrail talked to the old man as to a sick child. At first Bouverie -would not listen to any arguments and he demanded what was clearly -impossible--that all the things should be taken back to the tomb at -once, and the tomb itself buried anew. Little by little, however, he -began to give way, and agreed to postpone the decision of the matter -until the morning. Then Dutrail lifted the old man in his arms and laid -him on his bed, covering him with quilts as he began to shiver, and sat -down by his bedside until the sick man fell into a restless and -disturbed sleep. “What havoc illness plays with even the clearest mind!” -he thought sadly. - - -IV - -On the morrow, logic and the obviousness of Dutrail’s arguments gained -the day. Bouverie agreed that his vision had been the result of a -feverish delirium. He also agreed that it would be a crime against -science and against humanity to fill up the excavations of the tomb. The -work went on with the former enthusiasm. And in the tomb of Eluli and in -others near it they found even more precious historical things. The -friends only awaited the arrival of the steamer with the necessary tools -and some European workmen to begin excavating the town. - -But Bouverie’s health did not improve. The fever did not leave him; he -often cried aloud at night and leapt from his bed in unreasoning terror. -Once the old man confessed that he had seen the Phœnician Eluli once -again. Dutrail thought it good to laugh at him, and after this the old -man spoke no more of his visions. But, all the same, he seemed to fade -daily, and he even began to manifest signs of mental disturbance: he was -afraid of the darkness and of the night, he did not wish to go into the -museum, and presently he absolutely abandoned the excavations. Dutrail -shook his head and waited impatiently for the steamer, hoping that a -sea-voyage and his return to France might do the old man good. - -But in vain did the two friends await the steamer. When at length it -arrived, in the place where the members of the expedition had -established their little settlement nothing was found but a heap of -ashes and charred wood. It was evident that the negro-workmen had -mutinied, killed the Europeans and stolen their property and carried off -all the things which had been arranged in the museum. The great -discovery of Dutrail and Bouverie, which they had dreamed would enrich -Phœnician lore, was lost to mankind. - - - - -IN THE TOWER - -A RECORDED DREAM - - -There is no doubt that I dreamed all this, dreamed it last night. True, -I never thought that a dream could be so circumstantial and so -consecutive. But none of the events of this dream have any connection -with what I am experiencing now or with anything that I can remember. -Yet how otherwise can a dream be differentiated from reality except in -this way--that it is divorced from the continuous chain of events which -occur in our waking hours? - -I dreamed of a knight’s castle, somewhere on the shore of the sea. -Beyond it there was a field and a stunted yet ancient forest of pines. -In front of it there stretched an expanse of grey northern billows. The -castle had been roughly built with stone of a terrible thickness, and -from the side it looked like a wild and fantastic cliff. Its deep, -irregularly placed windows were like the nests of monstrous birds. -Within the castle were high gloomy chambers with sounding passages -between them. - -As I now call to mind the furniture of the rooms, the dress of the -people about me, and other trifling details, I clearly understand to -what period my dream had taken me back. It was the life of the Middle -Ages, dreadful, austere, still half-savage, still full of impulses not -yet under control. But in the dream I had not at first this -understanding of the time but only a dull feeling that I myself was -foreign to that life into which I was plunged. I felt confusedly that I -was some kind of new-comer into that world. - -At times this feeling was more intense. Something would suddenly begin -to torture my memory, like a name which one wants to remember and -cannot. When I was shooting birds with a cross-bow I would long for -another and more effective weapon. The knights, encased in their armour -of iron, accustomed to murder, seeking only for plunder, appeared to me -to be degenerates, and I foresaw the possibility of a different and more -refined existence. As I argued with the monks on scholastic questions, I -had a foretaste of some other kind of learning, deeper, fuller, freer. -But when I made an effort to bring something into my memory, my -consciousness was bedimmed anew. - -I lived in the castle as a prisoner, or, more truly, as an hostage. A -special tower was allotted to me. I was treated with respect, but was -kept under guard. I had no definite occupation of any kind, and the lack -of employment was burdensome to me. But there was one thing which -brought happiness and ecstasy into my life: I was in love. - -The governor of the castle was named Hugo von Rizen. He was a giant with -a voice of thunder and the strength of a bear. He was a widower. But he -had one daughter, Matilda, tall, graceful, bright-eyed. She was like St. -Catherine as the Italians paint her, and I loved her passionately and -tenderly. As Matilda took charge of all the housekeeping in the castle, -we used to meet several times a day, and every meeting would fill my -soul with blessing. - -For a long while I could not make up my mind to tell Matilda of my love, -though of course my eyes betrayed my secret. I uttered the fateful words -quite unexpectedly, as it were, one morning at the close of winter. We -met on the narrow staircase leading to the watch-tower. And though it -had often happened that we had been alone together--in the snow-covered -garden, and in the dim hall, under the marvellous light of the moon, for -some reason or other it was specially at this moment that I felt I could -not be silent. I pressed myself close up against the wall, stretched out -my hands and said, “Matilda, I love you.” Matilda did not blench, she -simply bent her head and answered softly, “I love you too, you are my -chosen one.” Then she ran quickly up the stairs and I stood there, -against the wall, still holding out my hands. - -In the most consecutive of dreams there is always some break in the -action. I can remember nothing of what happened in the days immediately -following my confession of love. I remember only that I was walking with -Matilda on the shore, though everything showed that some weeks must have -elapsed. The air was already filled with the odours of spring, but the -snow still lay on the ground. The waves, with thunderous noise, were -rolling in with white crests on to the stony beach. - -It was evening, and the sun was sinking into the sea, like a magic bird -of fire, setting the edges of the clouds aflame. We walked along side by -side. - -Matilda was wearing a coat lined with ermine, and the ends of her white -scarf floated in the wind. We dreamed of the future, the happy future, -forgetting that we were children of different races, and that between us -lay an abyss of national enmity. - -It was difficult for us to talk, because I did not know Matilda’s -language very well, and she was quite ignorant of mine, but we -understood much, even without words. And even now my heart trembles as I -remember this walk along the shore within sight of the gloomy castle, in -the rays of the setting sun. I was experiencing and living through true -happiness, whether awake or in a dream--what difference does it make? - -It must have been on the following morning that I was told Hugo wished -to speak to me. I was taken into his presence. He was seated on a high -bench covered with elk-furs. A monk was reading a letter to him. Hugo -was glowering and angry. When he saw me, he said sternly: - -“Aha! Do you know what your countrymen are doing? Was it such a little -thing for us to defeat you at Isborsk. We set fire to Pskov, and you -besought us to have mercy. Now you’re asking help from Alexander, who -glories in the appellation of Nevsky. But we are not like the Swedes! -Sit down and write to your people of our might, so that they may be -brought to reason. And if you refuse, then you and all the other -hostages will pay cruelly for your refusal.” - -It is difficult to explain fully what feelings took possession of me -then. Love for my native land was the first which spoke powerfully in my -soul--an elemental, inexplicable love, like one’s love towards one’s -mother. I felt that I was a Russian, that in front of me were enemies, -that here I stood for all Russia. At the same moment, I perceived and -acknowledged with bitterness that the happiness of which Matilda and I -had dreamed had for ever departed from me, that my love for a woman must -be sacrificed to my love for my native land.... - -But scarcely had these feelings filled my soul, when in the very depths -of my consciousness there suddenly flamed an unexpected light. I -understood that I was sleeping, that everything--the castle, Hugo, -Matilda, and my love for her, everything was but a dream. And I suddenly -wanted to laugh in the faces of this stern knight and his -monk-assistant, for I knew already that I should wake and there would be -nothing--no danger, no grief. I felt an inconquerable courage in my -soul, because I could go away from my enemies into that world whither -they were unable to follow me. - -Holding my head high, I replied to Hugo: - -“You know yourself that this is not true. Who called you to these lands? -This sea is Russian from time immemorial, it belonged to the Varyagi. -You came here to convert the people, and instead of that you have built -castles on the hills, you oppress the people and you threaten our towns -even as far as to Ladoga itself. Alexander Nevsky undertook a holy work. -I rejoice that the people of Pskov had no pity on their hostages. I will -not write what you wish, but I will encourage them to fight against you. -God will defend the right!” - -I said this as if I were declaiming upon a stage, and I purposely chose -ancient expressions so that my language might fit the period, but my -words threw Hugo into a frenzy. - -“Dog!” cried he to me. “Tartar slave! I will order you to be broken on -the wheel!” - -Then there came swiftly to my remembrance, as if it had been a -revelation, given to a seer from on high, the whole course of Russian -history, and I spoke to the German triumphantly and sternly, as a -prophet: - -“Know this, that Alexander will overcome you on the ice of the Chudsky -Lake. Knights without number will there be hewn down. And our -descendants will take all this land under their domination and have your -descendants in subjection to them.” - -“Take him away!” cried Hugo, the veins of his neck swelling and purpling -with anger. - -The servants led me away, not to my tower, but to a noisome underground -place, a dungeon. - -The days dragged away in the damp and darkness. I lay on rotting straw, -mouldy bread was thrown into me for food, for whole days I heard no -sound of a human voice. My garments were soon in rags, my hair was -matted, my body was covered with sores. Only in unattainable dreams did -I picture to myself the sea and the sunlight, the spring, the fresh air, -and Matilda. And in the near future the wheel and whipping-post awaited -me. - -As the joy of my meetings with Matilda had been real to me, so were my -sufferings in her father’s dungeon. But the consciousness in myself that -I was sleeping and having a bad dream did not become dim. Knowing that -the moment of awakening was at hand and that the walls of my prison -would disperse as a mist, I found in myself the strength to bear all my -tortures unrepiningly. When the Germans proposed that I should buy my -freedom with the price of treachery to my native land, I answered with a -defiant refusal. And my enemies themselves esteemed my firmness, which -cost me less than they thought. - -Here my dream breaks off.... I may have perished by the hand of the -executioner, or have been delivered from bondage by the victory of the -Battle of Ice on April 5th, 1241, as were other hostages from Pskov. But -I simply awakened. And here I am, sitting at my writing-table, -surrounded by familiar and beloved books, and I am recording this long -dream, intending to begin the ordinary life of this day. Here, in this -world, among these people who are in the next room I am at home, I am -actually.... - -But a strange and dreadful thought quietly arises from the dark depths -of my consciousness. What if now I am sleeping and dreaming--and I shall -suddenly awake on the straw, in the underground dungeon of the castle of -Hugo von Rizen? - - PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN - BY WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD - PLYMOUTH - -Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: - -with its magnicent=> with its magnificent {pg 120} - - - - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The republic of the southern cross and -other stories, by Valery Brussof - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REPUBLIC OF THE SOUTHERN CROSS *** - -***** This file should be named 53380-0.txt or 53380-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/3/8/53380/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif, MFR and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The republic of the southern cross and other stories - -Author: Valery Brussof - -Release Date: October 27, 2016 [EBook #53380] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REPUBLIC OF THE SOUTHERN CROSS *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif, MFR and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="316" height="500" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p class="cb">CONSTABLE’S RUSSIAN LIBRARY UNDER THE<br /> -EDITORSHIP OF STEPHEN GRAHAM<br /><br /><br /> -<big>THE REPUBLIC OF<br /> -THE SOUTHERN CROSS</big></p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td class="cb">CONSTABLE’S RUSSIAN LIBRARY</td></tr> -<tr><td class="c"><i>Edited with Introductions</i></td></tr> -<tr><td class="cb">By STEPHEN GRAHAM</td></tr> -<tr><td> </td></tr> -<tr><td>THE SWEET SCENTED NAME</td></tr> -<tr><td> By Fedor Sologub</td></tr> -<tr><td>WAR AND CHRISTIANITY</td></tr> -<tr><td> THREE CONVERSATIONS</td></tr> -<tr><td> By Vladimir Solovyof</td></tr> -<tr><td>THE WAY OF THE CROSS</td></tr> -<tr><td> By V. Doroshevitch</td></tr> -<tr><td>A SLAV SOUL AND OTHER STORIES</td></tr> -<tr><td> By Alexander Kuprin</td></tr> -<tr><td>THE EMIGRANT</td></tr> -<tr><td> By L. F. Dostoieffshaya</td></tr> -<tr><td>THE JUSTIFICATION OF THE GOOD</td></tr> -<tr><td> By Vladimir Solovyof</td></tr> -<tr><td>THE REPUBLIC OF THE SOUTHERN CROSS</td></tr> -<tr><td> AND OTHER STORIES</td></tr> -<tr><td> By Valery Brussof</td></tr> -</table> - -<h1> -THE REPUBLIC OF<br /> -THE SOUTHERN CROSS<br /> - -<small>AND OTHER STORIES</small></h1> - -<p class="cb"> -BY<br /> -VALERY BRUSSOF<br /> -<br /> -WITH AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY<br /> -STEPHEN GRAHAM<br /> -<br /> -LONDON<br /> -CONSTABLE AND COMPANY LTD.<br /> -1918 -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_v" id="page_v"></a>{v}</span></p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="border:4px ridge black;"> -<tr><td class="c"><a href="#CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION<br /><br /> -<small>VALERY BRUSSOF</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">V</span>ALERY BRUSSOF is a celebrated Russian writer of the present time. He is -in the front rank of contemporary literature, and is undoubtedly very -gifted, being considered by some to be the greatest of living Russian -poets, and being in addition a critic of penetration and judgment, a -writer of short tales, and the author of one long historical novel from -the life of Germany in the sixteenth century.</p> - -<p>He is a Russian of strong European tastes and temperament, a sort of -Mediterraneanised Russian, with greater affinities in France and Italy -than in his native land; an artificial production in the midst of the -Russian literary world. A hard, polished, and even merciless -personality, he has little in common with the compassionate spirits of -Russia. If Kuprin or Gorky may be taken as characteristic of modern -Russia, Brussof is their opposite. He sheds no tears with the reader, he -makes no passionate and “unmanly” defiance of the world, but is -restrained and concentrated and wrapped up in himself and his ideas. The -average<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vi" id="page_vi"></a>{vi}</span> length of a sentence of Dostoieffsky is probably about -twenty-five words, of Kuprin thirty, but of Brussof only twenty, and if -you take the staccato “Republic of the Southern Cross,” only twelve. His -fine virile style is admired by Russians for its brevity and directness. -He has been called a maker of sentences in bronze.</p> - -<p>It is curious, however, that the theme of his writing has little in -common with the virility of his style. As far as our Western point of -view is concerned it is considered rather feminine than masculine to -doubt the reality of our waking life and to give credence to dreams. Yet -such is undoubtedly the preoccupation of Brussof in these stories.</p> - -<p>He says in his preface to the second edition of that collection which -bears the title <i>The Axis of the Earth</i>, “the stories are written to -show, in various ways, that there is no fixed boundary line between the -world of reality and that of the imagination, between the dreaming and -the waking world, life and fantasy; that what we commonly call -‘imaginary’ may be the greatest reality of the world, and that which all -call reality the most dreadful delirium.”</p> - -<p>This volume, to which we have given the title of <i>The Republic of the -Southern Cross</i> contains the best of Brussof’s tales, and they all -exemplify this particular attitude towards life. Six tales are taken -from <i>The Axis of the Earth</i>, but “For Herself or Another” is taken -from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vii" id="page_vii"></a>{vii}</span> the volume entitled <i>Nights and Days</i>, and “Rhea Silvia” and -“Eluli, son of Eluli,” from the book bearing the title of <i>Rhea Silvia</i>, -in the Russian Universal Library.</p> - -<p>In Russia, as I have previously pointed out, the short story is -considered of much more literary importance than it is here. It is the -fashion to write short stories, and readers remember those they have -read and refer to them, as we do to the distinctive and memorable poems -on our intimate bookshelves. But, then, as a rule in Russia a short -story must possess as its foundation some particular literary idea and -conception. The story written for the sake of the story is almost -unknown, and as a general rule the sort of love story and “love -interest” so indispensable with us is not asked there. It often happens, -therefore, that a volume of short tales makes a real and vital -contribution to literature. I think possibly that these specimen volumes -of Russian stories which I have edited from Sologub Kuprin and Brussof -may be helpful in our own literary world as affording new conceptions, -new models, and showing new possibilities of literary form. Brussof’s -volume is an emotional study of reality and unreality cast in the form -of brilliant tales.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>“Rhea Silvia,” the longest and perhaps the best, tells of the dream -which becomes reality in the Golden House of Nero which had been lost; -the subterranean<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_viii" id="page_viii"></a>{viii}</span> Rome where a Goth can meet a crazed girl who imagines -she is the vestal Rhea Silvia, the mother of Romulus and Remus who -founded Rome itself, and that the Goth, one of the barbarian destroyers -of Rome, is the god Mars; the whole before and after intermingled.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>In “The Republic of the Southern Cross” Brussof projects himself several -centuries into the future and imagines an industrial community of -millions of workers, so divorced from reality that they are living at -the South Pole where no life is possible, in a huge town called Star -City where no star is visible, because they have built an immense opaque -roof to the town—literally a “lid,” as they imagine it in New York, -where they give you the freedom of the city “with the lid off”; where -the polar cold is defied by machinery which keeps the temperature at the -same point for ever, and the six months’ polar night—and, indeed, no -night—is ever known, because the great box is kept constantly -illuminated by electric light; Star City, where the Town Hall is -actually built on the <i>spot</i> of the South Pole, the centre of the town, -whence you can only walk northward, whence the six main roads, with -thirteen-story buildings on each side, go out like meridians of -longitude, and the cross-roads are concentric circles of latitude; Star -City, stricken at last<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ix" id="page_ix"></a>{ix}</span> by the disease of contradiction, which creates -anarchy between the ideal and the real, impulse and action, as if the -approximation of latitude and longitude had hypnotised men’s souls; -plague-stricken Star City, where the only refuge is the Town Hall where -all earthly meridians become one, is all used with appalling power by -Brussof to suggest his mental conceit. I once read outside a Russian -theatre, “People of weak will are asked to refrain from taking tickets -for this drama.” A similar caution might be addressed to those who turn -to read “The Republic of the Southern Cross.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>“The Mirror,” into which the vain woman looks and sees a reflection -which is not quite herself, who detects the particular personality of -her reflection, becomes afraid of it, is finally overcome by it and -forced to step into the mirror and let the reflection get out and walk -about the world, is subtly suggestive of the instability of what we call -the real, the solid ground under our feet. A characteristic detail is -that the special mirror before which the woman stands is a revolving -one, and when she gets angry she can make it go round like the earth on -its axis, and as the glass goes over and under, in again and out again, -so it is, as it were, night and day, dream and waking, reality and -unreality.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_x" id="page_x"></a>{x}</span></p> - -<p>The drunken locksmith, seeing the seventh-century-old Italian bust of a -woman in the house to which he has been called to repair a desk, and -becoming obsessed with the idea that it is the face of a woman whose -love he betrayed, the woman of his bright and fortunate days, who tells -the long sad story which is more real to him than the realities of the -prison or the doss-house, though he does not himself know whether the -story be truth or whether he invented it, is another hauntingly -suggestive tale.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>In “Eluli, son of Eluli,” two excavators in the French Congo discover a -marvellous Phœnician tomb somewhere about the equatorial line and -only partially decipher the curse on those who shall disturb the rest of -the sleeping Eluli whose tomb it is. It is in a fever-stricken district -of exhausting climate, and the older and weaker of the archæologists -becomes obsessed with the reality of the dead Eluli, son of Eluli, who -visits his bedside and pronounces over him the awful curse. Both men -eventually perish. Only the normal and stronger man, namely, the one -further away from the axis of reality, remained untouched and unseeing.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>“For Herself or Another,” one of the cleverest tales in this selection, -describes the doubt that a Russian tourist has that a -fellow-countrywoman whom he sees in the crowd is or is not his -long-cast-off sweetheart. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xi" id="page_xi"></a>{xi}</span> is so like as to be a perfect double. It -seems impossible that such similarity between two persons should exist. -The man conceives the idea that the woman is feigning to be someone else -merely to punish him. He is so persistent that she for her part agrees -to pretend that she is indeed his old-time friend, and some of the most -tantalising description is that in which she seems to pretend that she -is that she is.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>What the new realists who dominate our Western schools of philosophy -would say to Valery Brussof would be curious. He is not an hysterical -type of writer and is not emotionally convinced of the truth of his -writing, but wilfully persistent, affirming unreality intellectually and -defending his conception with a sort of masculine impressionism. He -drives his idea to the reader’s mind clad in complete armour, no -tenderness, no apologetics, no willingness to please a lady’s eye in the -use of his words and phrases.</p> - -<p>The theme of several of the stories might have been worked out readily -by our Mr. Algernon Blackwood, but so would have been more discursive, -and the mystery of them better hidden. But Brussof, as it were, draws -the skull and crossbones at the top of the page before he writes a word -and then goes on. Inevitably the interest is reflected from the stories -to the personality of the author.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xii" id="page_xii"></a>{xii}</span></p> - -<p>It should be said that a slight strain of madness seems to cast a sort -of glamour on an artist in Russia, whereas in the West, unless the -artist be a musician, it is certainly a handicap. One of the strongest -prejudices against taking Nietzsche seriously in England is that he -finished his days in an asylum. And it is as prejudicial to be thought -<i>pas normal</i> in France as to have lost a mental balance with us. But -Russia, with her epileptic Dostoieffsky, hypochondriac Gogol, inebriate -Nekrasof, has other traditions, and it is not unfitting that the artist -who made hundreds of marvellous studies of a primeval demon, the most -clever painter of modern Russia, Michael Vrubel, should have painted as -his last picture before removal to an asylum, Valery Brussof, the author -of these tales, a reproduction of this portrait serving aptly as a -frontispiece for this book.</p> - -<p>Both Bernard Shaw and H. G. Wells have been described as average or -standard types of intelligence, and both are proud of level-headedness. -But in the Russian literary world claims of that kind are not put -forward nowadays. In fact, Russia, though most heartily -progressive—perhaps too heartily from our point of view—does not -reckon the credibility of the earth and light and truth and ordinary -measurement as in any way superior to the credibility of the world of -fantasy. It is worth while writing in Russia, not so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xiii" id="page_xiii"></a>{xiii}</span> much to affirm the -real as to find and then set in ever more striking pose the paradoxes of -human life.</p> - -<p>Brussof’s poetry, for which he enjoys a great reputation, is dedicated -to the same ideas as his stories, though in them he is before all else a -most polished craftsman and cares more for perfection of technique than -for anything else.</p> - -<p>His poetry is not difficult, and can be recommended for those who read -Russian and prefer to study up-to-date matter. In my opinion, however, -the best volumes of Balmont have more lyrical beauty than the best of -Brussof. There is, moreover, a good deal of erotic verse which is -bankrupt of real vital thought, as there are stories of this kind not by -any means commendable for British consumption. Brussof evidently reads -English, and one or two of his poems are reminiscent of better things at -home.</p> - -<p>In the midst of his wide literary activities Brussof is also an -interesting critic, and I know few more elucidative volumes than -“<i>Dalekie i Bliskie</i>, Near and Far,” a collection of essays on the -Russian poets.</p> - -<p class="r"> -STEPHEN GRAHAM.<br /> -</p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td> </td><td> </td><td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#THE_REPUBLIC_OF_THE_SOUTHERN_CROSS">I.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_REPUBLIC_OF_THE_SOUTHERN_CROSS"><span class="smcap">The Republic of the Southern Cross</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_1">1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#THE_MARBLE_BUST">II.</a></td> -<td valign="top"><a href="#THE_MARBLE_BUST"><span class="smcap">The Marble Bust</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_33">33</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#FOR_HERSELF_OR_FOR_ANOTHER">III.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#FOR_HERSELF_OR_FOR_ANOTHER"><span class="smcap">For Herself or for Another</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_41">41</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#IN_THE_MIRROR">IV.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#IN_THE_MIRROR"><span class="smcap">In the Mirror</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_55">55</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#PROTECTION">V.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#PROTECTION"><span class="smcap">Protection</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_73">73</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#THE_BEMOL_SHOP_OF_STATIONERY">VI.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_BEMOL_SHOP_OF_STATIONERY"><span class="smcap">The “Bemol” Shop of Stationery</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_84">84</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#RHEA_SILVIA">VII.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#RHEA_SILVIA"><span class="smcap">Rhea Silvia</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_94">94</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#ELULI_SON_OF_ELULI">VIII.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#ELULI_SON_OF_ELULI"><span class="smcap">Eluli, Son of Eluli</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_140">140</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#IN_THE_TOWER">IX.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#IN_THE_TOWER"><span class="smcap">In the Tower</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_155">155</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1"></a>{1}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_REPUBLIC_OF_THE_SOUTHERN_CROSS" id="THE_REPUBLIC_OF_THE_SOUTHERN_CROSS"></a>THE REPUBLIC OF THE SOUTHERN CROSS</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HERE have appeared lately a whole series of descriptions of the -dreadful catastrophe which has overtaken the Republic of the Southern -Cross. They are strikingly various, and give many details of a -manifestly fantastic and improbable character. Evidently the writers of -these descriptions have lent a too ready ear to the narratives of the -survivors from Star City (<i>Zvezdny</i>), the inhabitants of which, as is -common knowledge, were all stricken with a psychical distemper. For that -reason we consider it opportune to give an account here of all the -reliable evidence which we have as yet of this tragedy of the Southern -Pole.</p> - -<p>The Republic of the Southern Cross came into being some forty years ago, -as a development from three hundred steel works established in the -Southern Polar regions. In a circular note sent to each and every -Government of the whole world, the new state expressed its pretensions -to all lands, whether mainland or island, within the limits of the -Antarctic circle, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2"></a>{2}</span> also all parts of these lands stretching beyond -the line. It announced its readiness to purchase from the various other -states affected the lands which they considered to be under their -special protectorate. The pretensions of the new Republic did not meet -with any opposition on the part of the fifteen great powers of the -world. Debateable points concerning certain islands lying entirely -outside the Polar circle, but closely related to the Southern Polar -state were settled by special treaties. On the fulfilment of the various -formalities the Republic of the Southern Cross was received into the -family of world states, and its representatives were recognised by all -Governments.</p> - -<p>The chief city of the Republic, having the name of Zvezdny, was situated -at the actual Pole itself. At that imaginary point where the earth’s -axis passes and all earthly meridians become one, stood the Town Hall, -and the roof with its pointed towers looked upon the nadir of the -heavens. The streets of the town extended along meridians from the Town -Hall and these meridians were intersected by other streets in concentric -circles. The height of all the buildings was the same, as was also their -external appearance. There were no windows in the walls, as all the -houses were lit by electricity and the streets were lighted by -electricity. Because of the severity of the climate, an impenetrable and -opaque roof had been built over the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3"></a>{3}</span> town, with powerful ventilators for -a constant change of air. These localities of the globe have but one day -in six months, and one long night also of six months, but the streets of -Zvezdny were always lighted by a bright and even light. In the same way -in all seasons of the year the temperature of the streets was kept at -one and the same height.</p> - -<p>According to the last census the population of Zvezdny had reached two -and a half millions. The whole of the remaining population of the -Republic, numbering fifty millions, were concentrated in the -neighbourhood of the ports and factories. These other points were also -marked by the settlement of millions of people in towns which in -external characteristics were reminiscent of Zvezdny. Thanks to a clever -application of electric power, the entrance to the local havens remained -open all the year round. Overhead electric railways connected the most -populated parts of the Republic, and every day tens of thousands of -people and millions of kilogrammes of material passed along these roads -from one town to another. The interior of the country remained -uninhabited. Travellers looking out of the train window saw before them -only monotonous wildernesses, white in winter, and overgrown with -wretched grass during the three months of summer. Wild animals had long -since been destroyed, and for human beings there was no means of -sustenance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4"></a>{4}</span> The more remarkable was the hustling life of the ports and -industrial centres. In order to give some understanding of the life, it -is perhaps enough to say that of late years about seven-tenths of the -whole of the world’s output of metal has come from the State mines of -the Republic.</p> - -<p>The constitution of the Republic, according to outward signs, appeared -to be the realisation of extreme democracy. The only fully enfranchised -citizens were the metal-workers, who numbered about sixty per cent of -the whole population. The factories and mines were State property. The -life of the miners was facilitated by all possible conveniences, and -even with luxury. At their disposal, apart from magnificent -accommodation and a <i>recherché</i> cuisine, were various educational -institutions and means of amusement: libraries, museums, theatres, -concerts, halls for all types of sport, etc. The number of working hours -in the day were small in the extreme. The training and teaching of -children, the giving of medical and legal aid, and the ministry of the -various religious cults were all taken upon itself by the State. Ample -provision for all the needs and even whims of the workmen of the State -factories having been made, no wages whatever were paid; but families of -citizens who had served twenty years in a factory, or who in their years -of service had died or become enfeebled, received a handsome -life-pension<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5"></a>{5}</span> on condition that they did not leave the Republic. From -the workmen, by universal ballot, the representatives of the Law-making -Chamber of the Republic were elected, and this Chamber had cognisance of -all the questions of the political life of the country, being, however, -without power to alter its fundamental laws.</p> - -<p>It must be said that this democratic exterior concealed the purely -autocratic tyranny of the shareholders and directors of a former Trust. -Giving up to others the places of deputies in the Chamber they -inevitably brought in their own candidates as directors of the -factories. In the hands of the Board of Directors was concentrated the -economic life of the country. The directors received all the orders and -assigned them to the various factories for fulfilment; they purchased -the materials and the machines for the work; they managed the whole -business of the factories. Through their hands passed immense sums of -money, to be reckoned in milliards. The Law-making Chamber only -certified the entries of debits and credits in the upkeep of the -factories, the accounts being handed to it for that purpose, and the -balance on these accounts greatly exceeded the whole budget of the -Republic. The influence of the Board of Directors in the international -relationships of the Republic was immense. Its decisions might ruin -whole countries. The prices<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6"></a>{6}</span> fixed by them determined the wages of -millions of labouring masses over the whole earth. And, moreover, the -influence of the Board, though indirect, was always decisive in the -internal affairs of the Republic. The Law-making Chamber, in fact, -appeared to be only the humble servant of the will of the Board.</p> - -<p>For the preservation of power in its own hands the Board was obliged to -regulate mercilessly the whole life of the country. Though appearing to -have liberty, the life of the citizens was standardised even to the most -minute details. The buildings of all the towns of the Republic were -according to one and the same pattern fixed by law. The decoration of -all buildings used by the workmen, though luxurious to a degree, were -strictly uniform. All received exactly the same food at exactly the same -time. The clothes given out from the Government stores were unchanging -and in the course of tens of years were of one and the same cut. At a -signal from the Town Hall, at a definite hour, it was forbidden to go -out of the houses. The whole Press of the country was subject to a sharp -censorship. No articles directed against the dictatorship of the Board -were allowed to see light. But, as a matter of fact, the whole country -was so convinced of the benefit of this dictatorship that the -compositors themselves would have refused to set the type of articles -criticising the Board. The factories were full<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7"></a>{7}</span> of the Board’s spies. At -the slightest manifestation of discontent with the Board the spies -hastened to arrange meetings and dissuade the doubters with passionate -speeches. The fact that the life of the workmen of the Republic was the -object of the envy of the entire world was of course a disarming -argument. It is said that in cases of continued agitation by certain -individuals the Board did not hesitate to resort to political murder. In -any case, during the whole existence of the Republic, the universal -ballot of the citizens never brought to power one representative who was -hostile to the directors.</p> - -<p>The population of Zvezdny was composed chiefly of workmen who had served -their time. They were, so to speak, Government shareholders. The means -which they received from the State allowed them to live richly. It is -not astonishing, therefore, that Zvezdny was reckoned one of the gayest -cities of the world. For various <i>entrepreneurs</i> and entertainers it was -a goldmine. The celebrities of the world brought hither their talents. -Here were the best operas, best concerts, best exhibitions; here were -brought out the best-informed gazettes. The shops of Zvezdny amazed by -the richness of their choice of goods; the restaurants by the luxury and -the delicacy of their service. Resorts of evil, where all forms of -debauch invented in either the ancient or the modern world were to be -found, abounded. However, the governmental regulation of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8"></a>{8}</span> life was -preserved in Zvezdny also. It is true that the decorations of lodgings -and the fashions of dress were not compulsorily determined, but the law -forbidding the exit from the house after a certain hour remained in -force, a strict censorship of the Press was maintained, and many spies -were kept by the Board. Order was officially maintained by the popular -police, but at the same time there existed the secret police of the -all-cognisant Board.</p> - -<p>Such was in its general character the system of life in the Republic of -the Southern Cross and in its capital. The problem of the future -historian will be to determine how much this system was responsible for -the outbreak and spread of that fatal disease which brought to -destruction the town of Zvezdny, and with it, perhaps, the whole young -Republic.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The first cases of the disease of “contradiction” were observed in the -Republic some twenty years ago. It had then the character of a rare and -sporadic malady. Nevertheless, the local mental experts were much -interested by it and gave a circumstantial account of the symptoms at -the international medical congress at Lhasa, where several reports of it -were read. Later, it was somehow or other forgotten, though in the -mental hospitals of Zvezdny there never was any difficulty in finding -examples. The disease received its<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9"></a>{9}</span> name from the fact that the victims -continuously contradicted their wishes by their actions, wishing one -thing but saying and doing another. [The scientific name of the disease -is <i>mania contradicens</i>.] It begins with fairly feeble symptoms, -generally those of characteristic aphasia. The stricken, instead of -saying “yes,” say “no”; wishing to say caressing words, they splutter -abuse, etc. The majority also begin to contradict themselves in their -behaviour; intending to go to the left they turn to the right, thinking -to raise the brim of a hat so as to see better they would pull it down -over their eyes instead, and so on. As the disease develops -contradiction overtakes the whole of the bodily and spiritual life of -the patient, exhibiting infinite diversity conformable with the -idiosyncrasies of each. In general, the speech of the patient becomes -unintelligible and his actions absurd. The normality of the -physiological functions of the organism is disturbed. Acknowledging the -unwisdom of his behaviour the patient gets into a state of extreme -excitement bordering even upon insanity. Many commit suicide, sometimes -in fits of madness, sometimes in moments of spiritual brightness. Others -perish from a rush of blood to the brain. In almost all cases the -disease is mortal; cases of recovery are extremely rare.</p> - -<p>The epidemic character was taken by <i>mania contradicens</i> during the -middle months of this year in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10"></a>{10}</span> Zvezdny. Up till this time the number of -cases had never exceeded two per cent of the total number of patients in -the hospitals. But this proportion suddenly rose to twenty-five per cent -during the month of May (autumn month, as it is called in the Republic), -and it continued to increase during the succeeding months with as great -rapidity. By the middle of June there were already two per cent of the -whole population, that is, about fifty thousand people, officially -notified as suffering from “contradiction.” We have no statistical -details of any later date. The hospitals overflowed. The doctors on the -spot proved to be altogether insufficient. And, moreover, the doctors -themselves, and the nurses in the hospitals, caught the disease also. -There was very soon no one to whom to appeal for medical aid, and a -correct register of patients became impossible. The evidence given by -eye-witnesses, however, is in agreement on this point, that it was -impossible to find a family in which someone was not suffering. The -number of healthy people rapidly decreased as panic caused a wholesale -exodus from the town, but the number of the stricken increased. It is -probably true that in the month of August all who had remained in -Zvezdny were down with this psychical malady.</p> - -<p>It is possible to follow the first developments of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11"></a>{11}</span> epidemic by the -columns of the local newspapers, headed in ever larger type as the mania -grew. Since the detection of the disease in its early stages was very -difficult, the chronicle of the first days of the epidemic is full of -comic episodes. A train conductor on the metropolitan railway, instead -of receiving money from the passengers, himself pays them. A policeman, -whose duty it was to regulate the traffic, confuses it all day long. A -visitor to a gallery, walking from room to room, turns all the pictures -with their faces to the wall. A newspaper page of proof, being corrected -by the hand of a reader already overtaken by the disease, is printed -next morning full of the most amusing absurdities. At a concert, a sick -violinist suddenly interrupts the harmonious efforts of the orchestra -with the most dreadful dissonances. A whole long series of such -happenings gave plenty of scope for the wits of local journalists. But -several instances of a different type of phenomenon caused the jokes to -come to a sudden end. The first was that a doctor overtaken by the -disease prescribed poison for a girl patient in his care and she -perished. For three days the newspapers were taken up with this -circumstance. Then two nurses walking in the town gardens were overtaken -by “contradiction,” and cut the throats of forty-one children. This -event staggered the whole city. But on the evening<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12"></a>{12}</span> of the same day two -victims fired the <i>mitrailleuse</i> from the quarters of the town militia -and killed and injured some five hundred people.</p> - -<p>At that, all the newspapers and the society of the town cried for prompt -measures against the epidemic. At a special session of the combined -Board and Legal Chamber it was decided to invite doctors from other -towns and from abroad, to enlarge the existing hospitals, to build new -ones, and to construct everywhere isolation barracks for the sufferers, -to print and distribute five hundred thousand copies of a brochure on -the disease, its symptoms and means of cure, to organise on all the -streets of the town a special patrol of doctors and their helpers for -the giving of first aid to those who had not been removed from private -lodgings. It was also decided to run special trains daily on all the -railways for the removal of the patients, as the doctors were of opinion -that change of air was one of the best remedies. Similar measures were -undertaken at the same time by various associations, societies, and -clubs. A “society for struggle with the epidemic” was even founded, and -the members gave themselves to the work with remarkable self-devotion. -But in spite of all these measures the epidemic gained ground each day, -taking in its course old men and little children, working people and -resting people, chaste and debauched. And soon the whole of society was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13"></a>{13}</span> -enveloped in the unconquerable elemental terror of the unheard-of -calamity.</p> - -<p>The flight from Zvezdny commenced. At first only a few fled, and these -were prominent dignitaries, directors, members of the Legal Chamber and -of the Board, who hastened to send their families to the southern cities -of Australia and Patagonia. Following them, the accidental elements of -the population fled—those foreigners gladly sojourning in the “gayest -city of the southern hemisphere,” theatrical artists, various business -agents, women of light behaviour. When the epidemic showed no signs of -abating the shopkeepers fled. They hurriedly sold off their goods and -left their empty premises to the will of Fate. With them went the -bankers, the owners of theatres and restaurants, the editors and the -publishers. At last, even the established inhabitants were moved to go. -According to law the exit of workmen from the Republic without special -sanction from the Government was forbidden on pain of loss of pension. -Deserters began to increase. The employés of the town institutions fled, -the militia fled, the hospital nurses fled, the chemists, the doctors. -The desire to flee became in its turn a mania. Everyone fled who could.</p> - -<p>The stations of the electric railway were crushed with immense crowds, -tickets were bought for huge sums of money and only held by fighting. -For a place<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14"></a>{14}</span> in a dirigible, which took only ten passengers, one paid a -whole fortune.... At the moment of the going out of trains new people -would break into the compartments and take up places which they would -not relinquish except by compulsion. Crowds stopped the trains which had -been fitted up exclusively for patients, dragged the latter out of the -carriages and compelled the engine-drivers to go on. From the end of May -train service, except between the capital and the ports, ceased to work. -From Zvezdny the trains went out overfull, passengers standing on the -steps and in the corridors, even daring to cling on outside, despite the -fact that with the speed of contemporary electric railways any person -doing such a thing risks suffocation. The steamship companies of -Australia, South America and South Africa grew inordinately rich, -transporting the refugees of the Republic to other lands. The two -Southern companies of dirigibles were not less prosperous, -accomplishing, as they did, ten journeys a day and bringing away from -Zvezdny the last belated millionaires.... On the other hand, trains -arrived at Zvezdny almost empty; for no wages was it possible to -persuade people to come to work at the Capital; only now and again -eccentric tourists and seekers of new sensations arrived at the towns. -It is reckoned that from the beginning of the exodus to the -twenty-second of June, when the regular service of trains ceased, there<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15"></a>{15}</span> -passed out of Zvezdny by the six railroads some million and a half -people, that is, almost two-thirds of the whole population.</p> - -<p>By his enterprise, valour, and strength of will, one man earned for -himself eternal fame, and that was the President of the Board, Horace -Deville. At the special session of the fifth of June, Deville was -elected, both by the Board and by the Legal Chamber, Dictator over the -town, and was given the title of Nachalnik. He had sole control of the -town treasury, of the militia, and of the municipal institutions. At -that time it was decided to remove from Zvezdny to a northern port the -Government of the Republic and the archives. The name of Horace Deville -should be written in letters of gold among the most famous names of -history. For six weeks he struggled with the growing anarchy in the -town. He succeeded in gathering around him a group of helpers as -unselfish as himself. He was able to enforce discipline, both in the -militia and in the municipal service generally, for a considerable time, -though these bodies were terrified by the general calamity and decimated -by the epidemic. Hundreds of thousands owe their escape to Horace -Deville, as, thanks to his energy and organising power, it was possible -for them to leave. He lightened the misery of the last days of thousands -of others, giving them the possibility of dying in hospitals, carefully -looked after, and not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16"></a>{16}</span> simply being stoned or beaten to death by the mad -crowd. And Deville preserved for mankind the chronicle of the -catastrophe, for one cannot but consider as a chronicle his short but -pregnant telegrams, sent several times a day from the town of Zvezdny to -the temporary residence of the Government of the Republic at the -Northern port. Deville’s first work on becoming Nachalnik of the town -was to attempt to restore calm to the population. He issued manifestos -proclaiming that the psychical infection was most quickly caught by -people who were excited, and he called upon all healthy and balanced -persons to use their authority to restrain the weak and nervous. Then -Deville used the Society for Struggle with the Epidemic and put under -the authority of its members all public places, theatres, -meeting-houses, squares, and streets. In these days there scarcely ever -passed an hour but a new case of infection might be discovered. Now -here, now there, one saw faces or whole groups of faces manifestly -expressive of abnormality. The greater number of the patients, when they -understood their condition, showed an immediate desire for help. But -under the influence of the disease this wish expressed itself in various -types of hostile action directed against those standing near. The -stricken wished to hasten home or to a hospital, but instead of doing -this they fled in fright to the outskirts of the town. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17"></a>{17}</span> thought -occurred to them to ask the passer-by to do something for them, but -instead of that they seized him by the throat. In this way many were -suffocated, struck down, or wounded with knife or stick. So the crowd, -whenever it found itself in the presence of a man suffering from -“contradiction,” took to flight. At these moments the members of the -Society would appear on the scene, capture the sick man, calm him, and -take him to the nearest hospital; it was their work to reason with the -crowd and explain that there was really no danger, that the general -misfortune had simply spread a little further, and it was their duty to -struggle with it to the full extent of their powers.</p> - -<p>The sudden infection of persons present in the audience of theatres or -meeting-houses often led to the most tragic catastrophes. Once at a -performance of Opera some hundreds of people stricken mad in a mass, -instead of expressing their approval of the vocalists, flung themselves -on the stage and scattered blows right and left. At the Grand Dramatic -Theatre, an actor, whose rôle it was to commit suicide by a revolver -shot, fired the revolver several times at the public. It was, of course, -blank cartridge, but it so acted on the nerves of those present that it -hastened the symptoms of the disease in many in whom it was latent. In -the confusion which followed several scores of people were killed. But -worst of all was that which happened in the Theatre<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18"></a>{18}</span> of Fireworks. The -detachment of militia posted there in case of fire suddenly set fire to -the stage and to the veils by which the various light effects are -obtained. Not less than two hundred people were burnt or crushed to -death. After that occurrence Horace Deville closed all the theatres and -concert-rooms in the town.</p> - -<p>The robbers and thieves now began to constitute a grave danger for the -inhabitants, and in the general disorganisation they were able to carry -their depredations very far. It is said that some of them came to -Zvezdny from abroad. Some simulated madness in order to escape -punishment, others felt it unnecessary to make any pretence of -disguising their open robberies. Gangs of thieves entered the abandoned -shops, broke into private lodgings, and took off the more valuable -things or demanded gold; they stopped people in the streets and stripped -them of their valuables, such as watches, rings, and bracelets. And -there accompanied the robberies outrage of every kind, even of the most -disgusting. The Nachalnik sent companies of militia to hunt down the -criminals, but they did not dare to join in open conflict. There were -dreadful moments when among the militia or among the robbers would -suddenly appear a case of the disease, and friend would turn his weapon -against friend. At first the Nachalnik banished from the town the -robbers who fell under<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19"></a>{19}</span> arrest. But those who had charge of the prison -trains liberated them, in order to take their places. Then the Nachalnik -was obliged to condemn the criminals to death. So almost after three -centuries’ break capital punishment was introduced once more on the -earth. In June a general scarcity of the indispensable articles of food -and medicine began to make itself felt. The import by rail diminished; -manufacture within the town practically ceased. Deville organised the -town bakeries and the distribution of bread and meat to the people. In -the town itself the same common tables were set up as had long since -been established in the factories. But it was not possible to find -sufficient people for kitchen and service. Some voluntary workers toiled -till they were exhausted, and they gradually diminished in numbers. The -town crematoriums flamed all day, but the number of corpses did not -decrease but increased. They began to find bodies in the streets and -left in houses. The municipal business—such as telegraph, telephone, -electric light, water supply, sanitation, and the rest, were worked by -fewer and fewer people. It is astonishing how much Deville succeeded in -doing. He looked after everything and everyone. One conjectures that he -never knew a moment’s rest. And all who were saved testify unanimously -that his activity was beyond praise.</p> - -<p>Towards the middle of June shortage of labour on<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20"></a>{20}</span> the railways began to -be felt. There were not enough engine-drivers or conductors. On the 17th -of July the first accident took place on the South-Western line, the -reason being the sudden attack of the engine-driver. In the paroxysm of -his disease the driver took his train over a precipice on to a glacier -and almost all the passengers were killed or crippled. The news of this -was brought to the town by the next train, and it came as a thunderbolt. -A hospital train was sent off at once; it brought back the dead and the -crippled, but towards the evening of that day news was circulated that a -similar catastrophe had taken place on the First line. Two of the -railway tracks connecting Zvezdny with the outside world were damaged. -Breakdown gangs were sent from Zvezdny and from North Port to repair the -lines, but it was almost impossible because of the winter temperature. -There was no hope that on these lines train service would be resumed—at -least, in the near future.</p> - -<p>These catastrophes were simply patterns for new ones. The more alarmed -the engine-drivers became the more liable they were to the disease and -to the repetition of the mistake of their predecessors. Just because -they were afraid of destroying a train they destroyed it. During the -five days from the eighteenth to the twenty-second of June seven trains -with passengers were wrecked. Thousands of passengers<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21"></a>{21}</span> perished from -injuries or starved to death unrescued in the snowy wastes. Only very -few had sufficient strength to return to the city by their own efforts. -The six main lines connecting Zvezdny with the outer world were rendered -useless. The service of dirigibles had ceased earlier. One of them had -been destroyed by the enraged mob, the pretext given being that they -were used exclusively for the rich. The others, one by one, were -wrecked, the disease probably attacking the crew. The population of the -city was at this time about six hundred thousand. For some time they -were only connected with the world by telegraph.</p> - -<p>On the 24th of June the Metropolitan railway ceased to run. On the 26th -the telephone service was discontinued. On the 27th all chemists’ shops, -except the large central store, were closed. On the 1st of July the -inhabitants were ordered to come from the outer parts of the town into -the central districts, so that order might better be maintained, food -distributed, and medical aid afforded. Suburban dwellers abandoned their -own quarters and settled in those which had lately been abandoned by -fugitives. The sense of property vanished. No one was sorry to leave his -own, no one felt it strange to take up his abode in other people’s -houses. Nevertheless, burglars and robbers did not disappear, though -perhaps now one would rather call them demented beings than criminals.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22"></a>{22}</span> -They continued to steal, and great hoards of gold have been discovered -in the empty houses where they hid them, and precious stones beside the -decaying body of the robber himself.</p> - -<p>It is astonishing that in the midst of universal destruction life tended -to keep its former course. There still were shopkeepers who opened their -shops and sold for incredible sums the luxuries, flowers, books, guns, -and other goods which they had preserved.... Purchasers threw down their -unnecessary gold ungrudgingly, and miserly merchants hid it, God knows -why. There still existed secret resorts, with cards, women, and wine, -whither unfortunates sought refuge and tried to forget dreadful reality. -There the whole mingled with the diseased, and there is no chronicle of -the scenes which took place. Two or three newspapers still tried to -preserve the significance of the written word in the midst of -desolation. Copies of these newspapers are being sold now at ten or -twenty times their original value, and will undoubtedly become -bibliographical rareties of the first degree. In their columns is -reflected the horrors of the unfortunate town, described in the midst of -the reigning madness and set by half-mad compositors. There were -reporters who took note of the happenings of the town, journalists who -debated hotly the condition of affairs, and even feuilletonists who -endeavoured to enliven<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23"></a>{23}</span> these tragic days. But the telegrams received -from other countries, telling as they did of real healthy life, caused -the souls of the readers in Zvezdny to fall into despair.</p> - -<p>There were desperate attempts to escape. At the beginning of July an -immense crowd of women and children, led by a certain John Dew, decided -to set out on foot for the nearest inhabited place, Londontown. Deville -understood the madness of this attempt, but could not stop the people, -and himself supplied them with warm clothing and provisions. This whole -crowd of about two thousand people were lost in the snow and in the -continuous Polar night. A certain Whiting started to preach a more -heroic remedy: this was, to kill all who were suffering from the -disease, and he held that after that the epidemic would cease. He found -a considerable number of adherents, though in those dark days the -wildest, most inhuman, proposal which in any way promised deliverance -would have obtained attention. Whiting and his friends broke into every -house in the town and destroyed whatever sick they found. They massacred -the patients in the hospitals, they even killed those suspected to be -unwell. Robbers and madmen joined themselves to these bands of ideal -murderers. The whole town became their arena. In these difficult days -Horace Deville organised his fellow-workers into a military force, -encouraged them<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24"></a>{24}</span> with his spirit, and set out to fight the followers of -Whiting. This affair lasted several days. Hundreds of men fell on one -side or the other, till at last Whiting himself was taken. He appeared -to be in the last stages of <i>mania contradicens</i> and had to be taken to -the hospital, where he soon perished, instead of to the scaffold.</p> - -<p>On the eighth of July one of the worst things happened. The controller -of the Central Power Station smashed all the machinery. The electric -light failed, and the whole city was plunged in absolute darkness. As -there was no other means of lighting and warming the city, the people -were left in a helpless plight. Deville had, however, foreseen such an -eventuality and had accumulated a considerable quantity of torches and -fuel. Bonfires were lighted in all the streets. Torches were distributed -in thousands. But these miserable lights could not illumine the gigantic -perspectives of the city of Zvezdny, the tens of kilometres of straight -line highways, the gloomy height of thirteen-storey buildings. With the -darkness the last discipline of the city was lost. Terror and madness -finally possessed all souls. The healthy could not be distinguished from -the sick. There commenced a dreadful orgy of the despairing.</p> - -<p>The moral sense of the people declined with astonishing rapidity. -Culture slipped from off these people<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25"></a>{25}</span> like a delicate bark, and -revealed man, wild and naked, the man-beast as he was. All sense of -right was lost, force alone was acknowledged. For women, the only law -became that of desire and of indulgence. The most virtuous matrons -behaved as the most abandoned, with no continence or faith, and used the -vile language of the tavern. Young girls ran about the streets demented -and unchaste. Drunkards made feasts in ruined cellars, not in any way -distressed that amongst the bottles lay unburied corpses. All this was -constantly aggravated by the breaking out of the disease afresh. Sad was -the position of children, abandoned by their parents to the will of -Fate. They died of hunger, of injury after assault, and they were -murdered both purposely and by accident. It is even affirmed that -cannibalism took place.</p> - -<p>In this last period of tragedy Horace Deville could not, of course, -afford help to the whole population. But he did arrange in the Town Hall -shelter for those who still preserved their reason. The entrances to the -building were barricaded and sentries were kept continuously on guard. -There was food and water for three thousand people for forty days. -Deville, however, had only eighteen hundred people, and though there -must have been other people with sound minds in the town, they could not -have known what Deville was doing, and these remained in hiding in the -houses.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26"></a>{26}</span> Many resolved to remain indoors till the end, and bodies have -been found of many who must have died of hunger in their solitude. It is -remarkable that among those who took refuge in the Town Hall there were -very few new cases of the disease. Deville was able to keep discipline -in his small community. He kept till the last a journal of all that -happened, and that journal, together with the telegrams, makes the most -reliable source of evidence of the catastrophe. The journal was found in -a secret cupboard of the Town Hall, where the most precious documents -were kept. The last entry refers to the 20th of July. Deville writes -that a demented crowd is assailing the building, and that he is obliged -to fire with revolvers upon the people. “What I hope for,” he adds, “I -know not. No help can be expected before the spring. We have not the -food to live till the spring. But I shall fulfil my duty to the end.” -These were the last words of Deville. Noble words!</p> - -<p>It must be added that on the 21st of July the crowd took the Town Hall -by storm, and its defenders were all killed or scattered. The body of -Deville has not yet been found, and there is no reliable evidence as to -what took place in the town after the 21st. It must be conjectured, from -the state in which the town was found, that anarchy reached its last -limits. The gloomy streets, lit up by the glare of bonfires of furniture -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27"></a>{27}</span> books, can be imagined. They obtained fire by striking iron on -flint. Crowds of drunkards and madmen danced wildly about the bonfires. -Men and women drank together and passed the common cup from lip to lip. -The worst scenes of sensuality were witnessed. Some sort of dark -atavistic sense enlivened the souls of these townsmen, and half-naked, -unwashed, unkempt, they danced the dances of their remote ancestors, the -contemporaries of the cave-bears, and they sang the same wild songs as -did the hordes when they fell with stone axes upon the mammoth. With -songs, with incoherent exclamations, with idiotic laughter, mingled the -cries of those who had lost the power to express in words their own -delirious dreams, mingled also the moans of those in the convulsions of -death. Sometimes dancing gave way to fighting—for a barrel of wine, for -a woman, or simply without reason, in a fit of madness brought about by -contradictory emotion. There was nowhere to flee; the same dreadful -scenes were everywhere, the same orgies everywhere, the same fights, the -same brutal gaiety or brutal rage—or else, absolute darkness, which -seemed more dreadful, even more intolerable to the staggered -imagination.</p> - -<p>Zvezdny became an immense black box, in which were some thousands of -man-resembling beings, abandoned in the foul air from hundreds of -thousands of dead bodies, where amongst the living was not one<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28"></a>{28}</span> who -understood his own position. This was the city of the senseless, the -gigantic madhouse, the greatest and most disgusting Bedlam which the -world has ever seen. And the madmen destroyed one another, stabbed or -strangled one another, died of madness, died of terror, died of hunger, -and of all the diseases which reigned in the infected air.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>It goes without saying that the Government of the Republic did not -remain indifferent to the great calamity which had overtaken the -capital. But it very soon became clear that no help whatever could be -given. No doctors, nurses, officers, or workmen of any kind would agree -to go to Zvezdny. After the breakdown of the railroad service and of the -airships it was, of course, impossible to get there, the climatic -conditions being too great an obstacle. Moreover, the attention of the -Government was soon absorbed by cases of the disease appearing in other -towns of the Republic. In some of these it threatened to take on the -same epidemic character, and a social panic set in that was akin to what -happened in Zvezdny itself. A wholesale exodus from the more populated -parts of the Republic commenced. The work in all the mines came to a -standstill, and the entire industrial life of the country faded away. -But thanks, however, to strong measures taken in time, the progress of -the disease was arrested<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29"></a>{29}</span> in these towns, and nowhere did it reach the -proportions witnessed in the capital.</p> - -<p>The anxiety with which the whole world followed the misfortunes of the -young Republic is well known. At first no one dreamed that the trouble -could grow to what it did, and the dominant feeling was that of -curiosity. The chief newspapers of the world (and in that number our own -<i>Northern European Evening News</i>) sent their own special correspondents -to Zvezdny—to write up the epidemic. Many of these brave knights of the -pen became victims of their own professional obligations. When the news -became more alarming, various foreign governments and private societies -offered their services to the Republic. Some sent troops, others -doctors, others money; but the catastrophe developed with such rapidity -that this goodwill could not obtain fulfilment. After the breakdown of -the railway service the only information received from Zvezdny was that -of the telegrams sent by the Nachalnik. These telegrams were forwarded -to the ends of the earth and printed in millions of copies. After the -wreck of the electrical apparatus the telegraph service lasted still a -few days longer, thanks to the accumulators of the power-house. There is -no accurate information as to why the telegraph service ceased -altogether; perhaps the apparatus was destroyed. The last telegram of -Horace Deville was that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30"></a>{30}</span> of the 27th of June. From that date, for almost -six weeks, humanity remained without news of the capital of the -Republic.</p> - -<p>During July several attempts were made to reach Zvezdny by air. Several -new airships and aeroplanes were received by the Republic. But for a -long time all efforts to reach the city failed. At last, however, the -aeronaut, Thomas Billy, succeeded in flying to the unhappy town. He -picked up from the roof of the town two people in an extreme state of -hunger and mental collapse. Looking through the ventilators Billy saw -that the streets were plunged in absolute darkness; but he heard wild -cries, and understood that there were still living human beings in the -town. Billy, however, did not dare to let himself down into the town -itself. Towards the end of August one line of the electric railway was -put in order as far as the station Lissis, a hundred and five kilometres -from the town. A detachment of well-armed men passed into the town, -bearing food and medical first-aid, entering by the northwestern gates. -They, however, could not penetrate further than the first blocks of -buildings, because of the dreadful atmosphere. They had to do their work -step by step, clearing the bodies from the streets, disinfecting the air -as they went. The only people whom they met were completely -irresponsible. They resembled wild animals in their ferocity and had to -be captured<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31"></a>{31}</span> and held by force. About the middle of September train -service with Zvezdny was once more established and trains went -regularly.</p> - -<p>At the time of writing the greater part of the town has already been -cleared. Electric light and heating are once more in working order. The -only part of the town which has not been dealt with is the American -quarter, but it is thought that there are no living beings there. About -ten thousand people have been saved, but the greater number are -apparently incurable. Those who have to any degree recovered evince a -strong disinclination to speak of the life they have gone through. What -is more, their stories are full of contradiction and often not confirmed -by documentary evidence. Various newspapers of the last days of July -have been found. The latest to date, that of the 22nd of July, gives the -news of the death of Horace Deville and the invitation of shelter in the -Town Hall. There are, indeed, some other pages marked August, but the -words printed thereon make it clear that the author (who was probably -setting in type his own delirium) was quite irresponsible. The diary of -Horace Deville was discovered, with its regular chronicle of events from -the 28th of June to the 20th of July. The frenzies of the last days in -the town are luridly witnessed by the things discovered in streets and -houses. Mutilated bodies everywhere: the bodies of the starved, of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32"></a>{32}</span> -suffocated, of those murdered by the insane, and some even half-eaten. -Bodies were found in the most unexpected places: in the tunnels of the -Metropolitan railway, in sewers, in various sheds, in boilers. The -demented had sought refuge from the surrounding terrors in all possible -places. The interiors of most houses had been wrecked, and the booty -which robbers had found it impossible to dispose of had been hidden in -secret rooms and cellars.</p> - -<p>It will certainly be several months before Zvezdny will become habitable -once more. Now it is almost empty. The town, which could accommodate -three million people, has but thirty thousand workmen, who are cleansing -the streets and houses. A good number of the former inhabitants who had -previously fled have returned, however, to seek the bodies of their -relatives and to glean the remains of their lost fortunes. Several -tourists, attracted by the amazing spectacle of the empty town, have -also arrived. Two business men have opened hotels and are doing pretty -well. A small café-chantant is to be opened shortly, the troupe for -which has already been engaged.</p> - -<p><i>The Northern-European Evening News</i> has for its part sent out a new -correspondent, Mr. Andrew Ewald, and hopes to obtain circumstantial news -of all the fresh discoveries which may be made in the unfortunate -capital of the Republic of the Southern Cross.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33"></a>{33}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_MARBLE_BUST" id="THE_MARBLE_BUST"></a>THE MARBLE BUST:<br /> -<small>A TRAMP’S STORY</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">H</span>E had been tried for burglary, and sentenced to a year’s imprisonment. -I was struck by the behaviour of the old man in court and by the -circumstances under which the crime had been committed. I obtained -permission to visit the prisoner. At first he would have nothing to do -with me, and would not speak; but finally he told me the story of his -life.</p> - -<p>“You are right,” said he. “I have seen better days, and I haven’t always -been a miserable wanderer about the streets, nor always slept in -night-houses. I had a good education. I—am an engineer. In my youth I -had a little money and I lived a gay life: every evening I went to a -party or to a ball and ended up with a drinking bout. I remember that -time well, even trifling details I remember. And yet there is a gap in -my recollections that I would give all the rest of my unworthy life to -fill up—everything which has anything to do with Nina.</p> - -<p>“She was called Nina, dear sir; yes, Nina. I’m sure of that. Her husband -was a minor official on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34"></a>{34}</span> railway. They were poor. But how clever she -was in making of the pitiful surroundings of her life something elegant -and, as it were, specially refined. She herself did the cooking, but her -hands were, as it were, carefully wrought. Of her poor clothes she made -a marvellous dream. Yes, and the whole everyday world, on contact with -her, became fantastical. I myself, meeting her, became other than I was, -better, and shook off, as rain from my clothes, all the sordidness of -life.</p> - -<p>“May God forgive her sin in loving me. Everything around her was so -coarse that she couldn’t help falling in love with me, young and -handsome as I was and knowing so much poetry by heart. But when I first -made her acquaintance, and how—this I cannot now call to mind. Separate -pictures draw themselves out from the darkness. See, we are at the -theatre. She, happy, gay (this was so rare with her), is drinking in -every word of the play, and she is smiling at me.... I remember her -smile. Afterwards, we were together at some place or other. She bent her -head down to me, and said: ‘I know that you will not be my happiness for -very long; never mind, I shall have lived.’ I remember these words. But -what happened directly afterwards, and whether it is really true that -all this happened when I was with Nina, I don’t know.</p> - -<p>“Of course, it was I who first gave her up. This seems to me so natural. -All my companions acted in this way:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35"></a>{35}</span> they flirted with some married -woman, and then, after a while, cast her off. I only acted as everybody -else did, and it didn’t even enter my mind that I was behaving badly. To -steal money, not to pay one’s debts, to turn informer—this was bad, but -to cast off a woman whom one has loved was only the way of the world. A -brilliant future was before me, and I could not bind myself to a sort of -romantic love. It was painful, very painful, but I gained the victory -over myself, and I even saw a <i>podvig</i> in my resolution to overcome this -pain.</p> - -<p>“I heard that Nina went away afterwards with her husband to the south, -and that soon after she died. But my memories of Nina were so tormenting -that I avoided at that time all news of her. I tried to know nothing -about her and not to think of her. I had not kept her portrait, I had -returned her letters, we had no mutual acquaintances—and so, little by -little, the image of Nina was erased from my soul. Do you understand? I -gradually came to forget Nina, forget her entirely, her face, her name, -and all her love. It came to be as if she had actually never existed at -all in my life.... Ah, there’s something shameful for a man in this -ability to forget!</p> - -<p>“The years went by. I won’t tell you now how I ‘made a career.’ Without -Nina, of course I dreamed only of external success, of money. At one -time I had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36"></a>{36}</span> nearly obtained the complete success at which I aimed. I -could spend thousands, could travel abroad. I married and had children. -Afterwards, everything turned to loss; the works which I designed were -unsuccessful; my wife died; finding myself left with children on my -hands, I sent them away to relatives, and now, God forgive me, I don’t -even know if my little boys are alive. As you may guess, I drank and -played cards.... I started an agency—it did not succeed; it swallowed -up my last money and energy. I tried to get straight by gambling, and -only just escaped being sent to prison—yes, and not entirely without -reason. My friends turned against me and my downfall began.</p> - -<p>“Little by little I got to the point where you now see me. I, so to -speak, ‘dropped out’ of intellectual society and fell into the abyss. -What place could I presume to take, badly dressed, almost always -drunken? Of late years I have worked for months, when not drinking, as a -labourer in various factories. And when I had a drinking bout—I would -turn up in the Thieves’ market and doss-houses. I passionately detested -the people I met, and was always dreaming that suddenly my fate would -change and I should be rich once more. I expected to receive some sort -of non-existent inheritance or something of that kind. And I despised my -companions because they had no such hope.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37"></a>{37}</span></p> - -<p>“Well, one day, all shivering with cold and hunger, I wander into -someone’s yard without knowing why, and something happens. Suddenly the -cook calls out to me, ‘Hallo, my boy, you don’t happen to be a -locksmith, do you?’ ‘Yes, I’m a locksmith,’ says I. They wanted someone -to mend the lock of a writing-table. I found myself in a luxurious -study, gold all about, and pictures. I began to work and did what was -wanted, and the lady gave me a rouble. I took the money, and, all of a -sudden, I saw on a little white pedestal, a marble bust. At first I felt -faint. I don’t know why. I stared at it and couldn’t believe: Nina!</p> - -<p>“I tell you, dear sir, I had quite forgotten Nina, and at this moment -specially, for the first time, I understood it, understood that I had -forgotten her. Suddenly her image swam before my eyes, and a whole -universe of feelings, dreams, thoughts, buried in my soul as in some -sort of Atlantis—woke, rose again, lived again.... I look at the marble -bust, all trembling, and I say: ‘Permit me to ask, lady, whose bust is -that?’ ‘Oh, that,’ says she, ‘is a very valuable thing; it was made five -hundred years ago, in the fifteenth century.’ She told me the name of -the sculptor, but I didn’t catch it, and she said that her husband had -brought this bust from Italy, and that because of it there had arisen a -whole diplomatic correspondence between the Italian<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38"></a>{38}</span> and Russian -Cabinets. ‘But,’ says the lady to me, ‘you don’t mean to say it pleases -you? What an up-to-date taste you have! Don’t you see that the ears,’ -says she, ‘are not in the right place, and the nose is irregular -...?’—and she went away; she went away.</p> - -<p>“I rushed out as if I were suffocating. This was not a likeness, but an -actual portrait; nay more—it was a sort of re-creation of life in -marble. Tell me, by what miracle could an artist in the fifteenth -century make those same tiny ears, set on awry, which I knew so well, -those same eyes, just a tiny bit aslant, that irregular nose, and the -high sloping forehead, out of which unexpectedly you got the most -beautiful, the most captivating woman’s face? By what miracle could -there live two women so much alike—one in the fifteenth century, the -other in our own day? And that she whom the sculptor had modelled was -absolutely the same, and like to Nina not only in face but in character -and in soul, I could not doubt.</p> - -<p>“That day changed the whole of my life. I understood all the meanness of -my behaviour in the past and all the depth of my fall. I understood Nina -as an angel, sent to me by Destiny and not recognised by me. To bring -back the past was impossible. But I began eagerly to gather together my -remembrances of Nina as one might gather up the shattered bits of a -precious vase. How few they were! Try as I would I could get<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39"></a>{39}</span> nothing -whole. All were fragments, splinters. But how I rejoiced when I -succeeded in making out in my soul something new. Thinking over these -things and remembering, I would spend whole hours; people laughed at me, -but I was happy. I was old; it was late for me to begin life anew, but I -could still cleanse my soul from base thoughts, from malice towards my -fellows and from murmuring against my Creator. And in my remembrances of -Nina I found this cleansing.</p> - -<p>“I wanted desperately to look once more at the statue. I wandered whole -evenings near the house where it was and I tried to see the marble bust, -but it stood a long way from the windows. I spent whole nights in front -of the house. I knew all the people who lived there, how the rooms were -arranged, and I made friends with a servant. In the summer the lady went -away into the country. And then I could no longer fight against my -desire. I thought that if I could see the marble Nina once again, I -should at once remember everything, to the end. And that would be for me -ultimate bliss. So I made up my mind to do that for which I’ve been -sentenced. You know that I didn’t succeed. They caught me in the hall. -And at the trial it came out that I’d been in the rooms on pretence of -being a locksmith, and that I’d often been seen near the house.... I was -a beggar, I had forced the locks.... However, the story’s ended now, -dear sir!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40"></a>{40}</span></p> - -<p>“But we’ll make an appeal for you,” said I. “They will acquit you.”</p> - -<p>“But why?” objected the old man. “No one grieves over my sentence, and -no one will go bail for me, and isn’t it just the same where I shall -think about Nina—in a doss-house or in a prison?”</p> - -<p>I didn’t know what to answer, but the old man suddenly looked up at me -with his strange and faded eyes and went on:</p> - -<p>“Only one thing worries me. What if Nina never existed, and it was -merely my poor mind, weakened by alcohol, which invented the whole story -of this love whilst I was looking at the little marble head?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41"></a>{41}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="FOR_HERSELF_OR_FOR_ANOTHER" id="FOR_HERSELF_OR_FOR_ANOTHER"></a>FOR HERSELF OR FOR ANOTHER</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“I</span>T is she! No, it can’t be, but yet of course it is!” said Peter -Andreyevitch Basmanof to himself, as a lady who had previously attracted -his attention passed for the fifth or sixth time the little table at -which he was sitting.</p> - -<p>He no longer doubted that it was Elizavieta. Certainly, they had not met -for nearly twelve years, and no woman’s face could remain unchanged -during such a period. The features, formerly thin and sharply defined, -had become somewhat fuller; the glance, once confiding as a child’s, was -now cold and stern, and in the whole face there was an expression of -self-confidence which used not to be there. But were they not the same -eyes which Basmanof had loved to liken to St. Elma’s fires, was it not -that same oval which by its purity of outline alone had often calmed his -passion, were they not the same tiny ears which he had found so sweet to -kiss? Yes, it must be Elizavieta: there could not be two women so much -alike—as much alike as the reflections in two adjoining mirrors!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42"></a>{42}</span></p> - -<p>Basmanof’s mind went quickly over the history of his love for -Elizavieta. Not for the first time did he thus survey it, for of all his -memories none was dearer or more sacred than this love. The young -advocate, just stepping forth into life, had met a woman somewhat older -than himself who had loved him with all the blindness of a fierce, -unreasoning, ecstatical passion. Elizavieta’s whole soul had been -absorbed by this love, and nothing else in the world had mattered to her -except this one thing—to possess her beloved, give herself to him, -worship him. She had been prepared to sacrifice all the conventions of -their “set,” she had begged Basmanof to allow her to leave her husband -and go to live with him; and in society not only had she not been -ashamed of her connection with him—which, of course, had been talked -about—but she had, as it were, gloried in it. Basmanof had never since -come across a love so self-forgetful, so ready to sacrifice itself, and -he could not have doubted that if at any time he had demanded of -Elizavieta that she should kill herself she would have fulfilled his -behest with a calm submissive rapture.</p> - -<p>How had Basmanof profited by such a love, which comes to us only once in -life? He had been afraid of it, afraid of its immensity and its -strength. He had understood that where infinite sacrifices are made they -are necessarily accompanied by great demands. He had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43"></a>{43}</span> been afraid to -accept this love because it would have been necessary to give something -in exchange for it, and he felt himself spiritually lacking. And he had -been afraid that his just-blossoming career might be checked.... -Basmanof, like a thief, had stolen half a year’s love, which could not -have been his had he been frank and shown his real character from the -first, and then he had taken advantage of the first trifling excuse to -“break off the connection.”</p> - -<p>Ah, how ashamed he was now to recall their last meeting before this took -place. Elizavieta, blinded by her love for him, could not understand, -could not see, that her beloved was too low for her to abase herself -before him, and she had begged him on her knees not to forsake her. He -remembered how she, sobbing, had embraced his feet and let herself be -dragged along the floor, how in despair she had beaten her head against -the wall. He had learnt afterwards that his desertion had sent -Elizavieta nearly out of her mind, that at one time she had wished to -enter a convent, and that later when she became a widow she had gone -abroad. Since then he had lost all trace of her.</p> - -<p>Was it possible that here at Interlaken he was meeting her now again, -twelve years after their rupture, calm, stern, beautiful as ever, with -her inexplicable fascination for him and her tormentingly-sweet -reminders of the past? Basmanof, sitting at the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44"></a>{44}</span> café table, -watched the tall lady in the large Paris hat as she went by, and his -whole being burned feverishly with images and sensations of the past, -suffusing in a moment the memory of his mind and the memory of his body. -It was she, it was she, Elizavieta, whom he had not allowed to love him -as fully as she had wished, and whom he himself had not dared to love as -fully as he might, as much as he had wished! It was she, his better -self, restored again to him when his life had almost passed, she, alive -still, the possibility incarnate of reviving that which had been, of -completing and restoring it.</p> - -<p>In spite of his self-possession Basmanof’s head was in a whirl. He paid -the waiter for his ice, got up from his seat, and walked out by the path -along which the tall lady had passed.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>When Basmanof overtook the tall lady he raised his hat deferentially and -bowed to her. But the lady showed no sign of recognition.</p> - -<p>“Is it possible you do not recognise me, Elizavieta Vasilievna?” asked -Basmanof, speaking in Russian.</p> - -<p>After some hesitation the lady answered in Russian, though with a slight -accent.</p> - -<p>“Pardon me, but you’ve probably made a mistake. I am not an acquaintance -of yours.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45"></a>{45}</span></p> - -<p>“Elizavieta Vasilievna!” exclaimed Basmanof deeply hurt by such a reply. -“Surely you must recognise me! I am Peter Andreyevitch Basmanof.”</p> - -<p>“It’s the first time I’ve heard that name,” said the lady, “and I don’t -know you at all.”</p> - -<p>For several seconds Basmanof gazed at the lady who thus spoke to him, -asking himself whether he had not made a mistake. But there was such an -undoubted likeness, he so definitely recognised her as Elizavieta, that -blocking up the pathway to this lady in the large Paris hat, he repeated -insistently—</p> - -<p>“I recognise <i>you</i>, Elizavieta Vasilievna! I understand that <i>you</i> may -have reasons for concealing your true name. I understand that you may -not wish to meet your former acquaintances. But you must know that it’s -absolutely necessary for me to speak a few words to you. I have gone -through too much since we separated. I must put myself right with you. I -don’t want you to despise me.”</p> - -<p>Basmanof hardly knew himself what he was saying. He wanted only one -thing—that Elizavieta would acknowledge that it was she. He was afraid -that she might go away and not come back, might vanish for evermore, and -that this meeting might prove to be a dream.</p> - -<p>The lady moved quietly to one side, and said in French:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46"></a>{46}</span></p> - -<p>“<i>Monsieur, laissez-moi passer, s’il vous plaît! Je ne vous connais -pas.</i>”</p> - -<p>She showed no agitation whatever, and at Basmanof’s words the expression -of her face did not change in the least. But all the same he could not -let her go, but followed her.</p> - -<p>“Elizavieta!” cried he. “Curse me if you will, call me the most -worthless of men, tell me that you no longer wish to know me—I will -take it all humbly, as I ought. But do not pretend that you do not -recognise me; that I cannot endure. You dare not, ought not, to insult -me so.”</p> - -<p>“I assure you,” the lady interrupted in a more severe tone, “that you -mistake me for someone else. You call me Elizavieta Vasilievna, but that -is not my name. I am Ekaterina Vladimirovna Sadikova, and my maiden name -was Armand. Surely that is sufficient evidence for you to allow me to -continue my walk, as I wish to do?”</p> - -<p>“But why, then,” cried Basmanof, making a last attempt, “why have you -borne with me so long? If I am an utter stranger to you why didn’t you -at once order me to be silent, or call a policeman? No one behaves as -gently as you have done towards a scoundrel of the street!”</p> - -<p>“I see quite clearly,” answered the lady, “that you are not a street -scoundrel, and that you would not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47"></a>{47}</span> allow yourself to take any liberties. -You’ve simply made a mistake: my likeness to some lady of your -acquaintance has led you into an error. That is no crime, and I’ve no -occasion whatever to call the police. But now everything has been -explained—good-bye!”</p> - -<p>Basmanof could insist no longer. He stood aside, and the lady walked -slowly past him. But the whole of the conversation, the tone of the -lady’s voice, her movements, everything about her—only accentuated his -belief that this was—Elizavieta.</p> - -<p>Disturbed and agitated, he went back to his room at the hotel. Beyond -the green meadow, like some gigantic phantom, shone the eternal snow of -the Yungfrau. It seemed near, but was immeasurably far. Was it not like -to Elizavieta, who had seemed risen from the dead, but who had again -retreated into the far unknown?</p> - -<p>It was not difficult for Basmanof to discover the address of the lady -whom he had met. After some hesitation he wrote her a letter, in which -he said that he had no wish to argue about what was evident. He had -clearly made a mistake in taking an unknown lady for an old acquaintance -of his, but their short encounter had made a deep impression on him, and -he begged permission to bow to her when they met, in memory of an -accidental acquaintance. The letter was couched in extremely cautious -and respectful<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48"></a>{48}</span> terms. When on the following day Basmanof met the lady -who called herself Mme. Sadikova she bowed to him first and herself -began to speak to him. And so their acquaintance began.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Mme. Sadikova gave no signs of ever having previously known Basmanof. -Quite the contrary; she treated him as someone whom she had never met -before. They talked about unimportant matters, connected chiefly with -life at the watering-place. Mme. Sadikova’s conversation was interesting -and clever, and she appeared to be very well read. But when Basmanof -tried to pass to more intimate, more painful questions his companion -lightly and deftly evaded them.</p> - -<p>Everything convinced Basmanof that she was Elizavieta. He recognised her -voice, her favourite turns of speech; recognised that intangible -something which expresses the individuality of a person but which it is -difficult to define in words. He could have sworn that he was not -mistaken.</p> - -<p>Certainly there were slight marks of difference, but could not these be -explained by the interval of twelve years? It was natural that from -Elizavieta’s flaming passions the experiences of life should have forged -a steely coldness. It was natural that living abroad for many years -Elizavieta should have somewhat forgotten<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49"></a>{49}</span> her native tongue and speak -it with an accent. Finally it was natural that in her behaviour, in her -gestures, in her laughter, there should appear new features which had -not been there before....</p> - -<p>All the same, Basmanof was sometimes seized by doubt, and then he began -mentally to notice hundreds of tiny peculiarities which distinguished -Ekaterina from Elizavieta. But he only needed to look once more into -Mme. Sadikova’s face, to hear her speak, and all his doubts would -disperse like a mist. He felt in himself and his soul was aware that -this was she whom he had once loved.</p> - -<p>Of course he did all he could to unravel the mystery. He tried to -confuse her by asking unexpected questions; she was always on her guard, -and she easily escaped out of all his snares. He tried to question her -acquaintances; no one knew anything about her. He even went so far as to -intercept a letter addressed to her; it proved to be from Paris, and -consisted only of impersonal French phrases.</p> - -<p>One evening, when the two were together in a restaurant, Basmanof could -endure the continuous strain no longer, and he suddenly exclaimed—</p> - -<p>“Why do we keep up this tormenting game? You are Elizavieta—I am sure -of it. You can’t forget how you once loved me. And of course you can’t -forget how basely I cast you off. But now I bring you all my soul’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50"></a>{50}</span> -repentance. I despise myself for my former conduct. This is what I -propose: take me for the whole of my life if you can forgive me. But I -say this to Elizavieta, I give myself to her, not to any other woman.”</p> - -<p>Mme. Sadikova listened in silence to this little speech, transgressing -as it did the limits of Society small-talk, and answered calmly—</p> - -<p>“Dear Peter Andreyevitch. If you are speaking to me I might answer you, -perhaps, but as you warn me that you are speaking to Elizavieta there’s -nothing for me to say.”</p> - -<p>In the greatest excitement Basmanof got up from his seat and asked her:</p> - -<p>“Do you wish to insist that you are not Elizavieta? Well, say so once -more to my face without blenching and I will go away, I will at once -hide myself from your eyes, I will vanish out of your life. Then there -will be no more reason for my living.”</p> - -<p>Mme. Sadikova smiled sweetly.</p> - -<p>“Do you wish so much that I were Elizavieta?” asked she. “Very well, I -will be Elizavieta.”</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>Then the second game began, a more cruel one perhaps than the first. -Mme. Sadikova called herself Elizavieta and treated Basmanof as an old -acquaintance. When he spoke of the past she pretended to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51"></a>{51}</span> remember the -persons and events of which he spoke. When he, all trembling, reminded -her of her love for him, she, laughing, agreed that she had loved him; -but she hinted that in the course of time this love had died down, as -every flame dies down.</p> - -<p>In order to play her part conscientiously, Mme. Sadikova herself would -sometimes speak of the happenings of the past, but she mixed up the -dates, remembered the wrong names, imagined things which had never -occurred. It was especially tormenting that when she spoke of her love -for Basmanof she referred to it as to a light flirtation, the accidental -amusement of a lady in society. This seemed to Basmanof an insult to -sacred things, and almost with a wail he besought her to be silent.</p> - -<p>But this was little. Imperceptibly, step by step, Mme. Sadikova poisoned -all Basmanof’s most holy recollections. By her hints she discrowned all -the most beautiful facts of the past. She gave him to understand that -much of what had appeared to him as evidence of her self-forgetful love -had been only hypocrisy and make-believe.</p> - -<p>“Elizavieta!” implored Basmanof once of her. “Is it possible for me to -believe that your passionate vows, your sobs, your despair, when you -threw yourself unconscious on the floor—that all this was feigned?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52"></a>{52}</span> The -most talented dramatic actress could not act so well. You are defaming -yourself.”</p> - -<p>Mme. Sadikova, answering to the name of Elizavieta, as she had been -doing for some time, said with a smile—</p> - -<p>“How can one distinguish where acting ends and sincerity begins? I -wanted at that time to feel strongly and so I allowed myself to pretend -to be despairing and out of my senses. If in your place had been not you -but some other, I should have acted just the same. And yet at that very -moment it would have cost me nothing to overcome myself and not sob at -all. Aren’t we all like that in life—actors—we don’t so much live as -act the part of living?”</p> - -<p>“That’s not true,” exclaimed Basmanof. “You say this because you do not -know how Elizavieta loved. She would never have spoken so. You are only -playing her part. It’s evident you are not she—you are Ekaterina.”</p> - -<p>Mme. Sadikova laughed, and then said in a different tone—</p> - -<p>“Just as you like, Peter Andreyevitch. I only played the part to please -you. If you wish it I will become myself again, Ekaterina Vladimirovna -Sadikova.”</p> - -<p>“How can I know where you are real?” hissed Basmanof through his teeth.</p> - -<p>He began to feel that he was going out of his mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53"></a>{53}</span> Fiction and reality -for him had become confused. For some minutes he doubted who he was -himself.</p> - -<p>In the meantime Mme. Sadikova got up and proposed a walk and she again -began to speak to him as Elizavieta.</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>The days went by. The season at Interlaken came to an end.</p> - -<p>Basmanof, obsessed by his connection with this mysterious acquaintance -of his, began to forget everything else; forgot why he had come to -Interlaken, forget all his business, answered no letters from home, -lived a sort of senseless life. Like a maniac, he thought only of one -thing: how to guess the secret of Elizavieta-Ekaterina.</p> - -<p>Was he in love with this woman?—he could not have said. She drew him to -herself as to an abyss, as to a horror, to a place of destruction. -Months and years might go by and he would be glad to go on with this -duel of mind and ready wit, this struggle of two minds, one of which -sought to preserve her secret and the other strove to tear it from her.</p> - -<p>But suddenly, early in October, Mme. Sadikova left Interlaken. She went -away, neither saying good-bye to Basmanof nor warning him of her -departure. On the following day, however, he received a letter from her, -posted from Berne.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54"></a>{54}</span></p> - -<p>“I will not deprive you of the satisfaction of guessing who I am,” wrote -Mme. Sadikova. “I leave the solution of this problem to your sharp wit. -But if you are tired of guessing, and would like to have the simplest -solution, I will tell it you. Suppose that I was really a complete -stranger to you. Learning from your own agitated accounts, how cruelly -you had once treated a certain Elizavieta, I determined to avenge her. I -think I have attained my object; my revenge has been accomplished: you -will never forget these weeks of torture at Interlaken. And for whom I -took this vengeance, for myself or for another, is it not all the same -in the long run? Good-bye, you will never see me again. -Elizavieta-Ekaterina.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55"></a>{55}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="IN_THE_MIRROR" id="IN_THE_MIRROR"></a>IN THE MIRROR</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span> HAVE loved mirrors from my very earliest years. As an infant I wept -and trembled as I looked into their transparently truthful depths. My -favourite game as a child was to walk up and down the room or the -garden, holding a mirror in front of me, gazing into its abyss, walking -over the edge at every step, and breathless with giddiness and terror. -Even as a girl I began to put mirrors all over my room, large and small -ones, true and slightly distorted ones, some precise and others a little -dull. I got into the habit of spending whole hours, whole days, in the -midst of inter-crossing worlds which ran one into the other, trembled, -vanished, and then reappeared again. It became a singular passion of -mine to give my body to these soundless distances, these echoless -perspectives, these separate universes cutting across our own and -existing, despite our consciousness, in the same place and at the same -time with it. This protracted actuality, separated from us by the smooth -surface of glass, drew me towards itself by a kind of intangible touch, -dragged me forward, as to an abyss, a mystery.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56"></a>{56}</span></p> - -<p>I was drawn towards the apparition which always rose up before me when I -came near a mirror and which strangely doubled my being. I strove to -guess how this other woman was differentiated from myself, how it was -possible that my right hand should be her left, and that all the fingers -of this hand should change places, though certainly on one of them -was—my wedding-ring. My thoughts were confused when I attempted to -probe this enigma, to solve it. In <i>this</i> world, where everybody could -be touched, where voices were heard—I lived, actually; in <i>that</i> -reflected world, which it was only possible to contemplate, was she, -phantasmally. She was almost as myself and yet not at all myself; she -repeated all my movements, but not one of these movements exactly -coincided with those I made. She, that other, knew something I could not -divine, she held a secret eternally hidden from my understanding.</p> - -<p>But I noticed that each mirror had its own separate and special world. -Put two mirrors in the very same place, one after the other, and there -will arise two different universes. And in different mirrors there rose -up before me different apparitions, all of them like me but never -exactly like one another. In my small hand-mirror lived a naïve little -girl with clear eyes, reminding me of my early youth. In my circular -boudoir mirror was hidden a woman who knew all the diverse sweetness<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57"></a>{57}</span> of -caresses, shameless, free, beautiful, daring. In the oblong mirrors of -the wardrobe door there always appeared a stern figure, imperious, cold, -inexorable. I knew still other doubles of myself—in my dressing-glass, -in my folding gold-framed triptych, in the hanging mirror in the oaken -frame, in the little neck mirror, and in many other mirrors which I -treasured. To all the beings hiding themselves in these mirrors I gave -the possibility and pretext to develop. According to the strange -conditions of their world they must take the form of the person who -stands before the glass but under this borrowed exterior they preserve -their own personal characteristics.</p> - -<p>There were some worlds of mirrors which I loved; others which I hated. -In some of them I loved to walk up and down for whole hours, losing -myself in their attractive expanse. Others I fled from. In my secret -heart I did not love all my doubles. I knew that they were all hostile -toward me, if only for the fact that they were forced to clothe -themselves in my hated likeness. But some of these mirror women I -pitied. I forgave their hate and felt almost friendly to them. There -were some whom I despised, and I loved to laugh at their powerless fury; -there were some whom I mocked by my own independence and tortured by my -power over them. There were others, on the other hand, of whom I was -afraid, who were too strong for me and who dared<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58"></a>{58}</span> in their turn to mock -at me, to command me. I hastened to get rid of the mirrors where these -women lived, I would not look in them, I hid them, gave them away, even -broke some in pieces. But every time I destroyed a mirror I wept for -whole days after, conscious of the fact that I had broken to pieces a -distinct universe. And reproachful faces stared at me from the broken -fragments of the world I had destroyed.</p> - -<p>The mirror with which my fate was to become linked I bought one autumn -at a sale of some sort. It was a large pier-glass, swinging on screws. I -was struck by the unusual clarity of its reflection. The phantasmal -actuality in it was changed by the slightest inclination of the glass, -but it was independent and vital to the edges. When I examined this -pier-glass at the sale the woman who reflected me in it looked me in the -eyes with a kind of haughty challenge. I did not wish to give in to her, -to show that she had frightened me, so I bought the glass and ordered it -to be placed in my boudoir. As soon as I was alone in the room, I -immediately went up to the new mirror and fixed my eyes upon my rival. -But she did the same to me, and standing opposite one another we began -to transfix each other with our glance as if we had been snakes. In the -pupils of her eyes was my reflection, in mine, hers. My heart sank and -my head swam from her intent gaze. But at length by an effort of will I -tore my eyes away<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59"></a>{59}</span> from those other eyes, tipped the mirror with my foot -so that it began to swing, rocking the image of my rival pitifully to -and fro, and went out of the room.</p> - -<p>From that hour our strife began. In the evening of the first day of our -meeting I did not dare to go near the new pier-glass; I went to the -theatre with my husband, laughed exaggeratedly, and was apparently -light-hearted. On the morrow, in the clear light of a September day I -went boldly into my boudoir alone and designedly sat down directly in -front of the mirror. At the same moment, she, the other woman, also came -in at the door to meet me, crossed the room, and then she too sat down -opposite me. Our eyes met. In hers I read hatred towards myself; in mine -she read hatred towards her. Our second duel began, a duel of eyes—two -unyielding glances, commanding, threatening, hypnotising. Each of us -strove to conquer the other’s will, to break down her resistance, to -force her to submit to another’s desire. It would have been a painful -scene for an onlooker to witness; two women sitting opposite each other -without moving, joined together by the magnetic attraction of each -other’s gaze, and almost losing consciousness under the psychical -strain.... Suddenly someone called me. The infatuation vanished. I got -up and left the room.</p> - -<p>After this our duels were renewed every day. I realised that this -adventuress had purposely forced<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60"></a>{60}</span> herself into my home to destroy me and -take my place in this world. But I had not sufficient strength to deny -myself this struggle. In this rivalry there was a kind of secret -intoxication. The very possibility of defeat had hidden in it a sort of -sweet seduction. Sometimes I forced myself for whole days to keep away -from the pier-glass; I occupied myself with business, with amusements, -but in the depths of my soul was always hidden the memory of the rival -who in patience and self-reliance awaited my return. I would go back to -her and she would step forth in front of me, more triumphantly than -ever, piercing me with her victorious gaze and fixing me in my place -before her. My heart would stop beating, and I with a powerless fury -would feel myself under the authority of this gaze.</p> - -<p>So the days and weeks went by; our struggle continued, but the -preponderance showed itself more and more definitely to be on the side -of my rival. And suddenly one day I realised that my will was in -subjection to her will, that she was already stronger than I. I was -overcome with terror. My first impulse was to flee from my home and go -to another town, but I saw at once that this would be useless. I should, -all the same, be overcome by the attractive force of this hostile will -and be obliged to return to this room, to this mirror. Then there came a -second thought—to shatter the mirror, reduce my enemy to nothingness; -but to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61"></a>{61}</span> conquer her by brutal strength would mean that I acknowledged -her superiority over myself: this would be humiliating. I preferred to -remain and continue this struggle to the end, even though I were -threatened with defeat.</p> - -<p>Soon there could be no doubt that my rival would triumph. At every -meeting there was concentrated in her gaze still greater and greater -power over me. Little by little I lost the possibility of letting a day -pass without once going to my mirror. <i>She</i> ordered me to spend several -hours daily in front of her. <i>She</i> directed my will as a hypnotist -directs the will of a sleepwalker. <i>She</i> arranged my life, as a mistress -arranges the life of a slave. I began to fulfil her demands, I became an -automaton to her wordless orders. I knew that deliberately, cautiously, -she would lead me by an unavoidable path to destruction, and I already -made no resistance. I divined her secret plan—to cast me into the -mirror world and to come forth herself into our world—but I had no -strength to hinder her. My husband and my relatives seeing me spend -whole hours, whole days and nights in front of my mirror, thought me -demented and wanted to cure me. But I dared not reveal the truth to -them, I was forbidden to tell them all the dreadful truth, all the -horror, towards which I was moving.</p> - -<p>One of the December days before the holidays<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62"></a>{62}</span> turned out to be the day -of my destruction. I remember everything clearly, precisely, -circumstantially. Nothing in my remembrance is confused. As usual, I -went into my boudoir early, at the first beginnings of the winter dawn -twilight. I placed a comfortable armchair without a back in front of the -mirror, sat down and gave myself up to <i>her</i>. Without any delay she -appeared in answer to my summons, she too placed an armchair for -herself, she too sat down and began to gaze at me. A dark foreboding -oppressed my soul, but I was powerless to turn my face away, and I was -forced to take to myself the insolent gaze of my rival. The hours went -by, the shadows began to fall. Neither of us lighted a lamp. The glass -of the mirror glimmered faintly in the darkness. The reflections had -become scarcely visible, but the self-reliant eyes gazed with their -former strength. I felt neither terror nor ill-will, as on other days, -but simply an intolerable anguish and a bitter consciousness that I was -in the power of another. Time swam away and on its tide I also swam into -infinity, into a black expanse of powerlessness and lack of will.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she, that other, the reflected woman, got up from her chair. I -trembled all over at this insult. But something invincible, something -forcing me from within compelled me also to stand up. The woman in the -mirror took a step forward. I did the same. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63"></a>{63}</span> woman in the mirror -stretched forth her arms. I did so too. Looking straight at me with -hypnotising and commanding eyes, she moved forward and I advanced to -meet her. And it was strange—with all the horror of my position, with -all my hate towards my rival, there fluttered somewhere in the depths of -my soul a painful consolation, a secret joy—to enter at last into that -mysterious world into which I had gazed from my childhood and which up -till now had remained inaccessible to me. At moments I hardly knew which -of us was drawing the other towards herself, she me or I her, whether -she was eager to occupy my place or whether I had devised all this -struggle in order to displace her.</p> - -<p>But when, moving forward, my hands touched hers on the glass I turned -quite pale with repugnance. And <i>she</i> took my hand by force and drew me -still nearer to herself. My hands were plunged into the mirror as into -burning-icy water. The cold of the glass penetrated into my body with a -horrible pain, as if all the atoms of my being had changed their mutual -relationship. In another moment my face had touched the face of my -rival, I saw her eyes right in front of my own, I was transfused into -her with a monstrous kiss. Everything vanished from me in a torment of -suffering unlike any other—and when I came to my senses after this -swoon I still saw in front of me my own boudoir<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64"></a>{64}</span> on which I gazed <i>from -out of</i> the mirror. My rival stood before me and burst into laughter. -And I—oh the cruelty of it! I who was dying with humiliation and -torture was obliged to laugh too, to repeat all her grimaces in a -triumphant joyful laugh. I had not yet succeeded in considering my -position when my rival suddenly turned round, walked towards the door, -vanished from my sight, and I at once fell into torpor, into -non-existence.</p> - -<p>Then my life as a reflection began. It was a strange, half-conscious but -mysteriously sweet life. There were many of us in this mirror, dark in -soul, and slumbering of consciousness. We could not speak to one -another, but we felt each other’s proximity and loved one another. We -could see nothing, we heard nothing clearly, And our existence was like -the enfeeblement that comes from being unable to breathe. Only when a -being from the world of men approached the mirror, we, suddenly taking -up his form, could look forth into the world, could distinguish voices, -and breathe a full breath. I think that the life of the dead is like -that—a dim consciousness of one’s ego, a confused memory of the past -and an oppressive desire to be incarnated anew even if only for a -moment, to see, to hear, to speak.... And each of us cherished and -concealed a secret dream—to free one’s self, to find for one’s self a -new body, to go out into the world of constancy and steadfastness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65"></a>{65}</span></p> - -<p>During the first days I felt myself absolutely unhappy in my new -position. I still knew nothing, understood nothing. I took the form of -my rival submissively and unthinkingly when she came near the mirror and -began to jeer at me. And she did this fairly often. It afforded her -great delight to flaunt her vitality before me, her reality. She would -sit down and force me also to sit down, stand up and exult as she saw me -stand, wave her arms about, dance, force me to repeat her movements, and -burst out laughing and continue to laugh so that I should have to laugh -too. She would shriek insulting words in my face and I could make no -answer to them. She would threaten me with her fist and mock at my -forced repetition of the gesture. She would turn her back on me and I, -losing sight, losing features, would become conscious of the shame of -the half-existence left to me.... And then suddenly, with one blow she -would whirl the mirror round on its axle and with the oscillation throw -me completely into nonentity.</p> - -<p>Little by little, however, the insults and humiliations awoke a -consciousness in me. I realised that my rival was now living my life, -wearing my dresses, being considered as my husband’s wife, and occupying -my place in the world. Then there grew up in my soul a feeling of hate -and a thirst for vengeance, like two fiery flowers. I began bitterly to -curse myself for having, by my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66"></a>{66}</span> weakness or my criminal curiosity, -allowed her to conquer me. I arrived at the conviction that this -adventuress would never have triumphed over me if I myself had not aided -her in her wiles. And so, as I became more familiar with some of the -conditions of my new existence, I resolved to continue with her the same -fight which she had carried on with me. If she, a shadow, could occupy -the place of a real woman, was it possible that I, a human being, and -only temporarily a shadow, should not be stronger than a phantom?</p> - -<p>I began from a very long way off. At first I pretended that the mockery -of my rival tormented me quite unbearably. I purposely afforded her all -the satisfaction of victory. I provoked in her the secret instinct of -the executioner throwing himself upon his helpless victim. She gave -herself up to this bait. She was attracted by this game with me. She put -forth the wings of her imagination and thought out new trials for me. -She invented thousands of wiles to show me over and over again that -I—was only a reflection, that I had no life of my own. Sometimes she -played on the piano in front of me, torturing me by the soundlessness of -my world. Sometimes, seated before the mirror she would drink in tiny -sips my favourite liqueurs, compelling me only to pretend that I also -was drinking them. Sometimes, at length, she would bring into my boudoir -people whom I hated, and before my face she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67"></a>{67}</span> would allow them to kiss -her body, letting them think that they were kissing me. And afterwards -when we were alone she would burst into a malicious and triumphant -laugh. But this laugh did not wound me at all; there was sweetness in -its keenness: my expectation of revenge!</p> - -<p>Unnoticeably, in the hours of her insults to me, I would accustom my -rival to look me in the eyes and I would gradually overpower her gaze. -Soon at my will I could already force her to raise and lower her eyelids -and make this and that movement of the face. I had already begun to -triumph though I hid my feeling under a mask of suffering. Strength of -soul grew up within me and I began to dare to lay commands upon my -enemy: To-day you shall do so-and-so, to-day you shall go to -such-and-such a place, to-morrow you shall come to me at such a time. -And <i>she</i> would fulfil them. I entangled her soul in the nets of my -desires woven together with a strong thread in which I held her soul, -and I secretly rejoiced when I noticed my success. When one day, in the -hour of her laughter, she suddenly caught on my lips a victorious smile -which I was unable to hide, it was already too late. <i>She</i> rushed out of -the room in a fury, but as I fell into the sleep of my nonentity I knew -that she would return, knew that she would submit to me. And a rapture -of victory gushed out over my involuntary lack of strength, piercing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68"></a>{68}</span> -with a rainbow shaft of light the gloom of my seeming death.</p> - -<p>She did return! She came up to me in anger and terror, shrieked to me, -threatened me. But I was commanding her to do it. And she was obliged to -submit. Then began the game of a cat with a mouse. At any time I could -have cast her back into the depths of the glass and come forth myself -again into sounding and hard actuality. But I delayed to do this. It was -sweet to me to indulge in non-existence sometimes. It was sweet to me to -intoxicate myself with the possibility. At last (this is strange, is it -not?) there suddenly was aroused in me a pity for my rival, for my -enemy, for my executioner. Everything in her was something of my own, -and it was dreadful for me to drag her forth from the realities of life -and turn her into a phantom. I hesitated and dare not do it, I put it -off from day to day, I did not know myself what I wanted and what I -dreaded.</p> - -<p>And suddenly on a clear spring day men came into the boudoir with planks -and axes. There was no life in me, I lay in the voluptuousness of -torpor, but without seeing them I knew they were there. The men began to -busy themselves near the mirror which was my universe. And one after -another the souls who lived in it with me were awakened and took -transparent flesh in the form of reflections. A dreadful uneasiness<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69"></a>{69}</span> -agitated my slumbering soul. With a presentiment of horror, a -presentiment even of irretrievable ruin, I gathered together all the -might of my will. What efforts it cost me to struggle against the -lassitude of half-existence! So living people sometimes struggle with a -nightmare, tearing themselves from its suffocating bands towards -actuality.</p> - -<p>I concentrated all the force of my suggestion into a summons, directed -towards her, towards my rival—“Come hither!” I hypnotised her, -magnetised her with all the tension of my half-slumbering will. There -was little time. The mirror had already begun to swing. They were -already preparing to nail it up in a wooden coffin, to take it away: -whither I knew not. And with an almost mortal effort I called again and -again, “Come!” And I suddenly began to feel that I was coming to life. -<i>She</i>, my enemy, opened the door, and came to meet me, pale, half-dead, -in answer to my call, with faltering steps as men go to punishment. I -fastened my eyes on hers, bound up my gaze with hers, and when I had -done this I knew already that I had gained the victory.</p> - -<p>I at once compelled her to send the men out of the room. <i>She</i> submitted -without even making an attempt to oppose me. We were alone together once -more. To delay was no longer possible. And I could not bring myself to -forgive her craftiness. In her place, in my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70"></a>{70}</span> time, I should have acted -otherwise. Now I ordered her, without pity, to come to meet me. A moan -of torture opened her lips, her eyes widened as before a phantom, but -she came, trembling, falling—she came. I also went forward to meet her, -lips curving triumphantly, eyes wide open with joy, swaying in an -intoxicating rapture. Again our hands touched each other’s, again our -lips came near together, and we fell each into the other, burning with -the indescribable pain of bodily exchange. In another moment I was -already in front of the mirror, my breast filled itself with air, I -cried out loudly and victoriously and fell just here, in front of the -pier-glass, prone from exhaustion.</p> - -<p>My husband and the servants ran towards me. I could only tell them to -fulfil my previous orders and take the mirror away, out of the house, at -once. That was wisely thought, wasn’t it? You see she, that other, might -have profited by my weakness in the first minutes of my return to life, -and by a desperate assault might have tried to wrest the victory from my -hands. Sending the mirror out of the house, I could ensure my own -quietude for a long time, as long as I liked, and my rival had earned -such a punishment for her cunning. I defeated her with her own tools, -with the blade which she herself had raised against me.</p> - -<p>After having given this order I lost consciousness. They laid me on my -bed. A doctor was called in. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71"></a>{71}</span> was treated as suffering from a nervous -fever. For a long while my relatives had thought me ill, and not normal. -In the first outburst of exultation I told them all that had happened to -me. My stories only increased their suspicions. They sent me to a home -for the mentally afflicted, and I am there now. All my being, I agree, -is profoundly shaken. But I do not want to stay here. I am eager to -return to the joys of life, to all the countless pleasures which are -accessible to a living human being. I have been deprived of them too -long.</p> - -<p>Besides—shall I say it?—there is one thing which I am bound to do as -soon as possible. I ought to have no doubt that I am <i>this</i> I. But all -the same, whenever I begin to think of her who is imprisoned in my -mirror I begin to be seized by a strange hesitation. What if the real -I—is there? Then I myself who think this, I who write this, I—am a -shadow, I—am a phantom, I—am a reflection. In me are only the poured -forth remembrances, thoughts and feelings of that other, the real -person. And, in reality, I am thrown into the depths of the mirror in -nonentity, I am pining, exhausted, dying. I know, I almost know that -this is not true. But in order to disperse the last clouds of doubt, I -ought again once more, for the last time, to see that mirror. I must -look into it once more to be convinced, that there—is the impostor, my -enemy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72"></a>{72}</span> she who played my part for some months. I shall see this and all -the confusion of my soul will pass away, and I shall again be free from -care—bright, happy. Where is this mirror? Where shall I find it? I -must, I must once more look into its depths!...<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73"></a>{73}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="PROTECTION" id="PROTECTION"></a>PROTECTION:<br /> -<small>A CHRISTMAS STORY</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">C</span>OLONEL R. told me this story. We were staying together at the estate of -our mutual relatives, the M’s. It was Christmas-time, and in the -drawing-room one evening the talk turned on ghosts. The Colonel took no -part in the conversation, but when we were alone together—we slept in -the same room—he told me the following story.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>This happened five-and-twenty years ago, and more: it was in the middle -of the seventies. I had only just got my commission. Our regiment was -stationed at *, a small provincial town in the government of X. We spent -our time as officers usually do: we drank, played cards, and paid -attentions to women.</p> - -<p>Among the people living in the neighbourhood, one stood out above the -rest, Mme. C—— Elena Grigorievna. Strictly speaking, she did not -belong to the society there, for until lately she had always lived at -Petersburg. But being left a widow a year previously she had settled -down to live on her country estate,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74"></a>{74}</span> about ten versts from the town. She -was somewhat over thirty years of age, but in her eyes, almost -unnaturally large, there was something childlike, which gave her an -inexplicable charm. All our officers were attracted by her; but I fell -in love with her, as only twenty can fall in love.</p> - -<p>The commander of our company was a relative of Elena Grigorievna, and we -obtained access to her house. She had become somewhat tired of being a -recluse, and liked to have visits from young folks, though she lived -almost alone. We sometimes went to dinner, and spent whole evenings -there. But she behaved with so much tact and goodness that no one could -boast of the slightest intimacy with her. Even malicious provincial -tongues could bring no gossip against her.</p> - -<p>I was sick of love for her. What tortured me more than all was the -impossibility of frankly confessing my love. I would have done anything -in the world just to fall on my knees before Elena Grigorievna and say -aloud to her: “I love you.” Youth is a little like intoxication. For the -sake of having half an hour alone with her whom I loved, I resolved on a -desperate measure. There was much snow that winter. In the Christmas -holidays there was not a day but the wind raised the dry snow from the -ground into the air in whirling eddies. I chose an evening when the -weather<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75"></a>{75}</span> was particularly bad, ordered my horse to be saddled, and set -out over the fields.</p> - -<p>I don’t know how it was I didn’t perish by the way. Everywhere the snow -was whirling and the air was so thick with it that at two paces from me -there stood, as it were, grey walls of snow. On the road the snow was -almost up to one’s knees. Twenty times I lost my way. Twenty times my -horse refused to go further. I had a flask of cognac with me, and but -for it I should have frozen. It took me just on three hours to travel -the ten versts.</p> - -<p>By some sort of miracle I arrived at the house. It was already late, and -I hardly succeeded in knocking up the servants. When the watchman -recognised me he exclaimed in wonder. I was all over snow, covered with -ice, and looked like a Christmas mummer. Of course I had prepared a -story to account for my appearance. My calculations were not at fault. -Elena Grigorievna was obliged to receive me and she ordered a room to be -prepared for me to stay the night.</p> - -<p>In half an hour’s time I was seated in the dining-room, alone with her. -She pressed me to have supper, wine, tea. The logs crackled on the open -fire, the light of a hanging-lamp enclosed us in a circle which to me -seemed magical. I felt not the slightest tiredness and was more in love -than ever.</p> - -<p>I was young, handsome, and certainly no fool. I had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76"></a>{76}</span> every right to the -notice of a woman. But Elena Grigorievna, with unusual dexterity, evaded -all talk of love. She compelled me to talk to her exactly as if we had -been at a party in the midst of many other people. She laughed at my -witticisms, but pretended not to understand any of my hints.</p> - -<p>In spite of this, a special kind of intimacy sprang up between us, -allowing us to speak more openly. And at length, knowing that it was -nearly time to say good-night, I made up my mind. My consciousness, as -it were, reminded me that such a suitable occasion would not repeat -itself. “If you don’t take advantage of to-day,” said I to myself, “you -have only yourself to blame.” By a great effort of will, I suddenly -broke off the conversation in the middle of a word, and in a moment, -somewhat incoherently and awkwardly, I said out all that had been hidden -in my soul.</p> - -<p>“Why are we pretending, Elena Grigorievna? You know very well why I came -to-day. I came to tell you that I love you. And now I say it to you. I -cannot but love you and I want you to love me. Drive me away and I will -humbly depart. If you don’t tell me to go I shall take it as a sign that -you love me. I don’t want anything in between. I want either your anger -or your love.”</p> - -<p>The childlike eyes of Elena Grigorievna became cold. They looked like -crystal. I read such a clear answer<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77"></a>{77}</span> in her countenance that I got up -without another word and wanted to go off straight away. But she stopped -me.</p> - -<p>“That’s enough! Where are you going? Don’t behave like a little boy. Sit -down.”</p> - -<p>She made me sit down near her and began to speak to me as if she had -been an elder sister talking to a wayward child.</p> - -<p>“You are too young yet, and love is something new to you. If another -woman were in my place you would fall in love with her. In a month’s -time you would begin to love a third. But there is another kind of love -which drains the depths of the soul. Such a love I had for Sergey, my -husband, who is dead. I have given to him all I can ever feel. However -much you may speak to me of love, I shall hear you no more than if I -were dead. You must understand that I have no longer any capacity to -attach any meaning to such words. It’s just as if you spoke to someone -who could not hear you. Reconcile yourself to this. You can no more be -offended than if you were unable to make a dead woman love you.”</p> - -<p>Elena Grigorievna spoke with a slight smile. This appeared to me to be -almost insulting. I imagined that she was laughing at me, in thus -putting forward her own love for her dead husband. I felt myself grow -pale. I remember the tears springing to my eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78"></a>{78}</span></p> - -<p>My agitation was not unobserved by Elena Grigorievna. I saw the -expression of her cold eyes begin to change. She understood that I was -suffering. Restraining me with her hand, as she saw I wanted to get up -without replying, she drew her chair nearer mine. I felt her breath on -my face. Then lowering her voice, although we were alone in the room, -she said to me, with a real frankness and tender intimacy:</p> - -<p>“Forgive me, if I’ve offended you. Perhaps I am mistaken about your -feeling, and it’s more serious than I thought. So I will tell you the -whole truth. Listen. My love for Sergey is not dead, but living. I love -him, not for the past, but in the present. I am not separated from him. -I take your confession to me seriously; take mine in the same way. From -the very day of his death, Sergey began to show himself to me, invisibly -but clearly. I am conscious of his nearness, I feel his breath, I hear -his caressing whisper. I answer him and I have quiet talks with him. At -times he almost openly kisses me, on my hair, my cheeks, my lips. At -times I see his reflection dimly in the half-light, in a mirror. As soon -as I am alone, he at once shows himself to me. I am accustomed to this -life with a shadow. I go on loving Sergey in this other form of his, -just as passionately and tenderly as I loved him before. I want no other -love. And I will not break faith with the man who has not left me, even -though he has passed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79"></a>{79}</span> beyond the bounds of this life. If you tell me -that I rave, that I have an hallucination, I shall answer that it makes -no difference to me what you think. I am happy in my love, why should I -refuse my happiness? Let me be happy.”</p> - -<p>Elena Grigorievna spoke this long speech of hers gently, without raising -her voice, and with deep conviction. I was so impressed by her -earnestness that I could find no answer. I looked at her with a certain -awe and pity, as at someone whom grief had crazed. But she had become -the hostess again and spoke now in another tone, as if all she had said -previously might have been a joke:</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s time for us to go to bed. Matthew will show you your -bedroom.”</p> - -<p>Matthew was an old servant of the house. I mechanically kissed the hand -she held out to me. And in another minute Matthew was asking me, in a -lugubrious voice, to follow him. He led me to the other side of the -house, showed me the bed which had been prepared for me, wished me good -night, and left me.</p> - -<p>Only then did I recover myself a little. And, isn’t it strange, my first -feeling was that of shame? I felt ashamed at having played such an -unenviable rôle. I felt ashamed to think that though I had been alone -for two hours with a young woman, in an almost empty house, I hadn’t -even got so far as to kiss her lips. At<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80"></a>{80}</span> that moment I felt more malice -than love towards Elena Grigorievna and a wish to revenge myself upon -her. I had ceased to think that her mind might be unhinged, I thought -she had been making fun of me.</p> - -<p>Sitting down on my bed, I began to think matters over. I was familiar -with the house. I knew that I was in the dead Sergey Dmitrievitch’s -study. The room next was his bedroom, where everything was left exactly -as in his lifetime. On the wall in front of me hung his portrait in -oils. He was in a black coat and was wearing the ribbon of the French -Order of the Legion of Honour, which he had received—I don’t know how -or why—in the time of the Second Empire. And by some sort of strange -connection of ideas, it was this ribbon specially which gave me the idea -of the strangest, wildest plan.</p> - -<p>My face was not unlike that of the dead Sergey Dmitrievitch. Of course -he was older than I. But we both wore a moustache and did our hair -alike. Only his hair was grey. I went into his bedroom. The wardrobe was -unlocked. I looked for the black coat of the portrait and put it on. I -found the ribbon of the Order. I powdered my hair and my moustache. In a -word, I dressed myself up as the dead man.</p> - -<p>Probably if my design had been successful I should be ashamed to tell -you about it. I confess that what I planned was much worse than a simple -joke. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81"></a>{81}</span> would have been absolutely unpardonable had I not been so -young. But I received the due reward of my action.</p> - -<p>Having finished the change of my attire, I directed my steps towards -Elena Grigorievna’s bedroom. Have you ever chanced to creep along at -night in a sleeping house? How distinct is every rustle, how terribly -loud is the creak of every floor-board in the silence! Several times it -seemed to me that I should arouse all the servants.</p> - -<p>At length I gained the wished-for door. My heart beat. I turned the -handle.... The door opened noiselessly. I went in. The room was lighted -by a lamp, which was burning brightly. Elena Grigorievna had not yet -gone to bed. She was seated in a large armchair in her dressing-gown, in -front of a table, deep in thought, in remembrance. She had not heard me -come in.</p> - -<p>I stood for some minutes in the half-shadow, not daring to take a step -forward. Suddenly, Elena Grigorievna, becoming conscious of my presence, -or hearing some sort of noise, turned her head. She saw me and began to -tremble. My stratagem had succeeded better than I might have expected. -She took me for her dead husband. Getting up from the armchair with a -faint cry she stretched out her arms to me. I heard her voice of joy:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82"></a>{82}</span></p> - -<p>“Sergey! It is you! At last!”</p> - -<p>And then, all trembling with agitation, she sank down again, seemingly -unconscious, into her chair.</p> - -<p>Not fully aware of what I wanted to do, I ran towards her. But the -instant I came close to the armchair I saw before me the form of another -man. This was so unexpected that I stood still, as if the rigour of -death had overtaken me. Afterwards I reflected that a large mirror must -have stood there. This other man was a perfect replica of myself. He too -wore a black coat; on his breast he too wore the ribbon of the Legion of -Honour. And in a moment I understood that this was he whose form I had -stolen, he who had come from beyond the grave to protect his wife. A -sharp terror ran through all my limbs.</p> - -<p>For several seconds we stood facing one another by the chair in which -lay unconscious the woman for whom we were striving. I was unable to -make the slightest movement. And he, this phantom, quietly raised his -hand and made a threatening gesture towards me.</p> - -<p>I took part afterwards in the Turkish War. I have looked on death and -have seen all that would be counted terrible. But I have never again -experienced such horror as then overcame me. This threat from the other -world stopped the beating of my heart and the flow of blood in my veins. -For a moment I almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83"></a>{83}</span> became a corpse myself. Then without another -glance, I rushed to the door.</p> - -<p>Holding on by the walls, staggering along, not caring how loudly my -steps resounded, I reached my own room. I had not sufficient courage to -look at the portrait hanging on the wall. I threw myself flat on the -bed, and a sort of black stupor held me fast there.</p> - -<p>I wakened at dawn. I was still wearing the same false attire. In an -agony of shame I took it off and hung it up in its place. Dressing -myself in my own uniform, I went to find Matthew, and told him I must -leave at once. He was evidently not in the least surprised. I asked the -housemaid Glasha if her mistress were still asleep, and got the answer -that she was sleeping peacefully. This cheered me. I begged her to say -that I apologised for leaving without saying good-bye, and galloped off.</p> - -<p>A few days later I went with some friends to visit Elena Grigorievna. -She received me with her usual courtesy. Not by a single hint did she -remind me of that night. And to this day, it is a mystery to me; did she -or did she not understand what happened?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84"></a>{84}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_BEMOL_SHOP_OF_STATIONERY" id="THE_BEMOL_SHOP_OF_STATIONERY"></a>THE “BEMOL” SHOP OF STATIONERY<br /> -<small>From the life of “one of the least of these.”</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>S soon as Anna Nikolaevna had finished school a place was found for her -as saleswoman in the stationery shop “Bemol.”<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> Why the shop was called -by this name would be difficult to say; probably music had once been -sold there. It was situated in a turning off one of the boulevards, had -few customers, and Anna Nikolaevna used to spend whole days almost -alone. Her only assistant, the boy Fedka, lay down to sleep after -morning tea, woke up when it was time to run to the cookshop for dinner, -and on his return slept again. In the evening the proprietor, an old -German woman, Carolina Gustavovna, came in for half an hour, collected -the takings, and reproached Anna Nikolaevna for her inability to attract -customers. Anna Nikolaevna was dreadfully afraid of her and listened to -her without daring to utter a word. The shop was closed at nine; Anna -Nikolaevna went home to her aunt, drank weak tea with stale biscuits, -and went at once to bed.</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> Russian shops are often given fantastic names which are -printed above the windows instead of the names of the owners.</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85"></a>{85}</span></p> - -<p>At first Anna Nikolaevna thought she could find distraction in reading. -She got as many novels and old magazines as she could, and read them -conscientiously through page by page. But she mixed up the names of the -heroes in the novels, and she could never understand why they wrote -about the various imaginary Jeans and Blanches, and why they described -beautiful mornings, all of them exactly like one another. Reading was -for her labour and not relaxation, so she gave up books. Young men did -not unduly pester her with their attentions, for they did not find her -interesting. If one of the customers stayed too long talking -amiabilities to her, she went away into the little room behind the shop -and sent Fedka out. If any one tried to speak to her on her way home, -she would say no word, but either hasten her steps or just run as fast -as she could to her own door. She had no friends, she did not keep up a -correspondence with any of her schoolfellows, she only spoke to her aunt -about two words a day. And in this way the weeks and months went by.</p> - -<p>Then Anna Nikolaevna began to make friends with the world which lay -around her—the world of paper, envelopes, postcards, pencils, pens, the -world of pictures, pictures in sets, pictures in relief, pictures for -cutting out. This world was to her more comprehensible than that of -books and was more friendly to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86"></a>{86}</span> her than the world of people. She soon -learned to know all the kinds of paper and pens, all the series of -postcards, and she named them all instead of calling them by numbers; -she began to love some of them and to count others as her enemies. To -her favourites she allotted the best places in the shop. She kept the -very newest boxes, those with an edging of gold paper, for the -writing-paper from a certain factory in Riga having the watermark of a -fish. The sets of pictures representing types of ancient Egyptians were -arranged in a special drawer in which she kept only these and some -penholders with little doves at the end of the holder. The postcards on -which were drawn “The Way to the Stars” she wrapped up separately in -rose-coloured paper and sealed them with a wafer like a forget-me-not. -But she hated the thick bloated-looking glass inkstands, hated the lined -transparent paper which would never keep straight and seemed always to -be laughing at her, hated the rolls of crinkled paper for lampshades, -proud and sumptuous looking. These things she would hide away in the -remotest corner of the shop.</p> - -<p>Anna Nikolaevna rejoiced when she sold any of her favourite articles. It -was only when her store of this or that kind of thing began to run short -that she would get anxious and even dare to beg Carolina Gustavovna to -obtain a new supply as soon as possible. Once she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87"></a>{87}</span> unexpectedly got sold -out of the parts of the little letter-weights which acted badly and of -which she had grown fond because of their misfortune, the proprietor -herself sold the last one evening and would not order any more. Anna -Nikolaevna wept for two whole days after. When she sold the articles she -did not care for she felt vexed. When a customer took whole dozens of -ugly exercise books with blue flowers on the covers, or highly coloured -postcards with the portraits of actors, it seemed to her that her -favourites had been insulted. On such occasions she so stubbornly -dissuaded the customers from buying that many of them went out of the -shop without purchasing anything at all.</p> - -<p>Anna Nikolaevna was convinced that everything in the shop understood -her. When she turned over the leaves of the quires of her beloved paper -they rustled so welcomingly. When she kissed the little doves on the -ends of the penholders they fluttered their little wooden wings. In the -quiet wintry days when it was snowing outside the hoar-frosted -window-pane with its ugly circles made by the warmth of the lamps, when -for whole hours no one came into the shop, she would hold long -conversations with all the things standing on the shelves or lying in -the drawers and boxes. She would listen to their unuttered speech and -exchange smiles and glances with the things she knew.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88"></a>{88}</span> In a rapture she -would spread out on the counter her favourite pictures—of angels, -flowers, Egyptians—and tell them fairy tales and listen to their -stories. Sometimes they all sang to her in a hardly audible chorus, a -soothing lullaby. Anna Nikolaevna would listen to this until an entering -customer would smile unkindly, thinking he had awakened her from sleep.</p> - -<p>Before Christmas Anna Nikolaevna had a bad time. Customers were -unusually frequent. The shop was filled up with a pile of gaudy -eye-offending cards, with ugly crackers and gilt Christmas-tree -decorations, exposed in flimsy boxes. On the walls hung pull-off -calendars with portraits of great men. The shop was full of people and -there was no escape from them. But all the summer Anna Nikolaevna had a -complete rest. There was hardly any trade, very often the day passed -without a copeck being taken. The proprietor went away from Moscow for -whole months. In the shop it was dusty and suffocating, but quiet. Anna -Nikolaevna distributed her favourite pictures all over the shop, placed -her favourite pencils, pens and erasers in the best positions in the -glass cases. She cut out narrow ribbons from coloured cigarette-paper -and wreathed them round the stiff columns of the cupboards. She spoke in -loud whispers to her beloved objects, telling them about her own -childhood, about her mother, and weeping as she did so. And it seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89"></a>{89}</span> -to her that they comforted her. And so months and years went by.</p> - -<p>Anna Nikolaevna never dreamed that her life might change. But one autumn -day Carolina Gustavovna, having come back to Moscow in a particularly -bad and quarrelsome mood, declared that there would be a general -stock-taking. The following Sunday a notice was pasted on the door: -“This shop is closed to-day.” Anna Nikolaevna looked on mournfully while -the proprietor’s fat fingers turned over the leaves of her best -notepaper, those delicate and elegant sheets, crumpling the edges; -carelessly flinging on to the counter her cherished penholders with the -doves. In the trade-book, where Anna Nikolaevna had written in her timid -pale handwriting, the proprietor scrawled rude remarks with flourishes -and ink-blots. Carolina Gustavovna found many things missing—whole -stacks of paper, some gross of pencils, and various separate articles—a -stereoscope, magnifying glasses, frames. Anna Nikolaevna felt sure she -had never seen them in the shop. Then Carolina Gustavovna calculated -that the takings had been growing less every month. This she brought to -the notice of Anna Nikolaevna and blamed her for it, called her a thief, -said she had no further use for her services, and dismissed her from her -post.</p> - -<p>Anna Nikolaevna burst into tears, but did not dare<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90"></a>{90}</span> to utter a word of -protest. When she got home, of course, she had to listen to her aunt’s -reproaches, who at first called her a good-for-nothing, and then changed -her tone and threatened to prosecute the German woman, saying she -couldn’t allow her niece to be insulted. But Anna Nikolaevna was not so -much afraid of losing her place nor troubled by the injustice of -Carolina Gustavovna; she could not bear to be separated from the beloved -things in the shop. She thought of the pictured angels balancing on the -clouds, of the heads of Marie Stuart, of the paper bearing the watermark -of a fish, of the familiar boxes and drawers, and sobbed unceasingly. -She remembered that happy evening hour when the lamps had just been -lighted, remembered her silent conversations with her friends and the -almost inaudible chorus sounding from the shelves, and her heart was -rent with despair. At the thought that never, never should she see her -loved ones again, she threw herself down upon her little bed and prayed -that she might die.</p> - -<p>After about six weeks her aunt was happy to find her a new situation, -once more in a stationery shop, but in a much-frequented and busy -street. Anna Nikolaevna entered upon her new duties with a pang at her -heart. There were two others beside herself in the shop, another girl -and a young man. The master also spent the greater part of the day -there. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91"></a>{91}</span> were many customers, for the shop was near several -educational institutions. All day Anna Nikolaevna was under the eyes of -the others, and they laughed at her and despised her. She did not find -her former beloved objects in the new shop. All the things were ordered -through other agents from different firms. Paper, pencils, pens—nothing -here seemed to be alive. And if there were any things like those in -“Bemol,” they did not recognise Anna Nikolaevna and it was useless for -her when she had a moment to whisper to them their tenderest names.</p> - -<p>The only pleasure she had now was to look in at the windows of her old -shop on her way home in the evening, as it closed later than the new -one. She gazed through the dusty windowpanes into the well-known room. -Behind the counter stood the new saleswoman, a good-looking German girl -with her hair in curling-pins. In Fedka’s place was a tall -fifteen-year-old lad. Customers came laughing out of the shop, they had -found it pleasant inside. But Anna Nikolaevna believed that her friends, -the pictures and penholders and exercise books, remembered her and liked -it better in the old days, and this belief comforted her.</p> - -<p>For a long while Anna Nikolaevna nursed the fancy that she would one day -go inside the shop once more and look again on the old cupboards and -show-cases, to show her beloved things that she still remembered<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92"></a>{92}</span> them. -Several times she said to herself that it should be that day, but -changed her mind, being specially afraid of meeting the proprietor. But -one evening she saw Carolina Gustavovna come out of the shop and drive -away in a cab. This gave her courage. She opened the shop door and -entered with a beating heart. The German girl in the curl-papers was -preparing a captivating smile, but seeing a lady customer she contented -herself with a slight inclination of the head.</p> - -<p>“What can I do for you, miss?”</p> - -<p>“Give me ... give me ... some note-paper ... a quire ... with the -fishes.”</p> - -<p>The German girl smiled condescendingly, guessing what was meant, and -went to the cupboard. Anna Nikolaevna watched her with distrustful and -mournful eyes. In her time this paper had been kept in the box with a -gold border. But the box was not there now. In its place there were ugly -black drawers labelled No. 4, 20 copecks, Ministry Paper 40 copecks. The -best places in the cupboards were occupied by the glass inkstands. A -pile of crinkled paper took up the whole of the lower shelf. The -postcards with the portraits of actors were arranged fan-wise and -fastened here and there on the walls. Everything had been moved, -displaced, changed.</p> - -<p>The German girl put the paper in front of Anna Nikolaevna, asking her -which sort she wanted. Anna<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93"></a>{93}</span> Nikolaevna eagerly took into her hands the -beautiful sheets which once had responded to her caressing touch, but -now they were stiff as death, and as pale. She looked round piteously, -everything was dead, everything was deaf and dumb.</p> - -<p>“Thirty three copecks to you, miss.”</p> - -<p>Even the price was altered. Anna Nikolaevna paid the money and went out -of the shop into the cold, holding the roll of paper tightly in her -hand. The October wind penetrated her short, well-worn coat. The light -of the street lamps was diffused in large blobs in the mist. All was -cold and hopeless.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94"></a>{94}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="RHEA_SILVIA" id="RHEA_SILVIA"></a>RHEA SILVIA<br /> -<small>A STORY FROM THE LIFE OF THE SIXTH CENTURY</small></h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">M</span>ARIA was the daughter of Rufus the Scribe. She was not yet ten years -old when on the 17th of December, 546, Rome was taken by Totila, the -king of the Goths. The magnanimous victor ordered bugles to be blown all -night, so that the Roman people might escape from their native town as -soon as they realised the danger of remaining there. Totila knew the -violence of his soldiers and he had no wish that all the population of -the ancient capital of the world should perish by the swords of the -Goths. So Rufus and his wife Florentia fled with their little daughter -Maria. An enormous crowd of refugees from Rome left the city through the -night by the Appian Way; hundreds of them falling exhausted on the road. -The greater number, among whom were Rufus and his family, succeeded in -getting as far as Bovillæ, where, however, very many were unable to find -shelter. Many of them had to camp out in the open. Later on they were -all scattered in various directions, seeking some place of refuge. Some -went to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95"></a>{95}</span> the Campagna and were taken prisoners by the Goths, who were in -possession there; some got as far as the sea and were even able to set -out for Sicily. The rest either remained as beggars in the neighbourhood -of Bovillæ or managed to get into Samnium.</p> - -<p>Rufus had a friend living near Corbio. To this poor man, Anthony by -name, who earned a living by rearing pigs on a small plot of land, Rufus -brought his family. Anthony took the fugitives in and shared with them -his scanty store. And while living in the swineherd’s wretched hut Rufus -heard of all the misfortunes which came upon Rome. At one time Totila -threatened to raze the Eternal City to its foundations and turn it into -a place of pasture. But the Gothic king afterwards relented and -contented himself by burning several districts of the town and pillaging -all that still remained from the cupidity and violence of Alaric, -Genseric and Ricimer. In the spring of 547 Totila left Rome, but he took -off with him all the inhabitants who had remained in the city. For forty -days the capital of the world stood empty: there was not a human being -left in it, and along its streets wandered only frightened animals and -wild beasts. Then, timidly, a few at a time, the Romans began to return -to their city. And a little later Rome was occupied by Belisarius and -was once more united to the dominions of the Eastern empire.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96"></a>{96}</span></p> - -<p>Then Rufus and his family returned to Rome. They sought out their little -house on the Remuria, which by reason of its insignificance had been -spared by the spoilers. Almost all the poor belongings of Rufus were -found to be intact, including the library and its rolls of parchment, so -precious to the scribe. It seemed as if it might be possible to forget -all the misfortunes they had undergone, as in some oppressive dream, and -to continue their former life. But very soon it became clear that such a -hope was deceptive. The war was far from being at an end. Rome had to -endure another siege by Totila when again the inhabitants died in -hundreds from hunger and lack of water. Then when the Goths at length -raised their unsuccessful siege, Belisarius also left Rome, and the city -acknowledged the rule of the covetous Byzantine Konon, from whom the -Romans fled as from an enemy. At a later period the Goths, taking -advantage of treacherous sentries, occupied Rome for the second time. -This time, however, Totila not only refrained from plundering the city, -but he even strove to bring into it some kind of order, and he wished to -restore the ruined buildings. At length, after the death of Totila, Rome -was taken by Narses. This was in 552.</p> - -<p>It would be difficult to show clearly how Rufus managed to live through -these six calamitous years. In the time of war and siege no one had need -of the art<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97"></a>{97}</span> of a scribe. No one any longer gave Rufus an order for a -transcription from the works of the ancient poets or the fathers of the -Church. In the city there were no authorities to whom it might be -necessary to address petitions of various kinds. There were not many -people, money was very scarce and food supplies scarcer still. He had to -make a living by any kind of accidental work, serving either Goths or -Byzantines, not disdaining to be a stone-mason when the town walls were -being repaired or to be a porter of baggage for the troops. And with all -this the entire family often went hungry, not only for days, but for -whole weeks. Wine was not to be thought of; the only drink was bad water -from the cisterns or from the Tiber, for the aqueducts had been -destroyed by the Goths. It was only possible to endure such privations -by knowing that everybody without exception was subject to them. The -descendants of senators and patricians, the children of the richest and -most illustrious families would ask on the streets for a piece of bread, -as beggars. Rusticiana, the daughter of Symmachus and widow of Boethius, -held out her hand for alms.</p> - -<p>It was not to be wondered at that during these years the little Maria -was left very much to her own devices. In her early childhood her father -had taught her to read both Greek and Latin. But after their return to -Rome he had no time to occupy himself further with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98"></a>{98}</span> her education. For -whole days together she would do just what she thought she would. Her -mother did not require her help in housekeeping, for there was hardly -any housekeeping to be done. In order to pass the time Maria used to -read the books which were still preserved in the house as there was no -one who would buy them. But more often she would go out of the house and -wander like a little wild animal about the deserted streets, forums and -squares, much too broad for the now insignificant populace. The few -passers-by soon became accustomed to the black-eyed girl in ragged -garments, who ran about everywhere like a mouse, and they paid no -attention to her. Rome became, as it were, an immense home for Maria. -She knew it better than any writer who had described its noteworthy -treasures of old time. Day after day she would go out into the immense -area of the city, where over a million people had once dwelt, and she -would learn to love some corners of it and detest others. And it was -often not until late evening that she would return to her father’s -cheerless roof, where it often happened that she would go supperless to -bed, after a whole day spent on her feet.</p> - -<p>In her wanderings through the town Maria would visit the most remote -districts on either side of the Tiber, where there were empty partly -burnt down houses, and there she would dream of the greatness of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99"></a>{99}</span> Rome -in the past. She would examine the few statues which still remained -whole in the squares—the immense bull on the Bull forum, the giant -elephants in bronze on the Sacred Way, the statues of Domitian, Marcus -Aurelius, and other famous men of ancient time, the columns, obelisks -and bas-reliefs, striving to remember what she had read about them all, -and if her knowledge was scanty, she would supplement it by any story -she had read. She would go into the abandoned palaces of people who had -once been rich, and admire the pitiful remains of former luxury in the -decoration of the rooms, the mosaic of the floors, the various-coloured -marble of the walls, the sumptuous tables, chairs, candlesticks, which -in some places still remained. In this way she visited the ruined baths, -which were like separate towns within the city, and were entirely -deserted because there was no water to supply their insatiable pipes; in -some of the buildings could still be seen magnificent marble reservoirs, -mosaic floors, bathing chairs, baths of precious alabaster or porphyry, -and in places some half-destroyed statues which had escaped being used -by Goths and Byzantines as material for hurling at the enemy from the -ballista. In the quietness of the enormous rooms Maria would hear echoes -of the rich and careless lives of the thousands and thousands of people -who had gathered there daily to meet friends, to discuss literature<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a>{100}</span> or -philosophy, and to anoint their effeminate bodies before festival -banquets. In the Grand Circus—which now looked like a wild ravine, for -it was all overgrown with weeds and tall grasses—Maria thought of the -triumphant horse-racing competitions, on which thousands of spectators -had gazed and deafened the fortunate victors with a storm of applause. -She could not but know of these festivals, for the last of them (oh! -pitiful shadow of past splendour) had been arranged once more in her own -lifetime by Totila during his second sovereignty in Rome. Sometimes -Maria would simply walk along the Tiber bank, sit down in some -comfortable spot under some half-ruined wall, and look at the yellow -waters of the river, made famous by poets and artists, and in the -quietness of the deserted place she would think and dream, and think and -dream again.</p> - -<p>She became accustomed to live in her dreams. The half-ruined, -half-abandoned town fed her imagination generously. Everything she heard -from her elders, everything she read in her disorderly fashion from her -father’s books, mingled itself together in her brain into a strange, -chaotic, but endlessly captivating representation of the great and -ancient city. She was convinced that the former Rome had been in reality -the concentration of all beauty, a marvellous town where all was -enchantment, where all life had been one continuous<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a>{101}</span> festival. Centuries -and epochs were confused in her poor little head, the times of Orestes -seemed to her no further away than the rule of Trajan, and the reign of -the wise Numa Pompilius as near as that of Odoacer. For her, antiquity -comprised all that preceded the Goths; far away but still happy was the -olden time, the rule of the great Theodoric; the new time began for her -at her birth, at the time of the first siege of Rome, in the time of -Belisarius. In antiquity everything seemed to Maria to be marvellous, -beautiful, wonderful; in the olden time all was attractive and -fortunate, in modern times everything was miserable and dreadful. And -she tried not to notice the cruel reality of the present, but to live in -her dreams in the antiquity which she loved, with her favourite heroes, -among whom were the god Bacchus; Camillus, the second founder of the -city; Caesar, who had been exalted up to the stars in the heavens; -Diocletian, the wisest of all people, and Romulus Augustulus, the -unhappiest of all the great. All these and many others whose names she -had only heard by chance were the beloved of her reveries and the -ordinary apparitions of her half-childish dreams.</p> - -<p>Little by little in her dreams Maria created her own history of Rome, -not at all like that which was told at one time by the eloquent Livy and -afterwards by other historians and annalists. As she admired the -statues<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a>{102}</span> which still remained whole and read their half-erased -inscriptions, Maria interpreted everything in her own way and found -everywhere corroboration of her own unrestrained imagination. She said -to herself that such and such a statue represented the young Augustus, -and nothing would then have convinced her that it was—a bad portrait of -some half-barbarian who had lived only fifty years ago, and had forced -some ignorant maker of tombs to immortalise his features in a piece of -cheap marble. Or when she looked at a bas-relief depicting some scene -from the Odyssey she would create from it a long story in which her -beloved heroes would again figure—Mars, Brutus, or the emperor -Honorius, and would soon be convinced that she had read this story in -one of her father’s books. She would create legend after legend, myth -after myth, and live in their world as one more real than the world of -books, and still more real than the pitiful world which encompassed her.</p> - -<p>After she had dreamed for a sufficiently long time, and when she felt -tired out by walking and exhausted by hunger, Maria would return home. -There her mother, who had become bad-tempered from the misfortunes she -had endured, would meet her gloomily, roughly push towards her a piece -of bread and a morsel of cheese, or a head of garlic if there happened -to be one in the kitchen, adding occasionally some scolding<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a>{103}</span> words to -the meagre supper. Maria, unsociable as a captive bird, would eat what -was given her and then hasten away to her little room and its hard bed -to dream again until she slept and then dream again in her sleep about -the blessed, dazzling times of antiquity. On especially happy days, when -her father happened to be at home and in a good temper, he would -sometimes have a chat with Maria. And their talk would quickly turn to -the ancient times, so dear to them both. Maria would question her father -about bygone Rome, and then hold her breath while the old scribe, led -away by his theme, would begin to talk of the great empire in the time -of Theodosius, or recite verses from the ancient poets, Virgil, Ausonias -and Claudian. And the chaos in her poor little head would fall into -still greater confusion, and at times it would begin to seem to her that -her actual life was only a dream, and that in reality she was living in -the blessed times of Ennius Augustus or Gratian.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>After the occupation of Rome by Narses, life in the city began to take -more or less its ordinary course. The ruler established himself on the -Palatine, some of the desolated rooms of the Imperial palace were -renovated for him, and in the evenings they were lit up with lamps. The -Byzantines had brought money with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a>{104}</span> them, and trade in Rome began to -revive. The main streets became comparatively safe and the impoverished -inhabitants of the empty Campagna brought provisions into Rome to sell. -Here and there wine taverns were reopened. There was even a demand for -articles of luxury, which were purchased mainly by the frivolous women -who, like a flock of ravens, followed the mongrel armies of the great -eunuch. Monks went to and fro along all the streets, and from them also -it was possible to make some sort of profit. The thirty or forty -thousand inhabitants now gathered together in Rome, including the -troops, gave to the city, especially in the central districts, the -appearance of a populous and even of a lively place.</p> - -<p>There was found at length some real work for Rufus. Narses, and -afterwards his successor, the Byzantine general, received various -complaints and petitions for the copying of which the art of a scribe -was in request. The edicts of Justinian, acknowledging some of the acts -of the Gothic kings and repudiating others, afforded pretext for endless -chicanery and processes of law. Rufus sometimes had to copy papers -addressed directly to His Holiness the Emperor in Byzantium, and for -these he was comparatively well paid. And more important orders came to -him. A new monastery wanted to have a written list of its service-books. -A whimsical person ordered a copy of the poems of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a>{105}</span> famous Rutilius. -In the house of Rufus there was once more a certain sufficiency. The -family could have dinner every day and need no longer feel anxious about -the morrow.</p> - -<p>Everything might have been well in Rufus’ home if the scribe, who had -aged greatly in consequence of years of deprivation, had not taken to -drink. Oftentimes he left all his earnings in some tavern or other. This -was a heavy blow for Florentia. She struggled in every way to combat the -unhappy passion of her husband and tried to take from him all the money -he earned, but Rufus descended to every sort of artifice and always -found means of getting drunk. Maria, on the contrary, loved the days of -her father’s drunken bouts. Then he would come home in a gay mood and -pay no attention to the tears and reproaches of Florentia, but would -eagerly call Maria to him, if she were at home, talk to her again -endlessly about the old greatness of the Eternal City, and read to her -verses from the old poets and those of his own composition. The -half-witted girl and her drunken father somehow understood one another, -and they often sat together till late in the night, after the angry -Florentia had left them and gone to bed alone.</p> - -<p>Maria herself did not change her way of life. In vain her father when -sober forced her to help him in his work. In vain her mother was angry -with her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a>{106}</span> daughter for not sharing with her the cares of housekeeping. -When Maria was obliged she would against her will sullenly transcribe a -few lines or peel a few onions, but at the first opportunity she would -run out of the house to wander all day again in her favourite corners of -the city. She was scolded on her return, but she listened silently to -all reproaches and made no reply. What mattered scoldings to her when in -her vision there still glistened all the sumptuous pictures with which -her imagination had been soothed while she had been hidden near a -porphyry basin in the baths of Caracullus or had lain secreted in the -thick grass on the banks of old Tiber. For the sake of not having her -visions taken from her she would willingly have endured blows and every -kind of torture. In these visions were all her life.</p> - -<p>In the autumn of 554 Maria saw in the streets of Rome the triumphal -procession of Narses—the last triumph celebrated in the Eternal City. -The eunuch’s troops of many different races—among whom were Greeks, -Huns, Heruli, Gepidæ, Persians—passed in an inharmonious crowd along -the Sacred Way, bearing rich booty taken from the Goths. The soldiers -sang gay songs in the most diverse languages and their voices mingled in -wild and deafening cries. The general, crowned with laurel, drove in a -chariot drawn by white horses. At the gates of Rome he was met by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a>{107}</span> men -dressed in white togas making themselves out to be senators. Narses went -through half-demolished Rome, along streets in which the grass had grown -up between the mighty paving-stones, in the direction of the Capitol. -There he laid down his crown before a statue of Justinian, obtained from -somewhere or other for this occasion. Then he went on foot through the -town once more, going back to the Basilica of St. Peter, where he was -met by the Pope and clergy in festival robes. The Roman people crowded -into the streets and gazed at the spectacle without any special -enthusiasm, though the chief actors had done their utmost to make it -magnificent. The Byzantine triumph was for Romans something foreign, -almost like a triumph of the enemies of their native land.</p> - -<p>And on Maria the triumphal procession made no impression whatever. She -looked with indifferent eyes upon the medley of colours in the soldiers’ -garments, on the triumphal toga of the eunuch—a small, beardless old -man with shifty eyes—and on the festal robes of the priests. The songs -and martial cries of the soldiers only aroused her horror. It all seemed -to her so different from the triumphs she had so often imagined in her -lonely visions—the triumphs of Augustus Vespasian, Valentian! Here -everything appeared to her to be strange and ugly; there, all had been -magnificence and beauty! And without waiting to see the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a>{108}</span> whole of the -procession, Maria ran away from the basilica of St. Peter on to the -Appian Way, to the ruined baths of Caracullus, which she loved, so that -in the quietness of the marble hall she might weep freely over the -irrevocable past and see it anew in her dreams, living and beautiful as -it alone could be. Maria went home late that day and did not wish to -answer any questions as to whether she had seen the procession.</p> - -<p>At this time Maria was nearly eighteen. She was not beautiful. She was -thin, her figure was undeveloped and with her wild black eyes and the -hectic colour in her cheeks she rather affrighted than attracted -attention. She had no friend. When the young girls of the neighbourhood -spoke to her she answered abruptly and in monosyllables, and hastened to -bring the conversation to an end. How could they—these other -girls—understand her secret dreams, her sacred visions? Of what could -she speak with them? She was thought not so much to be stupid as -imbecile. And then, she never went to church. Sometimes, on the deserted -streets a drunken passer-by would come up to her and try to take her arm -or embrace her. Then Maria would turn on him like a wild cat, -scratching, biting, hitting out with her fists, and she would be left in -peace. One young man, however, the son of a neighbouring coppersmith, -had wanted to pay attentions to her. When her mother spoke to her about -him Maria heard<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a>{109}</span> the news with unfeigned horror. When her mother became -insistent, saying that she could not now find a better husband anywhere -Maria began to sob in such desperation that Florentia left her alone, -making up her mind that her daughter was either too young to be married -or that she was indeed not quite in her right mind. So Maria was allowed -to live in freedom and to fill up her endless leisure time as she -pleased.</p> - -<p>So passed days and weeks and months. Rufus worked and drank. Florentia -busied herself over her housekeeping and scolded. Both thought -themselves unhappy, and cursed their wretched fate. Maria alone was -happy in the world of her fancies. She began to pay less and less -attention to the hateful actuality of her surroundings. She went deeper -and deeper into the kingdom of her visions. She already held -conversations with the forms which her imagination created as with -living people. She used to return home with the conviction that to-day -she had met the goddess Vesta or the dictator Sulla. She would remember -the things she had imagined as if they had actually taken place. When -she talked with her father at nights she would tell him all her -remembrances, and the old Rufus would not be amazed. Every story of hers -gave him a pretext for being ready with some lines of poetry—he would -complete and develop the insane fancies of his daughter, and as she -listened sleepily to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a>{110}</span> their strange conversations Florentia would -sometimes spit and pronounce a curse, sometimes cross herself and -whisper a prayer to the Holy Virgin.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>In the spring following the triumphal procession of Narses Maria was one -day wandering near the ruined walls of the baths of Trajan, when she -noticed that in one place, where evidently the Esquiline Hill took its -rise, there was a strange opening in the ground, like an entrance -somewhere. The district was a deserted one; all around there were only -deserted and uninhabited houses; the pavements were broken and the steep -slope of the hill was overgrown with tall grass. After some effort Maria -succeeded in getting to the opening. Beyond it was a dark and narrow -passage. Without hesitation she crawled into it. She had to crawl for a -long way in utter darkness and in a stifling atmosphere. At the end of -the passage there was a sudden drop. When Maria’s eyes grew accustomed -to the darkness she could distinguish by the faint light which came from -the opening by which she had entered that in front of her was a spacious -hall of some unknown palace. After a little reflection the girl -considered that she would not be able to see it without a light. She -went back cautiously, and all that day she wandered about, pondering on -the matter. Rome<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a>{111}</span> seemed to her to be her own property, and she could -not endure the idea that there was anything in the city about which she -knew nothing.</p> - -<p>The next day, having secured a home-made torch, Maria returned to the -place. Not without some danger to herself she got down into the hall she -had discovered and there lighted the torch. A stately chamber presented -itself to her gaze. The lower half of the walls was of marble, and above -it were painted marvellous pictures. Bronze statues stood in niches, -amazing work, for the statues seemed to be living people. It was -possible to distinguish that the floor, now covered with earth and -rubbish, was of mosaic. After admiring this new spectacle, Maria was -emboldened to go further. Through an immense door she passed into a -whole labyrinth of passages and cross-passages leading her into a new -hall, still more magnificent than the first. Further on was a long suite -of rooms, decorated with marble and gold, with wall paintings and -statuary; in many places there still remained valuable furniture and -various domestic articles of fine workmanship. Spiders, lizards, -sow-bugs ran all around; bats fluttered here and there; but Maria, -enthralled by the unique spectacle, saw nothing of them. Before her was -the life of ancient Rome, living, in all its fulness, discovered by her -at last.</p> - -<p>How long she enjoyed herself there on that first<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a>{112}</span> day of her discovery -she did not know. She was overcome, either by her strong agitation or by -the foul atmosphere. When she came to her senses again she was on the -damp stone floor, and her torch was extinguished, having burnt itself -out. In utter darkness she began gropingly to seek a way out. She -wandered for a long time, for many hours, but only became confused in -the countless passages and rooms. In the misty consciousness of the girl -there was a glimmer of a notion that she was fated to die in this -unknown palace, which was itself buried under the ground. Such an idea -did not alarm Maria; on the contrary, it seemed to her both beautiful -and desirable to end her life among the splendid remains of ancient -life, in a marble hall, at the foot of a beautiful statue somewhere or -other. She was only sorry for one thing—that darkness lay around her, -and that she was not fated to see the beauty in the midst of which she -was to die.... Suddenly a ray of light shone before her. Gathering up -her strength, Maria went towards it. It was the light of the moon -shining through an opening like that by which she had entered the -palace. But this opening was in an entirely different hall. By great -efforts, scrambling up by the projections of the walls Maria got out -into the open air in an hour when the whole city was already asleep and -the moon reigned in her full glory over the heaps of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a>{113}</span> half-ruined -buildings. Keeping close by the walls, in order to attract no attention, -Maria reached home almost dead from exhaustion. Her father was absent, -he did not come home all that night, and her mother only uttered a few -coarse outcries.</p> - -<p>After this Maria began daily to visit the subterranean palace she had -discovered. Little by little she learnt all its corridors and halls, so -that she could wander about them in utter darkness without fear of -losing her way again. She always carried with her, however, a little -lamp or a resin torch, so that she could adequately enjoy the sumptuous -decorations of the rooms. She learnt to know all about them. She knew -the rooms which were covered with paintings and decorations in crimson, -others where a yellow colour predominated, others which by the green of -the paintings reminded her of fresh meadows or of a garden, others which -were all white with ornamentations of black ebony: she knew all the wall -paintings, some of which depicted scenes from the lives of gods and -heroes, some showed the great battles of antiquity, some showed the -portraits of great men, others the ridiculous adventures of fauns and -cupids; she knew all the statues that were preserved in the palace, both -bronze and marble, the small busts in the niches, the glorious piece of -sculpture of entire figures of enormous size which represented three -people, a man and two youths, who were encircled<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a>{114}</span> in the coils of a -gigantic serpent and were vainly striving to free themselves from its -fatal embrace.</p> - -<p>But of all the decorations in the underground palace Maria specially -loved one bas-relief. It represented a young girl, slim and graceful, -resting in a deep sleep in a kind of cave; near her stood a youth in -warlike armour, with a noble face of marvellous beauty; above them, and -as it were in the clouds, was depicted a woven basket containing two -young children, floating on a river. It seemed to Maria that the -features of the young girl in the picture were like her own. She -recognised herself in this slim sleeping princess, and for whole hours -she would untiringly admire her, imagining herself in her place. At -times Maria was ready to believe that some ancient artist had -marvellously divined that at some time a young girl Maria would appear -in the world, and that he had by anticipation, created her portrait in -the bas-relief of the mysterious enchanted palace, which must have been -preserved untouched under the earth for hundreds of years. The -significance of the other figures in the bas-relief was not realised by -her for a long while.</p> - -<p>But one evening Maria happened once more to have a talk with her father, -who had come home drunk and in a gay mood. They were alone, for -Florentia, as usual, had left them to their foolish chattering and had -gone to bed. Maria told her father of the underground<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a>{115}</span> palace she had -discovered and of its treasures. The old Rufus listened to this story in -the same way as he heard all the other fancies of his daughter. When she -used to tell him that she had that day met Constantine the Great in the -street and that he had graciously conversed with her, Rufus would not be -surprised, but he would begin to talk about Constantine. And now, when -Maria spoke to him of the treasures of the underground palace the old -scribe at once talked about this palace.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, little daughter,” said he. “Between the Palatine and the -Esquiline, it really is there. It is the Golden House of the emperor -Nero, the most beautiful palace ever built in Rome. Nero had not -sufficient space for it and he set fire to Rome. Rome was burnt, and the -emperor recited verses about the burning of Troy. And afterwards, on the -space that had been cleared, he built his Golden House. Yes, yes, it was -between the Palatine and the Esquiline; you’re right. There was nothing -more beautiful in the city. But after Nero’s death other emperors -destroyed the palace out of envy, and heaped earth upon it; it existed -no longer. They built houses and baths on its site. But it was the most -beautiful of all the palaces.”</p> - -<p>Then, having become bolder, Maria told her father about her beloved -bas-relief. And again the old scribe was not surprised. He at once -explained to his daughter what the artist had wished to express—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a>{116}</span></p> - -<p>“That, my daughter, is Rhea Silvia, the vestal virgin, daughter of King -Numitor. But a youth—this god Mars, fell in love with the maiden and -sought her out in the sacred cave. Twin sons were born to them, Romulus -and Remus. Rhea Silvia was drowned in the Tiber, the infants were -suckled by a wolf and they became the founders of the City. Yes, that is -how it all was, my daughter.”</p> - -<p>Rufus told Maria in detail the touching story of the guilty vestal Ilia, -or Rhea Silvia, and he at once began to recite some lines from the -“Metamorphoses” of the ancient Naso:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Proximus Ausonias iniusti miles Amuli</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Rexit opes ...</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>But Maria was not listening to her father, she was repeating quietly to -herself:</p> - -<p>“It is—Rhea Silvia! Rhea Silvia!”</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>After that day Maria spent still more of her time looking at the -wonderful bas-relief. She would take a scanty luncheon with her, as well -as a torch, so that she might stay some hours longer in the underground -palace, which she considered to be more her own home than her father’s -house. She would lie on the cold and slippery floor in front of the -sculptured daughter of Numitor, and by the faint light of her resinous -torch<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a>{117}</span> she would gaze for long hours at the features of the slender -maiden sleeping in the sacred cave. With every day it became more -apparent to Maria that she was strangely like this ancient vestal, and -little by little in her dreams, she became less able to distinguish -which was poor Maria, the daughter of Rufus the Scribe, and which the -unhappy Ilia, daughter of the King of Alba Longa. She always called -herself Rhea Silvia. Lying in front of the picture she would dream that -to her, in this new sacred cave, the god Mars would appear, and that -from their divine embraces there would be born of her the twins Romulus -and Remus, who would become the founders of the Eternal City. True, she -would have to pay for this by her death—and be drowned in the muddy -waters of the Tiber—but could death terrify Maria? She often fell -asleep while musing thus before the bas-relief, and dreamed of this same -god Mars with his noble face of marvellous beauty and his divine, -consuming embrace. And when she awoke she would not know whether it had -been dream or reality.</p> - -<p>It was already scorching July, when the streets of Rome at midday were -as empty as after the terrible command of King Totila. But in the -underground palace it was damp and cool. Maria, as before, went there -every day to muse, in her habitual sweet reveries, before the pictured -Ilia, who lay dreaming of the god<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a>{118}</span> destined for her. And one day, when -in a slight doze, she was once again giving herself up to the ardent -caresses of the god Mars, suddenly a noise of some kind forced her to -awake. She opened her eyes, not understanding anything as yet, and -glanced around. By the light of the little torch which she had placed in -a cranny between the stones, she saw before her a young man. He was not -in warlike armour, but wore the dress usually worn at that time by poor -Romans; his face, however, was full of nobility, and to Maria it -appeared radiant with a marvellous beauty. For some moments she looked -with amazement on the unexpected apparition, on the man who had found -his way into this enchanted palace which she had thought unknown to -anyone save herself. Then, sitting upright on the floor, the girl asked -simply:</p> - -<p>“You have come to me?”</p> - -<p>The young man smiled a quiet and attractive smile, and answered by -another question.</p> - -<p>“But who are you, maiden? The genius of this place?”</p> - -<p>Maria answered:</p> - -<p>“I—am Rhea Silvia, a vestal virgin, daughter of King Numitor. And are -you not the god Mars, come in search of me?”</p> - -<p>“No, I am no god,” objected the young man. “I am a mortal, my name is -Agapit, and I was not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a>{119}</span> searching here for you. But all the same, I am -glad to find you. Greeting to you, daughter of King Numitor!”</p> - -<p>Maria invited the young man to sit down beside her, and he at once -consented. So they sat together, youth and maiden, on the damp floor, in -the magnificent hall of Nero’s Golden House, buried under ground, and -they looked into each other’s eyes and knew not at first what to talk -about. Then Maria pointed out the bas-relief to the young man and began -to tell him all the legend of the unhappy vestal. But the youth -interrupted her story.</p> - -<p>“I know this, Rhea,” said he, “but how strange! The face of the girl in -the bas-relief is actually like yours.”</p> - -<p>“It is I,” answered Maria.</p> - -<p>So much conviction was in her words that the youth was perplexed and -knew not what to think. But Maria gently placed her hand on his shoulder -and began to speak ingratiatingly, almost timidly.</p> - -<p>“Do not deny it:—you are the god Mars in the form of a mortal. But I -recognise you. I have expected you for a long while. I knew that you -would come. I am not afraid of death. Let them drown me in the Tiber.”</p> - -<p>For a long while the young man listened to Maria’s incoherent speech. -All around was strange. This<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a>{120}</span> underground palace, known to no one, with -its magnificent apartments where only lizards and bats were living. And -the obscurity of this immense hall, barely lighted by the faint light of -the two torches. And this obscure maiden, like the Rhea Silvia of the -ancient bas-relief, with her unintelligible speeches, who in some -marvellous fashion had lighted upon the buried Golden House of Nero. The -young man felt that the rude actuality of the life he had lived just -before his entrance into the underground dwelling had vanished into thin -air as a dream disappears in the morning. In another moment he might -have believed that he himself was the god Mars, and that he had met here -his beloved, Ilia the vestal, the daughter of Numitor. Putting the -greatest restraint upon himself, he broke in upon Maria’s speech.</p> - -<p>“Dear maiden,” said he, “listen to me. You are mistaken about me. I am -not he for whom you take me. I will tell you the whole truth. Agapit is -not my real name. I am a Goth, and my name is really Theodat. But I am -obliged to conceal my origin, for I should be put to death if it were -known. Haven’t you heard, by my pronunciation, that I am not a Roman. -When my fellow-countrymen left your city, I did not follow them. I love -Rome, I love its history and its tradition. I want to live and die in -the Eternal City, which once belonged to us. So now, under the name of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a>{121}</span> -Agapit, I am in the service of an armourer; I work by day, and in the -evenings I wander about the city and admire its memorials which have -escaped destruction. As I knew that Nero’s Golden House had been built -on this spot, I got in to this underground palace so that I could admire -the remains of its former beauty. That is all. I have told you the whole -truth, and I do not think you will betray me, for one word from you -would be enough to have me put to death.”</p> - -<p>Maria listened to the words of Theodat with incredulity and -dissatisfaction. After a little thought she said: “Why are you deceiving -me? Why do you wish to take the form of a Goth? Can I not see the nimbus -round your head? Mars Gradivus, for others thou art a god, for me thou -art my beloved. Do not mock thy poor bride, Rhea Silvia!”</p> - -<p>Theodat looked again for a long while at the young girl who spoke such -foolish words, and he began to guess that Maria was not in her right -mind. And when this thought came into his head he said to himself, “Poor -girl! I will never take advantage of your unprotected state! This would -be unworthy of a Goth.” Then he gently put his arms around Maria and -began to talk to her as to a little child, not contradicting her strange -fancies but acknowledging himself to be the god Mars. And for a long -while they sat side by side in the semi-darkness, not exchanging one<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a>{122}</span> -kiss, talking and dreaming together of the future Rome which would be -founded by their twin sons Romulus and Remus. At last the torches began -to burn low, and Theodat said to Maria:</p> - -<p>“Dear Rhea Silvia, it is already late. We must go away from here.”</p> - -<p>“But you will come again to-morrow?” asked Maria.</p> - -<p>Theodat looked at the young girl. She seemed to him strangely -attractive, with her thin, half-childish figure, the hectic flush on her -cheeks and her deep black eyes. There was an incomprehensible attraction -in this meeting of theirs in the dim hall of the buried palace, before -the marvellous bas-relief of an unknown artist. Theodat desired to -repeat these minutes of strange intercourse with the poor crazy girl, -and he answered:</p> - -<p>“Yes, maiden, to-morrow at this hour, after my day’s work, I will come -again to you here.”</p> - -<p>Hand in hand they went in the direction of the way out. Theodat had a -rope ladder with him. He helped Maria to climb up to the hole which -served as an entrance to the palace. Evening had already fallen when -they reached the streets.</p> - -<p>Before they separated Theodat said once more, looking into Maria’s eyes:</p> - -<p>“Remember, maiden, you must not tell anyone that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a>{123}</span> you have met me. It -might cost me my life. Good-bye until to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>He got out first into the open-air and was soon out of sight round a -bend of the road. Maria went slowly home. If it happened that evening -that she had a talk with her father, she would not tell him that at last -Mars Gradivus had come to her.</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>Theodat did not deceive Maria. Next day, towards evening he really came -again to the Golden House and to the bas-relief representing Mars and -Rhea Silvia, where Maria was already awaiting him. The young man had -brought with him some bread and cheese and some wine, and they had their -supper together in the magnificent hall of Nero’s palace. Maria mused -aloud again about the beauty of life in the past, about gods, heroes, -and emperors, mixing up stories of her own experiences with the -wanderings of her fancy; but Theodat, with his arm around the girl, -gently stroked her hand or her shoulder, and admired the black depth of -her eyes. Then they walked together through the empty underground rooms, -shedding the light of their torches on the great creations of Greek and -Roman genius. When they parted they again exchanged a promise to meet on -the following day.</p> - -<p>From that time, every day, when Theodat had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a>{124}</span> finished his dull labour at -the armourer’s workshop, where they made and repaired helmets, pikes, -and armour for the company of Byzantines who were garrisoning Rome, he -went to meet the strange young girl who thought herself to be the vestal -virgin Ilia, alive once more. There was an unconquerable attraction for -the young man in the lissom body of the girl and in her half-foolish -words, to which he was ready to listen for whole hours together. They -explored together all the halls, corridors, and rooms of the palace, as -far as they could get; they rejoiced together over each newly-found -statue, each newly-noticed bas-relief, and there was never a day but -some unexpected discovery filled their souls with a new rapture. Day -after day they lived in an unchanging happiness—enjoying the creations -of Art, and in moments of emotion before a new-found marble sculpture, -the work perhaps of Praxiteles, young man and maiden would lean towards -one another and embrace in a pure and blessed kiss.</p> - -<p>Imperceptibly Theodat began to consider the Golden House of Nero as his -own home, and Maria became to him the nearest and dearest being in the -world. How this happened Theodat himself did not know. But all the rest -of the time which he spent on the earth seemed to him a burdensome and -distasteful obligation, and only the time that he spent with Rhea -Silvia<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a>{125}</span> underground, in the palace of the ancient emperor, seemed to him -to be real life. The whole day the young man awaited in a torture of -impatience the moment when he could at last leave the brass helmets and -hammers and pincers, and with the rope ladder hidden under his garments -run off to the slope of the Esquiline for his secret meeting. Only by -these meetings did Theodat reckon his days. If he had been asked what -attracted him in Maria he would have found it difficult to answer. But -without her, without her simple talk, without her strange eyes—all his -life would have seemed empty and void.</p> - -<p>On the earth, in the armourer’s workshop, or in his own pitiful little -room which he rented from a priest, Theodat could reason sanely. He -would say to himself that this Rhea Silvia was a poor crazy girl, and -that he himself perhaps was doing wrong in corroborating her pernicious -fancies. But when he went down into the cool damp obscurity of the -Golden House, Theodat, as it were, changed everything—his thoughts and -his soul. He became something different, not what he was in the sultry -heat of the Roman day or in the stifling atmosphere of the forge. He -felt himself in another world there, where in reality could be met both -the vestal virgin Ilia, daughter of King Numitor, and the god Mars, who -had taken upon himself the form of a young Goth. In this world -everything was possible<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a>{126}</span> and all miracles were natural. In this world -the past was still living, and the fables of the poets were clearly -realised at every step.</p> - -<p>Not that Theodat fully believed in Maria’s delusions. But when, before -some statue of an ancient emperor she would begin to speak of meeting -him on the Forum and talking with him, it seemed to Theodat that -something of the sort had actually taken place. When Maria told him -about the riches of her father, King Numitor, Theodat was ready to think -that she was speaking the truth. And when she had visions of the glories -of the future Rome, which would be founded by the new Romulus and Remus, -Theodat himself was led to develop these visions, and to speak about the -new victories of the Eternal City, its new conquests of territory, its -new world-wide fame.... And together they would imagine the names of the -coming emperors who would rule in their children’s city.... Maria always -spoke of herself as Rhea Silvia and of Theodat as Mars, and he became so -accustomed to these names that there were times when he deliberately -called himself by the name of the ancient Roman god of war. And when -both of them, young man and maiden, were intoxicated by the darkness and -by the marvellous creations of Art, by their nearness to one another and -by their strange half-crazy dreams, Theodat almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a>{127}</span> began to feel in his -veins the divine ichor of an Olympian god.</p> - -<p>And again the days went by. At the very beginning of his acquaintance -with Maria, Theodat had promised himself to spare the crazy girl and not -to take advantage of her weak intellect and her unprotected state. But -with each new meeting it became in every way more and more difficult for -him to keep his word. Meeting every day the girl he already loved with -all the passion of youthful love, spending long hours with her alone in -this isolated place, in the half-darkness, touching her hands and -shoulders, feeling her breathing close beside him, and exchanging kisses -with her;—Theodat was obliged to use greater and greater effort not to -press the girl to himself in a strong embrace, not to draw her to him -with those caresses with which the god Mars had once drawn to himself -the first vestal. And Maria not only did not avoid such caresses, but -she even, as it were, sought them, leaning towards him, attracting him -to her with all her being. She lingered in Theodat’s arms when he kissed -her, she herself pressed him to her bosom when they were admiring the -statues and pictures, she seemed every moment to be questioning the -youth with her large black eyes, as if she were asking him, “When?” -“Will it be soon?” “I am tired of waiting.” Theodat would ask himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a>{128}</span> -“—— And can it be true that she is crazy? Then I must be crazy too! -And is not our craziness better than the reasonable life of other -people. Why should we deny ourselves the full joy of love?”</p> - -<p>And so that which was inevitable came to its fulfilment. The marriage -chamber of Maria and Theodat was one of the magnificent halls of the -Golden House of Nero. The resin twists, lighted and placed in ancient -bronze candlesticks in the form of Cupids, were their bridal torches. -The union of the young couple was blessed by the marble gods, sculptured -by Praxiteles, who looked down with unearthly smiles from their niches -of porphyry. The great silence of the buried palace hid in itself the -first passionate sighs of the newly-wedded pair and their pale faces -were overshadowed by the mysterious obscurity of the underground palace. -There was no solemn banquet, no marriage songs, but long ages of glory -and power overshadowed the bridal couch, and its earth and ashes seemed -to the lovers softer and more desirable than the down of Pontine swans -in the sleeping apartments of Byzantium.</p> - -<p>From that evening Maria and Theodat began to meet as lovers. Their long -talks were mingled with long caresses. They exchanged passionate -confessions and passionate vows—in almost senseless speeches. They -wandered again through the empty rooms of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a>{129}</span> Golden House, not so much -attracted now by the pictures and statues, the marble walls and the -mosaics, as by the possibility in the new room to fall again and again -into each other’s embraces. They still dreamed of the future Rome which -would be founded by their children, but this happy vision was already -eclipsed by the happiness of their unrestrained kisses in whose burning -atmosphere vanished not only actuality but also dreams. They still -called themselves Rhea Silvia and the god Mars, but they had already -become poor earthly lovers, a happy couple, like thousands and thousands -of others living on the earth after thousands and thousands of -centuries.</p> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>Never, outside the hall of the subterranean palace, did Theodat try to -meet Maria nor she him. They only existed for one another in the Golden -House of Nero. Perhaps they might even not have recognised one another -on the earth. Theodat might have ceased to be for Maria the god Mars, -and Maria would not have seemed to Theodat beautiful and wonderful. -Truly, after their union, the honourable young Goth had said to himself -that he ought to find out the real relatives of the young girl, to marry -her and openly acknowledge her as his wife before all people. But day -after day he put off the fulfilment of this resolve; it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a>{130}</span> would have been -terrible for him to destroy the fairy-like enchantment in which he was -living, terrible to exchange the unheard of ways of the underground hall -for the ordinary realities. Perhaps Theodat did not thus explain his -delay to himself, but, all the same, he did not hasten to bring to an -end the burning happiness of these secret meetings, and every time he -parted with Maria he renewed his vow to her that on the morrow he would -come again. And she expected him and asked for nothing more; for her -this visionary blessedness was sufficient—to be the beloved of a god.</p> - -<p>“Thou wilt always love me?” Theodat would ask, pressing the lissom body -of Maria in his strong arms.</p> - -<p>But she would shake her head and say:</p> - -<p>“I will love thee until death. But thou art an immortal, and soon I must -die. They will drown me in the waters of the Tiber.”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” Theodat would say, “that will not happen. We shall live -together and die together. Without thee I do not wish to be immortal. -And after death we shall love each other just the same there in our -Olympus.”</p> - -<p>But Maria would look at him distrustfully. She expected death and was -prepared for it. She only wished one thing—to prolong her happiness as -long as it was possible.</p> - -<p>The young man told himself that he ought secretly to follow Maria and -find out where she lived—go to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a>{131}</span> real home and to her true father -and tell him that he, Agapit, loved this young girl and wanted to make -her his wife. But when the hour of parting drew near, when Maria having -heard Theodat vow that he would come again to-morrow to the Golden -House, glided away like a thin shadow into the evening distance—the -youth would once more postpone his action. “Let this be put off another -day! Let us meet once more as Rhea Silvia and the god Mars! Let this -fairy tale still continue.” And he would go home, to the little room he -rented from the priest, to dream all night of his beloved and solace -himself with the new happiness of remembrance. And Theodat never asked -anyone about the strange black-eyed girl, though almost everyone in Rome -knew Maria. But in reality he did not wish to know anything about her -except this—that she was the vestal Ilia, and that every evening she -lovingly awaited him in the subterranean hall of Nero’s underground -palace.</p> - -<p>But one day Maria having waited till the evening, awaited Theodat in -vain; the youth did not come. Grieved and disturbed, Maria went home -again. Her mind had in a way become somewhat clearer since she had given -herself to Theodat and she was able to console herself with the thought -that something must have prevented him from coming. But the youth did -not come the next day, nor the next. He suddenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a>{132}</span> disappeared completely -and it was in vain that Maria waited for him at the appointed place hour -after hour, day after day—waited in anguish, in despair, sobbing, -praying to the ancient gods, and using the words which her mother had -once taught her: there came no answer to her tears and prayers. As -before, an unearthly smile played over the faces of the gods in their -niches in the walls; as before, the superb rooms of the ancient palace -gleamed with paintings and mosaics, but the Golden House suddenly became -empty and terrible for Maria. From a blessed paradise, from the land of -the Elysian fields, it had suddenly been changed into a hall of cruel -torture, into a black Tartarus where was only horror and solitude, -unendurable grief and unbearable pain. With an insane hope Maria went -every day as before to the underground dwelling, but now she went there -as to a place of torture. There awaited her the hours of disappointed -expectation, the terrible reminders of her late happiness and her -long-renewed inconsolable tears.</p> - -<p>It was most terrible of all, most distressing of all, near the -bas-relief which represented Rhea Silvia sleeping in the sacred cave -with the god Mars coming towards her. All her remembrances drew Maria to -this bas-relief, yet near it the most unconquerable grief would -overwhelm her soul. She would fall on the floor and beat her head -against the stone mosaic pavement,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a>{133}</span> closing her eyes that she might not -behold the radiant face of the god. “Come back, come back!” she would -repeat in her frenzy. “Come just once again! Divine, immortal; have pity -on my sufferings. Let me see thee once again. I have not yet told thee -all, have not given thee all my kisses; I must, I must see thee once -again in life. And after that let me die, let them cast me into the -waters of the Tiber, and I will not resist. Have pity on me, Divine -One!” And Maria would open her eyes again, and by the faint light of the -torch she would see the unmoved face of the sculptured god and then once -more the remembrance of the blessedness which had suddenly been taken -away from her would overwhelm her and she would burst into new tears and -sobs and wails. And she herself would hardly know if the god Mars had -come to her, if in her life there had been those days of perfect -happiness or if she had dreamed them amongst thousands of other dreams.</p> - -<p>With every day her expectations grew more hopeless. Every day she would -return to her home more anguished and more shaken. In those hours when -there were glimmerings of consciousness in her soul she remembered dimly -all that Theodat had once told her about himself. Then she would wander -through the streets of Rome, and under various pretexts she would look -into all the armourer’s workshops, but nowhere did she meet with him she -sought. To speak to anyone of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a>{134}</span> her grief and of her vanished happiness -was impossible for her and no one would have believed the stories of the -poor crazy girl—everyone would have considered them to be new -wanderings of her disordered imagination. So Maria lived alone with her -grief and her despair, and her mother only shook her head dejectedly as -she saw her becoming thinner and more wasted, her cheeks more sunken and -her eyes burning more feverishly and with more strange and fiery -reflections.</p> - -<p>But the days passed by inconsolably—for the poor crazy girl, for the -despoiled Eternal City, and for the whole world in which a new life was -slowly coming to birth. The days went by; Justinian celebrated his final -victories over the remaining Goths, the Lombards thought out their -Italian campaign, the popes secretly forged the links of that chain -which in the future would connect Rome with all the world, the Romans -continued to live their poor and oppressed lives, and one day Maria -understood at last that she would become a mother. The vestal Rhea -Silvia to whom the god Mars had condescended from his Olympus, began to -feel within herself the pulsations of a new life—were they not the -twins, the new Romulus and Remus who must found the new Rome?</p> - -<p>To no one, neither to father nor to mother, did Maria speak of what she -felt. It was her secret. But she was strangely quieted by her discovery. -Her dreams were<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a>{135}</span> being completely fulfilled. She must give birth to the -founders of Rome and afterwards await death in the muddy waters of the -Tiber.</p> - -<h3>VII</h3> - -<p>Sometimes guests would gather together in the house of old Rufus, a -neighbouring merchant who sold cheap women’s finery on the Forum, the -coppersmith’s son who at one time had wished to court Maria, an infirm -orator who could no longer find a use for his learning, and a few other -poverty stricken people who were dejectedly living out their days, only -meeting one another to complain of their unhappy lot. They would drink -poor wine and eat a little garlic, and among their customary complaints -they would cautiously interpolate bitter words about the Byzantine rule -and the inhuman demands of the new general who lived on the Palatine in -place of the departed eunuch Narses. Florentia would serve the guests, -and pour out wine for them, and at the speeches of the old orator she -would quietly cross herself at the mention of the accursed gods.</p> - -<p>At one of these gatherings Maria was sitting in a corner of the room, -having come home that day earlier than usual from her wanderings. Nobody -paid any attention to her. They were all accustomed to see among them -the silent girl whom they had long ago<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a>{136}</span> considered to be insane. She -never joined in the conversation and no one ever addressed a remark to -her. She sat with her head bent in a melancholy fashion and never moved, -apparently hearing nothing of the speeches made by the drinking party.</p> - -<p>On this day they were talking especially about the severity of the new -general. But the coppersmith’s son took upon himself to defend him.</p> - -<p>“We must take into account,” said he, “that at the present time it is -necessary to act rigorously. There are many spies going about the city. -The barbarians may fall on us again. Then we should have to endure -another siege. These accursed Goths, when they took themselves out of -the town for good, had hidden their treasures in various places. And now -first one and then another of them comes back to Rome secretly and in -disguise, digs up the hidden treasure and carries it away. Such people -must be caught, and it would never do to be easy with them; the Romans -will have all their riches stolen.”</p> - -<p>The words of the coppersmith’s son aroused curiosity. They began to ask -him questions. He readily told all that he knew about the treasures -hidden by the Goths in various parts of Rome, and how those of them who -had escaped destruction strove to seek out these stores and carry them -off. Then he added:</p> - -<p>“And it’s only lately they caught one of them. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a>{137}</span> was clambering up the -Esquiline, where there is an opening in the ground. He had a -rope-ladder. They caught him and took him to the general. The general -promised to spare him if the accursed one would show exactly where the -treasure was hidden. But he was obstinate and would say nothing. They -tortured him and tortured him, but got nothing out of him. So they -tortured him to death.”</p> - -<p>“And is he dead?” asked someone.</p> - -<p>“Of course he’s dead,” said the coppersmith’s son.</p> - -<p>Suddenly an unexpected illumination lit up the confused mind of Maria. -She stood up to her full height. Her large eyes grew still larger. -Pressing both hands to her bosom, she asked in a breaking voice:</p> - -<p>“And what was his name, what was the name ... of this Goth?”</p> - -<p>The coppersmith’s son knew all about it. So he answered at once:</p> - -<p>“He called himself Agapit; he was working quite near here, in an -armourer’s workshop.”</p> - -<p>And with a shriek, Maria fell face downwards on the floor.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Maria was ill for a long while, for many weeks. On the first day of her -illness a child was born prematurely, a pitiful lump of flesh which it -was impossible to call either a boy or a girl. Florentia, with all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a>{138}</span> her -harshness, loved her daughter. While Maria lay unconscious for many days -her mother tended her and never left her side. She called in a midwife -and a priest. When at length Maria came to her senses Florentia had no -reproachful tears for her, she only wept inconsolably and pressed her -daughter to her bosom. Her mother-soul had divined everything. Later on, -when Maria was a little better her mother told her all that had happened -and did not reproach her.</p> - -<p>But Maria listened to her mother with a strange distrust. How could Rhea -Silvia believe it, when she was destined, by the will of the gods, to -bring forth the twins Romulus and Remus? Either the girl’s mind was -entirely overclouded or she believed her former dreams more than -actuality—at the words of her mother she merely shook her head in -weakness. She thought her mother was deceiving her, that during her -illness she had borne twins which had been taken from her, put into a -wicker-basket and thrown into the Tiber. But Maria knew that a wolf -would find and nourish them, for they must be the founders of the new -Rome.</p> - -<p>As long as Maria was so weak that she could not raise her head no one -wondered that she would answer no questions and would be silent whole -days, neither asking for food nor drink nor wishing to pronounce a -monosyllable. But when she recovered a little and found<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a>{139}</span> strength to go -about the house Maria continued to be silent, hiding in her soul some -treasured thought. She did not even want to talk to her father any more -and she was not pleased when he began to declaim verses from the ancient -poets.</p> - -<p>At length, one morning when her father had gone out on business and her -mother was at market Maria unexpectedly disappeared from home. No one -noticed her departure. And no one saw her again alive. But after some -days the muddy waters of the Tiber cast her lifeless body on the shore.</p> - -<p>Poor girl! Poor vestal of the broken vows! One would like to believe -that throwing thy body into the cold embraces of the water thou wert -convinced that thy children, the twins Romulus and Remus, were at that -moment drinking the warm milk of the she-wolf, and that in time to come -they would raise up the first rampart of the future Eternal City. If in -the moment of thy death thou hadst no doubt of this, thou wert perhaps -the happiest of all the people in that pitiful half-destroyed Rome -towards which were already moving from the Alps the hordes of the wild -Lombards.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a>{140}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="ELULI_SON_OF_ELULI" id="ELULI_SON_OF_ELULI"></a>ELULI, SON OF ELULI<br /> -<small>A STORY OF THE ANCIENT PHŒNICIANS</small></h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE young scholar Dutrail, whose works on the head ornaments of the -Carthaginians had already attracted attention, and Bouverie, his former -tutor, now his friend, a corresponding-member of the Academy of -Inscriptions, were working at some excavations on the western coast of -Africa, in the French Congo, south of Myamba. It was a small expedition, -fitted out by private means, and originally consisting of eight members. -Most of them, however, had been unable to endure the deadly climate, and -on one pretext or another had gone away. There remained only Dutrail, -whose youthful enthusiasm conquered all difficulties, and the old -Bouverie, who having all his life dreamed of taking part in important -excavations where his special knowledge was concerned, had in his old -age—thanks to the patronage of his young friend—obtained his desire. -The excavations were extremely interesting; no one had supposed the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a>{141}</span> -Phœnician colony to have spread itself so far south on the West Coast -of Africa, extending even beyond the Equator. Every day’s work enriched -science and opened up new perspectives as to the position of Phœnicia -and her commercial relations in the ninth century <small>B.C.</small></p> - -<p>The work was, however, extremely arduous. No European had remained with -Dutrail and Bouverie except their servant Victor; all the workmen were -negroes of the place. True, it had been decided that in place of those -who had left other archæologists should come and bring with them not -only some French workmen and a new store of necessary instruments, guns, -and food supplies, but also the letters, books, and newspapers of which -Dutrail and Bouverie had long been deprived. But day followed day, and -the wished-for steamer did not appear. Their stores were decreasing, -they were obliged to hunt for their food, and Dutrail was especially -anxious about the exhaustion of their supply of cartridges; the natives -were already sullen and insubordinate, and in the event of a riot among -them their lack of arms might be dangerous. Besides this, the Frenchmen -suffered greatly from the climate and from the intolerable heat, which -was so great that in the daytime it was impossible to touch a stone -without burning the hand. And now at last the bold archæologists seemed -likely to be overcome by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a>{142}</span> malevolent local fever which had attacked -several of the company before their departure.</p> - -<p>Dutrail triumphed over everything. Day after day he subsisted on the -flesh of seabirds tasting strongly of fish, and drank the warmish water -from a neighbouring spring; he kept the mutinous crowd of negro-workmen -in check and himself worked with them, and yet still found time at night -to write his diary and to keep a detailed account of all the -archæological treasures they had obtained. In the tiny hut which they -had built under the shelter of a cliff he had already put in order a -whole museum of wonderful things which had lain almost three centuries -in the earth and now being restored to the world would soon bring about -a revolution in Phœnician lore. Bouverie, on the contrary, though -desiring with all his soul to remain with his young friend, was -manifestly becoming weaker. It was more difficult for an old man to -struggle against misfortunes and deprivation. Often, as he worked, his -spade or his gun would simply drop from his hands and he himself would -fall unconscious to the ground. Added to this he had begun to have -attacks of the local fever. Dutrail tried to cure him with quinine and -the other medicines which were in their travelling medicine-chest, but -the old man’s strength was utterly giving way; his cheeks had fallen in, -his eyes burned with an unhealthy glitter, and at night-time he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a>{143}</span> -tortured by paroxysms of dry coughing, shivering fits, fever and -delirium.</p> - -<p>Dutrail had long ago made up his mind to compel his friend to return to -Europe as soon as the steamer should come, but for a long while he had -been afraid to speak about the matter. He felt that the old man would -certainly refuse—would prefer, as a scholar, to die at his post, the -more so as lately he had often spoken of death. To Dutrail’s -astonishment, however, Bouverie himself began to speak of leaving, -saying it was evident that they must part, and although it was bitter -for him to abandon the work he had begun, his illness compelled him to -go, so that he might die in his native land. In the depths of his soul -Dutrail was almost offended by these last remarks of the old man, who -could prefer his superstitious desire—to be in his native land at the -moment of his death—before the high interest of scientific research, -but explaining this by Bouverie’s illness he at length applauded his -friend’s resolution, and said all that might be expected from him under -the circumstances—that the fever was not so dangerous, that it would -pass with the change of climate, that they would still do much work -together, and so forth.</p> - -<p>Two days later Bouverie astonished his friend still further. On that day -the excavators had come upon a new and rich tomb. Dutrail was in ecstasy -over such<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a>{144}</span> a discovery and he could neither speak nor think of anything -else. But in the evening Bouverie called his former pupil to his side in -his half of the little hut and begged him to witness his will.</p> - -<p>“I’m much to blame,” said Bouverie, “not to have made my will before, -but I’ve never had the time. All my life I’ve been entirely taken up -with science, and I have never had time to think about my own affairs. -But my health is getting so much worse that perhaps I shall never get -away from here, so I must formulate my last desires. We are only three -Europeans here, but you and Victor are enough to witness my will.”</p> - -<p>So as not to agitate the old man, Dutrail agreed. The will was quite an -ordinary one. Bouverie left the little money he had to dispose of to a -niece, for he was unmarried and had no other relatives. He left small -sums to his old servant, to the owner of the house in which he had lived -for forty years, and to various other people. His collection of -Phœnician and Carthaginian antiquities, gathered together during his -long lifetime, the old man bequeathed to the Louvre, and some separate -small things—to his friends, Dutrail among the number.</p> - -<p>Coming at length to the last clause, Bouverie said, in an agitated -manner:</p> - -<p>“This, strictly speaking, ought not to be included in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a>{145}</span> the will. It is -simply—my request to you personally, Dutrail. But listen to it all the -same.”</p> - -<p>The request was that after his death Bouverie wanted his body to be sent -to France and buried in his native town by the side of his mother. As he -read this last clause of the will the old man could not restrain his -tears. In a breaking voice he began to implore that whatever might -happen his request should be fulfilled.</p> - -<p>By a great effort Dutrail controlled his anger and answered as gently -and tenderly as he could.</p> - -<p>“Devil take it, dear friend! You see, I’m quite sure you’re not so ill -as you think. If I agreed to witness your will, I did so for one reason, -to please you, and for another, because it is never superfluous to put -one’s affairs in order. But as I am strongly convinced that you will get -better and will laugh at your present anxiety about yourself, I will -permit myself to make some objections.”</p> - -<p>With the greatest caution Dutrail pointed out to Bouverie that his -request could hardly be fulfilled; there were no means at hand for -embalming the body and no coffin which could be hermetically sealed. And -he asked whether it were worse to be after death under African palms -side by side with the dead of the great past than in some small -provincial French cemetery. The only thing it was possible to promise in -any case, under such circumstances, was that his body should be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a>{146}</span> buried -here in Africa at first and afterwards taken to France, though this -would be difficult, troublesome, and, above all, useless.</p> - -<p>“That’s what I was afraid of!” cried the old man despairingly. “I was -afraid that you would say just that. But I beg of you, I conjure you, to -fulfil my request, whatever it may cost you, even though ... even though -you may have to give up the excavations for a time.”</p> - -<p>Bouverie entreated, begged, wept. And at last, in order to pacify the -old man, Dutrail was obliged to consent, to give his word of honour and -even his oath. The will was signed.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>Next day, even before the sun had risen, their labours were resumed. -They began to excavate the magnificent tomb which they had come across -the evening before. It was evident that the Phœnician settlement -would show itself much more significant than they had at first supposed. -At least, the tomb they had discovered had clearly belonged to a rich -and powerful family, several generations of which had not only spent -their whole lives under the inhospitable skies of equatorial Africa, but -had also prepared here for themselves an eternal resting-place. The -sepulchre was built of massive blocks of stone and ornamented<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a>{147}</span> with -bas-reliefs. Dutrail untiringly directed the workmen and often took a -pick or a spade himself.</p> - -<p>After great difficulty they succeeded in discovering the entrance to the -tomb—an enormous iron door that in spite of the twenty-eight centuries -which had elapsed since it was closed had to be carefully broken to -pieces. Having succeeded at last in forcing an entrance and letting -fresh air flow into the recesses of the tomb Dutrail and Bouverie went -in themselves, carrying torches in their hands. The picture which -presented itself to their gaze was enough to send an archæologist out of -his mind with delight. The tomb was apparently absolutely untouched. In -the midst of it a stone coffin was raised upon a stone platform in the -shape of a fantastic monster, and around this were many articles for -household use, some fine specimens of crescent-shaped lamps, implements -of war, images of gods, and other articles whose significance it would -have been difficult to define at once.</p> - -<p>But the most striking fact was that the inner walls of the tomb were -almost entirely covered with paintings and inscriptions. With the inrush -of the fresh air, the colours of the paintings, as is always the case, -swiftly began to fade, but the inscriptions, which were written in some -sort of black composition and even cut out to some depth in the stone, -seemed as if wrought but yesterday. This especially enraptured Dutrail,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a>{148}</span> -for until then he had come across very few Phœnician inscriptions. He -already had visions of unearthing here entirely new historical data, -information, for example, about the connection of the Phœnicians with -Atlantis, of which Shleeman’s nephew had read in a Phœnician -inscription on a vase found in Syria.</p> - -<p>In spite of the scorching heat, Dutrail busied himself in transferring -all the things they had found to the museum, and he did not stop until -the last crescent-shaped lamp had been placed in the wished-for spot. -Then, carefully closing up the entrance to the tomb, the young scholar -lay down to rest; but no sooner had the heat abated a little than he was -again at work. He occupied himself in copying and deciphering the -inscriptions, a work which with all his splendid knowledge of the -language was extremely complicated. When evening came he had succeeded -in copying only an insignificant number of the inscriptions and in -approximately deciphering still fewer.</p> - -<p>That night, sitting in their little hut, by the dim light of a lamp, -Dutrail shared his discoveries with Bouverie and begged his help in the -interpretation of various difficult expressions. One series of -inscriptions was clearly a simple genealogy leading up through ten or -twelve generations. But one contained an adjuration against violators of -the peace of the tomb. Dutrail interpreted it approximately thus:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a>{149}</span></p> - -<p>“In the name of Astarte who has been down into hell may there be peace -for me, Eluli, son of Eluli, buried here. May I lie here for a thousand -years and for eternity. Nearest and dearest, fellow-countrymen and -strangers, friends and foes, I adjure: ‘Touch not my ashes, nor my gold, -nor the things belonging to me. If people persuade thee, give no ear to -them. And thou, bold man, reading these words which no human eye should -ever see, cursed be thou upon the earth and under the earth where is -neither eating nor drinking. Mayest thou never receive a place of rest -with Rephaim, never be buried in a tomb, never have a son nor any issue. -May the sun not warm thee, may wood never bear thee up upon water, may -there not depart from thee for one hour the demon of torture, formless, -pitiless, whose strength never becomes less.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>The inscription was continued further, but the end was unintelligible. -Bouverie listened to the translation in profound silence and did not -wish to take any share in deciphering the rest. Pleading illness, he -went off to his own half of the hut behind a wooden partition. But -Dutrail sat on for a long while over his notes, consulting books they -had brought with them, thinking over every expression and striving to -understand every shade of meaning in the inscription.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a>{150}</span></p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Late that night, when Dutrail was already sleeping the sound sleep of a -wearied man, he was suddenly awakened by Bouverie. The old man had -lighted a candle, and by its light he seemed still paler than usual. His -hair was in disorder, his whole appearance indicated an extreme degree -of terror.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter, Bouverie?” asked Dutrail. “You’re ill?”</p> - -<p>Though it was difficult to struggle against his desire to sleep, Dutrail -made an effort to awake, remembering the serious illness of his old -friend. But Bouverie did not answer the question; he asked, in a broken -voice:</p> - -<p>“Did you see him too?”</p> - -<p>“Whom could I see?” objected Dutrail. “I’m so tired at the end of the -day that I sleep without dreaming.”</p> - -<p>“This was not a dream,” said Bouverie sadly, “and I saw him go from me -towards you.”</p> - -<p>“Whom?”</p> - -<p>“The Phœnician whose tomb we dug out.”</p> - -<p>“Your mind’s wandering, dear Bouverie,” said Dutrail. “You have fever: -I’ll prepare a dose of quinine for you.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a>{151}</span></p> - -<p>“I’m not wandering,” objected the old man obstinately. “I saw this man -quite clearly. He was shaven and beardless, with a wrinkled face, and he -was dressed as a soldier. He stood by my bed and looked threateningly at -me, and said....”</p> - -<p>“Wait a moment,” interrupted Dutrail, trying to bring the old man to -reason—“in what language did he speak to you?”</p> - -<p>“In Phœnician. I don’t know if perhaps at another time I should have -understood the Phœnician language, but at that moment I understood -every word.”</p> - -<p>“What did the apparition say to you?”</p> - -<p>“He said to me: ‘I—am Eluli, son of Eluli, he whose peaceful repose -you, strangers, have disturbed, not dreading my curse. Therefore I will -have vengeance on thee, and what has befallen me shall come upon thee. -Thy ashes shall not rest in thy native land, but shall be the prey of -the hyena and jackal. I will torment thee both sleeping and waking, all -thy life and after thy life, and until the end of time.’ When he had -said this he went towards you, and I thought you would see him too.”</p> - -<p>Dutrail felt convinced that his friend’s state was the result of -illness, easily explained by the heat, by his continuous thinking about -death, and by the agitation consequent on their remarkable discovery. -Wishing to bring the old man into a reasonable frame of mind,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a>{152}</span> Dutrail -did not remind him that apparitions were a delusion of sight, but he -tried to make clear all the implausibility of the vision.</p> - -<p>“We did not excavate the tomb,” said he, “to insult the ashes lying -there, or to profit by the things collected there; we had a -disinterested scientific object. Eluli, son of Eluli, has no reason for -being angered with us. Science resurrects the past, and we, in raising -up Phœnician antiquities, have also raised up this Eluli. The old -Phœnician ought rather to be grateful to us for calling him from -oblivion. If it hadn’t been for us, who in our day would have known that -a thousand years before Christ there once lived in Africa a certain -Eluli, son of Eluli?”</p> - -<p>Dutrail talked to the old man as to a sick child. At first Bouverie -would not listen to any arguments and he demanded what was clearly -impossible—that all the things should be taken back to the tomb at -once, and the tomb itself buried anew. Little by little, however, he -began to give way, and agreed to postpone the decision of the matter -until the morning. Then Dutrail lifted the old man in his arms and laid -him on his bed, covering him with quilts as he began to shiver, and sat -down by his bedside until the sick man fell into a restless and -disturbed sleep. “What havoc illness plays with even the clearest mind!” -he thought sadly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a>{153}</span></p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>On the morrow, logic and the obviousness of Dutrail’s arguments gained -the day. Bouverie agreed that his vision had been the result of a -feverish delirium. He also agreed that it would be a crime against -science and against humanity to fill up the excavations of the tomb. The -work went on with the former enthusiasm. And in the tomb of Eluli and in -others near it they found even more precious historical things. The -friends only awaited the arrival of the steamer with the necessary tools -and some European workmen to begin excavating the town.</p> - -<p>But Bouverie’s health did not improve. The fever did not leave him; he -often cried aloud at night and leapt from his bed in unreasoning terror. -Once the old man confessed that he had seen the Phœnician Eluli once -again. Dutrail thought it good to laugh at him, and after this the old -man spoke no more of his visions. But, all the same, he seemed to fade -daily, and he even began to manifest signs of mental disturbance: he was -afraid of the darkness and of the night, he did not wish to go into the -museum, and presently he absolutely abandoned the excavations. Dutrail -shook his head and waited impatiently for the steamer, hoping that a -sea-voyage and his return to France might do the old man good.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a>{154}</span></p> - -<p>But in vain did the two friends await the steamer. When at length it -arrived, in the place where the members of the expedition had -established their little settlement nothing was found but a heap of -ashes and charred wood. It was evident that the negro-workmen had -mutinied, killed the Europeans and stolen their property and carried off -all the things which had been arranged in the museum. The great -discovery of Dutrail and Bouverie, which they had dreamed would enrich -Phœnician lore, was lost to mankind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a>{155}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="IN_THE_TOWER" id="IN_THE_TOWER"></a>IN THE TOWER<br /> -<small>A RECORDED DREAM</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HERE is no doubt that I dreamed all this, dreamed it last night. True, -I never thought that a dream could be so circumstantial and so -consecutive. But none of the events of this dream have any connection -with what I am experiencing now or with anything that I can remember. -Yet how otherwise can a dream be differentiated from reality except in -this way—that it is divorced from the continuous chain of events which -occur in our waking hours?</p> - -<p>I dreamed of a knight’s castle, somewhere on the shore of the sea. -Beyond it there was a field and a stunted yet ancient forest of pines. -In front of it there stretched an expanse of grey northern billows. The -castle had been roughly built with stone of a terrible thickness, and -from the side it looked like a wild and fantastic cliff. Its deep, -irregularly placed windows were like the nests of monstrous birds. -Within the castle were high gloomy chambers with sounding passages -between them.</p> - -<p>As I now call to mind the furniture of the rooms, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a>{156}</span> dress of the -people about me, and other trifling details, I clearly understand to -what period my dream had taken me back. It was the life of the Middle -Ages, dreadful, austere, still half-savage, still full of impulses not -yet under control. But in the dream I had not at first this -understanding of the time but only a dull feeling that I myself was -foreign to that life into which I was plunged. I felt confusedly that I -was some kind of new-comer into that world.</p> - -<p>At times this feeling was more intense. Something would suddenly begin -to torture my memory, like a name which one wants to remember and -cannot. When I was shooting birds with a cross-bow I would long for -another and more effective weapon. The knights, encased in their armour -of iron, accustomed to murder, seeking only for plunder, appeared to me -to be degenerates, and I foresaw the possibility of a different and more -refined existence. As I argued with the monks on scholastic questions, I -had a foretaste of some other kind of learning, deeper, fuller, freer. -But when I made an effort to bring something into my memory, my -consciousness was bedimmed anew.</p> - -<p>I lived in the castle as a prisoner, or, more truly, as an hostage. A -special tower was allotted to me. I was treated with respect, but was -kept under guard. I had no definite occupation of any kind, and the lack -of employment was burdensome to me. But there was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a>{157}</span> one thing which -brought happiness and ecstasy into my life: I was in love.</p> - -<p>The governor of the castle was named Hugo von Rizen. He was a giant with -a voice of thunder and the strength of a bear. He was a widower. But he -had one daughter, Matilda, tall, graceful, bright-eyed. She was like St. -Catherine as the Italians paint her, and I loved her passionately and -tenderly. As Matilda took charge of all the housekeeping in the castle, -we used to meet several times a day, and every meeting would fill my -soul with blessing.</p> - -<p>For a long while I could not make up my mind to tell Matilda of my love, -though of course my eyes betrayed my secret. I uttered the fateful words -quite unexpectedly, as it were, one morning at the close of winter. We -met on the narrow staircase leading to the watch-tower. And though it -had often happened that we had been alone together—in the snow-covered -garden, and in the dim hall, under the marvellous light of the moon, for -some reason or other it was specially at this moment that I felt I could -not be silent. I pressed myself close up against the wall, stretched out -my hands and said, “Matilda, I love you.” Matilda did not blench, she -simply bent her head and answered softly, “I love you too, you are my -chosen one.” Then she ran quickly up the stairs and I stood there, -against the wall, still holding out my hands.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a>{158}</span></p> - -<p>In the most consecutive of dreams there is always some break in the -action. I can remember nothing of what happened in the days immediately -following my confession of love. I remember only that I was walking with -Matilda on the shore, though everything showed that some weeks must have -elapsed. The air was already filled with the odours of spring, but the -snow still lay on the ground. The waves, with thunderous noise, were -rolling in with white crests on to the stony beach.</p> - -<p>It was evening, and the sun was sinking into the sea, like a magic bird -of fire, setting the edges of the clouds aflame. We walked along side by -side.</p> - -<p>Matilda was wearing a coat lined with ermine, and the ends of her white -scarf floated in the wind. We dreamed of the future, the happy future, -forgetting that we were children of different races, and that between us -lay an abyss of national enmity.</p> - -<p>It was difficult for us to talk, because I did not know Matilda’s -language very well, and she was quite ignorant of mine, but we -understood much, even without words. And even now my heart trembles as I -remember this walk along the shore within sight of the gloomy castle, in -the rays of the setting sun. I was experiencing and living through true -happiness, whether awake or in a dream—what difference does it make?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a>{159}</span></p> - -<p>It must have been on the following morning that I was told Hugo wished -to speak to me. I was taken into his presence. He was seated on a high -bench covered with elk-furs. A monk was reading a letter to him. Hugo -was glowering and angry. When he saw me, he said sternly:</p> - -<p>“Aha! Do you know what your countrymen are doing? Was it such a little -thing for us to defeat you at Isborsk. We set fire to Pskov, and you -besought us to have mercy. Now you’re asking help from Alexander, who -glories in the appellation of Nevsky. But we are not like the Swedes! -Sit down and write to your people of our might, so that they may be -brought to reason. And if you refuse, then you and all the other -hostages will pay cruelly for your refusal.”</p> - -<p>It is difficult to explain fully what feelings took possession of me -then. Love for my native land was the first which spoke powerfully in my -soul—an elemental, inexplicable love, like one’s love towards one’s -mother. I felt that I was a Russian, that in front of me were enemies, -that here I stood for all Russia. At the same moment, I perceived and -acknowledged with bitterness that the happiness of which Matilda and I -had dreamed had for ever departed from me, that my love for a woman must -be sacrificed to my love for my native land....</p> - -<p>But scarcely had these feelings filled my soul, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a>{160}</span> in the very depths -of my consciousness there suddenly flamed an unexpected light. I -understood that I was sleeping, that everything—the castle, Hugo, -Matilda, and my love for her, everything was but a dream. And I suddenly -wanted to laugh in the faces of this stern knight and his -monk-assistant, for I knew already that I should wake and there would be -nothing—no danger, no grief. I felt an inconquerable courage in my -soul, because I could go away from my enemies into that world whither -they were unable to follow me.</p> - -<p>Holding my head high, I replied to Hugo:</p> - -<p>“You know yourself that this is not true. Who called you to these lands? -This sea is Russian from time immemorial, it belonged to the Varyagi. -You came here to convert the people, and instead of that you have built -castles on the hills, you oppress the people and you threaten our towns -even as far as to Ladoga itself. Alexander Nevsky undertook a holy work. -I rejoice that the people of Pskov had no pity on their hostages. I will -not write what you wish, but I will encourage them to fight against you. -God will defend the right!”</p> - -<p>I said this as if I were declaiming upon a stage, and I purposely chose -ancient expressions so that my language might fit the period, but my -words threw Hugo into a frenzy.</p> - -<p>“Dog!” cried he to me. “Tartar slave! I will order you to be broken on -the wheel!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a>{161}</span></p> - -<p>Then there came swiftly to my remembrance, as if it had been a -revelation, given to a seer from on high, the whole course of Russian -history, and I spoke to the German triumphantly and sternly, as a -prophet:</p> - -<p>“Know this, that Alexander will overcome you on the ice of the Chudsky -Lake. Knights without number will there be hewn down. And our -descendants will take all this land under their domination and have your -descendants in subjection to them.”</p> - -<p>“Take him away!” cried Hugo, the veins of his neck swelling and purpling -with anger.</p> - -<p>The servants led me away, not to my tower, but to a noisome underground -place, a dungeon.</p> - -<p>The days dragged away in the damp and darkness. I lay on rotting straw, -mouldy bread was thrown into me for food, for whole days I heard no -sound of a human voice. My garments were soon in rags, my hair was -matted, my body was covered with sores. Only in unattainable dreams did -I picture to myself the sea and the sunlight, the spring, the fresh air, -and Matilda. And in the near future the wheel and whipping-post awaited -me.</p> - -<p>As the joy of my meetings with Matilda had been real to me, so were my -sufferings in her father’s dungeon. But the consciousness in myself that -I was sleeping and having a bad dream did not become dim. Knowing that -the moment of awakening was at hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a>{162}</span> and that the walls of my prison -would disperse as a mist, I found in myself the strength to bear all my -tortures unrepiningly. When the Germans proposed that I should buy my -freedom with the price of treachery to my native land, I answered with a -defiant refusal. And my enemies themselves esteemed my firmness, which -cost me less than they thought.</p> - -<p>Here my dream breaks off.... I may have perished by the hand of the -executioner, or have been delivered from bondage by the victory of the -Battle of Ice on April 5th, 1241, as were other hostages from Pskov. But -I simply awakened. And here I am, sitting at my writing-table, -surrounded by familiar and beloved books, and I am recording this long -dream, intending to begin the ordinary life of this day. Here, in this -world, among these people who are in the next room I am at home, I am -actually....</p> - -<p>But a strange and dreadful thought quietly arises from the dark depths -of my consciousness. What if now I am sleeping and dreaming—and I shall -suddenly awake on the straw, in the underground dungeon of the castle of -Hugo von Rizen?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a>{163}</span></p> - -<p class="c"> -<small>PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN<br /> -BY WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD<br /> -PLYMOUTH</small> -</p> - -<p><a name="transcrib" id="transcrib"></a></p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="padding:2%;border:3px dotted gray;"> -<tr><th align="center">Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:</th></tr> -<tr><td align="left">with its magnicent=> with its magnificent {pg 120}</td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The republic of the southern cross and -other stories, by Valery Brussof - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REPUBLIC OF THE SOUTHERN CROSS *** - -***** This file should be named 53380-h.htm or 53380-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/3/8/53380/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif, MFR and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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