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| - This powerful story, translated from the Russian by Jeremiah Curtin, should liavean extraordinary fascination for lovers of the weird and horrible, since it would be difficult to find its counterpart in the whole range of fiction. " If any of you gentlemen have lived continually in ,” began Cheromuhin, laying his pipe aside, "you have surely noticed that a periodical invasion of white-walled Mother Moscci^ by our provincial brethren usually begins before Christmas. Almost at the same time with the appearance of frozen meat and turkeys in the game market, there stretch in, through all the barriers, endless caravans of kibitkas and all kinds of winter equipages containing whole families of landholders hastening to have a good time in the capital, examine male candidates for marriage, show their daughters in society, and spend in a few weeks all they have saved during the year. "But in 1796 this increase of temporary residents began with the first snow ; and, according to the oldest inhabitants, the ancient capital had not been so crowded, or rather crammed, for many a year. The managers of the Nobles” Club shrugged their shoulders whenever they had less than two thousand guests at a ball, and laid the blame on the Italian Medoxi, who gave masquerades in the halls and rotunda of the Petrovski Theatre. "Indeed, public masquerades — at which people did not dance, but stifled and crushed one another — were during that winter the favorite amusement of the people of . " Among the constant visitors at these masquerades was a certaia young man, but not from the interior. Ivan Nikolaievich Zorin was his name. He had just returned from foreign parts, had lived long in , loved music passionately, and always spoke of the Italian opera with transport that turned almost into madness whenever conversation touched a certain prima donna of the Neapolitan Theatre. In conversation he called her Lauretta, but would not discover to any of his acquaintances the name by which she was known in the musical world. It was evident in every way that not enthusiasm for art alone had aroused his admiration ; and though Zorin did not confide his heart secret to any man, all his friends, and I in that number, could guess why he seemed always sad and dull, and grew animated only when conversation touched the Italian opera. His unbroken sadness, with pining and a certain gloomy despondency which the English would call spleen, we simply called hypochondria, and laughed at the doctor when he shook his head over the mental disease of our friend. “0h, stop, Fomich!' we would say; 'what pleasure do you find in stuffing him with pills? Prescribe a couple of bottles of champagne a day, five or six balls a week, with a dose of masquerade and theatres; that will be better than your depressing and exciting medicines. “ " No matter how Foma Fomich resisted at first ; he decided at last to listen to our counsel and advise Zorin to go to every ball and not miss a masquerade. '' In real truth, through taking part in all the amusements of the city, our patient seemed to grow calmer and more cheerful. Sometimes he failed to visit the theatre and refused an invitation to a ball, but he always came among the first to a masquerade and went away last. " I was serving at that time in the guards ; my leave of absence ended with the first week in Lent, and to avoid trouble I was obliged to start for on Monday of that week.. Wishing to take advantage of the last days of my leave and rejoice in full measure, I passed the whole carnival in boundless fashion. In the daytime breakfasts with pancakes, sleigh-rides, formal dinners; in the evening, theatres; and at night, balls and private masquerades till morning dawn. This round of amusement gave me no time to collect my senses. I was in a sort of walking dream and lost sight of my friend Zorin completely. " On Sunday — that is, the last day of the carnival — I went to the public masquerade earlier than usual. There was a throng of people ; every door had to be taken by assault, and by force alone was I able to reach the rotunda in a quarter of an hour. Music, loud conversation, and the assumed tones of masks who, although suffocating from heat, ceased not to be amiable and talk nonsense; the blinding light of crystal lustres; the many-colored dresses, and that sound of the unintelligible but deafening talk of a multitudinous mass of persons resolved to be amused at any sacrifice — confused me at first to such a degree that for some minutes I neither heard nor saw anything. Wishing to draw breath, I began to seek a place where I might look around a little. While pushing along the wall, I heard some one calling me by name. I turned and looked ; a tall man in a red domino and a mask beckoned to me. The moment I approached, his companion left him. "'Sit down near me. It is with difficulty that we have met,' said he. “But why do you look at me so ? Is it possible that you do not recognize my voice ? ' "“ There is something familiar in it,” thought I, “but still it is strange and unusual. “ "“Well, if you do not know me, then look,” continued he, raising his mask. " I started back involuntarily ; my heart sank from fright. “ My God! this is Zorin! these are his features — oh, certainly this is he ; but as he will be when lying on the table, when the last service is sung over his body. But now — no, no ! a living man cannot have such a face ! “ thought I. "Well,” asked he, with a certain strange smile, “do you not find that I have changed ? “ Oh, very much! “ Then why do they say that grief changes a man ? Not grief, but possibly joy.' Joy?' Yes, my friend. If you knew how happy I am! Listen,” continued he, in an .undertone and looking around timidly; 'but for God's sake let no one know of this. She is here.” "'She? Who?” "'Lauretta.' Is it possible ? Yes, my friend, she is here; and, oh, how she loves me! She left her dear birthplace; she exchanged an ever-blue sky for our cloudy and gloomy one. There, in the circle of her relatives warmed by the sun of happy , she bloomed like a beautiful rose; but here, among people as cold and lifeless as our eternal snows, if she herself does not fade, she will ruin her gift, she will outlive her glory. She, accustomed to breathe the warm air of the South, was not afraid of our splitting frosts, of our wintry tempest she forgot everything, left everything, and has lain down alive in this broad cold tomb which we call our country; and all this for me.” Do you not glorify this act overmuch ? ' asked I, interrupting my friend. “It is not so warm here as in ; but we have spring and summer as well as there. Perhaps it is pleasanter in than here; I must say, however, that does not look like a tomb ; your Lauretta is not the first Italian artiste whom we have seen here ; and if she will give concerts “ Yes, one and the last. I have consented to this. Let her enchant all , warm up fpr a moment your icy souls, and then die for all men but me. ' " So she intends to remain here ? ' "Yes; now do you see how she loves me ? But in return, I also — oh, my love is not a feeling, not a passion — no, my friend, no! I cannot tell whether you will comprehend my happiness or understand me. I belong wholly to her. She asked this of me ; she wished this. “ Here Zorin bent forward and whispered in my ear: “I gave her my soul; now I am entirely hers — do you understand, my friend ? — entirely. ' " Well, it has happened to ihe often to give away my soul in words; and what young man would hesitate a moment to tell a woman he loved that his soul belonged to her, that she possessed it? This is an ordinary, every-day phrase in the language of love. But still I cannot tell you with what terror and repulsion I heard the confession of my friend. The mysterious voice in which he spoke; the wild fire of his gleaming eyes; this uncontrolled, mad enthusiasm; these words of joy; the pale, withered face of a corpse! "O brother!' said I, with vexation, “how can you talk such nonsense ? The soul does not belong to us, and cannot be given away. Love your Italian artiste; marry her if you like ; give her your heart “ "'Heart! ' repeated my friend, in a tone of ridicule. “But what is the heart ? Is the heart immortal like the soul ? Will it not rot in the grave ? A splendid gift, a handful of dust! Whoso gives his heart, promises to love only while it beats — and it may grow cold, if not to-day, to-morrow ; but whoever parts with his soul, gives not one life, not a hundred lives, but all his endless eternity. Yes, my friend, if you give a gift, let it be a real one. Lauretta has nothing to fear now ; the soul is not like the heart — it cannot be buried in the grave. ' "'Show me this enchantress, this Armida,' said I; 'this seductive demon who is filching away your soul. “ I do not know, myself, where she lives. Oh, you are trifling.' “No, my friend, I meet her only here. For the moment she does not wish to show herself ; this will soon be over. After her concert, we shall marry and live in the country. ' When will she give her concert ? “ Next Friday. ' Next Friday ! Impossible! You must have forgotten that concerts are never given during the first week in Lent. “ “How can that be ? Lauretta must know; she even said she would give it in this rotunda. ' "'Then she must be mistaken, herself. Have you seen her to-day ? “ "Not yet. She never comes earlier than , precisely at . No matter how crowded the masquerade is, no matter where I am sitting, she finds me at once. Precisely at ,' said I, looking at my watch; “that is, in two minutes. We shall see if she is as punctual as you say ! ' “ Gentlemen, if you have never met Lent at a masquerade, you have heard at least that, by accepted usage, at the music ceases; this means that Lent has begun and all amusements are at an end. The moment I looked at my watch — which very likely was slow — the piercing noise of the trumpets sounded the signal for closing the masquerade, and so suddenly that I trembled involuntarily and raised my eyes. " Tfu! how they startled me! ' exclaimed I, turning to my friend ; but at my side was an empty seat. I looked round. At a distance in the crowd I saw a red domino walking with a tall, stately woman in a dark Venetian dress. I hurried after them ; but at the same time three masks met me. Around these there was a crush that I could not break through in any way, and lost sight of Zorin's red domino. These three masks had just appeared in the rotunda; one was dressed as a sort of tall and lank apparition in a great paper cap on which was written in large letters, “ Dry eating. “ On each side of this mask went two others, one of which was dressed as a mushroom, the other as a cabbage. The tall scarecrow congratulated all on Lent, adding jests and sayings from which all who stood near were just dying from laughter. I alone was not laughing, and labored earnestly with my hands and feet to breakthrough the crowd. At last I succeeded in tearing myself free into space. I searched the rotunda through, went around the side galleries, but met nowhere the red domino or the dark Venetian dress. " Next morning I went to take farewell of Zorin, but did not find him at home ; in the evening I was galloping along the highway. “ More than three months had passed since I left . Occupied with continual service, and a lawsuit which began in the lifetime of my grandfather, and which may possibly be brought to an end by some one of my grandchildren, I forgot altogether my last meeting and conversation with Zorin. "One evening as I sat reading in the club, I came by chance on an article in which it was announced that the prima donna of the Neapolitan Theatre, Lauretta Baldusi, to the great grief of all lovers of music, had died at her villa near . "“ Lauretta! ' repeated 'A prima donna of the Neapolitan Theatre! Oh, but that is the same artiste with whom poor Zorin was in love to madness ! How could she have died near toward the end of February, when she was almost at the same time in at the masquerade ? ' " That very evening I wrote to one of my friends in , to let me know whether Zorin was well or not, and if he knew anything about his marriage. I received an answer informing me that on the first week of Lent, early Saturday morning, Zorin was found senseless on the Petrovski Square, near the theatre ; that afterward he was sick unto death, and that a couple of weeks before my letter was written they took him to St. Petersburg to be cured. " I searched for him everywhere, searched the whole city through, but all my efforts were fruitless. At last I saw him quite unexpectedly in a house where I had not the least thought or wish to find him. He was very glad to meet me, and told me of his strange adventure which began in the rotunda of the Petrovski Theatre. The following is the story, word for word, as I heard it from my poor friend : " “ Surely you have not forgotten,” said he, “that I saw you last on the evening before Lent, at a masquerade in the rotunda of the Petrovski Theatre. At the moment when they were trumpeting I remarked in the crowd the mask of Lauretta, who, in passing, beckoned to me. You were occupied at the time with something else, and it seems you did not observe how I sprang from my chair and went to her. "“ "Go home this moment," said she, as I took her hand. " I demand also that for four days you neither leave your rooms nor receive any one. On Friday come here on foot alone, at . Here in the rotunda there will be a rehearsal of the concert which I shall give on Saturday. " But why so late ? " asked " Will they admit me ? " Be not disturbed," said Lauretta; "for you the doors will be open. I have arranged the rehearsal for midnight, so that only a few artistes and lovers of music should know of it Now go home at once, and if you do everything I demand I shall be yours forever; but if you disobey me, and especially if you receive the friend with whom you have just now been sitting and to whom you told that touching which you should have held silence, we shall never meet either in this world or in another; and," added she, in a low tone, " though, my dear friend, the worlds are countless, if you do not follow my advice we shall not meet in one of them. " " “In the course of two years spent in , I had become acquainted with all the whims and uncommon caprices of Lauretta. She was a wonderful and fascinating woman, now as gentle and obedient as a timid child, now as proud and untamable as a fallen angel. She combined in herself all possible extremes. At times she was ready to fight against Heaven itself, believed in nothing, sneered at all things; then on a sudden, without cause, she grew most superstitious, saw evil spirits in all places, took counsel of wizards, and, if she loved not, at least she feared God. At times she called herself my slave, which for the moment she really was ; but when that moment of obedience had passed, she became such a powerloving woman that she endured not the least contradiction. Hence, no matter how strange her demands seemed (in ), I said nothing, and promised to carry out her will, especially since she gave me her word that this was the last trial of my love. "“You can imagine with what feelings I waited for Friday. I ordered the servants to tell every one that I was not at home, and to exclude even you. I walked back and forth in my rooms ; I could begin no work, and was burning as if in fire. And the nights! O my friend, even criminals on the eve of execution do not pass such hellish night-hours as I did. People were not so tormented even when torture was a calculated art and a science. I know not how I lived till Friday. I remember only that on that last day of my trial I was not only unable to eat, but I could not drink even so much as a cup of tea. My head was burning ; my blood was not flowing, but boiling, in my veins. I remember, too, that it was not a holiday ; but it seemed to me that from morning till night the bells ceased not to ring in . A clock was before me; when the hands were approaching , my patience was turned to a species of madness. I was suffocating; a malignant fever struck me, and cold sweat came out on my face. At half-past eleven I put on a light overcoat and started for the theatre. All the streets were empty. Though my rooms were a couple of versts from the theatre, fifteen minutes had not passed before I had run over the whole Prechistenka, the Mohovaya, and had come out on the square of the game market. Two hundred yards distant rose the colossal roof of the Petrovski Theatre. It was a moonless night, but the stars seemed more numerous and brighter than usual; many of them fell directly on the roof of the theatre, were scattered in sparks, and then vanished. I approached the principal entrance. One door was partly open, and near it stood a decrepit old doorkeeper with a lantern; he beckoned to me and went ahead through the dark corridors. "“I know not whether it was because I had reached the appointed place, or for some other reason, but I grew notably calmer, and remember, too, that when I had looked carefully at my guide I saw that he moved without putting one foot before the other, and that his eyes were as dim and immovable as the glass eyes in wax figures. Having passed through a long gallery, we entered at last the rotunda. It was lighted up, all the chandeliers were filled with burning tapers, but still it was dark ; the flames from them seemed as if painted, and gave out no light whatever. But four candles, on high funereal candlesticks, cast an uncertain glimmer on the first seats and the platform in front of them. This wooden platform was covered with music-stands, instrument-cases, notes; in one word, everything was prepared for a concert, but the musicians had not yet come. In the front row of seats sat thirty or forty gentlemen, some of whom were in embroidered French coats, and had their hair powdered ; others were in simple evening dress. I sat near one of the latter. Allow me to ask," said I to my neighbor, ''are these all friends and connoisseurs of music whom Mme. Baldusi has invited ? " " Precisely so. " " I make bold to ask who that young gentleman with the expressive face is; he wears a German dress.” “That is Mozart. " “Mozart! " repeated I ; " what Mozart ? " “What Mozart ? That's a strange question. Why, of course, Mozart, the author of 'Don Giovanni,' the 'Magic Flute ' " " ' "What do you tell me! Why, he died four years ago." “I’ll beg your pardon ! He died in September, 1791 ; that is live years ago. Near him are Cimarosa and Handel, and behind them Rameau and Glack." “Rameau and Gltick ? " “On our left stands the director of the orchestra, Araya, whose opera 'Bellerophon “ was given in " “In 1750, during the reign of Elizabeth Petrovna ? " " ' "Just so; he is talking with LuUi now." " • " The chief of the orchestra of Louis XIV. ? " “The very same. But do you notice in the dark corner — oh, you will see him from here : Jean Jacques Rousseau is sitting there. He is invited, not as an artist, but as a judge and lover of music. Of course, his 'Village Wizard” is a pretty opera; but you must confess yourself " “But what does this mean ? " interrupted I, looking fixedly at my neighbor. I was about to ask him how he dared to jest with me in such insolent fashion, when I saw that he was the old man Volgin, who had been my friend for years, a passionate lover of music, and a great humorist. “Ba, ba, ba! " cried I, " so it is you who are pleased to amuse yourself over me. Is it possible ? Is this you, Stepan Alexaievich ? " Yes, it is," answered he, very coolly. And you have come here also to listen to the rehearsal of lo-morrow's concert ? " My neighbor nodded. But permit me," said I, while my hair was rising on end, " what does this mean ? It seems to me that you died six years ago." “Pardon me, " replied my neighbor, " it is not six, but just seven. I recollect now that I was at your funeral," said I. Quite possible. But when were you pleased to die ? " Who ? I ? Have mercy on us! I am alive." You alive ? Ah, that is strange, very strange ! " said the dead man, shrugging his shoulders. "I wished to spring up, wished to escape. My legs would not stir; but I, as if nailed down with spikes, remained motionless in my place. All at once loud clapping of hands was heard through the hall, and Lauretta in a mask and dark Venetian dress appeared on the stage. "After her stretched a long file of musicians — and such musicians! O my Lord God! what figures! Necks of storks with faces of dogs, bodies of oxen with heads of swallows, cocks with goats' feet, goats with men's hands — in one word, no wild imagination, no mad fancy, could create such repulsive and deformed wonders ; it could not even represent them to itself after a description. Especially disgusting seemed to me those who had human faces — if faces might thus be called in which all the features were so distorted that except the chief human traits all the rest had no likeness to anything. When all this band rushed out after Lauretta to the platform, the leader of the orchestra, with the owl's face and powdered head, sat down in the chair made ready for him ; then began the tuning of the instruments. Many of the musicians were dissatisfied ; most of all, the contra-bass with the bear's face. " What sort of a bark box is this ? " roared he, turning in every direction. " Have mercy on me ! Is it possible, Signora Baldusi, that I am to play on an instrument like this ? " "“ Lauretta, in silence, pointed to my neighbor. The contra-bass sprang from his seat, seized poor Volgin by the neck, dragged him to the stage, and placing him head downward, caught both his legs with one hand, and with the other began to draw the bow across his legs, and the fullest and deepest bass sounds thundered beneath the rotunda. At last all the instruments were tuned. The leader of the orchestra gave a signal by raising a gnawed ox-bone which served as a baton. They played the overture of the " Magic Flute." " “ There were wild and discordant passages, it must be confessed, and the clarinet, who blew with his nose, played frequently false; still, the overture was not badly rendered. After rather hearty applause, Lauretta came forward, and, without removing her mask, sang what for me was an entirely new aria. The words were surpassingly strange — a dying woman, a denier of God, was taking farewell of her love. She sang that in boundless space and forever, with each passing instant, the distance between them would widen, that her torments would be endless as eternity, and that their souls, like light and darkness, would never be mingled the one with the other. "A11 this was told in beautiful verses; but the music! O my friend, where can I find words to describe to you the inexplicable sadness which pressed my poof heart as that entrancing but hellish music shook the air? There was nothing of earth in it, but neither was there an echo from Heaven in that voice, filled with tears and sobs. I heard the groans of men doomed to torments eternal ; the gnashing of teeth, the screams of hopeless despair, and deep sighs, coming from a breast worn with sufferings. When in the midst of a thundering crescendo composed of the very wildest and most discordant sounds, Lauretta stopped on a sudden, a general and reverberating bravo was heard through the hall, and a number of voices called out: “ Signora Baldusi, Signora Baldusi ! show .yourself to us ; remove your mask. " " 'Lauretta obeyed. The mask fell to her feet; and what did I see ? Merciful God ! Instead of the young and blooming face of my Lauretta, I saw a dead and dried skull. I was dumb from amazement and horror ; but the other spectators spoke all at once, and raised a great cry. “Ah, what charms! " exclaimed they, with enthusiasm; "look, what a skull — just like ivory! But the mouth, the mouth ! A wonder, it extends to her ears! What perfection ! Ah, how charmingly she gnashes her teeth at us! What nice round cavities she has for eyes ! Oh, she is beautiful ! " " “" Signora Baldusi," said Mozart, rising, "grant us a favor — sing “Biondina,' in 'Gondoletta'." “But that is impossible," said the director of the orchestra. "Signora Baldusi sings the cavatina “Biondina,' in “Gondoletta,' only with a guitar; and there is no such instrument here. " “You are mistaken, maestro di capella," answered Lauretta, pointing to me. "There is a guitar before you." The leader of the orchestra cast a quick glance at me, opened his owl's beak, and laughed so malignly that the blood grew cold in my veins. “But, really," said he, "pass him this way; we can make a good guitar out of him." “ Three of the spectators seized me, and from hand to hand passed me to the leader of the orchestra. In half a minute he wrenched my right leg off, tore the flesh away, leaving nothing but bone and dry sinews; the latter he began to stretch out like strings. " “I cannot describe to you the unendurable pain which this preliminary operation caused me; and although my right leg was torn off, still, when the villanous leader began to tune the instrument, all the nerves in my body were straining and ready to snap. But when Lauretta took from his hands my poor leg, and her bony fingers ran along the stretched sinews, I forgot all pain, so beautiful and sweetly sounding were the tone and music of this uncommon guitar. "After a brief ritornello, Lauretta sang her cavatina in a low voice. Often had I heard her before, but never had she produced on me such a wondrous effect. I seemed to myself to have become all hearing; and what was more strange, not only my soul, but all parts of my body enjoyed the enchanting music, independently of each other. But my remaining leg was the most delighted of all ; its enthusiasm reached such a degree of ecstasy, each sound of the guitar produced such inexplicably pleasant sensations, that it could not stay still 'for one instant. Every movement, too, of the leg answered to the time of the music. At one moment its movements were slow and serious, at another it jumped quickly; then it trembled slowly. "“All at once Lauretta blundered. O my friend, all previous pain was nothing compared with what I felt then. It seemed that my skull was breaking in pieces, that they were tearing all my nerves out at once; sawing me with a wooden saw, and hacking me with a dull knife. This hellish torture could not endure long. I lost consciousness, and remember only as a dream that at the moment when all seemed to grow dark in my eyes some one called out: “Throw that broken instrument into the street.”
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