fifteen rooms?
—I was there a little while ago. The rats almost ate me up, and I caught a cold in the draught. Someone had stolen the window frames, and the wind was blowing through the whole house.
—Did you try the bed in which his wife died? Isn't it soft and nice?
—Yes, I went through all the rooms and let my fancy play a little. They have such a pretty nursery. It's a pity the window frames are knocked out there too, and the wind makes a racket with the litter on the floor. And the child's bed too is so dear. Now the rats have made their nest in it and breed their children there.
—Such dear, naked little rats.
[They titter.
—And in his study the toys are lying on the table: a horse without a tail, a soldier's cap, and a red-nosed clown. I played a little with them. I put on the soldier's cap. It was very becoming to me. But there's such a lot of dust on the things. I got all dirty.
—But did you go into the drawing-room where the ball was given? It's so gay there.
—Yes, I did. Fancy what I saw. It was dark, the windows were broken, and the wind was playing with the wall-paper—
—Making a sound as of music.
—And in the darkness the guests were squatting on their knees at the wall—and you should have seen how they looked!
—We know.
—And they barked: "How rich! How magnificent! How brilliant! How rich!"
—You're joking, of course.
—Of course I'm joking. You know I have a funny disposition.
—How rich! How magnificent!
—How gay!
[They titter.
—Let's remind him of it!
—How rich! How magnificent!
—Do you remember how the music played at your ball?
—He's going to die soon.
—The dancers circled about, circled about, and the music played so gently, so beautifully. They played this way.
[They make a semicircle about Man and hum the tune played by the musicians at the ball.
—Let's get up a ball. It's so long since I've danced.
—Imagine that this is a palace, a magnificent, an exquisitely beautiful palace.
—Call the musicians. Why, you can't have a ball without music.
—Musicians!
—You remember?
[They sing. At that instant the three musicians who played at the ball come down the stairs. The one with the violin adjusts his handkerchief on his shoulder with great precision, and all three begin to play, making an exaggerated effort. But the notes are soft and gentle as in a dream.
—There you have the ball.
—How rich! How magnificent!
—How brilliant!
—You remember, don't you?
[Singing softly to the music, they begin to circle about Man, imitating in a wild, monstrous fashion the movements of the girls in the white dresses who danced at the ball. At the first musical phrase they circle, at the second they join and part gracefully and quietly, whispering:
—Do you remember?
—You're going to die soon—do you remember?
—Do you remember?
—Do you remember?
—You're going to die soon—do you remember?
—Do you remember?
[The dance grows brisker, the movements sharper. Strange, whining notes mingle into the singing of the Old Women. An equally strange laugh passes around the circle of dancers, suppressed and quiet at first. As each one glides past Man, she flings an abrupt whisper into his ear:
—Do you remember?
—Do you remember?
—How gentle! How exquisite!
—What balm to the soul! Do you remember?
—You're going to die soon, you're going to die soon.
—You're going to die soon—
—Do you remember?
[They circle more quickly, their movements growing still more abrupt. Suddenly there is silence and they halt. The musicians grow rigid with the instruments in their hands. The dancers remain fixed in the game position in which they were when the silence fell. Man rises, straightens himself, throws back his gray, beautiful, terribly majestic head, and calls out in a surprisingly loud voice, full of sorrow and wrath. After each short phrase a brief but profound pause follows.
MAN
Where is my squire? Where is my sword? Where is my shield? I am disarmed! Come to me quick! Quick! Be accurs—
[He sinks down on the chair and dies, his head falling backward. At the same moment the candle flares up brightly and goes out. All objects are buried in a dense twilight which seems to be descending the stairs until it gradually covers everything. The face of dead Man alone remains bright. Low, vague conversation, whisperings and derisive mockery are heard from the Old Women.
SOMEONE IN GRAY
Silence! Man has died!
[Profound silence. Then the same cold, indifferent voice repeats from a remote depth, like an echo:
Silence! Man has died!
[Profound silence. The twilight thickens, but the mice-like figures of the Old Women are still seen standing rigid. Presently they begin to circle about the dead body mutely, quietly; then they begin to sing softly, and the musicians begin to play. The gloom thickens, the music and the song grow louder and louder, and the wild dance grows more unrestrained, until finally it ceases to be a dance, the Old Women merely whirling about the dead man arm in arm, stamping their feet, screeching, and laughing a wild, prolonged laugh. Complete darkness descends. Only the face of Man is still lighted up. Then this light too is extinguished. Black impenetrable darkness prevails.
In the darkness are heard the movements of the mad dancers, their screeching and laughter, and the discordant, desperately loud sounds of the music. Just when they have reached their highest pitch, all the sounds and noises withdraw rapidly somewhere and die away. Stillness.
Short Stories:
INTRODUCTION
Conceive the joy of a lover of nature who, leaving the art galleries, wanders out among the trees and wild flowers and birds that the pictures of the galleries have sentimentalised. It is some such joy that the man who truly loves the noblest in letters feels when tasting for the first time the simple delights of Russian literature. French and English and German authors, too, occasionally, offer works of lofty, simple naturalness; but the very keynote to the whole of Russian literature is simplicity, naturalness, veraciousness.