Читать книгу The Created Legend - Fyodor Sologub - Страница 8

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The sisters entered a thicket. The path’s many turnings made them giddy. Suddenly the turrets of the old house vanished from sight. Everything around them assumed an unfamiliar look.

“We seem to have lost our way,” said Elena cheerfully.

“Never fear, we’ll find our way out,” replied Elisaveta. “We are bound to get somewhere.”

At that instant there came towards them from among the bushes the small, sunburnt, handsome Kirsha. His dark, closely grown eyebrows and black wavy hair, unspoiled by headgear, gave him the wild look of a wood-sprite.

“Dear boy, where do you come from?” asked Elisaveta.

Kirsha eyed the sisters with an attentive, direct, and innocent gaze. He said:

“I am Kirsha Trirodov. Follow this path, and you’ll find yourselves where you want to go. I’ll go ahead of you.”

He turned and walked on. The sisters followed him upon the narrow path between the tall trees. Here and there flowers were visible—small, white, odorous flowers. They emitted a strange, pungent smell. It made the sisters feel both gay and languid. Kirsha walked silently before them.

At the end of the road loomed a mound, overgrown by tangled, ugly grass. At the foot of the mound was a rusty door which looked as if it were meant to hide some treasure.

Kirsha felt in his pocket, took out a key, and opened the door. It creaked unpleasantly and breathed out cold, dampness, and fear. A long dark passage became discernible. Kirsha pressed a spot near the door. The dark passage became lit up as though by electric light, but the lights themselves were not visible.

The sisters entered the grotto. The light poured from everywhere. But the sources of light remained a mystery. The walls themselves seemed to radiate. The light fell evenly, and neither bright reflections nor shadowy places were to be seen.

The sisters went on. Now they were alone. The door closed behind them with a grating sound. Kirsha ran on ahead. The sisters no longer saw him. The corridor was sinuous. It was difficult to walk fast for some unknown reason. A kind of weight seemed to fetter their limbs. The passage inclined slightly downwards. They walked on like this a long time. It grew hotter and damper the farther they advanced. There was an aroma—strange, sad, and exotic. The fragrance increased, became more and more languorous. It made the head dizzy and the heart ready to faint with a sweetness not free from pain.

It seemed an incredibly long way. Their legs now moved more slowly. The stone floor was cruelly hard.

“It’s almost impossible to walk,” whispered Elisaveta.

Those few moments seemed like ages in that dank, sultry underground. There seemed to be no end to the narrow winding passage; the two sisters felt as though they were doomed to walk on and on, for ever and ever, without reaching any place.

The light gradually grew dimmer, a thin mist rose before their eyes. Still they walked on along the cruel, endless way.

Suddenly their journey was done. Before them was an open door, a shaft of white, exultant light came pouring in—freedom’s own ecstasy.

The door opened into an immense greenhouse. Strange, muscular, monstrously green plants grew here. The air was very humid, very oppressive. The glass walls intersected by iron bars let through much light. The light was painfully, pitilessly dazzling, so that everything appeared in a whirl before their eyes.

Elena glanced at her dress. It struck her as being grey, worn out. But the bright light diverted her glances elsewhere and made her forget herself. The blue-green glass sky of the greenhouse flung down sparks and heat. The cruel Dragon rejoiced at the earthly respirations confined in this prison of glass. He furiously kissed his beloved poisonous grasses.

“It is even more terrible here than in the passage,” said Elisaveta. “Let’s leave this place quickly.”

“No, it is pleasant here,” said Elena with a happy smile. She was enjoying the pink and purple flowers which bloomed in a round basin.

But Elisaveta walked rapidly towards the door leading to the garden. Elena overtook her, and grumbled:

“Why are you running? Here is a bench; let’s rest here.”

Trirodov met them in the garden just outside the greenhouse. His manner of addressing them was simple and direct.

“I believe,” he began, “that you are interested in this house and its owner. Well, if you like I’ll show you a part of my kingdom.”

Elena blushed. Elisaveta calmly bowed and said:

“Yes, we are an inquisitive pair. This house once belonged to a relative, but it was left abandoned. It is said that many changes have been made.”

“Yes, many changes have been made,” said Trirodov quietly, “but the greater part remains as it was.”

“Every one was astonished,” continued Elisaveta, “when you decided to settle here. The reputation of the house did not hinder you.”

Trirodov led the sisters through the house and the garden. The conversation ran on smoothly. The sisters’ embarrassment was soon gone. They felt quite natural with Trirodov. His calm, friendly voice put them wholly at ease. They continued to walk and to observe. But they felt conscious that another life, intimate yet remote, hovered round them all the while. Sounds of music came to them at intervals; sometimes it was the doleful tones of a violin, sometimes the quiet plaint of a flute; again it was the reed-like voice of some unseen singer which sang a tender and restful song.

Upon one small lawn, in the shade of old trees, whose foliage protected them from the hot glare of the Dragon, making it pleasantly cool and pleasantly dark there, a number of small boys and girls, dressed in white, had formed a ring and were dancing. As the sisters approached them the children dispersed. They scampered off so quietly that they barely made a sound even when they brushed against the twigs; they vanished as though they had not been there.

The sisters listened to Trirodov as they walked, pausing often to admire the beauties of the garden—its trees, lawns, ponds, islands, its quietly murmuring fountains, its picturesque arbours, its profusely gay flower-beds. They felt a keen elation at having penetrated this mysterious house—they were as happy as schoolgirls at the thought of having infringed the commonly accepted rules of good society in coming here.

As they entered one room of the house Elena exclaimed:

“What a strange room!”

“A magic room,” said Trirodov with a smile.

It was indeed a strange room—everything in it had an odd shape: the ceiling sloped, the floor was concave, the corners were round, upon the walls were incomprehensible pictures and unfamiliar hieroglyphics. In one corner was a dark, flat object in a carved frame of black wood.

“It’s a mirror in which it is interesting to take a look at oneself,” said Trirodov. “Only you have to stand in that triangle close to the wall, near the corner.”

The sisters went there and glanced in the mirror: two old wrinkled faces were reflected in it. Elena cried out in fright. Elisaveta, growing pale, turned towards her sister and smiled.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said, “it’s a trick of some sort.”

Elena looked at her and cried out in horror:

“You have become quite old—grey-haired! How awful!”

She ran from the mirror, crying out in her fright:

“What is it? What is it?”

Elisaveta followed her. She did not understand what had happened; she was agitated, and tried to hide her confusion. Trirodov looked at them in a self-possessed manner. He opened a cupboard, inset in the wall.

“Be calm,” he said to Elena. “I’ll give you some water in a moment.”

He gave her a glass containing a fluid as colourless as water. Elena quickly drank the sour-sweet water, and suddenly felt cheerful. Elisaveta also drank it. Elena threw herself towards the mirror.

“I’m young again,” she exclaimed in a high voice.

Then she ran forward, embraced Elisaveta, and said cheerfully:

“And you too, Elisaveta, have grown young.”

An impetuous joy seized both sisters. They caught each other by the hands and began to dance and to twirl round the room. Then they suddenly felt ashamed. They stopped, and did not know which way to look; they laughed in their confusion. Elisaveta said:

“What a stupid pair we are! You think us ridiculous, don’t you?”

Trirodov smiled in a friendly fashion:

“That is the nature of this place,” he observed. “Terror and joy live here together.”

The sisters were shown many interesting things in the house—objects of art and of worship; things which told of distant lands and of hoary antiquity; engravings of a strange and disturbing character; variegated stones, turquoise, pearls; ugly, amorphous, and grotesque idols; representations of the god-child—there were many of these, but only one face profoundly stirred Elisaveta....

Elena enjoyed the objects that resembled toys. There were many things there that one could play with, and thus indulge in a jumble of magic reflections of time and space.

The sisters had seen so much that it seemed as if an age had passed, but actually they had spent only two hours here. It is impossible to measure time. One hour is an age, another is an instant; but humanity makes no distinction, levels the hours down to an average.

“What, only two hours!” exclaimed Elena. “How long we’ve spent here. It’s time to go home for dinner.”

“Do you mind being a little late?” asked Trirodov.

“How can we?” said Elena.

Elisaveta explained:

“The hour of dinner is strictly kept in our house.”

“I’ll have a cart ready for you.”

The sisters thanked him. But they must start at once. They both suddenly felt sad and tired. They bade their host good-bye and left him. The boy in white went before them in the garden and showed them the way.

No sooner had they again entered the underground passage than they saw a soft couch, and a fatigue so poignant suddenly overcame them that they could not advance another step.

“Let’s sit down,” said Elena.

“Yes,” replied Elisaveta, “I too am tired. How strange! What a weariness!”

The sisters sat down. Elisaveta said quietly:

“The light that falls upon us here from an unknown source is not a living light, and it is terrifying—but the stern face of the monster, burning yet not consuming itself, is even more terrifying.”

“The lovely sun,” said Elena.

“It will become extinguished,” said Elisaveta, “extinguished—this unrighteous luminary, and in the depth of subterranean passages, freed from the scorching Dragon and from cold that kills, men will erect a new life full of wisdom.”

Elena whispered:

“When the earth grows cold, men will die.”

“The earth will not die,” answered Elisaveta no less quietly.

The sisters fell into a sleep. They did not sleep long, and when both awakened quite suddenly, everything that had just happened seemed like a dream. They made haste.

“We must hurry home,” said Elena in an anxious voice.

They ran quickly. The door of the underground passage was open. Just outside the door, in the road, stood a cart. Kirsha sat in it and held the reins. The sisters seated themselves. Elisaveta took the reins. Kirsha spoke a word now and then. They said little on the way, in odd, disjointed words.

Arrived at their destination, they got out of the cart. They were in a half-somnolent state. Kirsha was off before they realized that they had not thanked him. When they looked for him they could only see a cloud of dust and hear the clatter of hoofs and the rattle of wheels on the cobblestones.