The Created Legend by Feodor Sologub
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Feodor Sologub >> The Created Legend
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"It's time to go," said Elena.
Elisaveta made a move.
"Yes, let's go," she agreed. "It's very interesting and delightful
here, but we can't stay for ever."
The departure of the sisters had been noticed. A few of the children
ran up to them. The children cried gaily:
"We will show you the way, or you'll get lost."
When the sisters paused at the gate, Elisaveta thought that some one
was looking at her, out of a hiding-place, with a gaze of
astonishment. In perplexity, strange and distressing, she looked
around her. Behind the hedge in the bushes a small boy and a small
girl were hiding. They were like the others she had seen here, except
that they were very white, as though the kisses of the stern Dragon
floating in the hot sky had left no traces upon their tender skin.
Both the little boy and the little girl were staring with a motionless
but attentive gaze. Their chaste look seemed to penetrate into the
very depth of one's soul; this rather disconcerted Elisaveta. She
whispered to Elena:
"Look, what strange beings!"
Elena looked in the direction of Elisaveta's glance and said
indifferently:
"Monsters!"
Elisaveta was astonished at her sister's observation--the faces of
these hiding children seemed to her like the faces of praying angels.
By this time the children who had escorted the sisters ran back,
jostling each other and laughing. Only one boy remained with them. He
opened the gate and waited for the sisters to go out so that he could
shut it again. Elisaveta quietly asked him:
"Who are these?"
With a light movement of her head she indicated the bushes, where the
boy and the girl were hiding. The cheerful urchin looked in the
direction of her glance, then at her, and said:
"There's no one there."
And actually no one was now visible in the bushes. Elisaveta
persisted:
"But I did see a boy and a girl there. Both were quite white, not at
all brown like the rest of you. They stood ever so quietly and
looked."
The cheery, dark-eyed lad looked attentively at Elisaveta, frowned
slightly, lowered his eyes, reflected, then again eyed the sisters
attentively and sadly, and said:
"In the main building, where Giorgiy Sergeyevitch lives, there are
more of these quiet children. They are never with us. They are quiet
ones. They do not play. They have been ill. It's likely they haven't
improved yet. I don't know. They are kept separately."
The boy said this slowly and thoughtfully, as if he were astonished
because there, in the house of the master, were other children, quiet
ones, who did not join in their play. Suddenly he shook his head
lustily, banishing, as it were, unaccustomed thoughts, then took off
his cap and exclaimed cheerily and with some tenderness:
"A happy journey, darlings! Follow this footpath."
He made an obeisance and ran off. The sisters were quite alone now.
They went on in the direction given them by the boy. A quiet vale
opened up before them, and in the distance a white wall was visible,
which concealed Trirodov's house. They continued their way towards the
house. In front of them, keeping close to the bushes, walked a boy in
a white dress; he appeared to be showing them the way.
It was very quiet. High above them, protecting himself from the human
eye by dark purple shields, the flaming Dragon rested. His look from
behind the deceptive, vacillant shields was hot and evil; he poured
out his dazzling light, tormented men with it, yet wished them to
rejoice in his presence and to compose hymns to him. He wished to
rule, and it seemed as though he were motionless, as though he would
never decide to retire. But his livid weariness already began to
incline him westwards. Still his passion grew, and his kisses were
scorching, and his infuriated gaze with its livid purple dimmed the
glances of the two girls.
The girls' glances were seeking--seeking Trirodov's house.
Trirodov's house stood about a verst and a half from the edge of the
town, not at the end where the dirty and smoky factory buildings
squatted, but quite at the other end, along the River Skorodyen, above
the town of Skorodozh. This house and the estate attached to it
occupied a considerable space, surrounded by a stone wall. One side of
the place faced the river, the other the town, the rest adjoined the
fields and woods. The house stood in the middle of an old garden. From
behind the tall white stone wall the tops of the trees were to be
seen, while between them, quite high, two turrets of the house, one
somewhat higher than the other, were visible. The sisters felt as if
some one in the high turret were looking down upon them.
There were ominous rumours concerning the house even in the days when
it belonged to the previous tenant Matov, a kinsman of the Rameyev
sisters. It was said that the house was inhabited by ghosts, and by
phantoms who had left their graves. There was a footpath close to the
house which led across the northern part of the estate, through a
wood, to the Krutitsk cemetery. In the town they called this the
footpath of Navii,[2] and they were afraid to walk upon it even by
day. Many legends grew up around it. The local _intelligentsia_
tried vainly to disprove them. The whole property was sometimes called
Navii's playground. There were some who said that they had seen with
their own eyes this enigmatic inscription on the gates: "Three went
in, two came out." This inscription was, of course, no longer there.
Now only lightly cut-out figures were to be seen, one under the other:
'3' on top, '2' lower, and '1' at the bottom.
[Footnote 2: Footpath of the dead.]
All the evil rumours and warnings did not prevent Giorgiy Sergeyevitch
Trirodov from buying the house. He made changes in it, and then
settled here after his comparatively brief educational career had been
rudely cut short.
It took a long time to rebuild and transform the house. The high walls
prevented any one from seeing what was being done there. This aroused
the curiosity of the townsfolk and caused all sorts of malicious
gossip. The working men did not belong to the place, but were brought
from a distance. Dark and short and rather gruff-looking, they did not
understand the local speech, and seldom showed themselves in the
streets.
"They are wicked and dark" was said about them in the town. "They
carry knives about with them, and dig underground passages in Navii's
playground. He himself is clean-shaven like a German, and he's
imported these foreign earth-diggers."
* * * * *
"I like that red-haired instructress, Nadezhda Vestchezerova," said
Elena.
She looked searchingly at her sister.
"Yes, she's very sincere," answered Elisaveta. '"A fine girl."
"They are all charming," said Elena with greater assurance.
"Yes," observed Elisaveta, with indecision in her voice. "But there is
that other--the one that ran away from us--there's something I don't
like about her. Perhaps it's a slight veneer of hypocrisy."
"Why do you say so?" asked Elena.
"I simply feel it. She smiles too pleasantly, too lovingly. She seems
in every way phlegmatic, yet she tries to appear animated. Her words
come rather easily sometimes, and she exaggerates."
* * * * *
It was quiet in the garden behind the stone wall. This was Kirsha's
free hour. But he could not play, though he tried to.
Little Kirsha, Trirodov's son, whose mother had died not long before,
was dark and thin. He had a very mobile face and restless dark eyes.
He was dressed like the boys in the wood. He was quite restless
to-day. He felt sad without knowing why. He felt as if some invisible
being were drawing him on, calling to him in an inaudible whisper,
demanding something--what? And who was it approaching their house?
Why? Friend or foe? It was a stranger--yet curiously intimate.
At that moment, when the sisters were taking leave of the children in
the wood, Kirsha felt especially perturbed. In the far corner of the
garden he saw a boy in white dress; he ran up to him. They spoke long
and quietly. Then Kirsha ran to his father.
Giorgiy Sergeyevitch Trirodov was all alone at home. He was lying on
the sofa, reading a book by Wilde.
Trirodov was forty years old. He was slender and erect. His
short-trimmed hair and clean-shaven face made him look very young.
Only on closer scrutiny it was possible to detect the many grey hairs,
the wrinkles on the forehead around the eyes. His face was pale. His
broad forehead seemed very large--it was partly due to a narrow chin,
lean cheeks, and baldness.
The room where Trirodov was reading--his study--was large, bright, and
simple, with a white, unpainted floor as smooth as a mirror. The walls
were lined with open bookcases. In the wall opposite the windows,
between the bookcases, a narrow space was left, large enough for a man
to stand in. It gave the impression of a door being there, hidden by
hangings. In the middle of the room stood a very large table, upon
which lay books, papers, and several strange objects--hexahedral
prisms of an unfamiliar substance, heavy and solid in appearance, dark
red in colour, with purple, blue, grey, and black spots, and with
veins running across it.
Kirsha knocked on the door and entered--quiet, small, troubled.
Trirodov looked at him anxiously. Kirsha said:
"There are two young women in the wood. Such an inquisitive pair. They
have been looking over our colony. Now they'd like to come here to
take a look round."
Trirodov let the pale green ribbon with a lightly stamped pattern fall
upon the page he was reading and laid the book on the small table at
his side. He then took Kirsha by the hand, drew him close, and looked
attentively at him, with a slight stir in his eyes; then said quietly:
"You've been asking questions of those quiet boys again."
Kirsha grew red, but stood erect and calm, Trirodov continued to
reproach him:
"How often have I told you that this is wicked. It is bad for you and
for them."
"It's all the same to them," said Kirsha quietly.
"How do you know?" asked Trirodov.
Kirsha shrugged his shoulders and said obstinately:
"Why are they here? What are they to us?"
Trirodov turned away, then rose abruptly, went to the window, and
looked gloomily into the garden. Clearly something was agitating his
consciousness, something that needed deciding. Kirsha quietly walked
up to him, stepping softly upon the white, warm floor with his
sunburnt graceful feet, high in instep, and with long, beautiful,
well-formed toes. He touched his father on the shoulder, quietly
rested his sunburnt hand there, and said:
"You know, daddy, that I seldom do this, only when I must. I felt very
much troubled to-day. I knew that something would happen."
"What will happen?" asked his father.
"I have a feeling," said Kirsha with a pleading voice, "that you must
let them in to us--these inquisitive girls."
Trirodov looked very attentively at his son and smiled. Kirsha said
gravely:
"The elder one is very charming. In some way she is like mother. But
the other is also nice."
"What brings them here?" again asked Trirodov. "They might have waited
until their elders brought them here."
Kirsha smiled, sighed lightly, and said thoughtfully, shrugging his
small shoulders:
"All women are curious. What's to be done with them?"
Smiling now joyously, now gravely, Trirodov asked:
"And will mother not come to us?"
"Oh, if she only came, if only for one little minute!" exclaimed
Kirsha.
"What are we to do with these girls?" asked Trirodov.
"Invite them in, show them the house," replied Kirsha.
"And the quiet children?" quietly asked Trirodov.
"The quiet children also like the elder one," answered Kirsha.
"And who are they, these girls?" asked Trirodov.
"They are our neighbours, the Rameyevs," said Kirsha.
Trirodov smiled again and said:
"Yes, one can understand why they are so curious."
He frowned, went to the table, put his hand on one of the dark, heavy
prisms and picked it up cautiously, and again carefully put it back in
its place, saying at the same time to Kirsha:
"Go, then, and meet them and bring them here."
Kirsha, growing animated, asked:
"By the door or through the grotto?"
"Yes, bring them through the dark passage, underground."
Kirsha went out. Trirodov was left alone. He opened the drawer of his
writing-table, took out a strangely shaped flagon of green glass
filled with a dark fluid, and looked in the direction of the secret
door. At that instant it opened quietly and easily. A pale, quiet boy
entered and looked at Trirodov with his dispassionate and innocent,
but understanding eyes.
Trirodov went up to him. A reproach was ripe on his tongue but he
could not say it. Pity and tenderness clung to his lips. Silently he
gave the strange-shaped flagon to the boy. The boy went out quietly.
CHAPTER III
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.
CHAPTER IV
The sisters had barely time to change for dinner. They entered the
dining-room somewhat weary and distraught. They were awaited there by
their father Rameyev, the two Matovs--the student Piotr Dmitrievitch
and the schoolboy Misha, sons of Rameyev's lately deceased cousin to
whom Trirodov's estate had previously belonged.
The sisters spoke little at the table, and they said nothing of their
day's adventure. Yet before this they used to be frank and loved to
chat, to tell the things that had happened to them.
Piotr Matov, a tall, spare, pale youth with sparkling eyes, who looked
like a man about to enter a prophetic school, seemed worried and
irritated. His nervousness reflected itself, in embarrassed smiles and
awkward movements, in Misha. The latter was a well-nourished,
rosy-cheeked lad, with a quick, merry eye, but betraying his intense
impressionableness. His smiling mouth trembled slightly around the
corners, apparently without cause.
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