American library books ยป Other ยป The Created Legend by Fyodor Sologub (ebook reader color screen TXT) ๐Ÿ“•

Read book online ยซThe Created Legend by Fyodor Sologub (ebook reader color screen TXT) ๐Ÿ“•ยป.   Author   -   Fyodor Sologub



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to them. He eyed him fixedly and recalled where he had met him, whereupon he frowned and asked the sisters:

โ€œWho is this?โ€

โ€œA very inquisitive person who somehow has got an idea that we have many interesting things to tell him about Trirodov,โ€ said Elisaveta with a smile.

Ostrov raised his hat and said:

โ€œIโ€™ve had the honour to see you on the float.โ€

โ€œWell, what of it?โ€ asked Piotr sharply.

โ€œWellโ โ€”er, I have the honour to remind you,โ€ said Ostrov with exaggerated politeness.

โ€œWhat are you doing here?โ€ asked Piotr.

โ€œIโ€™ve had the pleasure of meeting these charming young ladies,โ€ Ostrov began to explain.

Piotr interrupted him sharply:

โ€œAnd now you let the young ladies alone and go away from here.โ€

โ€œWhy shouldnโ€™t I have turned to these young ladies with a polite question and an interesting tale?โ€ asked Ostrov.

Piotr, without replying, turned to the sisters:

โ€œYou little girls are ready to enter into conversation with every vagrant.โ€

An expression of bitterness crept into Ostrovโ€™s face. Possibly this was only a game, but it was certainly well played. It made Piotr feel uncomfortable.

โ€œA vagrant? And what is a vagrant?โ€ asked Ostrov.

โ€œWhat is a vagrant?โ€ repeated Piotr in confusion. โ€œWhat a question!โ€

โ€œWell, sir, you have permitted yourself to use the word, and Iโ€™m rather interested to know in what sense youโ€™ve used it in its application to me.โ€

Piotr, annoyed at being disconcerted by the strangerโ€™s question, said sharply:

โ€œA vagrant is one who roams about without shelter and without money and obtrudes upon others instead of attending to his own business.โ€

โ€œThank you for the definition,โ€ said Ostrov with a bow. โ€œIt is true that I have but little money and that Iโ€™m compelled to roam aboutโ โ€”such is the nature of my profession.โ€

โ€œWhat is your profession?โ€ asked Piotr.

Ostrov bowed with dignity and said:

โ€œIโ€™m an actor!โ€

โ€œI doubt it,โ€ said Piotr once more sharply, โ€œyou look more like a detective.โ€

โ€œYou are mistaken,โ€ said Ostrov in a flustered way.

Piotr turned away from him.

โ€œLet us go home at once,โ€ he said to the sisters.

X

It was growing dark. Ostrov was approaching Trirodovโ€™s gates. His face betrayed agitation. It was even more clear now than by daylight that life had used him hardly. He felt painfully timid in going to Trirodov, in whom he evidently had certain hopes. Before Ostrov could make up his mind to ring the bell at the gates he walked the entire length of the stone wall that surrounded Trirodovโ€™s house and garden and examined it attentively, without learning anything. Only the entire length of the tall wall was before his eyes.

It was already quite dark when Ostrov stopped at last at the main gate. The half-effaced figures and old heraldic emblems held his attention for a moment only. He had already taken hold of the brass bell-handle and paused cautiously, as if it were his habit to reconsider at the last moment; he gave a sudden shiver. A clear, childish voice behind his back uttered quietly:

โ€œNot here.โ€

Ostrov looked on both sides timidly, half stealthily, bending his head low and letting it sink between his shoulders. Quite close by a pale, blue-eyed boy dressed in white was standing and eyeing him with intent scrutiny.

โ€œThey wonโ€™t hear you here. Everyone has left,โ€ he said.

โ€œWhere is one to ring?โ€ Ostrov asked harshly.

The boy pointed his finger to the left; it was a slow, graceful gesture.

โ€œRing at the small gate there.โ€

He ran off so quickly and quietly it seemed as if he had not been there. Ostrov went in the direction indicated. He came to a high, narrow gate. A white electric bell-button shone in a round wooden recess. Ostrov rang and listened. He could hear somewhere the rapid shivering tones of a tiny bell. Ostrov waited. The door did not open. Ostrov rang once more. It was quiet behind the door.

โ€œI wonder how long thereโ€™s to wait?โ€ he grumbled, then gave a shout: โ€œHey, you in there!โ€

A faint, muffled sound vibrated in the damp air, as if someone had tittered lightly. Ostrov caught hold of the brass handle of the gate. The gate opened towards him easily and without a sound. Ostrov looked round cautiously as he entered, and purposely left the gate open.

He found himself in a small court on either side of which was a low wall. The gate swung to behind him with a metallic click. Had he himself pulled it to rather quickly? He could not recall now. He walked forward about ten paces, when he came upon a wall twice as high as the side walls. It had a massive oak door; an electric bell-button shone very white on one side. Ostrov rang once more. The bell-button was very cold, almost icy, to the touch. A sensation of chill passed down his whole body.

A round window, like a dim, motionless, observing eye, was visible high above the door.

Ostrov could not say whether he waited there a long or a short time. He experienced a strange feeling of having become congealed and of having lost all sense of time. Whole days seemed to pass before him like a single minute. Rays of bright light fell on his face and disappeared. Ostrov thought that someone flashed this light on his face by means of a lantern from the window over the doorโ โ€”a light so intense that his eyes felt uncomfortable. He turned his face aside in vexation. He did not wish to be recognized before he entered. That was why he came in the dark of the evening.

But evidently he had been recognized. This door swung open as soundlessly as the first. He entered a short, dark corridor in the thick wall; then another court. No one was there. The door closed noiselessly behind him.

โ€œHow many courts are there in this devilish hole?โ€ growled Ostrov.

A narrow path paved with stone stretched before him. It was lit up by a lamp from a distance, the reflection of which was directed straight towards Ostrov, so that he could see only the smooth grey slabs of stone under his feet. It was

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