The Continental Classics, Volume XVIII | Page 7

put off. Every day Lizaveta
received from him a letter, sent now in this way, now in that. They
were no longer translated from the German. Hermann wrote them under
the inspiration of passion, and spoke in his own language, and they
bore full testimony to the inflexibility of his desire, and the disordered
condition of his uncontrollable imagination. Lizaveta no longer thought
of sending them back to him; she became intoxicated with them, and
began to reply to them, and little by little her answers became longer
and more affectionate. At last she threw out of the window to him the
following letter:
"This evening there is going to be a ball at the Embassy. The Countess
will be there. We shall remain until two o'clock. You have now an
opportunity of seeing me alone. As soon as the Countess is gone, the

servants will very probably go out, and there will be nobody left but the
Swiss, but he usually goes to sleep in his lodge. Come about half-past
eleven. Walk straight upstairs. If you meet anybody in the anteroom,
ask if the Countess is at home. You will be told 'No,' in which case
there will be nothing left for you to do but to go away again. But it is
most probable that you will meet nobody. The maidservants will all be
together in one room. On leaving the anteroom, turn to the left, and
walk straight on until you reach the Countess's bedroom. In the
bedroom, behind a screen, you will find two doors: the one on the right
leads to a cabinet, which the Countess never enters; the one on the left
leads to a corridor, at the end of which is a little winding staircase; this
leads to my room."
Hermann trembled like a tiger as he waited for the appointed time to
arrive. At ten o'clock in the evening he was already in front of the
Countess's house. The weather was terrible; the wind blew with great
violence, the sleety snow fell in large flakes, the lamps emitted a feeble
light, the streets were deserted; from time to time a sledge drawn by a
sorry-looking hack, passed by on the lookout for a belated passenger.
Hermann was enveloped in a thick overcoat, and felt neither wind nor
snow.
At last the Countess's carriage drew up. Hermann saw two footmen
carry out in their arms the bent form of the old lady, wrapped in sable
fur, and immediately behind her, clad in a warm mantle, and with her
head ornamented with a wreath of fresh flowers, followed Lizaveta.
The door was closed. The carriage rolled heavily away through the
yielding snow. The porter shut the street door, the windows became
dark.
Hermann began walking up and down near the deserted house; at
length he stopped under a lamp, and glanced at his watch: it was twenty
minutes past eleven. He remained standing under the lamp, his eyes
fixed upon the watch impatiently waiting for the remaining minutes to
pass. At half-past eleven precisely Hermann ascended the steps of the
house and made his way into the brightly-illuminated vestibule. The
porter was not there. Hermann hastily ascended the staircase, opened

the door of the anteroom, and saw a footman sitting asleep in an
antique chair by the side of a lamp. With a light, firm step Hermann
passed by him. The drawing-room and dining-room were in darkness,
but a feeble reflection penetrated thither from the lamp in the anteroom.
Hermann reached the Countess's bedroom. Before a shrine, which was
full of old images, a golden lamp was burning. Faded stuffed chairs and
divans with soft cushions stood in melancholy symmetry around the
room, the walls of which were hung with china silk. On one side of the
room hung two portraits painted in Paris by Madame Lebrun. One of
these represented a stout, red-faced man of about forty years of age, in
a bright green uniform, and with a star upon his breast; the other--a
beautiful young woman, with an aquiline nose, forehead curls, and a
rose in her powdered hair. In the corner stood porcelain shepherds and
shepherdesses, dining-room clocks from the workshop of the celebrated
Lefroy, bandboxes, roulettes, fans, and the various playthings for the
amusement of ladies that were in vogue at the end of the last century,
when Montgolfier's balloons and Niesber's magnetism were the rage.
Hermann stepped behind the screen. At the back of it stood a little iron
bedstead; on the right was the door which led to the cabinet; on the left,
the other which led to the corridor. He opened the latter, and saw the
little winding staircase which led to the room of the poor companion.
But he retraced his steps and entered the dark cabinet.
The