The Deserted House | Page 7

at a
window of the deserted house. I went even farther; I asked the old man
if he had not seen the fair face himself. "Over there? In the old
house--in the last window?" He repeated my questions in a tone of
surprise.
"Yes, yes," I exclaimed.
The old man smiled and answered: "Well, well, that was a strange
delusion. My old eyes--thank Heaven for my old eyes! Yes, yes, sir. I
saw a pretty face in the window there, with my own eyes; but it seemed
to me to be an excellently well-painted oil portrait."
I turned quickly and looked toward the window; there was no one there,
and the blind had been pulled down. "Yes," continued the old man,
"yes, sir. Now it is too late to make sure of the matter, for just now the

servant, who, as I know, lives there alone in the house of the Countess
S., took the picture away from the window after he had dusted it, and
let down the blinds."
"Was it, then, surely a picture?" I asked again, in bewilderment.
"You can trust my eyes," replied the old man. "The optical delusion
was strengthened by your seeing only the reflection in the mirror. And
when I was in your years it was easy enough for my fancy to call up the
picture of a beautiful maiden."
"But the hand and arm moved," I exclaimed. "Oh, yes, they moved,
indeed they moved," said the old man smiling, as he patted me on the
shoulder. Then he arose to go, and bowing politely, closed his remarks
with the words, "Beware of mirrors which can lie so vividly. Your
obedient servant, sir."
You can imagine how I felt when I saw that he looked upon me as a
foolish fantast. I began to be convinced that the old man was right, and
that it was only my absurd imagination which insisted on raising up
mysteries about the deserted house.
I hurried home full of anger and disgust, and promised myself that I
would not think of the mysterious house, and would not even walk
through the avenue for several days. I kept my vow, spending my days
working at my desk, and my evenings in the company of jovial friends,
leaving myself no time to think of the mysteries which so enthralled me.
And yet, it was just in these days that I would start up out of my sleep
as if awakened by a touch, only to find that all that had aroused me was
merely the thought of that mysterious being whom I had seen in my
vision and in the window of the deserted house. Even during my work,
or in the midst of a lively conversation with my friends, I felt the same
thought shoot through me like an electric current. I condemned the little
mirror in which I had seen the charming picture to a prosaic daily use. I
placed it on my dressing-table that I might bind my cravat before it, and
thus it happened one day, when I was about to utilize it for this
important business, that its glass seemed dull, and that I took it up and
breathed on it to rub it bright again. My heart seemed to stand still,

every fiber in me trembled in delightful awe. Yes, that is all the name I
can find for the feeling that came over me, when, as my breath clouded
the little mirror, I saw the beautiful face of my dreams arise and smile
at me through blue mists. You laugh at me? You look upon me as an
incorrigible dreamer? Think what you will about it--the fair face looked
at me from out of the mirror! But as soon as the clouding vanished, the
face vanished in the brightened glass.
I will not weary you with a detailed recital of my sensations the next
few days. I will only say that I repeated again the experiments with the
mirror, sometimes with success, sometimes without. When I had not
been able to call up the vision, I would run to the deserted house and
stare up at the windows; but I saw no human being anywhere about the
building. I lived only in thoughts of my vision; everything else seemed
indifferent to me. I neglected my friends and my studies. The tortures
in my soul passed over into, or rather mingled with, physical sensations
which frightened me, and which at last made me fear for my reason.
One day, after an unusually severe attack, I put my little mirror in my
pocket and hurried to the home of Dr. K., who was noted for his
treatment of those diseases of the mind out of which physical diseases
so often grow. I told him my story;