Not so many years ago a party of Russian lads and girls flocked together, from all the four corners of Paris, in order to "see in," as is the custom of their country, the real New Year, that is the thirteenth of January. Most of them were far from rich, working in the great city, for their daily bread, besides attending to their various studies. So no dancing was expected, no great spread of any kind. Simply, the hostess, a motherly old lady, and her husband — the "would be magnate" he was ironically nicknamed in indication of disappointments his bureaucratic career had suffered, years ago, before he had retired to Paris to grumble at his case and make the most of his scanty pension — had heartily bidden any lonely Russian youth to spend New Year's eve with them.
All present were unanimous in wishing to spend the evening in the most Russian way. They all were preparing to write down on a slip of paper and burn it to the last particle, too, all whilst the clock was still striking midnight, the wish their hearts most desired. But in the meantime, fortune telling and forfeit games were tried and did not succeed. Most probably, because of the absence of real child element, though the ages of all the guests put together would hardly amount to two hundred. So the pastimes degenerated into talk.
"I wonder," a young fellow said, "why the looking-glass oracles should be so utterly forgotten by our generation? And the setting of the supper table for the midnight apparitions of future brides and lovers, and the best of all, the bridge oracle. (1) In the midst of all the present crazes and fads, when people are ever ready both to believe and to disbelieve anything, the world-old oracles of antique Russia ought to have a place of honor, if only there was such a thing as consistency in this world."
"Well to my mind, it only means that Russia has still preserved some common sense," suggested another.
"Shows how much you know about the present state of affairs at home," exclaimed a fixture lady-doctor, a violent blush spreading all over her baby face. "Why! I can assure you that amongst the upper classes, in any city, there are more spiritualists, mediums, clairvoyants and such like bosh, than anywhere else."
"Oh, it's not this sort of thing I mean," persisted the first speaker. "I have no interest in hysterical anomalies. But take the example of our great great grandmothers and of all sorts of Palashkas and Malashkas, their faithful handmaids. Who more healthy, more normal than they? And yet what girl, in their times, did not stop nights in abandoned bath-houses and barns, where, in winter, frost reigned supreme, and all to call forth the apparition of the future lord of her days."
And at this he came to a sudden stop, his neighbor having given him a severe kick under the table.
"Why! What is the matter?" the poor fellow asked, utterly abashed.
"The matter is that Lila is present and so it is prohibited, under the penalty of law, to speak of bridges, looking-glasses and would be husbands, likewise."
"Oh, Anna! You need not speak like that. True, last year, when the impression was still so very vivid, I was so foolish as to go into a crying fit. I am ashamed of it. But, you know, that now. .
And Lila Rianoff, whose diminutive person was extremely attractive and pretty, stammered, evidently at a loss for a word. Anna Karssoff, the energetic young person who had so unceremoniously interrupted the first speaker, came to her rescue.
"That now you are satisfied there will be no he coming after you and likewise no destruction of bridges?"
"Yes, maybe," answered Lila, with a reticent smile, but there was no assurance in her voice. The general hum of many other voices soon drowned hers. The uninformed asked questions as to her adventure, the informed hastened to satisfy their curiosity, for the most part, speaking all at once and spoiling each other's effects.
After a while everybody present had heard all about it. Exactly a year ago Lila made up her mind it would be good fun to pry into the secrets of destiny by the means of two large mirrors facing each other, and two very bright lights, right and left of her, which repeatedly reflected in the glasses formed a perfect avenue of fire, lost in the distance. Gazing in one of the mirrors, Lila met with an adventure so horrible, that either talking or thinking of it made her very unhappy ever since.
"It was only a dream," the girl timidly observed, in the vain hope of averting the general attention from her unlucky pretty little self.
"A dream indeed! Who ever heard of a girl falling regularly sick on the strength of a foolish dream?"
"Also, who ever heard of a girl smashing expensive mirrors all on the strength of a dream?"
"My smashing the looking glass is a pure fancy of Anna's," said Lila, "that would be altogether too sad for my finances. In my fright I merely upset the table, that's all."
However, the desire, on one side, to hear and, on the other, to narrate grew so clamorous, that Lila's remonstrances and timid little attempts to turn the talk into some other channel were soon hushed up. She had to subside, but she firmly refused to speak herself. So the second-hand narrative, constantly interrupted and commented upon, went, on the best it could.
The two rows of fire into which the girl gazed, soon began to fascinate her, attracting her as if drawing her in. At times, she felt she was becoming merely a part of the wondrous space that shone and blazed before her weary eyes. At last, she forgot it was only the repeated reflection of two candles; she forgot the very existence of the mirrors. The fiery path, without beginning nor end, stretching far away into unknown worlds had absorbed her, had sucked her in.
Lila advanced on this path slowly and listlessly, like a conscious but powerless automaton. As she advanced the lights on the sides of her path grew dimmer and scarcer, and soon disappeared completely. She found herself in darkness, surrounded by a cold waste of snow, her heart shrinking with anguish, fear, and, at the same time intense expectation. She knew she had to get on; that there, far away, behind the veil of cold mists there lay a goal, a longed for object of her lonely wanderings.
She plunged deeper and deeper in the snowy desert, but, strange to say, not a limb of her body moved. She understood she was carried by some power far greater than her own will, a power she could neither control nor resist. But she did not wish to resist it. She knew somehow, that the power acted in accordance with an aim of greatest gravity, of life importance.
At last, she found herself on some promontory or mound, and at the foot of it she saw the rushing waters of some stream, trying to break from under the heavy coat of ice and snow. There also was a building there. But was it a mill, or a chapel, or a living house? She did not realize. Her eyes were riveted to the heavy arch of a stone bridge, and to a lonely figure of a man standing on it.
That was all.
But the instant Lila caught sight of the man, she recognized it was for him and for him alone she had crossed the long weary desert. In her heart was joy and rapture, for that man was no stranger. In the days gone by she had suffered for him, she had loved him, she had looked to him for guidance and help. She knew all that well now, and yet how was it she never gave him a thought for even so long? How was it they were separated such endless ages full of loneliness and sadness?
The eyes of the man were turned towards Lila, with an expression of such warm affection, of such loyal devotion, that her whole being went out to him and she ran to the bridge where he stood. Not passively or inertly this time, but with a conscious effort of all her will, with the power of woman's trust and love.
Lila already reached the bottom of the hillock, she stepped on the bridge. The man stretched his arms toward her. One second more and she would reach safety and happiness, protected by one stronger, wiser, better than she.
But what is this terrible noise, the clinking of swords and armor, and the clatter of horses' hoofs? Mounted men canter to the bridge, they tear the girl from the arms of the one she loves. Did the bridge cave in under the weight of the fighting, shouting, angry people? or was she pushed off it? For a moment she hung in the space, catching to something hard and stable, then her arms grew too weak to hold on any longer, her grip relaxed, the cold air whistled in her ears, and she abandoned herself to her fate.
"Needless to say," laughingly said Lila, trying to look altogether unconcerned and composed, "it was not the balustrade of a bridge I caught hold of, but my own dressing table. And, please, do dismiss the subject. The whole business was a dream and perfect nonsense. But I do not like to recall its sensations. It was horrible, unspeakably horrible, to be sucked in by this road of fire. I imagine a man sinking in quick-sands must experience something similar."
A group of medical students of both sexes went, at this, into a discussion about the reality of sensations produced by unreal things. The names of Charcot and Richet were pronounced, experiments over hysterical subjects at the Salpetriere were described.
But the youngest of the party, a delicate looking little girl, with dreamy eyes, persisted in clinging to the previous subject.
"Lila, do tell me," she said, "what was he like, this handsome stranger of yours? Did he also fall into the river? Do you think you would recognize him, were you to meet him in real life?"
"Meet him in real life? God forbid! Was such a calamity to befall me, I don't know what I should do. I would hate the man, I would run away from him, I would hide myself somewhere," half seriously, half in jest, answered the elder girl.
"Why, how inconsistent you are. Did not you wish to see your husband when starting the whole business?"
"Honestly I did not. I did it all for sport, intending to make fun of the credulity of others. But I tell you seriously, dear, were I to meet a man in the least reminding me of my dream, I would consider it pure deviltry. And nothing on earth would induce me to make a husband of such a man."
Both girls laughed. But Lila's nerves were so shaken with either the too vivid recollections, or with all the chaffing and laughter, of which she was the object for the last half hour, that she nearly jumped when a loud ring resounded in the ante-chamber.
(To be continued.)
FOOTNOTE:
1. In the eves of certain days girls place a saucerful of water in their bedrooms, with a chip or a stick laid across it. This is expected to bring about dreams with a bridge playing an important part in them. If there appears a man on the bridge, his features will be those of the girl's future husband; if none turns up, she will have to go through life single. (return to text)