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Aratoff did not think about the coming night, and did not fear it; he was convinced that he should pass it in the best possible manner. The thought of Clara awoke in him from time to time; but he immediately remembered that she had killed herself in a “spectacular” manner, and turned away. That “outrageous” act prevented other memories from rising in him. Giving a cursory glance at the stereoscope it seemed to him that she was looking to one side because she felt ashamed. Directly over the stereoscope on the wall, hung the portrait of his mother. Aratoff removed it from its nail, kissed it, and carefully put it away in a drawer. Why did he do this? Because that portrait must not remain in the vicinity of that woman … or for some other reason–Aratoff did not quite know. But his mother’s portrait evoked in him memories of his father … of that father whom he had seen dying in that same room, on that very bed. “What dost thou think about all this, father?” he mentally addressed him. “Thou didst understand all this; thou didst also believe in Schiller’s world of spirits.–Give me counsel!”

“My father has given me counsel to drop all these follies,” said Aratoff aloud, and took up a book. But he was not able to read long, and feeling a certain heaviness all through his body, he went to bed earlier than usual, in the firm conviction that he should fall asleep immediately.

And so it came about … but his hopes for a peaceful night were not realised.

XVII

Before the clock struck midnight he had a remarkable, a menacing dream.

It seemed to him that he was in a sumptuous country-house of which he was the owner. He had recently purchased the house, and all the estates attached to it. And he kept thinking: “It is well, now it is well, but disaster is coming!” Beside him was hovering a tiny little man, his manager; this man kept making obeisances, and trying to demonstrate to Aratoff how admirably everything about his house and estate was arranged.–“Please, please look,” he kept reiterating, grinning at every word, “how everything is flourishing about you! Here are horses … what magnificent horses!” And Aratoff saw a row of huge horses. They were standing with their backs to him, in stalls; they had wonderful manes and tails … but as soon as Aratoff walked past them the horses turned their heads toward him and viciously displayed their teeth.

“It is well,” thought Aratoff, “but disaster is coming!”

“Please, please,” repeated his manager again; “please come into the garden; see what splendid apples we have!”

The apples really were splendid, red, and round; but as soon as Aratoff looked at them, they began to shrivel and fall…. “Disaster is coming!” he thought.

“And here is the lake,” murmurs the manager: “how blue and smooth it is! And here is a little golden boat!… Would you like to have a sail in it?… It moves of itself.”

“I will not get into it!” thought Aratoff; “a disaster is coming!” and nevertheless he did seat himself in the boat. On the bottom, writhing, lay a little creature resembling an ape; in its paws it was holding a phial filled with a dark liquid.

“Pray do not feel alarmed,” shouted the manager from the shore…. “That is nothing! That is death! A prosperous journey!”

The boat darted swiftly onward … but suddenly a hurricane arose, not like the one of the day before, soft and noiseless–no; it is a black, terrible, howling hurricane!–Everything is in confusion round about;–and amid the swirling gloom Aratoff beholds Clara in theatrical costume: she is raising the phial to her lips, a distant “Bravo! bravo!” is audible, and a coarse voice shouts in Aratoff’s ear:

“Ah! And didst thou think that all this would end in a comedy?–No! it is a tragedy! a tragedy!”