And lo, it came to pass, that remarkable, that unexpected thing! Twenty
paces in front of me I suddenly beheld that same negro who had spoken to
the baron in my presence at the coffee-house! Enveloped in the same
cloak which I had then noticed on him, he seemed to have popped up out
of the earth, and with his back turned toward me was walking with brisk
strides along the narrow sidewalk of the crooked alley! I immediately
dashed in pursuit of him, but he redoubled his gait, although he did not
glance behind him, and suddenly made an abrupt turn around the corner of
a projecting house. I rushed to that corner and turned it as quickly as
the negro had done.... Marvellous to relate! Before me stretched a long,
narrow, and perfectly empty street; the morning mist filled it with its
dim, leaden light,--but my gaze penetrated to its very extremity. I
could count all its buildings ... and not a single living being was
anywhere astir! The tall negro in the cloak had vanished as suddenly as
he had appeared! I was amazed ... but only for a moment. Another feeling
immediately took possession of me; that street which stretched out
before my eyes, all dumb and dead, as it were,--I recognised it! It was
the street of my dream. I trembled and shivered--the morning was so
chilly--and instantly, without the slightest wavering, with a certain
terror of confidence, I went onward.
I began to seek with my eyes.... Yes, there it is, yonder, on the right,
with a corner projecting on the sidewalk--yonder is the house of my
dream, yonder is the ancient gate with the stone scrolls on each
side.... The house is not circular, it is true, but square ... but that
is a matter of no importance.... I knock at the gate, I knock once,
twice, thrice, ever more and more loudly.... The gate opens slowly, with
a heavy screech, as though yawning. In front of me stands a young
serving-maid with a dishevelled head and sleepy eyes. She has evidently
just waked up.
"Does the baron live here?" I inquire, as I run a swift glance over the
deep, narrow courtyard.... It is there; it is all there ... there are
the planks which I had seen in my dream.
"No," the maid answers me, "the baron does not live here."
"What dost thou mean by that? It is impossible!"
"He is not here now. He went away yesterday."
"Whither?"
"To America."
"To America!" I involuntarily repeated. "But he is coming back?"
The maid looked suspiciously at me.
"I don't know. Perhaps he will not come back at all."
"But has he been living here long?"
"No, not long; about a week. Now he is not here at all."
"But what was the family name of that baron?"
The maid-servant stared at me.
"Don't you know his name? We simply called him the baron. Hey, there!
Piótr!" she cried, perceiving that I was pushing my way in.--"come
hither: some stranger or other is asking all sorts of questions."
From the house there presented itself the shambling figure of a robust
labourer.
"What's the matter? What's wanted?" he inquired in a hoarse voice,--and
having listened to me with a surly mien, he repeated what the
maid-servant had said.
"But who does live here?" I said.
"Our master."
"And who is he?"
"A carpenter. They are all carpenters in this street."
"Can he be seen?"
"Impossible now, he is asleep."
"And cannot I go into the house?"
"No; go your way."
"Well, and can I see your master a little later?"
"Why not? Certainly. He can always be seen.... That's his business as a
dealer. Only, go your way now. See how early it is."
"Well, and how about that negro?" I suddenly asked.
The labourer stared in amazement, first at me, then at the maid-servant.
"What negro?" he said at last.--"Go away, sir. You can come back later.
Talk with the master."
I went out into the street. The gate was instantly banged behind me,
heavily and sharply, without squeaking this time.
I took good note of the street and house and went away, but not home.--I
felt something in the nature of disenchantment. Everything which had
happened to me was so strange, so remarkable--and yet, how stupidly it
had been ended! I had been convinced that I should behold in that house
the room which was familiar to me--and in the middle of it my father,
the baron, in a dressing-gown and with a pipe.... And instead of that,
the master of the house was a carpenter, and one might visit him as much
as one pleased,--and order furniture of him if one wished!
But my father had gone to America! And what was left for me to do
now?... Tell my mother everything, or conceal forever the very memory of
that meeting? I was absolutely unable to reconcile myself to the thought
that such a senseless, such a commonplace ending should be tacked on to
such a supernatural, mysterious beginning!
I did not wish to return home, and walked straight ahead, following my
nose, out of the town.