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
Arátoff 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 Arátoff 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 Arátoff walked past them the horses turned
their heads toward him and viciously displayed their teeth.
"It is well," thought Arátoff, "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 Arátoff
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 Arátoff; "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 Arátoff 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 Arátoff's ear:
"Ah! And didst thou think that all this would end in a comedy?--No! it
is a tragedy! a tragedy!"
Arátoff awoke all in a tremble. It was not dark in the room.... A faint
and melancholy light streamed from somewhere or other, impassively
illuminating all objects. Arátoff did not try to account to himself for
the light.... He felt but one thing: Clara was there in that room ... he
felt her presence ... he was again and forever in her power!