‘Look round,’ Alice said to me, ‘and don’t fear.’
I obeyed--and, I remember, my first impression was so sweet that I could
only sigh. A sort of smoky-grey, silvery-soft, half-light, half-mist,
enveloped me on all sides. At first I made out nothing: I was dazzled by
this azure brilliance; but little by little began to emerge the outlines
of beautiful mountains and forests; a lake lay at my feet, with stars
quivering in its depths, and the musical plash of waves. The fragrance of
orange flowers met me with a rush, and with it--and also as it were with a
rush--came floating the pure powerful notes of a woman’s young voice. This
fragrance, this music, fairly drew me downwards, and I began to sink ...
to sink down towards a magnificent marble palace, which stood, invitingly
white, in the midst of a wood of cypress. The music flowed out from its
wide open windows, the waves of the lake, flecked with the pollen of
flowers, splashed upon its walls, and just opposite, all clothed in the
dark green of orange flowers and laurels, enveloped in shining mist, and
studded with statues, slender columns, and the porticoes of temples, a
lofty round island rose out of the water....
‘Isola Bella!’ said Alice.... ‘Lago Maggiore....’
I murmured only ‘Ah!’ and continued to drop. The woman’s voice sounded
louder and clearer in the palace; I was irresistibly drawn towards it.... I
wanted to look at the face of the singer, who, in such music, gave voice to
such a night. We stood still before the window.
In the centre of a room, furnished in the style of Pompeii, and more like
an ancient temple than a modern drawing-room, surrounded by Greek statues,
Etruscan vases, rare plants, and precious stuffs, lighted up by the soft
radiance of two lamps enclosed in crystal globes, a young woman was sitting
at the piano. Her head slightly bowed and her eyes half-closed, she sang an
Italian melody; she sang and smiled, and at the same time her face wore an
expression of gravity, almost of sternness ... a token of perfect rapture!
She smiled ... and Praxiteles’ Faun, indolent, youthful as she, effeminate,
and voluptuous, seemed to smile back at her from a corner, under the
branches of an oleander, across the delicate smoke that curled upwards
from a bronze censer on an antique tripod. The beautiful singer was alone.
Spell-bound by the music, her beauty, the splendour and sweet fragrance of
the night, moved to the heart by the picture of this youthful, serene, and
untroubled happiness, I utterly forgot my companion, I forgot the strange
way in which I had become a witness of this life, so remote, so completely
apart from me, and I was on the point of tapping at the window, of
speaking....
I was set trembling all over by a violent shock--just as though I had
touched a galvanic battery. I looked round.... The face of Alice was--for
all its transparency--dark and menacing; there was a dull glow of anger in
her eyes, which were suddenly wide and round....
‘Away!’ she murmured wrathfully, and again whirling and darkness and
giddiness.... Only this time not the shout of legions, but the voice of the
singer, breaking on a high note, lingered in my ears....
We stopped. The high note, the same note was still ringing and did not
cease to ring in my ears, though I was breathing quite a different air, a
different scent ... a breeze was blowing upon me, fresh and invigorating,
as though from a great river, and there was a smell of hay, smoke and hemp.
The long-drawn-out note was followed by a second, and a third, but with an
expression so unmistakable, a trill so familiar, so peculiarly our own,
that I said to myself at once: ‘That’s a Russian singing a Russian song!’
and at that very instant everything grew clear about me.