Helena Blavatsky (EN) Nightmare Tales

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old teacher, the verdict was, "Suicide from causes unknown"; after this the coroner and the police retired,
leaving the bereaved heir alone in the death-room, with the remains of that which had once been a living
man.
* * * * *
Scarcely a fortnight had elapsed from that day, ere the violin had been dusted, and four new, stout strings had
been stretched upon it. Franz dared not look at them. He tried to play, but the bow trembled in his hand like a
dagger in the grasp of a novice-brigand. He then determined not to try again, until the portentous night
should arrive, when he should have a chance of rivalling, nay, of surpassing, Paganini.
The famous violinist had meanwhile left Paris, and was giving a series of triumphant concerts at an old
Flemish town in Belgium.
V
One night, as Paganini, surrounded by a crowd of admirers, was sitting in the dining-room of the hotel at
which he was staying, a visiting card, with a few words written on it in pencil, was handed to him by a young
man with wild and staring eyes.
Fixing upon the intruder a look, which few persons could bear, but receiving back a glance as calm and
determined as his own, Paganini slightly bowed, and then dryly said:
"Sir, it shall be as you desire. Name the night. I am at your service."
On the following morning the whole town was startled by the appearance of bills posted at the corner of
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Nightmare Tales
every street, and bearing the strange notice:
On the night of . . . . . , at the Grand Theatre of . . . . . and for the first time, will appear before
the public, Franz Stenio, a German violinist, arrived purposely to throw down the gauntlet to,
the world-famous Paganini and to challenge him to a duel -- upon their violins. He
purposes to compete with the great "virtuoso" in the execution of the most difficult of his
compositions. The famous Paganini has accepted the challenge. Franz Stenio will play, in
competition with the unrivalled violinist, the celebrated "Frantaisie Caprice" of the latter,
known as "The Witches."
The effect of the notice was magical. Paganini, who, amid his greatest triumphs, never lost sight of a
profitable speculation, doubled the usual price of admission, but still the theatre could not hold the crowds
that flocked to secure tickets for that memorable performance.
* * * * *
At last the morning of the concert day dawned, and the "duel" was in every one's mouth. Franz Stenio, who,
instead of sleeping, had passed the whole long hours of the preceding midnight in walking up and down his
room like an encaged panther, had, toward morning, fallen on his bed from mere physical exhaustion.
Gradually he passed into a death-like and dreamless slumber. At the gloomy winter dawn he awoke, but
finding it too early to rise he fell asleep again. And then he had a vivid dream -- so vivid indeed, so life-like,
that from its terrible realism he felt sure that it was a vision rather than a dream.
He had left his violin on a table by his bedside, locked in its case, the key of which never left him. Since he
had strung it with those terrible chords he never let it out of his sight for a moment. In accordance with his
resolution he had not touched it since his first trial, and his bow had never but once touched the human
strings, for he had since always practised on another instrument. But now in his sleep he saw himself looking
at the locked case. Something in it was attracting his attention, and he found himself incapable of detaching
his eyes from it. Suddenly he saw the upper part of the case slowly rising, and, within the chink thus
produced, he perceived two small, phosphorescent green eyes -- eyes but too familiar to him -- fixing
themselves on his, lovingly, almost beseechingly. Then a thin, shrill voice, as if issuing from these ghastly
orbs -- the voice and orbs of Samuel Klaus himself -- resounded in Stenio's horrified ear, and he heard it
say:
"Franz, my beloved boy . . . . Franz, I cannot, no I cannot separate myself from . . . them!"
And "they" twanged piteously inside the case.
Franz stood speechless, horror-bound. He felt his blood actually freezing, and his hair moving and standing
erect on his head.
"It's but a dream, an empty dream!" he attempted to formulate in his mind.
"I have tried my best, Franzchen . . . . I have tried my best to sever myself from these accursed strings, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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