None feared those nocturnal spectral sonatas more than Count Daramkoff and an aged, half-crazed man called Simeon Lavkovich. Of the latter it has been said that, unable to control himself, one night he roamed about the ghostly premises until he was positive the voice closed its deathly song with his name. In a sibilant whisper it trailed off “S-s-s-s-simeon, S-s-s-s-simeon".
Peasants found the man the following morning. He was exhausted. His head was white. He lay in a frightful fit on the edge of the lake not far from the neglected foundation. His eyes were terrible to see. He mumbled insanely, calling over and over a name that sounded like Lavinia.
They dragged him to his feet. His head fell forward. His bulging eyes saw, fastened to his coat lapel, strands of beautiful dark hair. He tore away the raven threads and his face was like putty. Cold drops of perspiration stood out all over it. He collapsed like a hysterical woman.
From that day, Simeon Lavkovich did not know his own mind. He tramped the streets. He ate whatever he found, in the gutters, in backyards. His life was a dog’s life, a dog without a master. People pointed after him. The children, quick to grasp such things, found him a subject for their calls and ridicule. They jeered at him. They threw stones after him. They tapped their heads significantly. They stuck to his heels as he fearfully sought escape.
This was a pitiful reverse. The illiterate peasants knew nothing of Simeon before he came to their village. They could not know that once he mingled with Moscow’s best society. It was better that they were in the dark about this fact.
Simeon lavkovich had been called to Kravetz from Moscow by Count Daramkoff to design a suitable palatial residence on the border of the lake in the count’s estate. Simeon had gained enviable popularity as an architect. He was a carefree, dashing young man with blazing brown eyes and a defiant, stiff little mustache. He had the deportment of a prince, the intellect of a genius and the tongue of a poet.
The debutantes lavished their affections on him. And he was a fit subject. No girl could resist Simeon. Pompous matrons contrived to ensnare him. Simeon was considered a favorable matrimonial subject.
Simeon was not only an architect. He pursued this vocation for monetary reasons only. He liked to be poetic. He flavored all his actions with a peppering of romance. In his heart he believed some divine goddess would one day lay her soul at his feet. These pampered, idle, luxury-loving ladies nauseated his quixotic temperament. Their gold was venom in his flood of sentimentality.
Into this pool of disfavor came Daramkoff’s opportune request. Simeon did not wait long to make reply. The social requirements of court life had gradually become so abhorrent to him that he gladly accepted the count’s offer. With little delay and with abbreviated adieus to his many friends, Simeon set out for Kravetz, where a temporary home was erected for his exclusive use during the building of the count’s mansion.
Simeon gave himself wholly to the task confronting him. He undertook the work with a zeal that surprized him. The new surroundings exhilarated him. He loved the simple peasants. He basked in the respect these naive illiterates tendered him, “a gentleman from the big city.”
Fashion did not dictate here. He dressed as comfort suggested. No formality soured his carefree existence. He exulted in this new freedom. And he had foolishly caged himself in a city of big buildings and chained
