ys
and pitiless, white nights, he labored, alone, incessantly; sparing
himself in no way; foolishly refraining from exercise and out-door air,
because both of them sharpened his constantly unsatisfied appetite. What
more natural, then, than that September should bring with it fever,
delirium, bad nursing, heavy bills; and October a convalescence rendered
doubly slow because of persistent malnutrition. From this he passed, at
the end of this month, into a haggard semblance of health, accompanied
by that black depression which cries aloud for rest and complete change
of scene.

Neither of these, however, could Ivan get. Doggedly he returned to his
duties, and began, bit by bit, to pay off his debts: those debts which,
five years ago, would have appeared so absurd; and which were now the
nightmare of his existence! But, though he managed to accomplish the
usual amount of work, and had even occasional snatches of a brilliance
which astonished himself, it was not difficult to read in his face the
signs of approaching breakdown. He had lived too long upon his nerves.
The Rubinsteins, consulting together, shook their heads over him,
wondered how his pride was to be circumvented, and finally hit on a
scheme which was, for them, more than usually tactful. Anton created a
new medal and scholarship, to be presented thereafter annually for the
best musical setting of a classic poem which was to be the same for all.
It was an exercise in which Ivan delighted; and there was little doubt
as to the destination of the prize of the first year. Fate treated him
kindly, at last; for he managed to keep up till after the contest. His
setting of Schiller's "Ode to Joy" was incomparably the best of the
sixty efforts. So, with five hundred roubles, he paid the remainder of
his debts, and found himself, one week later, in Vevey, a nervous wreck,
truly; but free at last from mental worry, and drawing in hope and life
with every breath.

It was September before Petersburg saw him again--penniless, but full of
such vigor and energy as were equal to a fair-sized capital. And he had
not been in the city more than a fortnight, before he discovered that
one more stage upon his rough road was over; and that the bend beyond
the half-way house hid tremendous possibilities.

It was the afternoon of the 16th of the month. Ivan was at his table,
bending over some half-finished parts for an orchestra overture, when
the door of his old attic opened, uncerem