Settle in with The Doom of La Traviata by Lord Dunsany, a short, haunting and strangely tender dark fable of Paris, heaven and mercy, read aloud by Martin Hewlett on Books at Bedtime, the sleep story series from Calming Anxiety.
Evening steals out of the mysterious lands and comes down on the streets of Paris. The dark cats creep from the houses, the dim streets fill with shapes, and in a mean house near the Moulin Rouge, the young woman known as La Traviata dies. Her soul drifts blindly about the streets she knew, until it strikes against the wall of Notre Dame and streams upward to paradise to be judged.
Clouds gather, the halos of the saints grow pale and the singing of the seraphim falters. Seven great angels rise with pity on their faces, and they set out along the long and dusty Way of the Damned, carrying her young soul between them. But as the angels walk, they look not at her sins, but at the part of her soul that once loved a sister long dead. "It is but a young soul," they say. What seven angels may dare to do on that road, Dunsany saves for the closing lines.
The story
Transcribed from the audio, so the odd word may be off. Tap any line while it plays to keep the words in step with Martin's voice.
Books at bed time by calming anxiety, the doom of the Traviata by Lord Dunciny.
Evening stole up out of the mysterious lands and came down on the streets of Paris. And the things of the day withdrew themselves and hid away. A beautiful city was strangely altered and with it the hearts of men. And with light some music and in silence and in the dark, the others life had arisen, the life that knows the night.
And dark cats crept from the houses and moved to silent places. And dim streets became haunted with dusk shapes. At this hour in a mean house near to the Moulin Rouge, the Traviata died.
And her death was brought to her by her own sins and not by the years of God. But the soul of the Traviata drifted blindly about the streets where she had sinned till its struck against the wall of Notre Dame de Paris. Then it rushed upwards as the sea missed when it beats against a cliff and streamed away to paradise.
And was there judged. And it seemed to me as I watched from my place of dreaming when the Traviata came and stood before the seat of judgment that clouds came rushing up from the far parodysole hills and gathered together over the head of God and became one black cloud. And the clouds moved swiftly as shadows of the night when a lantern is swung in the hand. And more and more clouds rushed up.
And evermore and more. And as they gathered, the cloud, a little above the head of God, became no larger.
But only grew blacker and blacker. And the halos of the saints settled lower upon their heads and narrowed and became pale.
And the singing of the choirs of the seraphim faltered and sung low. And the converse of the blessed suddenly ceased. Then a stern look came into the face of God so that the seraphim turned away and left him.
And the saints. Then God commanded and seven great angels rose up slowly through the clouds that carpeted the paradise.
And there was a pity on their faces and their eyes were closed. Then God pronounced judgment. And the lights of paradise went out. And the azure crystal windows that looked towards the world and the windows ruse and verd.
It became dark and colourless. And I saw no more. Presently the seven great angels came out by one from heaven's gate and set their faces hellwards.
And four of them carried the young soul of the Traviata. And one of them went on before and one of them followed behind. These six trod with mighty strides the long and dusty road that is named the Way of the Damned.
But the seventh flew above them all the way and the light of the fires of hell that was hidden from the six by the dust of that dreadful road flared on the feathers of his breast.
Presently the seven angels as they swept hellwards uttered speech.
"She is very young," they said. "And she is very beautiful," they said. And they looked long at the soul of the Traviata looking not at the stains of sin. But at the portion of her soul wherewith she had loved her sister a long while dead.
Who flitted now about and orchard on one of heaven's hills with a low sunlight ever on her face.
Who commune daily with the saints when they pass that way going to bless the dead from heaven's utmost edge.
And as they looked long at the beauty of all that remained beautiful in her soul they said. "It is, but a young soul." And they would have taken her to one of heaven's hills and would have given her a symbol and a Delcemer. But they knew that the paradisol gates were clamped and barred against the Traviata.
And they would have taken her to a valley in the world where there was a great many flowers and loud sounds of streams.
Where birds were singing always and church bells rang on Sabbath only this they did not do.
So they swept onwards, nearer and nearer hell. But when they were come quite close and the glare was on their faces.
And they saw the gates already divide and prepare to open outwards they said, "Hell is a terrible city and she is tired of cities."
Then suddenly they dropped her by the side of the road and wheeled and flew away.
But into the great pink flower that was horrible and lovely grew the soul of the Traviata. And it had in it two eyes but no eyelids. And it stared constantly into the faces of all the passes by that went along the dusty road to hell.
And the flower grew in the glare of the lights of hell and withered but would not die. Only one petal turned back towards the heavenly hills as an Ivy leaf turns outwards to the day.
And in the soft and silvery light of paradise it withered not nor faded but heard it times. The commune of the saints singing, coming and murmuring from the distance. And sometimes caught the sense of orchids wafted from heavenly hills and felt a faint breeze called it every evening at the hour.
And the saints to heaven's edge went forth to bless the dead. But the Lord arose with His sword and scattered His disobedient angels as a thresher scatters chap.