An Excerpt From

The Extraordinary Operatic Adventures of Blanche Arral

By Blanche Arral
Translated by Ira Glackens
William R. Moran, Editor

From Chapter 10:

At that moment the door opened and Rasputin entered.

He stood at the threshold, looking first at Sidonie and then at me, astonished to find strangers present. His eyes were powerful and penetrating! It was as if they actually made a physical contact with their object. I distinctly wished for a trapdoor through which to vanish like Doctor Miracle. With an effort, I collected myself.

Our host advanced, smiling, and said, "Madame Fremaux and Mademoiselle Lardinois." Rasputin made a gesture with his hand, perhaps meant to convey a blessing, and without removing his eyes from me, spoke in Russian. Father Lagrange answered in Russian, explaining our presence. The monk's eyes sobered at once, becoming very peaceful and dreamy, with the calm of a young tiger. Then he glided forward (he really did not seem to walk with human steps) and, arranging his long robe so that it touched my knee, seated himself beside me.

At first glimpse he had appeared tall, svelte, and with a suggestion of great physical health. Now, seated beside me, he seemed to have contracted and diminished. His hair, greasy and unkempt, fell limp and dank over his shoulders. His beard was thin and long, looking more like a goat's whiskers than human ones, and he stroked the end of it as he listened to his host. His manner was nervous, and his black robe, which looked as if it had been slept in, displayed his long yellow hands in startling relief. Further, I must state that if indeed he was the saintly person he declared himself to be, then I had a very clear notion of the odor of sanctity!

From Chapter 20:

We had other passengers beside the little photographer---every sort of creeping and crawling creature an entomologist might desire. Cockroaches were everywhere, including the captain's beard. There was no such thing as a cabin, much less a bed or bearth. A place was fixed for me on the floor, and here I attempted to sleep, covered with veils and wrapped with every garment that might keep at bay the insect world.

From Chapter 25:

I was still very tired from my protracted work, and one afternoon I went to my room intending to have a good rest before dinner. My eyes ached. As I lay on the bed I told my maid, now an Englishwoman of incertain âge whom I had acquired in Australia, to bring me the small bottle of eyedrops from the dressing table. Beside the bottle stood another one, containing creosote for inhalation against colds in the head. The bottles looked something alike, though they were well marked. As I lay on the bed with the eyedropper poised and my eye open, I suddenly caught the familiar smell of creosote---too late. The drop fell. How can I describe the result? I shot up from the bed as though a bomb had burst below me. My shrieks echoed all over the little wooden hotel, and the first of the many people who crowded into my room were Jack London and his wife. To Jack London I owe the saving of my left eye. While others remained helpless and the poor maid threatened suicide (which served no purpose at all), he seized a bottle of castor oil and poured it over my eye, which was already swollen to the size and color of a hard-boiled egg and almost entirely out of its socket. I cannot paint the agony of such an accident to the eye, though one may imagine it. However, the castor oil began at once to reduce the swelling and ease the pain. My eye was covered for weeks, and I left Suva without knowing whether I was half blind or not.