how entertained the neighbors would be by this evidence of the famous actress’s petulance, then she turned and left the room.
Switching off the lights and climbing into bed, Anna sputtered like a candle.
“What do I care what the neighbors will say about my petulance. What do I care what St. Petersburg will say, or all of Russia!”
But at two in the morning, having tossed and turned, Anna Urbanova tiptoed down the grand staircase, slipped out into the street, and gathered up her garments one by one.
1924
Anonymity
Dreams of invisibility are as old as folklore. By means of some talisman or potion, or with the help of the gods themselves, the corporeal presence of the hero is rendered insubstantial, and for the duration of the spell he may wander among his fellow men unseen.
The advantages of having such a power can be rattled off for you by any child of ten. Whether slipping past dragons, eavesdropping on intriguers, and sneaking into treasuries, or plucking a pie from the pantry, knocking the cap off a constable, and lighting the schoolmaster’s coattails on fire, suffice it to say that a thousand tales have been told in acknowledgment of invisibility’s bounty.
But the tale that has less often been told is the one in which the spell of invisibility is cast upon the unknowing hero in the form of a curse. Having lived his life in the heat of battle, at the crux of conversation, and in the twentieth row with its privileged view of the ladies in the loges—that is, in the very thick of things—suddenly, he finds himself invisible to friend and foe alike. And the spell that had been cast over the Count by Anna Urbanova in 1923 was of this very sort.
On that fateful night when the Count had dined with the enchantress in her suite, she presumably had the power to render him invisible on the spot. Instead, to toy with his peace of mind, she had cast her spell to manifest itself over the course of a year, bit by bit.
In the weeks that followed, the Count suddenly noticed that he was disappearing from view for a few minutes at a time. He could be dining in the Piazza when a couple would approach his table with the clear intention of taking it as their own; or he could be standing near the front desk when a harried guest would nearly knock him off his feet. By winter, those prone to greet him with a wave or a smile often failed to see him until he was ten feet away. And now a year later? When he crossed the lobby, it often took a full minute for his closest friends to notice that he was standing right in front of them.
“Oh,” said Vasily, returning the telephone receiver to its cradle. “Excuse me, Count Rostov. I didn’t see you there. How can I be of service?”
The Count gave the concierge’s desk a delicate tap.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where Nina is?”
In asking Vasily for Nina’s whereabouts, the Count was not making a passing inquiry of the first chap he happened to meet; for Vasily had an uncanny awareness of where people were at any given time.
“She is in the card room, I believe.”
“Ah,” said the Count with a knowing smile.
Turning about, he walked down the hall to the card room and quietly opened the door, assuming he would find four middle-aged ladies exchanging cookies and profanities over tricks of whist—as an attentive spirit held her breath in a cupboard. Instead, he found the object of his search sitting at the card table alone. With two stacks of paper in front of her and a pencil in hand, she appeared the very model of scholastic enthusiasm. The pencil was moving so brightly it looked like an honor guard—parading across the page with its head held high then pivoting at the margin to make the quick march back.
“Greetings, my friend.”
“Hello, Your Countship,” Nina replied without looking up from her work.
“Would you like to join me for an excursion before dinner? I was thinking of visiting the switchboard.”
“I’m afraid I can’t at the moment.”
The Count claimed the seat opposite Nina as she put a completed sheet of paper on one stack and took a fresh sheet of paper from the other. Out of habit, he picked up the deck of cards that sat on the corner of the table and shuffled it twice.