The Doom of La Traviata

Evening stole up out of mysterious lands and came down on the
streets of Paris, and the things of the day withdrew themselves and
hid away, and the beautiful city was strangely altered, and with it
the hearts of men. And with lights and music, and in silence and in
the dark, the other life arose, 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, La Traviata died; and her death was
brought to her by her own sins, and not by the years of God. But the
soul of La Traviata drifted blindly about the streets where she had
sinned till it struck against the wall of Notre Dame de Paris.
Thence it rushed upwards, as the sea mist 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 La
Traviata came and stood before the seat of judgment, that clouds
came rushing up from the far Paradisal 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 ever more 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
sunk 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