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The music of Eric Zan by H.P. Lovecraft.

I have examined maps of the city with the greatest care, yet I have never again found the Rue d'Aise.

These maps have not been modern maps alone, for I know that names change.

I have, on the contrary, delved deeply into all the antiquities of the place, and have personally explored every region of whatever name which could possibly

answer to the street I knew as the Rue d'Orsay.

But despite all I have done, it remains a humiliating fact that I cannot find the house,

the street, or even the locality, where during the last months of my impoverished life as a student of metaphysics at the university, I heard the music of Eric Zan.

That my memory is broken, I do not wonder. For my health, physical, and mental, was gravely disturbed throughout the period of my residence in the Rue d'Aise,

and I recall that I took none of my few acquaintances there.

But that I cannot find the place again as both singular and perplexing, for it was within a half-hour's walk of the university, and was distinguished by peculiarities which could hardly be forgotten

by anyone who had been there.

I have never met a person who has seen the Rue d'Ase.

The Rue d'Ace lay across a dark river, bordered by precipitous brick, blear-windowed warehouses,

and spanned by a ponderous bridge of dark stone.

It was always shadowy along that river, as if the smoke of neighboring factories shut out the sun perpetually.

...