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On a gloomy March 1881, an old, sick man was dying in the Nikolaevsky military land hospital in St. Petersburg. Delirium tremens had done its dirty work: there was no hope for recovery. And this “old man” had just turned 42 years old, and it was the great Russian composer Modest Petrovich Mussorgsky. Who knows what visions, what memories swarmed in his fevered imagination in rare moments of enlightenment?