Albert
by Leo Tolstoy (1858)
Translated by Louise and Aylmer Maude
Distributed by The Tolstoy Library
I
Five wealthy young men had come, after two in the morning, to amuse
themselves at a small Petersburg party.
Much champagne had been drunk, most of the men were very young, the
girls were pretty, the piano and violin indefatigably played one polka after
another, and dancing and noise went on unceasingly: yet for some reason it was
dull and awkward, and, as often happens, everybody felt that it was all
unnecessary and was not the thing.
Several times they tried to get things going, but forced merriment was
worse even than boredom.
One of the five young men, more dissatisfied than the others with himself,
with the others, and with the whole evening, rose with a feeling of disgust,
found his had, and went out quietly, intending to go home.
There was no one in the ante-room, but in the adjoining room he heard two
voices disputing. The young man stopped to listen.
"You can't, there are guests there," said a woman's voice.
"Let me in, please. I'm all right!" a man's weak voice entreated.
"No, I won't let you in without Madame's permission," said the woman.
"Where are you going? Ah! What a man you are!"
The door burst open and a strange figure of a man appeared on the
threshold. The servant on seeing a visitor no longer protested, and the strange
figure, bowing timidly, entered the room, swaying on his bent legs. He was of
medium height, with a narrow, stooping back, and long tangled hair. He wore a
short overcoat, and narrow torn trousers over a pair of rough uncleaned boots.
A necktie, twisted into a cord, was fastened round his long white neck. A dirty
shirt showed from under his coat and hung over his thin hands. Yet despite the
extreme emaciation of his body, his face was white and delicate, and freshness
and colour played on his cheeks above his scanty black beard and whiskers. His
unkempt hair, thrown back, revealed a rather low and extremely clear forehead.
His dark languid eyes looked softly, imploringly, and yet with dignity, before
him. Their expression corresponded alluringly with that of the fresh lips,
curved at the corners, which showed from under his thin moustache.
Having advanced a few steps he stopped, turned to the young man, and
smiled. He seemed to smile with difficulty, but when the smile lit up his face
the young man - without knowing why - smiled too.
"Who is that?" he whispered to the servant, when the strange figure had
passed into the room from which came the sounds of a dance.
"A crazy musician from the theatre," replied the maid. "He comes
sometimes to see the mistress."
"Where have you been, Delesov?" someone just then called out, and the
young man, who was named Delesov, returned to the ballroom.
The musician was standing at the door and, looking at the dancers, showed
by his smile, his look, and the tapping of his foot, the satisfaction the
spectacle afforded him.
"Come in and dance yourself," said one of the visitors to him.
The musician bowed and looked inquiringly at the hostess.
"Go, go ... Why not, when the gentlemen ask you to?" she said.
The thin, weak limbs of the musician suddenly came into active motion, and
winking, smiling, and twitching, he began to prance awkwardly and heavily about
the room. In the middle of the quadrille a merry officer, who danced very
vivaciously and well, accidentally bumped into the musician with his back. The
latter's weak and weary legs did not maintain their balance and after a few
stumbling steps aside, he fell full length on the floor. Notwithstanding the
dull thud produced by his fall, at first nearly everyone burst out laughing.
But the musician did not get up. The visitors grew silent and even the piano
ceased. Delesov and the hostess were the first to run up to the fallen man. He
was lying on his elbow, staring with dull eyes at the floor. When they lifted
him and seated him on a chair, he brushed the hair back from his forehead with a
quick movement of his bony hand and began to smile without answering their
questions.
"Mr. Albert! Mr. Albert!" said the hostess. "Have you hurt yourself?
Where? There now, I said you ought not to dance. He is so weak," she
continued, addressing her guests, " - he can hardly walk. How could he dance?"
"Who is he?" they asked her.
"A poor man - an artist. A very good fellow, but pitiable, as you see."
She said this unembarrassed by the presence of the musician. He suddenly
came to himself and, as if afraid of something, shrank into a heap and pushed
those around him away.
"It's all nothing!" he suddenly said, rising from his chair with an
obvious effort.
And to show that he was not at all hurt he went into the middle of the
room and tried to jump about, but staggered and would have fallen down again had
someone not supported him.
Everyone felt awkward, and looking at him they all became silent.
The musician's eyes again grew dim, and evidently oblivious of everyone he
began rubbing his knee with his hand. Suddenly he raised his head, advanced a
trembling leg, threw back his hair with the same heedless movement as before,
and going up to the violinist took his violin from him.
"It's nothing!" he said once more, flourishing the violin. "Gentlemen,
let's have some music!"
"What a strange person!" the visitors remarked to one another.
"Perhaps a fine talent is perishing in this unfortunate creature," said
one of the guests.
"Yes, he's pitiable, pitiable!" said a third.
"What a beautiful face! ... There is something extraordinary about him,"
said Delesov. "Let us see ... "
II
Albert meanwhile, paying no attention to anyone, pressed the violin to his
shoulder and paced slowly up and down by the piano tuning it. His lips took on
an impassive expression, his eyes could not be seen, but his narrow bony back,
his long white neck, his crooked legs and shaggy black head, presented a queer -
but for some reason not at all ridiculous - spectacle. Having tuned the violin
he briskly struck a chord, and throwing back his head turned to the pianist who
was preparing to accompany him.
"Melancolie G-dur!" he said, addressing the pianist with a gesture of
command. Then, as if begging forgiveness for that gesture, he smiled meekly,
and glanced around at the audience with that same smile. Having pushed back his
hair with the hand in which he held the bow, he stopped at the corner of the
piano, and with a smooth and easy movement drew the bow across the strings. A
clear melodious sound was borne through the room and complete silence ensued.
After that first note the theme flowed freely and elegantly, suddenly
illumining the inner world of every listener with an unexpectedly clear and
tranquilizing light. Not one false or exaggerated sound impaired the
acquiescence of the listeners: the notes were all clear, elegant, and
significant. Everyone silently followed their development with tremulous
expectation. From the state of dullness, noisy distraction and mental torpor in
which they had been, these people were suddenly and imperceptibly carried into
another quite different world that they had forgotten. Now a calm contemplation
of the past arose in their souls, now an impassioned memory of some past
happiness, now a boundless desire for power and splendour, now a feeling of
resignation, of unsatisfied love and sadness. Sounds now tenderly sad, now
vehemently despairing, mingled freely, flowing and flowing one after the other
so elegantly, so strongly, and so unconsciously, that the sounds themselves were
not noticed, but there flowed of itself into the soul a beautiful torrent of
poetry, long familiar but only now expressed. At each note Albert grew taller
and taller. He was far from appearing misshapen or strange. Pressing the
violin with his chin and listening to his notes with an expression of passionate
attention, he convulsively moved his feet. Now he straightened himself to his
full height, now he strenuously bent his back. His left arm seemed to have
become set in the bent position to which he had strained it and only the bony
fingers moved convulsively: the right arm moved smoothly, elegantly, and almost
imperceptibly. His face shone with uninterrupted, ecstatic joy; his eyes burnt
with a bright, dry brilliance, his nostrils expanded, his red lips opened with
delight.
Sometimes his head bent closer to the violin, his eyes closed, and his
face, half covered by his hair, lit up with a smile of mild rapture. Sometimes
he drew himself up rapidly, advancing one foot, and his clear brow and the
beaming look he cast round the room gleamed with pride, dignity, and a
consciousness of power. Once the pianist blundered and struck a wrong chord.
Physical suffering was apparent in the whole face and figure of the musician.
He paused for an instant and stamping his foot with an expression of childish
anger, cried: "Moll, ce moll!" The Pianist recovered himself. Albert closed
his eyes, smiled, and again forgetting himself, the others, and the whole world,
gave himself up rapturously to his task.
All who were in the room preserved a submissive silence while Albert was
playing, and seemed to live and breathe only in his music.
The merry officer sat motionless on a chair by a window, directing a
lifeless gaze upon the floor and breathing slowly and heavily. The girls sat in
complete silence along the walls, and only occasionally threw approving and
bewildered glances at one another. The hostess's fat smiling face expanded with
pleasure. The pianist riveted his eyes on Albert's face and, with a fear of
blundering which expressed itself in his whole taut figure, tried to keep up
with him. One of the visitors who had drunk more than the others lay prone on
the sofa, trying not to move for fear of betraying his agitation. Delesov
experienced an unaccustomed sensation. It was as if a cold circle, now
expanding, now contracting, held his head in a vice. The roots of his hair
became sensitive, cold shivers ran up his spine, something rising higher and
higher in his throat pricked his nose and palate as if with fine needles, and
tears involuntarily wetted his cheeks. He shook himself, tried to restrain them
and wipe them unperceived, but others rose and ran down his cheeks. By some
strange concatenation of impressions the first sounds of Albert's violin carried
Delesov back to his early youth. Now no longer very young, tired of life and
exhausted, he suddenly felt himself a self-satisfied, good-looking, blissfully
foolish and unconsciously happy lad of seventeen. He remembered his first love
- for his cousin in a little pink dress;; remembered his first declaration of
love made in a linden avenue; remembered the warmth and incomprehensible delight
of a spontaneous kiss, and the magic and undivined mystery of the Nature that
then surrounded him. In the memories that returned to him she shone out amid a
mist of vague hopes, uncomprehended desires, and questioning faith in the
possibility of impossible happiness. All the unappreciated moments of that time
arose before him one after another, not as insignificant moments of a fleeting
present, but as arrested, growing, reproachful images of the past. He
contemplated them with joy, and wept - wept not because the time was past that
he might have spent better (if he had it again he would not have undertaken to
employ it better), but merely because it was past and would never return.
Memories rose up of themselves, and Albert's violin repeated again and again:
"For you that time of vigour, love, and happiness has passed for ever, and will
not return. Weep for it, shed all your tears, die weeping for that time - that
is the best happiness left for you."
Towards the end of the last variation Albert's face grew red, his eyes
burnt and glowed, and large drops of perspiration ran down his cheeks. The
veins of his forehead swelled up, his whole body came more and more into motion,
his pale lips no longer closed, and his whole figure expressed ecstatic
eagerness for enjoyment.
Passionately swaying his whole body and tossing back his hair he lowered
the violin, and with a smile of proud dignity and happiness surveyed the
audience. Then his back sagged, his head hung down, his lips closed, his eyes
grew dim, and he timidly glanced round as if ashamed of himself, and made his
way stumblingly into the other room.
III
Something strange occurred with everyone present and something strange
was felt in the dead silence that followed Albert's playing. It was as if each
would have liked to express what all this meant, but was unable to do so. What
did it mean - this bright hot room, brilliant women, the dawn in the windows,
excitement in the blood, and the pure impression left by sounds that had flowed
past? But no one even tried to say what it all meant: on the contrary everyone,
unable to dwell in those regions which the new impression had revealed to them,
rebelled against it.
"He really plays well, you know!" said the officer.
"Wonderfully!" replied Delesov, stealthily wiping his cheek with his
sleeve.
"However, it's time for us to be going," said the man who was lying on the
sofa, having somewhat recovered. "We must give him something. Let's make a
collection."
Meanwhile Albert sat alone on a sofa in the next room. Leaning his elbows
on his bony knees he stroked his face and ruffled his hair with his moist and
dirty hands, smiling happily to himself.
They made a good collection, which Delesov offered to hand to Albert.
Moreover it had occurred to Delesov, on whom the music had made an
unusual and powerful impression, to be of use to this man. It occurred to him
to take him home, dress him, get him a place somewhere, and in general rescue
him for his sordid condition.
"Well, are you tired?" he asked, coming up to him.
Albert smiled.
"You have real talent. You ought to study music seriously and give public
performances."
"I'd like to have something to drink," said Albert, as if just awake.
Delesov brought some wine, and the musician eagerly drank two glasses.
"What excellent wine!" he said.
"What a delightful thing that Melancolie is!" said Delesov.
"Oh, yes, yes!" replied Albert with a smile - "but excuse me: I don't know
with whom I have the honour of speaking, maybe you are a count, or a prince:
could you, perhaps, lend me a little money?" He paused a little "I have nothing
... I am a poor man. I couldn't pay it back."
Delesov flushed: he felt awkward, and hastily handed the musician the
money that had been collected.
"Thank you very much!" said Albert, seizing the money. "Now let's have
some music. I'll play for you as much as you like - only let me have a drink of
something, a drink..." he added rising.
Delesov brought him some more wine and asked him to sit beside him.
"Excuse me if I am frank with you," he said, "your talent interests me so
much. It seems to me you are not in good circumstances."
Albert looked now at Delesov and now at his hostess who had entered the
room.
"Allow me to offer you my services," continued Delesov. "If you are in need of
anything I should be glad if you would stay with me for a time. I am living
alone and could perhaps be of use to you."
Albert smiled and made no reply.
"Why don't you thank him?" said the hostess. "Of course it is a godsend for
you. Only I should not advise you to," she continued, turning to Delesov and
shaking her head disapprovingly.
"I am very grateful to you!" said Albert, pressing Delesov's hand with his
own moist ones - "Only let us have some music now, please."
But the other visitors were preparing to leave, and despite Albert's
endeavours to persuade them to stay they went out into the hall.
Albert took leave of the hostess, put on his shabby broad-brimmed hat and
old summer cloak, which was his only winter clothing, and went out into the
porch with Delesov.
When Delesov had seated himself with his new acquaintance in his carriage,
and became aware of the unpleasant odour of drunkenness and uncleanness which
emanated so strongly from the musician, he began to repent of his action and
blamed himself for childish softheartedness and imprudence. Besides, everything
Albert said was so stupid and trivial, and the fresh air suddenly made him so
disgustingly drunk that Delesov was repelled. "What am I to do with him?" he
thought.
When they had driven for a quarter of an hour Albert grew silent, his hat fell
down at his feet, and he himself tumbled into a corner of the carriage and began
to snore. The wheels continued to creak monotonously over the frozen snow; the
feeble light of dawn hardly penetrated the frozen windows.
Delesov turned and looked at his companion. The long body covered by the
cloak lay lifelessly beside him. The long head with its big black nose seemed
to sway on that body, but looking closer Delesov saw that what he had taken for
nose and face was hair, and that the real face hung lower. He stooped and was
able to distinguish Albert's features. Then the beauty of the forehead and
calmly closed lips struck him again.
Under the influence of tired nerves, restlessness from lack of sleep at that
hour of the morning, and of the music he had heard, Delesov, looking at that
face, let himself again be carried back to the blissful world into which he had
glanced that night; he again recalled the happy and magnanimous days of his
youth and no longer repented of what he had done. At that moment he was
sincerely and warmly attached to Albert, and firmly resolved to be of use to
him.
IV
Next morning when he was awakened to go to his office, Delesov with a
feeling of unpleasant surprise saw around him his old screen, his old valet, and
his watch lying on the small side-table. "But what did I expect to see if not
what is always around me?" he asked himself. Then he remembered the musician's
black eyes and happy smile, the motif of Melancolie, and all the strange
experiences of the previous night passed through his mind.
He had no time however to consider whether he had acted well or badly by
taking the musician into his house. While dressing he mapped out the day, took
his papers, gave the necessary household orders, and hurriedly put on his
overcoat and overshoes. Passing the dining-room door he looked in. Albert,
after tossing about, had sunk his face in the pillow, and lay in his dirty
ragged shirt, dead asleep on the leather sofa where he had been deposited
unconscious the night before. "There's something wrong!" thought Delesov
involuntarily.
"Please go to Boryuzovski and ask him to lend me a violin for a couple of
days," he said to his manservant. "When he wakes up, give him coffee and let
him have some underclothing and old clothes of mine. In general, make him
comfortable - please!"
On returning late in the evening Delesov was surprised not to find Albert.
"Where is he?" he asked his man.
"He went away immediately after dinner," replied the servant. "He took the
violin and went away. He promised to be back in an hour, but he's not here
yet."
"Tut, tut! How provoking!" muttered Delesov. "Why did you let him go,
Zakhar?"
Zakhar was a Petersburg valet who had been in Delesov's service for eight
years. Delesov, being a lonely bachelor, could not help confiding his ntentions
to him, and liked to know his opinions about all his undertakings.
"How could I dare not to let him?" Zakhar replied, toying with the fob of his
watch. "If you had told me to keep him in I might have amused him at home. But
you only spoke to me about clothes."
"Pshaw! How provoking! Well, and what was he doing here without me?"
Zakhar smiled.
"One can well call him an 'artist', sir. [Footnote: In addition to its proper
meaning, the word "artist" was used in Russian to denote a thief, or a man
dextrous at anything, good or bad.] As soon as he woke he asked for Madeira,
and then he amused himself with the cook and with the neighbour's manservant.
He is so funny. However, he is good-natured. I gave him tea and brought him
dinner. He would not eat anything himself, but kept inviting me to do so. But
when it comes to playing the violin, even Izler has few artists like him. One
may well befriend such a man. When he played Down the Little Mother Volga to us
it was as if a man were weeping. It was too beautiful. Even the servants from
all the flats came to our back entrance to hear him."
"Well, and did you get him dressed?" his master interrupted him.
"Of course. I gave him a night-shirt of yours and put my own paletot on him. A
man like that is worth helping - he really is a dear fellow!" Zakhar smiled.
"He kept asking me what your rank is, whether you have influential
acquaintances, and how many serfs you own."
"Well, all right, but now he must be found, and in future don't let him have
anything to drink, or it'll be worse for him."
"That's true," Zakhar interjected. "He is evidently feeble; our old master had
a clerk like that..."
But Delesov who had long known the story of the clerk who took hopelessly
to drink, did not let Zakhar finish, and telling him to get everything ready for
the night, sent him out to find Albert and bring him back.
He then went to bed and put out the light, but could not fall asleep for a long
time, thinking about Albert. "Though it may seem strange to many of my
acquaintances," he thought, "yet one so seldom does anything for others that one
ought to thank God when such an opportunity presents itself, and I will not miss
it. I will do anything - positively anything in my power - to help him. He may
not be mad at all, but only under the influence of drink. It won't cost me very
much. Where there's enough for one there's enough for two. Let him live with
me awhile, then we'll find him a place or arrange a concert for him and pull him
out of the shallows, and then see what happens."
He experienced a pleasant feeling of self-satisfaction after this reflection.
"Really I'm not altogether a bed fellow," he thought. "Not at all bad even -
when I compare myself with others."
He was already falling asleep when the sound of opening doors and of
footsteps in the hall roused him.
"Well, I'll be stricter with him," he thought, "that will be best; and I must do
it."
He rang.
"Have you brought him back?" he asked when Zakhar entered.
"A pitiable man, sir," said Zakhar, shaking his head significantly and closing
his eyes.
"Is he drunk?"
"He is very weak."
"And has he the violin?"
"I've brought it back. The lady gave it me."
"Well, please don't let him in here now. Put him to bed, and tomorrow be
sure not to let him leave the house on any account."
But before Zakhar was out of the room Albert entered it.
V
"Do you want to sleep already?" asked Albert with a smile. "And I have
been at Anna Ivanovna's and had a very pleasant evening. We had music, and
laughed, and there was delightful company. Let me have a glass of something,"
he added, taking hold of a water-bottle that stood on a little table, "- but not
water."
Albert was just the same as he had been the previous evening: the same
beautiful smile in his eyes and on his lips, the same bright inspired forehead,
and the same feeble limbs. Zakhar's paletot fitted him well, and the clean wide
unstarched collar of the nightshirt encircled his thin white neck picturesquely,
giving him a particularly childlike and innocent look. He sat down on Delesov's
bed and looked at him silently with a happy and grateful smile. Delesov looked
into his eyes, and again suddenly felt himself captivated by that smile. He no
longer wanted to sleep, he forgot that it was his duty to be stern: on the
contrary he wished to make merry, to hear music, and to chat amicably with
Albert till morning. He told Zakhar to bring a bottle of wine, some cigarettes,
and the violin.
"There, that's splendid!" said Albert. "It's still early, and we'll have some
music. I'll play for you as much as you like."
Zakhar, with evident pleasure, brought a bottle of Lafitte, two tumblers, some
mild cigarettes such as Albert smoked, and the violin. But instead of going to
bed as his master told him to, he himself lit a cigar and sat down in the
adjoining room.
"Let us have a talk," said Delesov to the musician, who was about to take up the
violin.
Albert submissively sat down on the bed and again smiled joyfully.
"Oh yes!" said he, suddenly striking his forehead with his hand and assuming an
anxiously inquisitive expression. (A change of expression always preceded
anything he was about to say.) - "Allow me to ask- " he made a slight pause -
"that gentleman who was there with you last night - you called him N - , isn't
he the son of the celebrated N - ?"
"His own son," Delesov answered, not at all understanding how that could
interest Albert.
"Exactly!" said Albert with a self-satisfied smile. "I noticed at once
something particularly aristocratic in his manner. I love aristocrats: there is
something particularly beautiful and elegant in an aristocrat. And that officer
who dances so well?" he asked. "I liked him very much too: he is so merry and
so fine. Isn't he Adjutant N.N.?"
"Which one?" asked Delesov.
"The one who bumped against me when we were dancing. He must be an
excellent fellow."
"No, he's a shallow fellow," Delesov replied.
"Oh, no!" Albert warmly defended him. "There is something very, very
pleasant about him. He is a capital musician," he added. "He played something
there out of an opera. It's a long time since I took such a liking to anyone."
"Yes, he plays well, but I don't like his playing," said Delesov, wishing to get
his companion to talk about music. "He does not understand classical music -
Donizetti and Bellini, you know, are not music. You think so too, no doubt?"
"Oh, no, no, excuse me!" began Albert with a gentle, pleading look. "The
old music is music, and the new music is music. There are extraordinary
beauties in the new music too. Sonnambula, and the finale of Lucia, and Chopin,
and Robert! [Footnote: Sonnambula, opera by Bellini, produced in 1831. Lucia di
Lammermoor, opera by Donizetti, produced in 1835. Robert the Devil, opera by
Meyerbeer, produced in 1831; or possibly the allusion may be to Roberto
Devereux, by Donizetti.] I often think - " he paused, evidently collecting his
thoughts - "that if Beethoven were alive he would weep with joy listening to
Sonnambula for the first time when Viardot and Rubini were here. [Footnote:
Pauline Viardot-Garcia, the celebrated operatic singer with whom Turgenev had a
close friendship for many years. Rubini, an Italian tenor who had great success
in Russia in the 'forties of the last century.] It was like this ... " he said,
and his eyes glistened as he made a gesture with both arms as though tearing
something out of his breast. "A little more and it would have been impossible
to bear it."
"And what do you think of the opera at the present time?" asked Delesov.
"Bosio is good, very good," [Footnote: Angidina Bosio, an Italian singer,
who was in Petersburg in 1856-9.] he said, "extraordinarily exquisite, but she
does not touch one here," pointing to his sunken chest. "A singer needs
passion, and she has none. She gives pleasure but does not torment."
"How about Lablache?" [Footnote: Luigi Lablache. He was regarded as the
chief basso of modern times.]
"I heard him in Paris in the Barbier de Seville. He was unique then, but now he
is old: he cannot be an artist, he is old."
"Well, what if he is old? He is still good in morceaux d'ensemble," said
Delesov, who was in the habit of saying that of Lablache.
"How 'what if he is old?'" rejoined Albert severely. "He should not be old. An
artist should not be old. Much is needed for art, but above all, fire!" said he
with glittering eyes and stretching both arms upwards.
And a terrible inner fire really seemed to burn in his whole body.
"O my God!" he suddenly exclaims. "Don't you know Petrov, the artist?"
"No, I don't," Delesov replied, smiling.
"How I should like you to make his acquaintance! You would enjoy talks
with him. How well he understands art, too! I used often to meet him at Anna
Ivanovna's, but now she is angry with him for some reason. I should very much
like you to know him. He has great talent, great talent!"
"Does he paint now?" Delesov asked.
"I don't know, I think not, but he was an Academy artist. What ideas he
has! It's wonderful when he talks sometimes. Oh, Petrov has great talent, only
he leads a very gay life ... that's a pity," Albert added with a smile. After
that he got off the bed, took the violin, and began tuning it.
"Is it long since you were at the opera?" Delesov asked.
Albert looked round and sighed.
"Ah, I can't go there any more!" he said. "I will tell you!" And
clutching his head he again sat down beside Delesov and muttered almost in a
whisper: "I can't go there. I can't play there - I have nothing - nothing! No
clothes, no home, no violin. It is a miserable life! A miserable life!" he
repeated several times. And why should I go there? What for? No need!" he
said, smiling. "Ah! Don Juan ... "
He struck his head with his hand.
"Then let us go there together sometime," said Delesov.
Without answering, Albert jumped up, seized the violin, and began playing
the finale of the first act of Don Juan, telling the story of the opera in his
own words.
Delesov felt the hair stir on his head as Albert played the voice of the dying
commandant.
"No!" said Albert, putting down the violin. "I cannot play today. I have had
too much to drink."
But after that he went up to the table, filled a tumbler with wine, drank it at
a gulp, and again sat down on Delesov's bed.
Delesov looked at Albert, not taking his eyes off him. Occasionally Albert
smiled, and so did Delesov. They were both silent; but their looks and smiles
created more and more affectionate relations between them. Delesov felt himself
growing fonder of the man, and experienced an incomprehensible joy.
"Have you ever been in love?" he suddenly asked.
Albert thought for a few seconds, and then a sad smile lit up his face. He
leaned over to Delesov and looked attentively in his eyes.
"Why have you asked me that?" he whispered. "I will tell you everything,
because I like you," he continued, after looking at him for a while and then
glancing round. "I won't deceive you, but will tell you everything from the
beginning, just as it happened." He stopped, his eyes wild and strangely fixed.
"You know that my mind is weak," he suddenly said. "Yes, yes," he went on.
"Anna Ivanovna is sure to have told you. She tells everybody that I am mad!
That is not true; she says it as a joke, she is a kindly woman, and I have
really not been quite well for some time." He stopped again and gazed with
fixed wide-open eyes at the dark doorway. "You asked whether I have been in
love? ... Yes, I have been in love," he whispered, lifting his brows. "It
happened long ago, when I still had my job in the theatre. I used to play
second violin at the Opera, and she used to have the lower-tier box next the
stage, on the left."
He got up and leaned over to Delesov's ear.
"No, why should I name her?" he said. "You no doubt know her -
everybody knows her. I kept silent and only looked at her; I knew I was a poor
artist, and she an aristocratic lady. I knew that very well. I only looked at
her and planned nothing..."
Albert reflected, trying to remember.
How it happened I don't remember; but I was once called in to accompany
her on the violin. ... but what was I, a poor artist?" he said, shaking his head
and smiling. "But no, I can't tell it..." he added, clutching head. "How happy
I was!"
"Yes? And did you often go to her house?" Delesov asked.
"Once! Once only...but it was my own fault. I was mad! I was a poor artist,
and she an aristocratic lady. I ought not to have said anything to her. But I
went mad and acted like a fool. Since then all has been over for me. Petrov
told the truth, that it would have been better for me to have seen her only at
the theatre..."
"What was it you did?" asked Delesov.
"Ah, wait! Wait! I can't speak of that!"
With his face hidden in his hands he remained silent for some time.
"I came late to the orchestra. Petrov and I had been drinking that evening, and
I was distracted. She was sitting in her box talking to a general. I don't
know who that general was. She sat at the very edge of the box, with her arm on
the ledge; she had on a white dress and pearls round her neck. She talked to
him and looked at me. She looked at me twice. Her hair was done like this. I
was not playing, but stood near the basses and looked at her. Then for the
first time I felt strange. She smiled at the general and looked at me. I felt
she was speaking about me, and I suddenly saw that I was not in the orchestra,
but in the box beside her and holding her arm, just there.... How was that?"
Albert asked after a short silence.
"That was vivid imagination," said Delesov.
"No, no! ... but I don't know how to tell it," Albert replied, frowning. "Even
then I was poor and had no lodging, and when I went to the theatre I sometimes
stayed the night there."
"What, at the theatre? In that dark, empty place?"
"Oh, I am not afraid of such nonsense. Wait a bit.... When they had all gone
away I would go to the box where she had been sitting and sleep there. That was
my one delight. What nights I spent there! But once it began again. Many
things appeared to me in the night, but I can't tell you much." Albert glanced
at Delesov with downcast eyes. "What was it?" he asked.
"It is strange!" said Delesov.
"No, wait, wait!" he continued, whispering in Delesov's ear. "I kissed her
hand, wept there beside her, and talked much with her. I inhaled the scent of
her perfume and heard her voice. She told me much in one night. Then I took my
violin and played softly; and I played spendidly. But I felt frightened. I am
not afraid of those foolish things and don't believe in them, but I was afraid
for my head," he said, touching his forehead with an amiable smile. "I was
frightened for my poor wits. It seemed to me that something had happened to my
head. Perhaps it's nothing. What do you think?"
Both were silent for some minutes.
"Und wenn die Wolken sie verhullen
Die Sonne bleibt doch ewig klar."
[Footnote: "And even if the clouds do hide it/The sun remains for ever clear."]
Albert sand with a soft smile. "Is not that so?" he added.
"Ich auch habe gelebt und genossen..."
[Footnote: I, too, have lived and enjoyed."
"Ah, how well old Petrov would have explained it all to you!"
Delesov looked silently and in terror at the pale and agitated face of his
companion."Do you know the "Juristen-Waltzer?" Albert suddenly exclaimed, and
without awaiting an answer he jumped up, seized the violin, and began to play
the merry waltz tune, forgetting himself completely, and evidently imagining
that a whole orchestra was playing with him. He smiled, swayed, shifted his
feet, and played superbly.
"Eh! Enough of merrymaking!" he said when he had finished, and flourished the
violin.
"I am going," he said, after sitting silently for a while - "won't you come with
me?"
"Where to?" Delesov asked in surprise.
"Let's go to Anna Ivanovna's again. It's gay there - noise, people, music!"
At first Delesov almost consented, but bethinking himself he tried to
persuade Albert not to go that night.
"Only for a moment."
"No, really, you'd better not!"
Albert sighed and put down the violin.
"So, I must stay here?"
And looking again at the table (there was no wine left) he said goodnight and
left the room.
Delesov rang.
"See that you don't let Mr. Albert go anywhere without my permission," he
said to Zakhar.
VI
The next day was a holiday. Delesov was already awake and sitting in his
drawing-room drinking coffee and reading a book. Albert had not yet stirred in
the next room.
Zakhar cautiously opened the door and looked into the dining-room.
"Would you believe it, sir? He is asleep on the bare sofa! He wouldn't have
anything spread on it, really. Like a little child. Truly an artist."
Towards noon groaning and coughing were heard through the door.
Zakhar again went into the dining-room, and Delesov could hear his kindly
voice and Albert's weak, entreating one.
"Well?" he asked, when Zakhar returned.
"He's fretting, sir, won't wash, and seems gloomy. He keeps asking for a
drink."
"No. Having taken this matter up I must show character," said Delesov to
himself.
He ordered that no wine should be given to Albert and resumed his book, but
involuntarily listened to what was going on in the dining-room. There was no
sound of movement there and an occasional deep cough and spitting was all that
could be heard. Two hours passed. Having dressed, Delesov decided to look in
at his visitor before going out. Albert was sitting motionless at the window,
his head resting on his hand. He looked round. His face was yellow, wrinkled,
and not merely sad but profoundly miserable. He tried to smile by way of
greeting, but his face took on a still more sorrowful expression. He seemed
ready to cry. He rose with difficulty and bowed.
"If I might just have a glass of simple vodka!" he said with a look of entreaty.
"I am so weak - please!"
"Coffee will do you more good. Have some of that instead."
Albert's face suddenly lost its childlike expression; he looked coldly, dim-
eyed, out of the window, and sank feebly onto his chair.
"Or would you like some lunch?"
"No thank you, I have no appetite."
"If you wish to play the violin you will not disturb me," said Delesov, laying
the violin on the table.
Albert looked at the violin with a contemptuous smile.
"No," he said. "I am too weak, I can't play," and he pushed the instrument away
from him.
After that, whatever Delesov might say, offering to go for a walk with him, and
to the theatre in the evening, he only bowed humbly and remained stubbornly
silent. Delesov went out, paid several calls, dined with friends, and before
going to the theatre returned home to change and to see what the musician was
doing. Albert was sitting in the dark hall, leaning his head in his hands and
looking at the heated stove. He was neatly dressed, washed, and his hair was
brushed; but his eyes were dim and lifeless, and his whole figure expressed
weakness and exhaustion even more than in the morning.
"Have you dined, Mr. Albert?" asked Delesov.
Albert made an affirmative gesture with his head and, after a frightened look at
Delesov, lowered his eyes. Delesov felt uncomfortable.
"I spoke to the director of the theatre about you today," he said, also lowering
his eyes. "He will be very glad to receive you if you will let him hear you."
"Thank you, I cannot play!" muttered Albert under his breath, and went into his
room, shutting the door behind him very softly.
A few minutes later the door-knob was turned just as gently, and he came out of
the room with the violin. With a rapid and hostile glance at Delesov he placed
the violin on a chair and disappeared again.
Delesov shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
"What more am I to do? In what am I to blame?" he thought.
"Well, how is the musician?" was his first question when he returned home
late that evening.
"Bad!" said Zakhar, briefly and clearly. "He has been sighing and coughing and
says nothing, except that he started begging for vodka four or five times. At
last I gave him one glass - or else we might finish him off, sir. Just like the
clerk ... "
"Has he not played the violin?"
"Didn't even touch it. I took it to him a couple of times, but he just took it
up gently and brought it out again," Zakhar answered with a smile. "So your
orders are not to give him any drink?"
"No, we'll wait another day and see what happens. And what's he doing now?"
"He has locked himself up in the drawing-room."
Delesov went into his study and chose several French books and a German
Bible. "Put these books in his room tomorrow, and see that you don't let him
out," he said to Zakhar.
Next morning Zakhar informed his master that the musician had not slept all
night: he had paced up and down the rooms, and had been into the pantry, trying
to open the cupboard and the door, but he (Zakhar) had taken care to lock
everything up. He said that while he pretended to be asleep he had heard Albert
in the dark muttering something to himself and waving his arms about.
Albert grew gloomier and more taciturn every day. He seemed to be afraid of
Delesov, and when their eyes met his face expressed sickly fear. He did not
touch the books or the violin, and did not reply to questions put to him.
On the third day of the musician's stay Delesov returned home late, tired and
upset. He had been driving about all day attending to a matter that had
promised to be very simple and easy but, as often happens, in spite of strenuous
efforts he had been quite unable to advance a single step with it. Besides that
he had called in at his club and had lost at whist. He was in bad spirits.
"Well, let him go his way!" he said to Zakhar, who told him of Albert's sad
plight. "Tomorrow I'll get a definite answer out of him, whether he wants to
stay here and follow my advice, or not. If not, he needn't! It seems to me
that I have done all I could."
"There now, try doing good to people!" he thought to himself. "I put myself out
for him, I keep that dirty creature in my house, so that I can't receive a
visitor in the morning. I bustle and run about, and he looks on me as if I were
a villain who for his own pleasure has locked him up in a cage. And above all,
he won't take a single step to help himself. They are all like that." (The
"they" referred to people in general, and especially to those with whom he had
had business that day.) "And what is the matter with him now? What is he
thinking about and pining for? Pining for the debauchery from which I have
dragged him? For the humiliation in which he was? For the destitution from
which I have saved him? Evidently he has fallen so low that it hurts him to see
a decent life ..."
"No, it was a childish act," Delesov concluded. "How can I improve others, when
God knows whether I can manage myself?" He thought of letting Albert go at
once, but after a little reflection put it off till the next day.
During the night he was roused by the sound of a table falling in the hall, and
the sound of voices and footsteps. He lighted a candle and listed in surprise.
"Wait a bit. I'll tell my master," Zakhar was saying; Albert's voice muttered
something incoherently and heatedly. Delesov jumped up and ran into the hall
with the candle. Zakhar stood against the front door in his night attire, and
Albert, with his hat and cloak on, was pushing him aside and shouting in a
tearful voice:
"You can't keep me here! I have a passport [Footnote: To be free to go from
place to place it was necessary to have a properly stamped passport from the
police.], and have taken nothing of yours. You may search me. I shall go to
the chief of police!..."
"Excuse me, sir!" Zakhar said, addressing his master while continuing to
guard the door with his back. "He go up during the night, found the key in my
overcoat pocket, and drank a whole decanter of liqueur vodka. Is that right?
And now he wants to go away. You ordered me not to let him out, so I dare not
let him go."
On seeing Delesov Albert made for Zakhar still more excitedly.
"No one dare hold me! No one has a right to!" he shouted, raising his voice
more and more.
"Step aside, Zakhar!" said Delesov. I can't and don't want to keep you, but I
advise you to stay till the morning," he said to Albert.
"No one can keep me! I'll go to the chief of police!" Albert cried louder and
louder, addressing himself to Zakhar alone and not looking at Delesov. "Help!"
he suddenly screamed in a furious voice.
"What are you screaming like that for? Nobody is keeping you!" said
Zakhar, opening the door.
Albert stopped shouting. "You didn't succeed, did you? Wanted to do for
me - did you!" he muttered to himself, putting on his galoshes. Without taking
leave, and continuing to mutter incoherently, he went out. Zakhar held a light
for him as far as the gate, and then came back.
"Well, God be thanked, sir!" he said to his master. "Who knows what might
happen? As it is I must count the silver plate..."
Delesov merely shook his head and did not reply. He vividly recalled the
first two evenings he had spent with the musician, and recalled the last sad
days which by his fault Albert had spent there, and above all he recalled that
sweet, mixed feeling of surprise, affection and pity, which that strange man had
aroused in him at first sight, and he felt sorry for him. "And what will become
of him now?" he thought. Without money, without warm clothing, alone in the
middle of the night..." He was about to send Zakhar after him, but it was too
late.
"Is it cold outside?" he inquired.
"A hard frost, sir," replied Zakhar. "I forgot to inform you, but we shall have
to buy more wood for fuel before the spring."
"How is that? You said that we should have some left over."
VII
It was indeed cold outside, but Albert, heated by the liquor he had drunk and by
the dispute, did not feel it. On reaching the street he looked round and rubbed
his hands joyfully. The street was empty, but the long row of lamps still
burned with ruddy light; the sky was clear and starry. "There now!" he said,
addressing the lighted window of Delesov's lodging, thrusting his hands into his
trouser pockets under his cape, and stooping forward. He went with heavy,
uncertain steps down the street to the right. He felt an unusual weight in his
legs and stomach, something made a noise in his head, and some invisible force
was throwing him from side to side, but he still went on in the direction of
Anna Ivanovna's house. Strange, incoherent thoughts passed through his mind.
Now he remembered his last altercation with Zakhar, then for some reason the sea
and his first arrival in Russia by steamboat, then a happy night he had passed
with a friend in a small shop he was passing, then suddenly a familiar motif
began singing itself in his imagination, and he remembered the object of his
passion and the dreadful night in the theatre. Despite their incoherence all
these memories presented themselves so clearly to his mind that, closing his
eyes, he did not know which was the more real: what he was doing, or what he was
thinking. He did not realize or feel how his legs were moving, how he swayed
and bumped against the wall, how he looked around him, or passed from street to
street. He realized and felt only the things that, intermingling and
fantastically following one another, rose in his imagination.
Passing along the Little Morskaya Street, Albert stumbled and fell. Coming to
his senses for a moment he saw an immense and splendid building before him and
went on. In the sky no stars, nor moon, nor dawn, were visible, nor were there
any street lamps, but everything was clearly outlined. In the windows of the
building that towered at the end of the street lights were shining, but those
lights quivered like reflections. The building stood out nearer and nearer and
clearer and clearer before him. But the lights disappeared directly he entered
the wide portals. All was dark within. Solitary footsteps resounded under the
vaulted ceiling, and some shadows slit rapidly away as he approached. "Why have
I come here?" thought he; but some irresistible force drew him on into the
depths of the immense hall. There was some kind of platform, around which some
small people stood silently. "Who is going to speak?" asked Albert. No one
replied, except that someone pointed to the platform. A tall thin man with
bristly hair and wearing a parti-coloured dressing-gown was already standing
there, and Albert immediately recognized his friend Petrov. "How strange that
he should be here!" thought he. "No, brothers!" Petrov was saying, pointing to
someone. "You did not understand
a man living among you; you have not understood him! He is not a mercenary
artist, not a mechanical performer, not a lunatic or a lost man. He is a genius
- a great musical genius who has perisheed among you unnoticed and
unappreciated!" Albert at once understood of whom his friend was speaking, but
not wishing to embarrass him he modestly lowered his head.
"The holy fire that we all serve has consumed him like a blade of straw!" the
voice went on, "but he has fulfilled all that God implanted in him and should
therefore be called a great man. You could despise, torment, humiliate him,"
the voice continued, growing louder and louder - "but he was, is, and will be,
immeasurably higher than you all. He is happy, he is kind. He loves or
despises all alike, but serves only that which was implanted in him from above.
He loves but one thing - beauty, the one indubitable blessing in the world.
Yes, such is the man! Fall prostrate before him, all of you! On your knees!"
he cried aloud.
But another voice came mildly from the opposite corner of the hall: "I do not
wish to bow my knees before him," said the voice, which Albert immediately
recognized as Delesov's. "Wherein is he great? Why should we bow before him?
Did he behave honourably and justly? Has he been of any use to society? Don't
we know how he borrowed money and did not return it, and how he carried away his
fellow-artist's violin and pawned it? ..." ("Oh God, how does he know all
that?" thought Albert, hanging his head still lower.) "Do we not know how he
flattered the most insignificant people, flattered them for the sake of money?"
Delesov continued - "Don't we know how he was expelled from the theatre? And
how Anna Ivanovna wanted to send him to the police?" ("O God! That is all
true, but defend me, Thou who alone knowest why I did it!" muttered Albert.)
"Cease, for shame!" Petrov's voice began again. "What right have you to
accuse him? Have you lived his life? Have you experienced his rapture?
("True, true!" whispered Albert.) "Art is the highest manifestation of power in
man. It is given to a few of the elect, and raises the chosen one to such a
height as turns the head and makes it difficult for him to remain sane. In Art,
as in every struggle, there are heroes who have devoted themselves entirely to
its service and have perished without having reached the goal." Petrov stopped,
and Albert raised his head and cried out: "True, true!" but his voice died away
without a sound.
"It does not concern you," said the artist Petrov, turning to him severely.
"Yes, humiliate and despise him," he continued, "but yet he is the best and
happiest of you all."
Albert, who had listened to these words with rapture in his soul, could not
restrain himself, and went up to his friend wishing to kiss him.
"Go away! I do not know you!" Petrov said, "Go your way, or you won't get
there."
"Just see how the drink's got hold of you! You won't get there," shouted a
policeman at the crossroad.
Albert stopped, collected his strength and, trying not to stagger, turned into
the side street.
Only a few more steps were left to Anna Ivanovna's door. From the hall of
her house the light fell on the snow in the courtyard, and sledges and carriages
stood at the gate.
Holding onto the banister with his numbed hands, he ran up the steps and
rang. The sleepy face of a maid appeared in the opening of the doorway, and she
looked angrily at Albert. "You can't!" she cried. "The orders are not to let
you in," and she lammed the door to. The sound of music and of women's voices
reached the steps. Albert sat down, leaned his head against the wall, and
closed his eyes. Immediately a throng of disconnected but kindred visions beset
him with renewed force, engulfed him in their waves, and bore him away into the
free and beautiful realm of dreams. "Yes, he was the best and happiest!" ran
involuntarily through his imagination. The sounds of a polka came through the
door. These sounds also told him that he was the best and happiest. The bells
in the nearest church rang out for early service, and these bells also said:
"Yes, he is the best and happiest!" ... "I will go back to the hall," thought
Albert. "Petrov must tell me much more." But there was no one in the hall now,
and instead of the artist Petrov, Albert himself stood on the platform and
played on the violin all that the voice had said before. But the
violin was of strange construction; it was made of glass and it had to be held
in both hands and slowly pressed to the breast to make it produce sounds. The
sounds were the most delicate and delightful Albert had ever heard. The closer
he pressed the violin to his breast the more joyful and tender he felt. The
louder the sounds grew the faster the shadows dispersed and the brighter the
walls of the hall were lit up by transparent light. But it was necessary to
play the violin very warily so as not to break it. He played the glass
instrument very carefully and well. He played such things as he felt no one
would ever hear again. He was beginning to grow tired when another distant,
muffled sound distracted his attention. It was the sound of a bell, but it
spoke words: "Yes," said the bell, droning somewhere high up and far away, "he
seems to you pitiful, you despise him, yet he is the best and happiest of
men! No one will ever again play that instrument."
These familiar words suddenly seemed so wise, no new, and so true, to
Albert that he stopped playing and, trying not to move, raised his arms and eyes
to heaven. He felt that he was beautiful and happy. Although there was no one
else in the hall he expanded his chest and stood on the platform with head
proudly erect so that all might see him. Suddenly someone's hand lightly
touched his shoulder; he turned and saw a woman in the faint light. She looked
at him sadly and shook her head deprecatingly. He immediately realized that
what he was doing was bad, and felt ashamed of himself. "Whither?" he asked
her. She again gave him a long fixed look and sadly inclined her head. It was
she - none other than she whom he loved, and her garments were the same; on her
full white neck a string of pearls, and her superb arms bare to above the elbow.
She took his hand and led him out of the hall.
"The exit is on the other side," said Albert, but without replying she smiled
and led him out. At the threshold of the hall Albert saw the moon and some
water. But the water was not below as it usually is, nor was the moon a white
circle in one place up above as it usually is. Moon and water were together and
everywhere - above, below, at the sides, and all around them both. Albert threw
himself with her into the moon and the water, and realized that he could now
embrace her, whom he loved more than anything in the world. He embraced her and
felt unutterable happiness. "Is this not a dream?" he asked himself. But no!
It was more than reality: it was reality and recollection combined. Then he
felt that the unutterable bliss he had at that moment enjoyed had passed and
would never return. "What am I weeping for?" he asked her. She looked at him
silently and sadly. Albert understood what she meant by that. "But how can it
be, since I am alive?" he muttered. Without replying or moving she looked
straight before her. "This is terrible! How can I explain to her that I am
alive?" he thought with horror. "O Lord! I am alive, do understand me!" he
whispered. "He is the best and happiest!" a voice was saying. But something
was pressing more and more heavily on Albert. Whether it was the moon and the
water, her embraces, or his tears, he did not know, but he felt he would not be
able to say all that was necessary, and that soon all would be over.
Two visitors, leaving Anna Ivanovna's house, stumbled over Albert, who lay
stretched out on the threshold. One of them went back and called the hostess.
"Why, this is inhuman!" he said. "You might let a man freeze like that!"
"Ah, that is Albert! I'm sick to death of him!" replied the hostess.
"Annushka, lay him down somewhere in a room," she said to the maid.
"But I am alive - why bury me?" muttered Albert, as they carried him
insensible into the room.
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