He got up and leaned over to Delésov’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 his head. ‘How happy I was!’
‘Yes? And did you often go to her house?’ Delésov 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. Petróv 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 Delésov.
‘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. Petróv 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 Delésov.
‘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 Delésov with downcast eyes. ‘What was it?’ he asked.
‘It is strange!’ said Delésov.
‘No, wait, wait!’ he continued, whispering in Delésov’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 splendidly. 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 verhüllen
Die Sonne bleibt doch ewig klar.’9
Albert sang with a soft smile. ‘Is not that so?’ he added.
‘Ich auch habe gelebt und genossen …’10
‘Ah, how well old Petróv would have explained it all to you!’
Delésov 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 nourished the violin.
‘I am going,’ he said, after sitting silently for awhile – ‘won’t you come with me?’
‘Where to?’ Delésov asked in surprise.
‘Let’s go to Anna Ivánovna’s again. It’s gay there – noise, people, music!’
At first Delésov 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 good-night and left the room.
Delésov rang.
‘See that you don’t let Mr Albert go anywhere without my permission,’ he said to Zakhár.
VI
THE next day was a holiday. Delésov was already awake and sitting in his drawing-room drinking coffee and reading a book. Albert had not yet stirred in the next room.
Zakhár 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.
Zakhár again went into the dining-room, and Delésov could hear his kindly voice and Albert’s weak, entreating one.
‘Well?’ he asked, when Zakhár 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 Delésov 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, Delésov 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 Delésov, 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 Delésov 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. Delésov 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.