Russian Literature – Children Books – Russian Poetry – Ivan Turgenev – Clara Mílitch – Contents
< < < Chapter I
Chapter III > > >
II
At the time of which we are speaking, there was in Moscow a certain widow, a Georgian Princess,—a person of ill-defined standing and almost a suspicious character. She was about forty years of age; in her youth she had, probably, bloomed with that peculiar oriental beauty, which so quickly fades; now she powdered and painted herself, and dyed her hair a yellow hue. Various, not altogether favourable, and not quite definite, rumours were in circulation about her; no one had known her husband—and in no one city had she lived for any length of time. She had neither children nor property; but she lived on a lavish scale,—on credit or otherwise. She held a salon, as the saying is, and received a decidedly mixed company—chiefly composed of young men. Her whole establishment, beginning with her own toilette, furniture, and table, and ending with her equipage and staff of servants, bore a certain stamp of inferiority, artificiality, transitoriness … but neither the Princess herself nor her guests, apparently, demanded anything better. The Princess was reputed to be fond of music and literature, to be a patroness of actors and artists; and she really did take an interest in these “questions,” even to an enthusiastic degree—and even to a pitch of rapture which was not altogether simulated. She indubitably did possess the æsthetic chord. Moreover, she was very accessible, amiable, devoid of pretensions, of affectation, and—a fact which many did not suspect—in reality extremely kind, tender-hearted and obliging…. Rare qualities, and therefore all the more precious, precisely in individuals of that stamp.
“A frivolous woman!” one clever person said concerning her, “and she will infallibly get into paradise! For she forgives everything—and everything will be forgiven her!”—It was also said concerning her that when she disappeared from any town, she always left behind her as many creditors as persons whom she had loaded with benefits. A soft heart can be pressed in any direction you like.
Kupfer, as was to be expected, was a visitor at her house, and became very intimate with her … altogether too intimate, so malicious tongues asserted. But he always spoke of her not only in a friendly manner, but also with respect; he lauded her as a woman of gold—interpret that as you please!—and was a firm believer in her love for art, and in her comprehension of art!—So then, one day after dinner, at the Arátoffs’, after having discussed the Princess and her evening gatherings, he began to urge Yákoff to break in upon his life of an anchorite for once, and permit him, Kupfer, to introduce him to his friend. At first Yákoff would not hear to anything of the sort.
“Why, what idea hast thou got into thy head?” exclaimed Kupfer at last. “What sort of a presentation is in question? I shall simply take thee, just as thou art now sitting there, in thy frock-coat, and conduct thee to her evening. They do not stand on ceremony in the least there, brother! Here now, thou art learned, and thou art fond of music” (there actually was in Arátoff’s study a small piano, on which he occasionally struck a few chords in diminished sevenths)—”and in her house there is any quantity of that sort of thing!… And there thou wilt meet sympathetic people, without any airs! And, in conclusion, it is not right that at thy age, with thy personal appearance” (Arátoff dropped his eyes and waved his hand)—”yes, yes, with thy personal appearance, thou shouldst shun society, the world, in this manner! I’m not going to take thee to call on generals, seest thou! Moreover, I don’t know any generals myself!… Don’t be stubborn, my dear fellow! Morality is a good thing, a thing worthy of respect…. But why give thyself up to asceticism? Assuredly, thou art not preparing to become a monk!”
Arátoff continued, nevertheless, to resist; but Platonída Ivánovna unexpectedly came to Kupfer’s assistance. Although she did not quite understand the meaning of the word “asceticism,” still she also thought that it would not be a bad idea for Yáshenka to divert himself, to take a look at people,—and show himself.—”The more so,” she added, “that I have confidence in Feódor Feódoritch! He will not take thee to any bad place!…”
“I’ll restore him to thee in all his pristine purity!” cried Kupfer, at whom Platonída Ivánovna, in spite of her confidence, kept casting uneasy glances; Arátoff blushed to his very ears—but he ceased to object.
It ended in Kupfer taking him, on the following day, to the Princess’s evening assembly. But Arátoff did not remain there long. In the first place, he found at her house about twenty guests, men and women, who were, presumably, sympathetic, but who were strangers to him, nevertheless; and this embarrassed him, although he was obliged to talk very little: but he feared this most of all. In the second place, he did not like the hostess herself, although she welcomed him very cordially and unaffectedly. Everything about her displeased him; her painted face, and her churned-up curls, and her hoarsely-mellifluous voice, her shrill laugh, her way of rolling up her eyes, her too décolleté bodice—and those plump, shiny fingers with a multitude of rings!… Slinking off into a corner, he now swiftly ran his eyes over the faces of all the guests, as though he did not even distinguish one from another; again he stared persistently at his own feet. But when, at last, an artist who had just come to town, with a drink-sodden countenance, extremely long hair, and a bit of glass under his puckered brow, seated himself at the piano, and bringing down his hands on the keys and his feet on the pedals, with a flourish, began to bang out a fantasia by Liszt on a Wagnerian theme, Arátoff could stand it no longer, and slipped away, bearing in his soul a confused and oppressive impression, athwart which, nevertheless, there pierced something which he did not understand, but which was significant and even agitating.
< < < Chapter I
Chapter III > > >
Russian Literature – Children Books – Russian Poetry – Ivan Turgenev – Clara Mílitch – Contents
Copyright holders – Public Domain Book
| If you liked this site, subscribe , put likes, write comments! Share on social networks Check out Our Latest Posts |
© 2023 Akirill.com – All Rights Reserved
AKirill, Learn, apprenez, translation, traduction, livres bilingues, bilingual books 