Leo Tolstoy

“ 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? ..." ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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." ”

“ 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." ”

“ 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. ”

“ Zakhar smiled.
"One can well call him an 'artist', sir. [Note: 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 neighbours 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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 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. ”

“ 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," [Note: 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." ”

“ Zakhar said, addressing his master while continuing to guard the door with his back. "He got 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ There is something extraordinary about him," said Delesov. "Let us see ... "
Chapter 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. [Note: 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.] ”

“ 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! [Note: 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.] ”