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.