No sooner had he arrived in that town and engaged a room at the hotel,
than he dashed off in search of the widow Milovídoff's house. During the
whole course of his journey he had been in a sort of stupor, which,
nevertheless, did not in the least prevent his taking all proper
measures,--transferring himself at Nizhni Nóvgorod from the railway to
the steamer, eating at the stations, and so forth. As before, he was
convinced that everything would be cleared up _there_, and accordingly
he banished from his thoughts all memories and speculations, contenting
himself with one thing,--the mental preparation of the speech in which
he was to set forth to Clara Mílitch's family the real reason of his
trip.--And now, at last, he had attained to the goal of his yearning,
and ordered the servant to announce him. He was admitted--with surprise
and alarm--but he was admitted.
The widow Milovídoff's house proved to be in fact just as Kupfer had
described it; and the widow herself really did resemble one of
Ostróvsky's women of the merchant class, although she was of official
rank; her husband had been a Collegiate Assessor.[64] Not without some
difficulty did Arátoff, after having preliminarily excused himself for
his boldness, and the strangeness of his visit, make the speech which he
had prepared, to the effect that he wished to collect all the necessary
information concerning the gifted actress who had perished at such an
early age; that he was actuated not by idle curiosity, but by a profound
sympathy for her talent, of which he was a worshipper (he said exactly
that--"a worshipper"); that, in conclusion, it would be a sin to leave
the public in ignorance of the loss it had sustained,--and why its hopes
had not been realized!
Madame Milovídoff did not interrupt Arátoff; it is hardly probable that
she understood very clearly what this strange visitor was saying to her,
and she merely swelled a little with pride, and opened her eyes widely
at him on perceiving that he had a peaceable aspect, and was decently
clad, and was not some sort of swindler ... and was not asking for any
money.
"Are you saying that about Kátya?" she asked, as soon as Arátoff ceased
speaking.
"Exactly so ... about your daughter."
"And you have come from Moscow for that purpose?"
"Yes, from Moscow."
"Merely for that?"
"Merely for that."
Madame Milovídoff suddenly took fright.--"Why, you--are an author? Do
you write in the newspapers?"
"No, I am not an author,--and up to the present time, I have never
written for the newspapers."
The widow bent her head. She was perplexed.
"Consequently ... it is for your own pleasure?" she suddenly inquired.
Arátoff did not immediately hit upon the proper answer.
"Out of sympathy, out of reverence for talent," he said at last.
The word "reverence" pleased Madame Milovídoff. "Very well!" she
ejaculated with a sigh.... "Although I am her mother, and grieved very
greatly over her.... It was such a catastrophe, you know!... Still, I
must say, that she was always a crazy sort of girl, and ended up in the
same way! Such a disgrace.... Judge for yourself: what sort of a thing
is that for a mother? We may be thankful that they even buried her in
Christian fashion...." Madame Milovídoff crossed herself.--"From the
time she was a small child she submitted to no one,--she abandoned the
paternal roof ... and finally, it is enough to say that she became an
actress! Every one knows that I did not turn her out of the house; for I
loved her! For I am her mother, all the same! She did not have to live
with strangers,--and beg alms!..." Here the widow melted into
tears.--"But if you, sir," she began afresh, wiping her eyes with the
ends of her kerchief, "really have that intention, and if you will not
concoct anything dishonourable about us,--but if, on the contrary, you
wish to show us a favour,--then you had better talk with my other
daughter. She will tell you everything better than I can...."
"Ánnotchka!" called Madame Milovídoff:--"Ánnotchka, come hither! There's
some gentleman or other from Moscow who wants to talk about Kátya!"
There was a crash in the adjoining room, but no one
appeared.--"Ánnotchka!" cried the widow again--"Anna Semyónovna! come
hither, I tell thee!"
The door opened softly and on the threshold appeared a girl no longer
young, of sickly aspect, and homely, but with very gentle and sorrowful
eyes. Arátoff rose from his seat to greet her, and introduced himself,
at the same time mentioning his friend Kupfer.--"Ah! Feódor
Feódoritch!" ejaculated the girl softly, as she softly sank down on a
chair.
"Come, now, talk with the gentleman," said Madame Milovídoff, rising
ponderously from her seat: "He has taken the trouble to come expressly
from Moscow,--he wishes to collect information about Kátya. But you must
excuse me, sir," she added, turning to Arátoff.... "I shall go away, to
attend to domestic affairs. You can have a good explanation with
Ánnotchka--she will tell you about the theatre ... and all that sort of
thing. She's my clever, well-educated girl: she speaks French and reads
books quite equal to her dead sister. And she educated her sister, I may
say.... She was the elder--well, and so she taught her."
Madame Milovídoff withdrew. When Arátoff was left alone with Anna
Semyónovna he repeated his speech; but from the first glance he
understood that he had to deal with a girl who really was cultured, not
with a merchant's daughter,--and so he enlarged somewhat, and employed
different expressions;--and toward the end he became agitated, flushed,
and felt conscious that his heart was beating hard. Anna Semyónovna
listened to him in silence, with her hands folded; the sad smile did not
leave her face ... bitter woe which had not ceased to cause pain, was
expressed in that smile.
"Did you know my sister?" she asked Arátoff.
"No; properly speaking, I did not know her," he replied. "I saw and
heard your sister once ... but all that was needed was to hear and see
your sister once, in order to...."
"Do you mean to write her biography?" Anna put another question.
Arátoff had not expected that word; nevertheless, he immediately
answered "Why not?" But the chief point was that he wished to acquaint
the public....
Anna stopped him with a gesture of her hand.
"To what end? The public caused her much grief without that; and Kátya
had only just begun to live. But if you yourself" (Anna looked at him
and again smiled that same sad smile, only now it was more cordial ...
apparently she was thinking: "Yes, thou dost inspire me with
confidence") ... "if you yourself cherish such sympathy for her, then
permit me to request that you come to us this evening ... after dinner.
I cannot now ... so suddenly.... I will collect my forces.... I will
make an effort.... Akh, I loved her too greatly!"
Anna turned away; she was on the point of bursting into sobs.
Arátoff rose alertly from his chair, thanked her for her proposal, said
that he would come without fail ... without fail! and went away, bearing
in his soul an impression of a quiet voice, of gentle and sorrowful
eyes--and burning with the languor of anticipation.