Kupfer came next day to dinner; he did not begin, however, expatiating
on the preceding evening, he did not even reproach Aratov for his hasty
retreat, and only regretted that he had not stayed to supper, when there
had been champagne! (of the Novgorod brand, we may remark in parenthesis).
Kupfer probably realised that it had been a mistake on his part to disturb
his friend, and that Aratov really was a man ‘not suited’ to that circle
and way of life. On his side, too, Aratov said nothing of the princess, nor
of the previous evening. Platonida Ivanovna did not know whether to rejoice
at the failure of this first experiment or to regret it. She decided at
last that Yasha’s health might suffer from such outings, and was comforted.
Kupfer went away directly after dinner, and did not show himself again
for a whole week. And it was not that he resented the failure of his
suggestion, the good fellow was incapable of that, but he had obviously
found some interest which was absorbing all his time, all his thoughts; for
later on, too, he rarely appeared at the Aratovs’, had an absorbed look,
spoke little and quickly vanished.... Aratov went on living as before; but
a sort of--if one may so express it--little hook was pricking at his soul.
He was continually haunted by some reminiscence, he could not quite tell
what it was himself, and this reminiscence was connected with the evening
he had spent at the princess’s. For all that he had not the slightest
inclination to return there again, and the world, a part of which he had
looked upon at her house, repelled him more than ever. So passed six weeks.
And behold one morning Kupfer stood before him once more, this time with
a somewhat embarrassed countenance. ‘I know,’ he began with a constrained
smile, ‘that your visit that time was not much to your taste; but I hope
for all that you’ll agree to my proposal ... that you won’t refuse me my
request!’
‘What is it?’ inquired Aratov.
‘Well, do you see,’ pursued Kupfer, getting more and more heated: ‘there
is a society here of amateurs, artistic people, who from time to time get
up readings, concerts, even theatrical performances for some charitable
object.’
‘And the princess has a hand in it?’ interposed Aratov.
‘The princess has a hand in all good deeds, but that’s not the point. We
have arranged a literary and musical matinée ... and at this matinée you
may hear a girl ... an extraordinary girl! We cannot make out quite yet
whether she is to be a Rachel or a Viardot ... for she sings exquisitely,
and recites and plays.... A talent of the very first rank, my dear boy! I’m
not exaggerating. Well then, won’t you take a ticket? Five roubles for a
seat in the front row.’
‘And where has this marvellous girl sprung from?’ asked Aratov.
Kupfer grinned. ‘That I really can’t say.... Of late she’s found a home
with the princess. The princess you know is a protector of every one of
that sort.... But you saw her, most likely, that evening.’
Aratov gave a faint inward start ... but he said nothing.
‘She has even played somewhere in the provinces,’ Kupfer continued, ‘and
altogether she’s created for the theatre. There! you’ll see for yourself!’
‘What’s her name?’ asked Aratov.
‘Clara...’
‘Clara?’ Aratov interrupted a second time. ‘Impossible!’
‘Why impossible? Clara ... Clara Militch; it’s not her real name ... but
that’s what she’s called. She’s going to sing a song of Glinka’s ... and of
Tchaykovsky’s; and then she’ll recite the letter from _Yevgeny Oniegin_.
Well; will you take a ticket?’
‘And when will it be?’
‘To-morrow ... to-morrow, at half-past one, in a private drawing-room, in
Ostozhonka.... I will come for you. A five-rouble ticket?... Here it is ...
no, that’s a three-rouble one. Here ... and here’s the programme.... I’m
one of the stewards.’
Aratov sank into thought. Platonida Ivanovna came in at that instant, and
glancing at his face, was in a flutter of agitation at once. ‘Yasha,’ she
cried, ‘what’s the matter with you? Why are you so upset? Fyodor Fedoritch,
what is it you’ve been telling him?’
Aratov did not let his friend answer his aunt’s question, but hurriedly
snatching the ticket held out to him, told Platonida Ivanovna to give
Kupfer five roubles at once.
She blinked in amazement.... However, she handed Kupfer the money in
silence. Her darling Yasha had ejaculated his commands in a very imperative
manner.
‘I tell you, a wonder of wonders!’ cried Kupfer, hurrying to the door.
‘Wait till to-morrow.’
‘Has she black eyes?’ Aratov called after him.
‘Black as coal!’ Kupfer shouted cheerily, as he vanished.
Aratov went away to his room, while Platonida Ivanovna stood rooted to the
spot, repeating in a whisper, ‘Lord, succour us! Succour us, Lord!’