They began to play the.prelude. In a few minutes the orchestra began to die away. Its last notes mingled indistinctly with another strain, at first sportive, playful, like a reminiscence of the sport of childhood; it seemed as though children's voices, ringing and merry, were heard in it; then it grew more glowing, more manly, and seemed to express the restlessness of youth, and its hardihood and overflow of life and energy. Then it flowed more slowly and softly, and seemed to be translating the outpourings of love, the language of the soul, and, sinking, fell slowly to the whisper of passion and died gradually away into silence
No one dared to stir. The mass of people sat in breathless stillness. At last a simultaneous "Ah ! " of admiration broke from all, and a whisper passed through the concert-hall. The crowd were just beginning to stir, but suddenly the music awoke again, and rushed along in a crescendo torrent, then broke into a thousand leaping cascades,
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224 A COMMON STORY
thwarting and crushing one another in their course. They seemed to be thundering the reproaches of jealousy, and boiling with the frenzy of passion ; the ear had not time to catch them—and suddenly they broke off, as though the instrument had not strength, not voice left. Then a dim broken sound began to escape from under the violinist's bow, then sounds of weeping, of beseechings were heard, and all ceased in a long-drawn sigh of pain. The heart was torn by it; the music seemed to tell of love betrayed and hopeless pain. Every suffering, every pang of the human soul was heard in it.
Alexandr was trembling. He stood with downcast head and looked through his tears over his neighbour's shoulder. A lean German, bent over his instrument, was standing before the crowd which he swayed so completely. He had finished, and was wiping his brow and hands on his handkerchief. From the hall rose a roar and enthusiastic clapping. And suddenly the musician in his turn bowed before the crowd and began humbly to express his respect and gratitude.
" Even he bows before it," thought Alexandr, looking with awe at the many-headed monster, " even he who stands so high above it!"
The musician took his bow; and all were instantaneously silence. The crowd, which had begun to be restless, settled down again into a single motionless mass. A different strain was sounding, solemn, majestic; the listener straightened his back as he heard it, raised his head and drew himself up; it stirred pride in the heart and called up dreams of glory. The orchestra began indistinctly to chime in, like the echo of the crowd in the distance, of renown in the world
Alexandr stood pale and downcast. The music, as though of design, told him clearly of the past, of all his life, bitter and betrayed.
" Look at that fellow's face!" said some one, pointing towards Alexandr; " I can't think how he can make such an exhibition of himself; I have heard Paganini without stirring a muscle."
"' Alexandrcursed both his aunt's invitation and the musician, and above all destiny for not allowing him to forget
" What for ? with what object ? " he thought; " what does
it want from me ? why remind me of the weakness, the use-lessness of the past, which cannot be recalled ? "
After escorting his aunt to her door, he was just about to leave her, but she held his hand.
" Do you really mean you won't come in ?" she asked in reproachful tones.
"No, I won't/'
" Half an hour, Alexandr, do you understand ; no longer. If you refuse, I must think that you never had the least scrap of affection for me."
She made the request with such feeling, so persuasively, that Alexandr had not the heart to refuse, and with bent head he went in after her. Piotr Ivanitch was alone in his study.
"Have I deserved nothing but neglect from you, Alexandr?" asked Lizaveta Alexandrovna, making him sit down by the fire.
" You are mistaken; it is not neglect," he answered.
" What does that mean ? how am I to understand it ? how many times have I written to you and invited you to come to me; you never came; at last you even gave up answering my letters."
" It was not neglect"
"What then!"
u Oh !" said Alexandr sighing. " Good-bye, ma tante?
" Stop ! what have I done to you ? what's the matter with you, Alexandr ? Why are you like this ? why are you indifferent to everything, why do you go nowhere, and live in company not fit for you ? "
" I don't know, I like this way of living; to live so suits me."
" Suits you ? Do you find food for your mind and your heart in such a life, in such people ? "
Alexandr nodded.
" You are pretending, Alexandr; you are very unhappy about something, and you won't speak of it. In old days you found some one to confide your troubles to; you knew you could always find consolation or at least sympathy; have you no one now ? "
" No one!"
" You trust in no one ? "
"No one."
p
" Do you never think of your poor mother—her love for you—her fondness? Has it never struck you that here perhaps is one who loves you, if not as she does, at least as a sister or, still more, as a friend?"
"Good-bye, ma tante " he said.
" Good-bye, Alexandr, I will not detain you any more," replied his aunt. There were tears in her eyes.
Alexandr was just taking his hat, then he laid it down and looked at Lizaveta Alexandrovna.
" No, I cannot run away from you; I have not the strength to do it," he said ; " what are you doing to me ? "
" Be the old Alexandr again, if only for one minute. Tell me, confide in me all."
u Yes, I cannot keep it from you; I will tell you all that is in my heart," he said. " You ask why I hide myself away from the world, why I am indifferent to everything, why I don't visit even you ? . . . . what is the reason ? You must understand that for a long time past life has been hateful to me, and I have chosen for myself the kind of existence in which it is least perceptibly so. I want nothing, I seek nothing except peace, the slumber of the soul. I have thoroughly seen through all the emptiness and all the nothingness of life, and I despise it profoundly. The activity and bustle, the anxieties and sensations, I am sick of it all. I don't want to seek and try for anything: I have no aims, because what you go after, you attain—and then you see it was all a dream. All pleasures are less for me; I have grown indifferent to them. In the polite world, in society, I feel more intensely the evils of life, but alone at home, away from the herd, I vegetate; whatever chance befalls me in that slumber I observe neither mankind nor myself. I do nothing, and see nothing of my own or other's actions and am at ease, and all is indifferent to me—happiness I cannot have, but I am not a prey to unhappiness."
" It's awful, Alexandr," said his aunt; " such indifference to everything at your age." ^ ~~~ -
He made a gesture of despair.
" But there are tears in your eyes; you are still just the same; don't disguise it, don't check your feelings, give them vent."
"What for? I shall be none the better for it. I shall only suffer more acutely. This evening has lowered me in my own eyes. I saw clearly that I have no right to blame
any one for my misery. I have myself been the ruin of my life. I dreamed of glory, goodness knows why, and neglected _ my work; I made a failure of my humble occupation, and 1 now I cannot make up for the past; it's too late ! I avoided J the herd, I despised it; but that German, for all his grand deep soul and poetic nature, does not renounce the world or avoid the herd; he is proud of its applause. He understands that he is a scarcely perceptible link in the endless chain of humanity; he too knows all I do ; suffering is not strange to him. You heard how he put the whole of life into his music, its bliss and its pains, the delight and the torture of the soul. He understands it. How petty, how worthless in my own eyes I suddenly become to-day, I with my misery, my sufferings! . . . . He awakened in me the bitter consciousness that I am proud and feeble. Ah! why did you invite me ? Good-bye; let me go."