The story begins with the arrival in St. Petersburg of a far from poor company of friends of 5 people. A lot of champagne was drunk in the company of beautiful ladies. But the atmosphere looked boring, bringing melancholy. One of Delesov's friends wished to leave the party. At the moment of leaving the house, a man of strange appearance appears before his eyes.
Subsequently, the protagonist manages to find out about some musician from the theater who has lost his mind, who often visits the hostess. The guys offer him a joint time, to which he begins to dance ridiculously. The absurd spectacle inevitably causes laughter among those present. Suddenly, the musician falls, then rises again, proving to everyone that he was not hurt. The next attempts to jump in the dance make him stagger. This time around, he is supported. Everyone feels awkward.
After that, picking up the violin, the musician produces an amazing melody, involuntarily causing genuine surprise in everyone. Wonderful music plays. Those gathered, as if spellbound, remained in their places, unable to make movements and secretly listening to the pouring sounds of the instrument. Everyone suddenly realized the extraordinary talent of this man, and not the madman previously discovered in him. Out of pity, the guests pool their money for him.
Delesov invites a new acquaintance to settle in his house for a while. Being in the same carriage with Albert, he smells the unpleasant smell of drunkards and uncleanness, with which he was saturated. Perhaps he acted recklessly by inviting him, but it was too late to repent of what he had done.
Albert and Delesov easily communicate, revealing absolute mutual understanding. Subsequently, when they meet, they talk a lot on various topics. The guest tells the host about his former feelings for one woman. In the opera, he played second violin, and she attended performances. Silently looking at her, he was clearly aware of his poverty and her aristocracy.
Once accompanying her on the violin, he was seized by an impulse, and he confessed everything, later realizing his own oversight and the stupidity of what had happened. Since then, everything has ended for the hero. Late for the orchestra, he saw her sitting next to the general. While talking to him, she kept her eyes fixed on Albert.
Something strange happened to him the first time. It seemed to him that he was not in the orchestra, but next to her in the box and holding her hand. Since then, he often entered the box and fell asleep there due to the lack of his own housing. He played well, but it seemed to him that something had happened to his mind.
After some time, while at a friend's house, Albert falls into an inexplicable state. The sadness on his face, which is not inherent in him, is clearly revealed with the appearance of excessive internal experiences. During these moments, he completely forgot, immersed in his own thoughts, completely detached from reality.
There was no question of any communication. Albert could hardly withstand Delesov's absolute control, manifested in everything. The musician decides to leave his house. The mad musician leaves due to a deterioration in health. Various strange circumstances arise in his thoughts - a conversation between two comrades and a meeting with a former lover. After some time, he is found lying at the doorstep alive.
Often, unrecognized geniuses are beset by madness. Due to excessive sensitivity, creative natures do not find their proper place in society, believing that they are not sufficiently appreciated by them. It can be difficult to put up with the idea of being different from other people.
A picture or drawing of Albert
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Tolstoy Lev Nikolaevich
Lev Tolstoy
Five rich and young people arrived at three o'clock in the morning to have fun at the St. Petersburg balik.
A lot of champagne was drunk, most of the gentlemen were very young, the girls were beautiful, the piano and violin tirelessly played one polka after another, the dancing and noise did not stop; but it was somehow boring, awkward, for some reason it seemed to everyone (as often happens) that all this was not right and unnecessary.
Several times they tried to raise their merriment, but the feigned merriment was even worse than boredom.
One of the five young people, more than others dissatisfied with himself, and with others, and with the whole evening, got up with a feeling of disgust, found his hat and went out with the intention of leaving quietly.
There was no one in the hall, but in the next room, behind the door, he heard two voices arguing with each other. The young man paused and began to listen.
Let go, please, I'm nothing! pleaded a weak male voice.
Yes, I won’t let you in without madam’s permission, ”the woman said,“ where are you going? oh what!..
The door swung open and a strange male figure appeared on the threshold. Seeing the guest, the maid ceased to hold back, and a strange figure, bowing timidly, staggering on bent legs, entered the room. He was a man of medium height, with a narrow, arched back and long, tousled hair. He wore a short overcoat and torn tight trousers over rough, unpolished boots. A tie, twisted with a rope, tied around a long white neck. A dirty shirt protruded from the sleeves over thin arms. But, despite the extreme thinness of his body, his face was soft, white, and even a fresh blush played on his cheeks, above his sparse black beard and sideburns. Uncombed hair, thrown up, showed a low and extremely clean forehead. Dark tired eyes looked ahead softly, searchingly and importantly at the same time. Their expression merged captivatingly with the expression of fresh, curved lips at the corners, visible from behind a sparse mustache.
After walking a few steps, he paused, turned to the young man and smiled. He smiled as if with difficulty; but when a smile lit up his face, the young man - without knowing what - smiled too.
Who is it? he asked in a whisper to the maid, as a strange figure passed into the room from which the dancing could be heard.
A mad musician from the theatre, - answered the maid, - he sometimes comes to the mistress.
Where did you go, Delesov? - shouted at this time from the hall.
The young man, whose name was Delesov, returned to the hall.
The musician stood at the door and, looking at the dancers, with a smile, a look and a stamping of his feet, showed the pleasure this spectacle gave him.
Well, go and dance, - one of the guests told him.
The musician bowed and looked inquiringly at the mistress.
Go, go, - well, when the gentlemen invite you, - the hostess intervened.
The thin, weak members of the musician suddenly came into increased movement, and winking, smiling and twitching, he began to jump heavily, awkwardly around the hall. In the middle of the quadrille, a cheerful officer, who danced very beautifully and animatedly, inadvertently pushed the musician with his back. Weak, tired legs could not keep balance, and the musician, having taken several shaky steps to the side, fell to the floor from all his height. Despite the harsh, dry sound the fall made, almost everyone laughed in the first minute.
But the musician did not get up. The guests fell silent, even the piano stopped playing, and Delesov and the hostess were the first to run up to the fallen man. He lay on his elbow and stared dully at the ground. When he was lifted up and seated on a chair, he pushed back his hair from his forehead with a quick movement of his bony hand and began to smile without answering questions.
Mr Albert! Mr Albert! the hostess said. - What, hurt? Where? So I said that it was not necessary to dance. He is so weak,” she continued, turning to the guests, “he can hardly walk, where is he!
Who is he? - asked the hostess.
Poor man, artist. A very good fellow, only pathetic, as you can see.
She said this without being embarrassed by the presence of the musician. The musician woke up and, as if frightened of something, cringed and pushed away those around him.
It's all nothing, - he suddenly said, with a visible effort, rising from his chair.
And, to prove that he was not in the least hurt, he went to the middle of the room and wanted to jump, but he staggered and would have fallen again if he had not been supported.
Everyone felt awkward; looking at him, everyone was silent.
The musician's gaze faded again, and he, apparently forgetting about everyone, rubbed his knee with his hand. Suddenly he raised his head, put his trembling leg forward, threw back his hair with the same vulgar gesture as before, and, going up to the violinist, took the violin from him.
Everything is nothing! he repeated once more, waving his violin. - Gentlemen, let's play music.
What a strange face! the guests were talking to each other.
Perhaps a great talent perishes in this unfortunate being! - said one of the guests.
Yes, pathetic, pathetic! - said another.
What a beautiful face! .. There is something unusual in it, - said Delesov, - let's see ...
Albert at this time, not paying attention to anyone, pressing the violin to his shoulder, slowly walked along the piano and tuned it. His lips were drawn into an impassive expression, his eyes were not visible; but the narrow, bony back, long white neck, crooked legs, and shaggy black head presented a wonderful, but somehow not at all funny, sight. Having tuned his violin, he briskly struck a chord and, throwing up his head, turned to the drunkard, who was preparing to accompany.
- "Melancholic G-dur!" he said, addressing the drunkard with an imperious gesture.
And then, as if asking for forgiveness for the imperious gesture, he meekly smiled and with this smile looked around the audience. Throwing up his hair with the hand with which he held the bow. Albert stopped in front of the corner of the pianoforte and stroked the strings with a smooth movement of the bow. A clear, harmonious sound rushed through the room, and there was complete silence.
The sounds of the theme flowed freely, gracefully after the first, with some unexpectedly clear and soothing light, suddenly illuminating the inner world of each listener. Not a single false or immoderate sound disturbed the obedience of those who listened, all sounds were clear, elegant and significant. Everyone silently, with a tremor of hope, followed their development. From the state of boredom, noisy distraction and mental sleep in which these people were, they were suddenly imperceptibly transferred to a completely different world, forgotten by them. Either a feeling of quiet contemplation of the past arose in their souls, then a passionate recollection of something happy, then an unlimited need for power and brilliance, then a feeling of humility, unsatisfied love and sadness. Now sadly tender, now impetuously desperate sounds, freely mixing with each other, poured and poured one after another so gracefully, so strongly and so unconsciously that it was not the sounds that were heard, but some beautiful stream poured by itself into the soul of everyone for a long time. familiar, but for the first time spoken poetry. Albert grew higher and higher with every note. He was far from ugly or weird. Pressing the violin under his chin and listening to his sounds with an expression of passionate attention, he convulsively moved his legs. Now he straightened up to his full height, then diligently bent his back. The left, tensely bent hand, seemed to freeze in its position and only convulsively fingered with bony fingers; the right one moved smoothly, gracefully, imperceptibly. The face was taken off by continuous, enthusiastic joy; her eyes burned with a light, dry gleam, her nostrils flared, her red lips parted with pleasure.
Sometimes the head leaned closer to the violin, the eyes closed, and the half-covered face was illuminated by a smile of meek bliss. Sometimes he quickly straightened up, put out his leg; and his clean forehead, and the brilliant look with which he swept the room, shone with pride, grandeur, a sense of power. Once the drunkard made a mistake and played the wrong chord. Physical suffering was expressed in the whole figure and face of the musician. He stopped for a second and, with an expression of childish malice, stamping his foot, shouted: "Mol, s-mol!" The drunkard recovered, Albert closed his eyes, smiled and, again forgetting himself, others and the whole world, blissfully devoted himself to his work.
All who were in the room during the game of Albert kept a submissive silence and seemed to live and breathe only his sounds.
The cheerful officer sat motionless on a chair by the window, fixing his lifeless gaze on the floor, and heaved and rarely caught his breath. The girls sat on the walls in complete silence and only occasionally exchanged glances with approval that reached bewilderment. The fat, smiling face of the hostess was blurred with pleasure. The drunkard fixed his eyes on Albert's face and, with the fear of making a mistake, expressed in his whole drawn figure, tried to follow him. One of the guests, who had drunk more than the others, lay prone on the sofa and tried not to move so as not to betray his excitement. Delesov experienced an unusual feeling. Some kind of cold circle, now narrowing, now expanding, squeezed his head. The roots of the hair became sensitive, the frost ran up his back, something, rising higher and higher to the throat, pricked his nose and palate like thin needles, and tears imperceptibly wet his cheeks. He shook himself, tried to imperceptibly draw them back and wipe them off, but new ones came out again and flowed over his face. By some strange chain of impressions, the first sounds of Albert's violin transported Delesov to his first youth. He is a middle-aged, tired of life, exhausted man, he suddenly felt like a seventeen-year-old, smugly handsome, blissfully stupid and unconsciously happy being. He remembered his first love for a cousin in a pink dress, he remembered his first confession in a linden alley, he remembered the heat and incomprehensible charm of an accidental kiss, he remembered the magic and unsolved mystery of the nature that surrounded him then. In his regressed imagination, she shone in a fog of vague hopes, incomprehensible desires, and an undoubted belief in the possibility of impossible happiness. All the invaluable minutes of that time, one after another, rose up before him, but not as insignificant moments of the running present, but as stopped, growing and reproachful images of the past. He contemplated them with pleasure and wept - he wept not because the time had passed, which he could use better (if he had been given this time back, he would not undertake to use it better), but he wept only because it had passed this time will never come back. Memories arose by themselves, and Albert's violin spoke one and the same thing. She said: “The time of strength, love and happiness has passed for you, the time of strength, love and happiness has passed forever, it has passed and will never return. .
Current page: 1 (the book has 6 pages in total)
Lev Nikolaevich
Tolstoy
Albert
(1857-1858)
State publishing house
"Fiction"
Moscow - 1935
The electronic edition was carried out as part of the crowdsourcing project "All Tolstoy in One Click"
Organizers: Leo Tolstoy State Museum
Museum-estate "Yasnaya Polyana"
ABBYY Company
Prepared on the basis of an electronic copy of the 5th volume of the Complete Works of Leo Tolstoy, provided by the Russian State Library
The preface and editorial notes to the 5th volume of the Complete Works of Leo Tolstoy can be read in this edition
The electronic edition of the 90-volume collected works of L. N. Tolstoy is available on the portal www.tolstoy.ru
If you find an error, please write to us.
Preface to the electronic edition
This publication is an electronic version of the 90-volume collected works of Leo Tolstoy, published in 1928-1958. This unique academic publication, the most complete collection of Leo Tolstoy's legacy, has long become a bibliographic rarity. In 2006, the Yasnaya Polyana Estate Museum, in cooperation with the Russian State Library and with the support of the E. Mellon Foundation and coordination The British Council carried out the scanning of all 90 volumes of the publication. However, in order to enjoy all the advantages of the electronic version (reading on modern devices, the ability to work with text), more than 46,000 pages had to be recognized. To this end, the State Museum of Leo Tolstoy, the Yasnaya Polyana Museum-Estate, together with a partner, ABBYY, opened the project “All Tolstoy in One Click”. More than 3,000 volunteers joined the project on readingtolstoy.ru, and they used ABBYY FineReader to recognize text and correct errors. Literally in ten days, the first stage of reconciliation was completed, and in two months, the second. After the third stage of proofreading volumes and individual works published in electronic form on the site tolstoy.ru.
The edition retains the spelling and punctuation of the printed version of the 90-volume collected works of Leo Tolstoy.
Project manager "All Tolstoy in one click"
Fekla Tolstaya
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L. N. TOLSTOY
Original size
ALBERT.
I.
A lot of champagne was drunk, most of the gentlemen were very young, the girls were beautiful, the piano and violin tirelessly played one polka after another, the dancing and noise did not stop; but it was somehow boring, awkward, for some reason it seemed to everyone (as it often happens) that all this was not right and unnecessary.
“Yes, I won’t let you in without madam’s permission,” the woman said: “where are you going?” oh what!…
The door swung open and a strange male figure appeared on the threshold. Seeing the guest, the maid ceased to hold back, and a strange figure, bowing timidly, staggering on bent legs, entered the room. He was a man of medium height, with a narrow, arched back and long, tousled hair. He wore a short overcoat and torn tight trousers over rough, unpolished boots. A tie, twisted with a rope, tied around a long white neck. A dirty shirt protruded from the sleeves over thin arms. But, despite the extreme thinness of his body, his face was soft, white, and even a fresh blush played on his cheeks, above his sparse black beard and sideburns. Uncombed hair, thrown up, showed a low and extremely clean forehead. Dark tired eyes looked ahead softly, searchingly and importantly at the same time. Their expression merged captivatingly with the expression of fresh, curved lips at the corners, visible from behind a sparse mustache.
After walking a few steps, he paused, turned to the young man and smiled. He smiled as if with difficulty; but when a smile lit up his face, the young man, without knowing why, smiled too.
- Who is it? he asked the maid in a whisper as a strange figure passed into the room from which the dancing could be heard.
“A mad musician from the theatre,” answered the maid: “He sometimes comes to the mistress.
“Well, go and dance,” one of the guests told him.
The thin, weak members of the musician suddenly came into increased movement, and winking, smiling and twitching, he began to jump heavily, awkwardly around the hall. In the middle of the quadrille, a cheerful officer, who danced very beautifully and animatedly, inadvertently pushed the musician with his back. Weak, tired legs could not keep their balance, and the musician, having taken several shaky steps to the side, from all his height
Mr Albert! Mr Albert! - said the hostess, - are you hurt? Where? So I said that it was not necessary to dance. He is so weak! she continued, turning to the guests, “he walks by force, where is he!
"That's all right," he said suddenly, rising from his chair with a visible effort.
The musician's gaze faded again, and he, apparently forgetting about everyone, rubbed his knee with his hand. Suddenly he raised his head, put his trembling leg forward, threw back his hair with the same vulgar gesture as before, and, going up to the violinist, took the violin from him.
- Nothing! he repeated once more, waving his violin. - Gentlemen, let's play music.
- What a beautiful face! .. There is something unusual in it, - Delesov said: - let's see .....
II.
Albert at this time, not paying attention to anyone, clutching the violin to his shoulder, slowly walked along the piano and tuned it. His lips were drawn into an impassive expression, his eyes were not visible; but the narrow, bony back, long white neck, crooked legs, and shaggy black head presented a wonderful, but somehow not at all funny, sight. Having tuned his violin, he briskly struck a chord and, throwing up his head, turned to the drunkard, who was preparing to accompany.
– "Melancholie G-dur"1
["Melancholy in the tone of Ge-dur!"]
he said, addressing the drunkard with an imperious gesture.
And then, as if asking for forgiveness for the imperious gesture, he meekly smiled and with this smile looked around the audience. Throwing up his hair with the hand with which he held the bow, Albert stopped in front of the corner of the piano and, with a smooth movement of the bow, stroked the strings. A clear, harmonious sound rushed through the room, and there was complete silence.
The sounds of the theme flowed freely, gracefully after the first, with some unexpectedly clear and soothing light, suddenly illuminating the inner world of each listener. Not a single false or immoderate sound disturbed the obedience of those who listened, all sounds were clear, elegant and significant. Everyone silently, with a tremor of hope, followed their development. From the state of boredom, noisy distraction and mental sleep in which these people were, they were suddenly imperceptibly transferred to a completely different world, forgotten by them. Either a feeling of quiet contemplation of the past arose in their souls, then a passionate recollection of something happy, then an unlimited need for power and brilliance, then a feeling of humility, unsatisfied love and sadness. Now sadly tender, now impetuously desperate sounds, freely mixing with each other, poured and poured one after another so gracefully, so strongly and so unconsciously that it was not the sounds that were heard, but some beautiful stream poured by itself into the soul of everyone for a long time. familiar, but for the first time spoken poetry. Albert grew higher and higher with every note. He was far from ugly or weird. Pressing the violin under his chin and listening to his sounds with an expression of passionate attention, he convulsively moved his legs. Now he straightened up to his full height, then diligently bent his back. The left, tensely bent hand, seemed to freeze in its position and only convulsively fingered with bony fingers; the right one moved smoothly, gracefully, imperceptibly. His face shone with uninterrupted, rapturous joy; her eyes burned with a light, dry gleam, her nostrils flared, her red lips parted with pleasure.
Sometimes the head leaned closer to the violin, the eyes closed, and the half-covered face was illuminated by a smile of meek bliss. Sometimes he quickly straightened up, put out his leg; and his clean forehead, and the brilliant look with which he swept the room, shone with pride, grandeur, a sense of power. Once the drunkard made a mistake and played the wrong chord. Physical suffering was expressed in the whole figure and face of the musician. He stopped for a second and, stamping his foot with an expression of childish malice, shouted: mol, c-mol!» 2
["mol, tse-mol!"]
The drunkard recovered, Albert closed his eyes, smiled and, again forgetting himself, others and the whole world, blissfully devoted himself to his work.
All who were in the room during the game of Albert kept a submissive silence and seemed to live and breathe only his sounds.
The cheerful officer sat motionless on a chair by the window, fixing his lifeless gaze on the floor, and heaved and rarely caught his breath. The girls sat on the walls in complete silence and only occasionally exchanged glances with approval that reached bewilderment. The fat, smiling face of the hostess was blurred with pleasure. The drunkard fixed his eyes on Albert's face and, with the fear of making a mistake, expressed in his whole drawn figure, tried to follow him. One of the guests, who had drunk more than the others, lay prone on the sofa and tried not to move so as not to betray his excitement. Delesov experienced an unusual feeling. Some kind of cold circle, now narrowing, now expanding, squeezed his head. The roots of his hair became sensitive, a frost ran up his back, something, rising higher and higher to his throat, pricked his nose and palate like thin needles, and tears imperceptibly wet his cheeks. He shook himself, tried to imperceptibly draw them back and wipe them off, but new ones came out again and flowed over his face. By some strange chain of impressions, the first sounds of Albert's violin transported Delesov to his first youth. He is not a young, tired of life, exhausted person, he suddenly felt like a seventeen-year-old, smugly beautiful, blissfully stupid and unconsciously happy being. He remembered his first love for a cousin in a pink dress, he remembered his first confession in a linden alley, he remembered the heat and the incomprehensible charm of an accidental kiss, he remembered the magic and the unsolved mystery of the surrounding nature at that time. In his regressed imagination shone she in a fog of vague hopes, incomprehensible desires and an undoubted belief in the possibility of impossible happiness. All the invaluable minutes of that time, one after another, rose before him, but not as insignificant moments of the running present, but as stopped, growing and reproachful images of the past. He contemplated them with pleasure and wept—not because the time had passed, which he could use better (if he had been given that time back, he would not undertake to use it better), but he wept only because that time had passed. and never comes back. Memories arose by themselves, and Albert's violin spoke one and the same thing. She said: “The time of strength, love and happiness has passed for you, the time of strength, love and happiness has passed forever, it has passed and will never return. Cry for him, cry out all your tears, die in tears for this time - this is one of the best happiness that you have left.
By the end of the last variation, Albert's face turned red, his eyes burned without dying, large drops of sweat streamed down his cheeks. The veins on the forehead swelled up, the whole body began to move more and more, the pale lips no longer closed, and the whole figure expressed an enthusiastic greed for pleasure.
Desperately swinging his whole body and tossing his hair, he lowered the violin and looked around at those present with a smile of proud majesty and happiness. Then his back bent, his head drooped, his lips pursed, his eyes dimmed, and he, as if ashamed of himself, looking around timidly and tangling his feet, went into another room.
III.
Something strange happened to everyone present, and something strange was felt in the dead silence that followed Albert's game. As if everyone wanted and was unable to express what it all meant. What does it mean - a bright and hot room, brilliant women, a dawn in the windows, agitated blood and a pure impression of flying sounds? But no one has tried to say what it means; on the contrary, almost all, feeling themselves unable to completely go over to the side of that which revealed a new impression to them, rebelled against him.
“But he certainly plays well,” said the officer.
- Marvelous! - Delesov answered, stealthily wiping his cheeks with his sleeve.
“However, it’s time to go, gentlemen,” said the one who was lying on the sofa, recovering somewhat. "We'll have to give him something, gentlemen." Let's stock up.
Albert was sitting at that time alone in the other room on the sofa. Leaning his elbows on his bony knees, he stroked his face with sweaty, dirty hands, tousled his hair, and smiled happily to himself.
The clubbing was made rich, and Delesov undertook to hand it over.
In addition, Delesov, on whom the music made such a strong and unusual impression, got the idea to do good to this person. It occurred to him to take him to him, dress him, attach him to some place - generally pull him out of this dirty situation.
- What, are you tired? Delesov asked, coming up to him.
Albert smiled.
- You have a real talent; you should seriously study music, play in public.
"I'd like something to drink," said Albert, as if waking up.
Delesov brought wine, and the musician greedily drank two glasses.
What a glorious wine! - he said.
“Melancholy, what a lovely thing! Delesov said.
- ABOUT! yes, yes,” answered Albert, smiling, “but excuse me, I don’t know with whom I have the honor of speaking; maybe you are a count or a prince: can you lend me some money? He paused a little. “I have nothing… I am a poor man. I can't give you.
Delesov blushed, he felt embarrassed, and he hastily handed over the collected money to the musician.
- Thank you very much, - said Albert, grabbing the money: - now let's play music; I will play for you as much as you want. Just something to drink, drink,” he added, getting up.
Delesov brought him more wine and asked him to sit down beside him.
“Excuse me if I’m being frank with you,” Delesov said, “your talent interested me so much. I don't think you're in a good position?
Albert glanced first at Delesov, then at the hostess, who entered the room.
“Let me offer you my services,” Delesov continued. - If you need anything, then I would be very glad if you could live with me for a while. I live alone and maybe I could be of some help to you.
Albert smiled and said nothing.
“Why don’t you thank me,” said the hostess. “Of course, this is a boon for you. Only I would not advise you, - she continued, turning to Delesov and shaking her head negatively.
“I am very grateful to you,” said Albert, shaking Delesov’s hand with wet hands: “only now let’s play music, please.”
But the rest of the guests were already preparing to leave, and, no matter how Albert tried to persuade them, they went out into the hall.
Albert said goodbye to the hostess and, putting on a worn wide-brimmed hat and an old summer almaviva, which made up all his winter clothes, together with Delesov went out onto the porch.
When Delesov got into the carriage with his new acquaintance and felt that unpleasant smell of drunkards and uncleanness that the musician was saturated with, he began to repent of his act and accused himself of childish softness of heart and folly. Moreover, everything that Albert said was so stupid and vulgar, and he suddenly became so dirty drunk in the air that Delesov felt disgusted. "What am I going to do with him?" he thought.
After a quarter of an hour, Albert fell silent, his hat fell off his feet, he himself fell into a corner of the carriage and began to snore. The wheels creaked evenly over the frosty snow; the faint light of dawn barely penetrated through the frozen windows.
Delesov looked back at his neighbor. A long body, covered by a cloak, lay lifeless beside him. It seemed to Delesov that a long head with a large dark nose was swaying on this torso; but, looking closer, he saw that what he took to be the nose and face were hair, and that the real face was lower. He bent down and made out Albert's features. Then the beauty of the forehead and the calmly folded mouth struck him again.
Under the influence of fatigue, the irritating sleepless hour of the morning and the heard music of Delesov, looking at this face, was again transferred to that blissful world into which he looked this night; again he remembered the happy and generous time of his youth, and he ceased to repent of his act. At that moment he sincerely, ardently loved Albert and firmly resolved to do good to him.
IV.
The next morning, when they woke him up to go to work, Delesov, with unpleasant surprise, saw his old screens around him, his old man, and a clock on the table. “So what would I like to see, if not what always surrounds me?” he asked himself. Then he remembered the musician's black eyes and happy smile; the motif of "Melancholy" and the whole strange last night flashed through his mind.
He had no time, however, to reflect on whether he had acted well or badly in taking a musician with him. Dressing, he mentally distributed his day: he took the papers, gave the necessary orders at home and hurriedly put on his overcoat and galoshes. As he passed the dining room, he peered through the door. Albert, with his face buried in the pillow and spread out, in a dirty, tattered shirt, slept like a dead sleep on the morocco sofa, where he had been laid unconscious the previous evening. Something is not good, Delesov involuntarily thought.
“Please go from me to Boryuzovsky, ask for a violin for two days for them,” he said to his man, “but when they wake up, give them coffee and let them wear something out of my linen and old dress. Generally please him well. Please.
Returning home late in the evening, Delesov, to his surprise, did not find Albert.
- Where is he? he asked the man.
“They left immediately after dinner,” answered the servant, “they took the violin and left, they promised to come in an hour, but so far they haven’t.”
- Ta! ta! annoying,” said Delesov. - How did you let him in, Zakhar?
Zakhar was a lackey from St. Petersburg who had been serving under Delesov for eight years. Delesov, like a lonely bachelor, involuntarily confided his intentions to him and liked to know his opinion about each of his enterprises.
“How dare I not let him in,” answered Zakhar, playing with the signet of his watch. - If you told me, Dmitry Ivanovich, to keep him, I could borrow at home. But you only mentioned the dress.
- Ta! annoying! Well, what was he doing here without me?
Zakhar chuckled.
- Certainly, you can call an artist, Dmitry Ivanovich. As soon as they woke up, they asked for Madeira, then they did everything with the cook and with the neighbor's man. Such funny ... However, the character is very good. I gave them tea, brought them lunch, they didn’t want to eat anything alone, everyone invited me. And the way they play the violin, it's for sure that Isler has few such artists. Such a person can be kept. How he played "Down the Mother along the Volga" to us, just like a person cries. Too good! Even from all floors people came to us in the hallway to listen.
Well, did you wear it? interrupted the barin.
- How, sir; I gave him your nightgown and put on my coat for him. Such a person can be helped, for sure, dear person. Zakhar smiled. - Everyone asked me what rank you are, do you have significant acquaintances? and how many souls of peasants do you have?
“Well, all right, but we’ll just have to find him now and don’t give him anything to drink in advance, otherwise you’ll make him worse.”
“It’s true,” Zakhar interrupted, “he is apparently in poor health, our master had the same clerk ....
Delesov, who had long known the story of the clerk who drank heavily, did not let Zakhar finish it and, ordering him to prepare everything for the night, sent him to find and bring Albert.
He went to bed, put out the candle, but could not sleep for a long time, he kept thinking about Albert. “Although all this may seem strange to many of my acquaintances,” thought Delesov, “but you so rarely do something not for yourself that you have to thank God when such an opportunity presents itself, and I will not miss it. I will do everything, I will definitely do everything I can to help him. Maybe he's not crazy at all, but just drunk. It will not cost me much at all: where there is one, there two will be full. Let him live first with me, and then we’ll arrange a place for him or a concert, pull him out of the shallows, and then we’ll see.”
A pleasant feeling of self-satisfaction seized him after such reasoning.
“Really, I am not a completely bad person; not even a very bad person, he thought. “Even a very good person, how can I compare myself with others…”
He was already falling asleep when the sounds of doors being opened and footsteps in the anteroom amused him.
“Well, I’ll treat him more strictly,” he thought: “this is better; and I have to do it."
He called.
- What did you bring? he asked Zakhar, who entered.
“A pathetic man, Dmitry Ivanovich,” said Zakhar, shaking his head significantly and closing his eyes.
- What, drunk?
- Very weak.
- And the violin with him?
- Brought, the hostess gave.
“Well, please don’t let him come to me now, put him to bed and don’t let him out of the house at all tomorrow.
But Zakhar had not yet had time to leave, when Albert entered the room.
“Five rich and young people arrived at three o'clock in the morning to have fun at the St. Petersburg balik. A lot of champagne was drunk, most of the gentlemen were very young, the girls were beautiful, the piano and violin tirelessly played one polka after another, the dancing and noise did not stop; but it was somehow boring, awkward, for some reason it seemed to everyone (as often happens) that all this was not right and unnecessary ... "
Five rich and young people arrived at three o'clock in the morning to have fun at the St. Petersburg balik.
Several times they tried to raise their merriment, but the feigned merriment was even worse than boredom.
One of the five young people, more than others dissatisfied with himself, and with others, and with the whole evening, got up with a feeling of disgust, found his hat and went out with the intention of leaving quietly.
There was no one in the hall, but in the next room, behind the door, he heard two voices arguing with each other. The young man paused and began to listen.
- Let me go, please, I'm fine! pleaded a weak male voice.
- Where did you go, Delesov? - Shouted at this time from the hall.
The young man, whose name was Delesov, returned to the hall.
The musician stood at the door and, looking at the dancers, with a smile, a look and a stamping of his feet, showed the pleasure this spectacle gave him.
The musician bowed and looked inquiringly at the mistress.
“Go, go, well, when the gentlemen invite you,” the hostess intervened.
just growth fell on the floor. Despite the harsh, dry sound the fall made, almost everyone laughed in the first minute.
But the musician did not get up. The guests fell silent, even the piano stopped playing, and Delesov and the hostess were the first to run up to the fallen man. He lay on his elbow and stared dully at the ground. When he was lifted up and seated on a chair, he pushed back his hair from his forehead with a quick movement of his bony hand and began to smile without answering questions.
- Who is he? they asked the hostess.
- Poor man, artist. A very good fellow, only pathetic, as you can see.
She said this without being embarrassed by the presence of the musician. The musician woke up and, as if frightened of something, cringed and pushed away those around him.
And, to prove that he was not in the least hurt, he went to the middle of the room and wanted to jump, but he staggered and would have fallen again if he had not been supported.
Everyone felt awkward; looking at him, everyone was silent.
What a strange face! The guests were talking to each other.
“Maybe a great talent is dying in this unfortunate creature!” one of the guests said.
Yes, pathetic, pathetic! another said.
Five rich and young people came one night to have fun at the St. Petersburg balik. A lot of champagne was drunk, the girls were beautiful, dancing and noise did not stop; but it was somehow boring, awkward, for some reason it seemed to everyone that all this was not right and unnecessary.
One of the five young people, Delesov, more than others dissatisfied with himself and in the evening, went out with the intention of quietly leaving. In the next room, he heard an argument, and then the door flung open, and a strange figure appeared on the threshold. He was a man of medium height, with a narrow, arched back and long, tousled hair. He was wearing a short overcoat and torn narrow pantaloons over unclean boots. A dirty shirt protruded from the sleeves over thin arms. But, despite the extreme thinness of his body, his face was soft, white, and even a fresh blush played on his cheeks, over a black sparse beard and sideburns. Uncombed hair, thrown up, opened a low, clean forehead. Dark tired eyes looked ahead softly, searchingly and importantly. The expression of their merging with the expression of fresh, curved lips at the corners, visible from behind a sparse mustache. He paused, turned to Delesov and smiled. When a smile lit up his face, Delesov - not knowing why - smiled too.
He was told that this was a crazy music-cant from the theater, who sometimes comes to the hostess. Delesov returned to the hall, the musician stood at the door, looking at the dancers with a smile. He was called to dance, and winking, smiling and twitching, he heavily, awkwardly went to jump around the hall. In the middle of the quadrille, he collided with an officer and from all his height fell to the floor. Almost everyone laughed at the first minute, but the musician did not get up. The guests fell silent.
When the musician was lifted up and seated on a chair, he pushed back his hair from his forehead with a quick movement of his bony hand and began to smile without answering questions. The hostess, looking sympathetically at the musician, said to the guests: "He is a very good fellow, only miserable."
Then the musician woke up and, as if frightened of something, cringed and pushed away those around him.
It's all nothing, - he suddenly said, with a visible effort, rising from his chair.
And, in order to prove that he was not in any pain, he went to the middle of the room and wanted to jump, but staggered and would have fallen again if he had not been supported. Everyone became uncomfortable. Suddenly he raised his head, put his trembling leg forward, threw back his hair with the same vulgar gesture, and, going up to the violin-patch, took the violin from him: “Gentlemen! Let's muzi-chi-ro-wat!
What a beautiful face! .. There is something unusual in it, - said Delesov. Meanwhile, Albert (that was the name of the musician), paying no attention to anyone, tuned the violin. Then, with a smooth movement of the bow, he ran it along the strings. A clear, harmonious sound swept through the room, and there was a perfect silence.
The sounds of the theme flowed freely, gracefully after the first, with some unexpectedly clear and soothing light, suddenly illuminating the inner world of each listener. From the state of boredom, vanity and spiritual sleep in which these people were, they were suddenly imperceptibly transferred to a completely different world, forgotten by them. Visions of the past, past happiness, love and sadness arose in their souls. Albert grew taller with every note. He was no longer ugly or strange. Pressing the violin under his chin and listening with passionate attention to his sounds, he frantically moved his legs. Either he straightened up to his full height, or diligently bent his back. The face shone with enthusiastic joy; eyes burned, nostrils flared, lips parted with pleasure.
All who were in the room while Albert played were silent and seemed to breathe only his sounds. Delesov experienced an unusual feeling. A frost ran down his back, rising higher and higher to his throat, and now something with thin needles pricked his nose, and tears imperceptibly poured down his cheeks. The sounds of the violin carried Dele-owl to his first youth. He suddenly felt like a seven-year-old, self-pretty-beautiful, blissfully-stupid, and unconsciously-happy being. He remembered the first love for his cousin, the first confession, the heat and the incomprehensible charm of an accidental kiss, the unresolved mystery of the then surrounding nature. All the invaluable minutes of that time, one after another, rose before him. He contemplated them with pleasure and wept ...
By the end of the last variation, Albert's face turned red, his eyes burned, drops of sweat streamed down his cheeks. The whole body began to move more and more, the pale lips no longer closed, and the whole figure expressed an enthusiastic greed for pleasure. Desperately waving his whole body and shaking his hair, he lowered the violin and looked around those present with a smile of proud majesty and happiness. Then his back bent, his head drooped, his lips folded, his eyes went out, and he, as if ashamed of himself, looking around timidly and tangling his feet, went into another room.
Something strange happened to everyone present, and something strange felt in the dead silence that followed Albert's game ...
However, it's time to go, gentlemen, - one guest broke the silence. - I'll have to give him something. Let's go to the warehouse.
The warehouse was made rich, and Delesov undertook to transfer it. In addition, it occurred to him to take the musician to himself, dress him, attach him to some place - to wrest him out of this dirty position.
I would like to drink something,” said Albert, as if waking up, when Delesov approached him. Delesov brought wine, and the musician drank it greedily.
Can you lend me some money? I am a poor person. I can't give you.
Delesov blushed, he felt embarrassed, and he hastily handed over the collected money.
Thank you very much, - said Albert, grabbing the money. - Now let's muzi-qi-ro-vat; I will play for you as long as you want. Just something to drink,” he added, getting up.
I would be very glad if you would stay with me for a while, ”Delesov suggested.
I wouldn’t advise you something, ”said the hostess, shaking her head negatively.
When Delesov got into the carriage with Albert and felt that unpleasant smell of a drunkard and impurity with which the music was saturated, he began to repent of his act and accuse himself of softness of heart and impatience. su-di-tel-ness. Delesov looked back at the musician. Looking at this face, he was again transported to that blissful world into which he looked this night; and he ceased to repent of his deed.
The next day in the morning, he again remembered the black eyes and the happy smile of the musician; the whole strange last night flashed through his imagination. Passing by the dining room, Delesov looked in the door. Albert, burying his face in the pillow and slouching, in a dirty, torn shirt, was sleeping like a dead sleep on the sofa, where he, insensible, had been laid last night.
Delesov asked Zakhar, who had already served with Delesov for eight years, to borrow a violin from friends for two days, find clean clothes for the musician and take care of him. When Delesov returned home late in the evening, he did not find Albert there. Zakhar said that Albert left immediately after dinner, promised to come in an hour, but had not yet returned. Zakhar liked Albert: “Definitely an artist! And the character is very good. The way he played “Down Mother Volga” to us, just like a person cries. Even from all the floors people came to us in the hallway to listen.” Delesov warned that Zakhar should not give the music-cantor anything to drink from now on and sent him to find and bring Albert.
Delesov could not fall asleep for a long time, he kept thinking about Albert: “So rarely you do something not for yourself, that you have to thank God when such an opportunity presents itself, and I will not miss it.” A pleasant feeling of self-will-taking possession of him after such reasoning.
He was already falling asleep when footsteps in the hall woke him up. Zakhar came and said that Albert had returned, drunk. Zakhar had not yet had time to leave, when Albert entered the room. He told me that he had been to Anna Ivanovna's and had spent the evening very pleasantly.
Albert was the same as yesterday: the same beautiful smile of his eyes and lips, the same light, inspiring forehead and weak limbs. Zakhar's coat was just right for him, and the clean, long collar of his nightgown folded picturesquely around his thin white neck, giving him something especially childish and innocent. He sat down on Delesov's bed and silently, smiling joyfully and gratefully, looked at him. Delesov looked into Albert's eyes and suddenly felt himself at the mercy of his smile again. He no longer wanted to sleep, he forgot about his duty to be strict, he wanted, on the contrary, to have fun, listen to music and at least chat with Albert until the morning.
They talked about music, aristocrats and opera. Albert jumped up, grabbed his violin and began to play the finale of the first act of Don Juan, telling the contents of the opera in his own words. Dele-owl had hair on his head when he played the voice of the dying commander.
There was a pause. They looked at each other and smiled. Delesov felt that he loved this man more and more, and experienced an incomprehensible joy.
Have you been in love? he suddenly asked.
Albert thought for a few seconds, then his face lit up with a sad smile.
Yes, I was in love. This happened a long time ago. I went to play second violin at the opera, and she went there for performances. I was silent and only looked at her; I knew that I was a poor artist, and she was an aristo-kra-ti-che lady. I was called once to accom-pa-ni-ro-vat to her on the violin. How happy I was! But it was my own fault, I went crazy. I didn't have to say anything to her. But I've gone crazy, I've done stupid things. Since then, everything has ended for me ... I came to the orchestra late. She sat in her box and spoke to the general. She spoke to him and looked at me. This is where it got weird for the first time. Suddenly I saw that I was not in the orchestra, but in a box, I was standing with her and holding her hand ... I was already poor even then, I didn’t have an apartment, and when I went to the theater, sometimes I stayed spend the night there. As soon as everyone left, I went to the box where she was sitting and slept. It was my only joy... Only once it started again with me. I began to imagine at night ... I kissed her hand, talked a lot with her. I could smell her perfume, I could hear her voice. Then I took the violin and slowly began to play. And I played great. But I became scared ... It seemed to me that something had happened in my head.
Delesov silently, with horror, looked at the agitated and pale face of his companion.
Let's go again to Anna Ivanovna; it’s fun there,” Albert suddenly suggested.
Delesov almost agreed at first. However, having come to his senses, he began to persuade Albert not to go. Then he ordered Zakhara not to let Albert go anywhere without his knowledge.
The next day was a holiday. Not a sound was heard in Albert's room, and only at the twelfth hour groaning and coughing was heard outside the door. Delesov heard how Albert was persuading Zakhar to give him vodka. “No, if you have taken it, you must endure the character,” Delesov told himself, ordering Zakhar not to give the musician wine.
Two hours later Delesov looked in on Albert. Albert sat motionless by the window, his head in his hands. His face was yellow, wrinkled and deeply unhappy. He tried to smile as a greeting, but his face took on an even more sorrowful expression. It seemed that he was ready to cry, but with difficulty he got up and bowed. After that, no matter what Delesov said, offering him to play the violin, take a walk, go to the theater in the evening, he only bowed obediently and stubbornly remained silent. Delesov left on business. When he returned, he saw that Albert was sitting in the dark front hall. He was neatly dressed, washed and combed; but his eyes were dull, dead, and his whole figure expressed weakness and exhaustion, even greater than in the morning.
I spoke today about you to the director, - said Delesov, - he is very glad to receive you, if you allow yourself to listen.
Thank you, I can’t play, - Albert said under his breath and went into his room, especially quietly closing the door behind him.
A few minutes later, the handle turned just as quietly, and he left his room with a violin. Glancing angrily and briefly at Dele-owl, he put the violin on a chair and disappeared again. Delesov shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “What else can I do? what am I guilty of?" he thought
Albert grew gloomier and more silent every day. Dele-owl, he seemed to be afraid. He did not pick up any books or violin and did not answer any questions.
On the third day of his stay with him, the musician Delesov arrived home late in the evening, tired and upset:
Tomorrow I will get him decisively: does he want or not to stay with me and follow my advice? No - you don't have to. It seems that I did everything I could, - he announced to Zakhar. “No, it was a childish act,” Delesov then decided to himself. “Where can I take to correct others, when only God forbid I can cope with myself.” He wanted to let Albert go now, but, on reflection, he put it off until tomorrow.
At night, Dele-owl was awakened by the sound of a fallen table in the hall, voices and clatter. Delesov ran out into the hall: Zakhar stood opposite the door, Albert, in a hat and coat, pushed him away from the door and shouted at him in a tearful voice.
Allow me, Dmitry Ivanovich! - Zakhar turned to the master, continuing to protect the door with his back. - They got up at night, found the key and drank a whole decanter of sweet vodka. And now they want to leave. You didn't order, that's why I can't let them in.
Step back, Zakhar, - said Delesov. “I don’t want to keep you and I can’t, but I would advise you to stay until tomorrow,” he turned to Albert.
Albert stopped screaming. "Failed? They wanted to kill me. No!" he muttered to himself, putting on his galoshes. Without saying goodbye and continuing to say something incomprehensible, he went out the door.
Delesov vividly recalled the first two evenings that he spent with the musician, recalled the last sad days, and most importantly, he remembered that sweet mixed feeling of surprise, love and compassion, which aroused in him at first sight by this strange man; and he felt sorry for him. “And what will happen to him now? he thought. “No money, no warm clothes, alone in the middle of the night…” He was about to send Zakhar after him, but it was too late.
It was cold outside, but Albert did not feel the cold - he was so incensed by the wine he had drunk and the argument. Putting his hands in the pockets of his trousers and leaning forward, Albert walked along the street with heavy and unsteady steps. He felt extreme heaviness in his legs in his stomach, some invisible force threw him from side to side, but he kept walking forward in the direction of Anna Ivanovna's apartment. Strange, incoherent thoughts roamed in his head.
He remembered the object of his passion and a terrible night in the theater. But, despite the incoherence, all these memories appeared to him with such vividness that, closing his eyes, he did not know that there was more reality.
Walking along Malaya Morskaya, Albert stumbled and fell. Waking up for a moment, he saw in front of him some huge, magnificent stucco building. And Albert entered the wide doors. It was dark inside. Some kind of irresistible force pulled him forward to the deepening of the huge hall ... There was some kind of elevation, and some small people stood silently around it.
On the hill stood a tall, thin man in a colorful robe. Albert immediately recognized his friend, the artist Petrov. “No, brothers! - said Petrov, pointing to someone. - You did not understand the man who lived between you! He is not a corrupt artist, not a mechanical performer, not a crazy, lost person. He is a genius who died among you unlabeled and unappreciated.” Albert immediately understood who his friend was talking about; but, not wanting to embarrass him, out of modesty lowered his head.
“He, like a solo minka, burned out all from that sacred fire, which we all serve,” the voice continued, “but he fulfilled everything that was put into him by God; for that he should be called a great man. He loves one thing - beauty, the only undoubted good in the world. Fall prostrate before him!” he shouted loudly.
But another voice spoke softly from the opposite-false corner of the hall. “I don’t want to fall before him,” Albert immediately recognized the voice of Dele-owl. - Why is he great? Was he acting honestly? Has he benefited society? Don't we know how he borrowed money and didn't pay it back, how he took the violin from his fellow artist and pawned it? do not know how he flattered because of the money? We don’t know how he was kicked out of the theater?
“Stop! Petrov's voice spoke again. - What right do you have to accuse him? Did you live his life? (“True, true!” Albert whispered.) Art is the highest manifestation of power in man. It is given to the rare chosen ones and raises them to such a height at which the head is spinning and it is difficult to stay sane. In art, as in any struggle, there are heroes who gave everything to their service and perished without reaching their goal. Yes, humiliate, despise him, but of all of us he is the best and happiest!
Albert, listening to these words with bliss in his soul, could not stand it, went up to his friend and wanted to kiss him.
“Get out, I don’t know you,” answered Petrov, “go your way, otherwise you won’t get there ...”
Look, you've been ripped off! You won't get there, - shouted the guard at the crossroads.
There were a few steps left before Anna Ivanovna. Grabbing the railing with his frozen hands, Albert ran up the stairs and rang the bell.
It is forbidden! cried the sleepy maid. - It is not ordered to let in, - and slammed the door.
Albert sat down on the floor, leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. At the same moment, crowds of incoherent visions surrounded him with renewed vigor and carried him somewhere there, into the free and beautiful realm of dreams.
In the nearest church, the good news was heard, he said: “Yes, he is the best and happiest!” “But I’ll go back to the hall,” thought Albert. “Petrov still has a lot to tell me.” There was no one in the hall, and instead of the artist Petrov, Albert himself stood on the hill and played the violin. But the violin was a strange device: it was all made of glass. And she had to be hugged with both hands and slowly pressed to her chest so that she would make sounds. The tighter he pressed the violin to his chest, the more gratifying and sweeter he became. The louder the sounds became, the more the shadows scattered and the more the walls of the hall were illuminated with transparent light. But it was necessary to play the violin very carefully so as not to crush it. Albert played things that he felt no one would ever hear again. He was starting to get tired when another distant dull sound amused him. It was the sound of a bell, but this sound said: “Yes. He seems pitiful to you, you despise him, but he is the best and happiest! No one will ever play this instrument again." Albert stopped playing, raised his hands and eyes to the sky. He felt wonderful and happy. Despite the fact that there was no one in the hall, Albert straightened his chest and, proudly raising his head, stood on a hill so that everyone could see him.
Suddenly someone's hand lightly touched his shoulder; he turned and saw a woman in the half-light. She looked at him sadly and shook her head in the negative. He immediately realized that what he was doing was bad, and he felt ashamed of himself. It was the one he loved. She took his hand and led him out of the room. On the threshold of the hall, Albert saw the moon and water. But the water was not below, as it usually happens, and the moon was not above. The moon and water were together and everywhere. Albert, together with her, threw himself into the moon and water and realized that now he could embrace the one he loved more than anything in the world; he embraced her and felt an indescribable happiness.
And then he felt that something inexpressible happiness, which he enjoyed at the present moment, had passed and would never come back. "What am I crying about?" he asked her. She silently, sadly looked at him. Albert understood what she meant by that. "But how, when I'm alive," he said. Something was pressing harder and harder on Albert. Whether it was the moon and water, her hugs or tears, he did not know, but he felt that he would not express everything that was necessary, and that everything would soon be over.
Two guests, leaving Anna Ivanovna's, stumbled upon a sprawling goose on Albert's doorstep. One of them returned and called the hostess.
After all, it is godless, - he said, - you could freeze a person like that.
Ah, this is Albert for me, - answered the hostess. “Put it somewhere in the room,” she turned to the maid.
Yes, I'm alive, why bury me? - muttered Albert, while he, insensible, was carried into the rooms.
The story begins with the arrival in St. Petersburg of a far from poor company of friends of 5 people. A lot of champagne was drunk in the company of beautiful ladies. But the atmosphere looked boring, bringing melancholy. One of Delesov's friends wished to leave the party. At the moment of leaving the house, a man of strange appearance appears before his eyes.
Subsequently, the protagonist manages to find out about some musician from the theater who has lost his mind, who often visits the hostess. The guys offer him a joint time, to which he begins to dance ridiculously. The absurd spectacle inevitably causes laughter among those present. Suddenly, the musician falls, then rises again, proving to everyone that he was not hurt. The next attempts to jump in the dance make him stagger. This time around, he is supported. Everyone feels awkward.
After that, picking up the violin, the musician produces an amazing melody, involuntarily causing genuine surprise in everyone. Wonderful music plays. Those gathered, as if spellbound, remained in their places, unable to make movements and secretly listening to the pouring sounds of the instrument. Everyone suddenly realized the extraordinary talent of this man, and not the madman previously discovered in him. Out of pity, the guests pool their money for him.
Delesov invites a new acquaintance to settle in his house for a while. Being in the same carriage with Albert, he smells the unpleasant smell of drunkards and uncleanness, with which he was saturated. Perhaps he acted recklessly by inviting him, but it was too late to repent of what he had done.
Albert and Delesov easily communicate, revealing absolute mutual understanding. Subsequently, when they meet, they talk a lot on various topics. The guest tells the host about his former feelings for one woman. In the opera, he played second violin, and she attended performances. Silently looking at her, he was clearly aware of his poverty and her aristocracy.
Once accompanying her on the violin, he was seized by an impulse, and he confessed everything, later realizing his own oversight and the stupidity of what had happened. Since then, everything has ended for the hero. Late for the orchestra, he saw her sitting next to the general. While talking to him, she kept her eyes fixed on Albert.
Something strange happened to him the first time. It seemed to him that he was not in the orchestra, but next to her in the box and holding her hand. Since then, he often entered the box and fell asleep there due to the lack of his own housing. He played well, but it seemed to him that something had happened to his mind.
After some time, while at a friend's house, Albert falls into an inexplicable state. The sadness on his face, which is not inherent in him, is clearly revealed with the appearance of excessive internal experiences. During these moments, he completely forgot, immersed in his own thoughts, completely detached from reality.
There was no question of any communication. Albert could hardly withstand Delesov's absolute control, manifested in everything. The musician decides to leave his house. The mad musician leaves due to a deterioration in health. Various strange circumstances arise in his thoughts - a conversation between two comrades and a meeting with a former lover. After some time, he is found lying at the doorstep alive.
Often, unrecognized geniuses are beset by madness. Due to excessive sensitivity, creative natures do not find their proper place in society, believing that they are not sufficiently appreciated by them. It can be difficult to put up with the idea of being different from other people.
A picture or drawing of Albert
Other retellings for the reader's diary
- Summary of Byron's Prisoner of Chillon
Before us is the work of the great English poet George Gordon Byron, who wrote in the genre of poetic romanticism. The poem "Prisoner of Chillon" tells about the torment of a prisoner of the castle. Summary of Camus Plague
The most famous French novel by Camus, The Plague, tells of an epidemic in the small French prefecture of Oran. Rats became the main symbol and harbinger of the plague.
I
Five rich and young people arrived at three o'clock in the morning to have fun at the St. Petersburg balik.
A lot of champagne was drunk, most of the gentlemen were very young, the girls were beautiful, the piano and violin tirelessly played one polka after another, the dancing and noise did not stop; but it was somehow boring, awkward, for some reason it seemed to everyone (as often happens) that all this was not right and unnecessary.
Several times they tried to raise their merriment, but the feigned merriment was even worse than boredom.
One of the five young people, more than others dissatisfied with himself, and with others, and with the whole evening, got up with a feeling of disgust, found his hat and went out with the intention of leaving quietly.
There was no one in the hall, but in the next room, behind the door, he heard two voices arguing with each other. The young man paused and began to listen.
- Let me go, please, I'm fine! pleaded a weak male voice.
“Yes, I won’t let you in without madam’s permission,” the woman said, “where are you going?” oh what!..
The door swung open and a strange male figure appeared on the threshold. Seeing the guest, the maid ceased to hold back, and a strange figure, bowing timidly, staggering on bent legs, entered the room. He was a man of medium height, with a narrow, arched back and long, tousled hair. He wore a short overcoat and torn tight trousers over rough, unpolished boots. A tie, twisted with a rope, tied around a long white neck. A dirty shirt protruded from the sleeves over thin arms. But, despite the extreme thinness of his body, his face was soft, white, and even a fresh blush played on his cheeks, above his sparse black beard and sideburns. Uncombed hair, thrown up, showed a low and extremely clean forehead. Dark tired eyes looked ahead softly, searchingly and importantly at the same time. Their expression merged captivatingly with the expression of fresh, curved lips at the corners, visible from behind a sparse mustache.
After walking a few steps, he paused, turned to the young man and smiled. He smiled as if with difficulty; but when a smile lit up his face, the young man—without knowing why—smiled too.
- Who is it? he asked in a whisper to the maid, as a strange figure passed into the room from which the dancing could be heard.
“A mad musician from the theater,” answered the maid, “he sometimes comes to the mistress.
- Where did you go, Delesov? - Shouted at this time from the hall.
The young man, whose name was Delesov, returned to the hall.
The musician stood at the door and, looking at the dancers, with a smile, a look and a stamping of his feet, showed the pleasure this spectacle gave him.
“Well, go and dance,” one of the guests told him.
The musician bowed and looked inquiringly at the mistress.
“Go, go, well, when the gentlemen invite you,” the hostess intervened.
The thin, weak members of the musician suddenly came into increased movement, and winking, smiling and twitching, he began to jump heavily, awkwardly around the hall. In the middle of the quadrille, a cheerful officer, who danced very beautifully and animatedly, inadvertently pushed the musician with his back. Weak, tired legs could not keep their balance, and the musician, having taken several shaky steps to the side, just growth fell on the floor. Despite the harsh, dry sound the fall made, almost everyone laughed in the first minute.
But the musician did not get up. The guests fell silent, even the piano stopped playing, and Delesov and the hostess were the first to run up to the fallen man. He lay on his elbow and stared dully at the ground. When he was lifted up and seated on a chair, he pushed back his hair from his forehead with a quick movement of his bony hand and began to smile without answering questions.
Mr Albert! Mr Albert! - said the hostess, - are you hurt? Where? So I said that it was not necessary to dance. He is so weak! she continued, turning to the guests, “he walks by force, where is he!
- Who is he? they asked the hostess.
- Poor man, artist. A very good fellow, only pathetic, as you can see.
She said this without being embarrassed by the presence of the musician. The musician woke up and, as if frightened of something, cringed and pushed away those around him.
"That's all right," he said suddenly, rising from his chair with a visible effort.
And, to prove that he was not in the least hurt, he went to the middle of the room and wanted to jump, but he staggered and would have fallen again if he had not been supported.
Everyone felt awkward; looking at him, everyone was silent.
The musician's gaze faded again, and he, apparently forgetting about everyone, rubbed his knee with his hand. Suddenly he raised his head, put his trembling leg forward, threw back his hair with the same vulgar gesture as before, and, going up to the violinist, took the violin from him.
- Nothing! he repeated once more, waving his violin. - Lord! we will play music.
What a strange face! The guests were talking to each other.
“Maybe a great talent is dying in this unfortunate creature!” one of the guests said.
Yes, pathetic, pathetic! another said.
- What a beautiful face! .. There is something unusual in it, - said Delesov, - let's see ...
II
Albert at this time, not paying attention to anyone, pressing the violin to his shoulder, slowly walked along the piano and tuned it. His lips were drawn into an impassive expression, his eyes were not visible; but the narrow, bony back, long white neck, crooked legs, and shaggy black head presented a wonderful, but somehow not at all funny, sight.
Lev Nikolaevich
Albert
(1857-1858)
State publishing house
"Fiction"
Moscow - 1935
The electronic edition was carried out as part of the crowdsourcing project "All Tolstoy in One Click"
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Prepared on the basis of an electronic copy of the 5th volume of the Complete Works of Leo Tolstoy, provided by the Russian State Library
The preface and editorial notes to the 5th volume of the Complete Works of Leo Tolstoy can be read in this edition
The electronic edition of the 90-volume collected works of L. N. Tolstoy is available on the portal www.tolstoy.ru
If you find an error, please write to us. [email protected]
Preface to the electronic edition
This publication is an electronic version of the 90-volume collected works of Leo Tolstoy, published in 1928-1958. This unique academic publication, the most complete collection of Leo Tolstoy's legacy, has long become a bibliographic rarity. In 2006, the Yasnaya Polyana Estate Museum, in cooperation with the Russian State Library and with the support of the E. Mellon Foundation and coordination The British Council carried out the scanning of all 90 volumes of the publication. However, in order to enjoy all the advantages of the electronic version (reading on modern devices, the ability to work with text), more than 46,000 pages had to be recognized. To this end, the State Museum of Leo Tolstoy, the Yasnaya Polyana Museum-Estate, together with a partner, ABBYY, opened the project “All Tolstoy in One Click”. More than 3,000 volunteers joined the project on readingtolstoy.ru, and they used ABBYY FineReader to recognize text and correct errors. Literally in ten days, the first stage of reconciliation was completed, and in two months, the second. After the third stage of proofreading volumes and individual works published in electronic form on the site tolstoy.ru.
The edition retains the spelling and punctuation of the printed version of the 90-volume collected works of Leo Tolstoy.
Project manager "All Tolstoy in one click"
Fekla Tolstaya
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L. N. TOLSTOY
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Five rich and young people arrived at three o'clock in the morning to have fun at the St. Petersburg balik.
A lot of champagne was drunk, most of the gentlemen were very young, the girls were beautiful, the piano and violin tirelessly played one polka after another, the dancing and noise did not stop; but it was somehow boring, awkward, for some reason it seemed to everyone (as it often happens) that all this was not right and unnecessary.
Several times they tried to raise their merriment, but the feigned merriment was even worse than boredom.
One of the five young people, more than others dissatisfied with himself, and with others, and with the whole evening, got up with a feeling of disgust, found his hat and went out with the intention of leaving quietly.
There was no one in the hall, but in the next room, behind the door, he heard two voices arguing with each other. The young man paused and began to listen.
- Let me go, please, I'm fine! pleaded a weak male voice.
“Yes, I won’t let you in without madam’s permission,” the woman said: “where are you going?” oh what!…
The door swung open and a strange male figure appeared on the threshold. Seeing the guest, the maid ceased to hold back, and a strange figure, bowing timidly, staggering on bent legs, entered the room. He was a man of medium height, with a narrow, arched back and long, tousled hair. He wore a short overcoat and torn tight trousers over rough, unpolished boots. A tie, twisted with a rope, tied around a long white neck. A dirty shirt protruded from the sleeves over thin arms. But, despite the extreme thinness of his body, his face was soft, white, and even a fresh blush played on his cheeks, above his sparse black beard and sideburns. Uncombed hair, thrown up, showed a low and extremely clean forehead. Dark tired eyes looked ahead softly, searchingly and importantly at the same time. Their expression merged captivatingly with the expression of fresh, curved lips at the corners, visible from behind a sparse mustache.
After walking a few steps, he paused, turned to the young man and smiled. He smiled as if with difficulty; but when a smile lit up his face, the young man, without knowing why, smiled too.
- Who is it? he asked the maid in a whisper as a strange figure passed into the room from which the dancing could be heard.
“A mad musician from the theatre,” answered the maid: “He sometimes comes to the mistress.
- Where did you go, Delesov? - Shouted at this time from the hall.
The young man, whose name was Delesov, returned to the hall.
The musician stood at the door and, looking at the dancers, with a smile, a look and a stamping of his feet, showed the pleasure this spectacle gave him.
“Well, go and dance,” one of the guests told him.
The musician bowed and looked inquiringly at the mistress.
“Go, go, well, when the gentlemen invite you,” the hostess intervened.
The thin, weak members of the musician suddenly came into increased movement, and winking, smiling and twitching, he began to jump heavily, awkwardly around the hall. In the middle of the quadrille, a cheerful officer, who danced very beautifully and animatedly, inadvertently pushed the musician with his back. Weak, tired legs could not keep balance, and the musician, having taken several shaky steps to the side, fell to the floor from all his height. Despite the harsh, dry sound the fall made, almost everyone laughed in the first minute.
But the musician did not get up. The guests fell silent, even the piano stopped playing, and Delesov and the hostess were the first to run up to the fallen man. He lay on his elbow and stared dully at the ground. When he was lifted up and seated on a chair, he pushed back his hair from his forehead with a quick movement of his bony hand and began to smile without answering questions.
Mr Albert! Mr Albert! - said the hostess, - are you hurt? Where? So I said that it was not necessary to dance. He is so weak! she continued, turning to the guests, “he walks by force, where is he!
- Who is he? they asked the hostess.
- Poor man, artist. A very good fellow, only pathetic, as you can see.
She said this without being embarrassed by the presence of the musician. The musician woke up and, as if frightened of something, cringed and pushed away those around him.
"That's all right," he said suddenly, rising from his chair with a visible effort.
And, to prove that he was not in the least hurt, he went to the middle of the room and wanted to jump, but he staggered and would have fallen again if he had not been supported.
Everyone felt awkward; looking at him, everyone was silent.
The musician's gaze faded again, and he, apparently forgetting about everyone, rubbed his knee with his hand. Suddenly he raised his head, put his trembling leg forward, threw back his hair with the same vulgar gesture as before, and, going up to the violinist, took the violin from him.
Five rich and young people came one night to have fun at a St. Petersburg balik. A lot of champagne was drunk, the girls were beautiful, dancing and noise did not stop; but it was somehow boring, awkward, for some reason it seemed to everyone that all this was not right and unnecessary.
One of the five young people, Delesov, more than others dissatisfied with himself and in the evening, went out with the intention of leaving quietly. In the next room he heard an argument, and then the door was flung open, and a strange figure appeared on the threshold. He was a man of medium height, with a narrow, arched back and long, tousled hair. He wore a short overcoat and torn tight trousers over unpolished boots. A dirty shirt protruded from the sleeves over thin arms. But, in spite of the extreme thinness of his body, his face was tender, white, and even a fresh blush played on his cheeks, above his sparse black beard and sideburns. Uncombed hair, thrown up, showed a low clean forehead. Dark tired eyes looked ahead softly, searchingly and importantly. Their expression merged with the expression of fresh, curved lips at the corners, visible from behind a sparse mustache. He paused, turned to Delesov and smiled. When a smile lit up his face, Delesov - not knowing why - smiled too.
He was told that this is a crazy musician from the theater who sometimes comes to the hostess. Delesov returned to the hall, the musician stood at the door, looking at the dancers with a smile. He was called to dance, and winking, smiling and twitching, he heavily, awkwardly went to jump around the hall. In the middle of the quadrille, he collided with an officer and fell to the floor with all his height. Almost everyone laughed in the first minute, but the musician did not get up. The guests fell silent.
When the musician was lifted up and seated on a chair, he pushed back his hair from his forehead with a quick movement of his bony hand and began to smile without answering questions. The hostess, looking sympathetically at the musician, said to the guests: "He is a very good fellow, only miserable."
Then the musician woke up and, as if frightened of something, cringed and pushed away those around him.
It's all nothing, - he suddenly said, with a visible effort, rising from his chair.
And, to prove that he was not in the least hurt, he went to the middle of the room and wanted to jump, but he staggered and would have fallen again if he had not been supported. Everyone became uncomfortable. Suddenly he raised his head, put his trembling leg forward, threw back his hair with the same vulgar gesture and, going up to the violinist, took the violin from him: “Gentlemen! Let's play music!"
What a beautiful face! .. There is something extraordinary in it, - said Delesov. Meanwhile, Albert (that was the name of the musician), paying no attention to anyone, tuned the violin. Then, with a smooth movement of the bow, he ran it along the strings. A clear, harmonious sound rushed through the room, and there was perfect silence.
The sounds of the theme flowed freely, gracefully after the first, with some unexpectedly clear and soothing light, suddenly illuminating the inner world of each listener. From the state of boredom, fuss and spiritual sleep in which these people were, they were suddenly imperceptibly transferred to a completely different world, forgotten by them. Visions of the past, past happiness, love and sadness arose in their souls. Albert grew taller with every note. He was no longer ugly or strange. Pressing the violin under his chin and listening with passionate attention to his sounds, he convulsively moved his legs. Now he straightened up to his full height, then diligently bent his back. His face shone with ecstatic joy; eyes burned, nostrils flared, lips parted with pleasure.
All who were in the room during Albert's game remained silent and seemed to breathe only his sounds. Delesov experienced an unusual feeling. A frost ran down his back, rising higher and higher to his throat, and now something with thin needles pricked in his nose, and tears imperceptibly poured onto his cheeks. The sounds of the violin carried Delesov back to his first youth. He suddenly felt like a seventeen-year-old, smugly handsome, blissfully stupid and unconsciously happy being. He remembered the first love for his cousin, the first confession, the warmth and incomprehensible charm of an accidental kiss, the unsolved mystery of the surrounding nature at that time. All the invaluable minutes of that time, one after another, rose before him. He contemplated them with pleasure and wept...
Towards the end of the last variation, Albert's face turned red, his eyes burned, beads of sweat streamed down his cheeks. The whole body began to move more and more, the pale lips no longer closed, and the whole figure expressed an enthusiastic greed for pleasure. Desperately waving his whole body and tossing his hair, he lowered the violin and looked around at those present with a smile of proud majesty and happiness. Then his back bent, his head drooped, his lips pursed, his eyes dimmed, and he, as if ashamed of himself, timidly looking around and stumbling his feet, went into another room.
Something strange happened to everyone present, and something strange was felt in the dead silence that followed Albert's game ...
However, it's time to go, gentlemen, - one guest broke the silence. - I'll have to give him something. Let's stock up.
The clubhouse was made rich, and Delesov undertook to pass it on. In addition, it occurred to him to take the musician to him, dress him, attach him to some place - to wrest him out of this dirty situation.
I would drink something, - said Albert, as if waking up, when Delesov approached him. Delesov brought wine, and the musician drank it greedily.
Can you lend me some money? I am a poor person. I can't give you.
Delesov blushed, he felt embarrassed, and he hastily handed over the collected money.
Thank you very much,” said Albert, grabbing the money. - Now let's play music; I will play for you as long as you want. Just something to drink,” he added, getting up.
I would be very glad if you settled with me for a while, ”Delesov suggested.
I would not advise you, - said the hostess, shaking her head.
When Delesov got into the carriage with Albert and felt that unpleasant smell of drunkards and uncleanness that the musician was saturated with, he began to repent of his act and blame himself for the softness of his heart and imprudence. Delesov looked back at the musician. Looking at this face, he was again transported to that blissful world into which he looked this night; and he ceased to repent of his act.
The next day in the morning, he again remembered the black eyes and the happy smile of the musician; the whole strange last night flashed through his mind. Passing by the dining room, Delesov looked in the door. Albert, with his face buried in a pillow and spread out, in a dirty, torn shirt, was sleeping like a dead sleep on the sofa, where he, insensible, had been laid last night.
Delesov asked Zakhar, who had been serving with Delesov for eight years, to borrow a violin from friends for two days, find clean clothes for the musician and take care of him. When Delesov returned home late in the evening, he did not find Albert there. Zakhar said that Albert left immediately after dinner, promised to come in an hour, but had not yet returned. Zakhar liked Albert: “Definitely an artist! And a very good character. The way he played “Down Mother Volga” to us, just like a person cries. Even from all the floors people came to us in the hallway to listen.” Delesov warned that Zakhar should not give the musician anything to drink from now on and sent him to find and bring Albert.
Delesov could not fall asleep for a long time, he kept thinking about Albert: “So rarely do you do something not for yourself, that you have to thank God when such an opportunity presents itself, and I will not miss it.” A pleasant feeling of self-satisfaction seized him after such reasoning.
He was already falling asleep when footsteps in the hall woke him up. Zakhar came and said that Albert had returned, drunk. Zakhar had not yet managed to leave, when Albert entered the room. He said that he had been to Anna Ivanovna's and had spent the evening very pleasantly.
Albert was the same as yesterday: the same beautiful smile of his eyes and lips, the same bright, inspired forehead and weak limbs. Zakhar's coat fit him just right, and the clean, long collar of his nightgown draped picturesquely around his thin white neck, giving him something particularly childish and innocent. He sat down on Delesov's bed and silently, smiling happily and gratefully, looked at him. Delesov looked into Albert's eyes and suddenly felt again at the mercy of his smile. He no longer wanted to sleep, he forgot about his duty to be strict, he wanted, on the contrary, to have fun, listen to music and chat with Albert in a friendly way until morning.
They talked about music, aristocrats and opera. Albert jumped up, grabbed his violin and began to play the finale of the first act of Don Juan, recounting the contents of the opera in his own words. Delesov's hair stirred on his head as he played the voice of the dying commander.
There was a pause. They looked at each other and smiled. Delesov felt that he loved this man more and more, and experienced incomprehensible joy.
Have you been in love? he suddenly asked.
Albert thought for a few seconds, then his face lit up with a sad smile.
Yes, I was in love. It happened a long time ago. I went to play second violin at the opera, and she went there for performances. I was silent and only looked at her; I knew that I was a poor artist, and she was an aristocratic lady. I was called once to accompany her on the violin. How happy I was! But it was my own fault, I went crazy. I didn't have to say anything to her. But I've gone crazy, I've done stupid things. Since then, everything has ended for me ... I came to the orchestra late. She sat in her box and spoke to the general. She spoke to him and looked at me. This is where it got weird for the first time. Suddenly I saw that I was not in the orchestra, but in a box, standing with her and holding her hand ... I was already poor even then, I didn’t have an apartment, and when I went to the theater, sometimes I stayed overnight there. As soon as everyone left, I went to the box where she was sitting and slept. It was my only joy... Only once it started again with me. I began to imagine at night ... I kissed her hand, talked a lot with her. I could smell her perfume, I could hear her voice. Then I took the violin and slowly began to play. And I played great. But I became afraid... It seemed to me that something had happened in my head.
Delesov silently, with horror, looked at the agitated and pale face of his interlocutor.
Let's go again to Anna Ivanovna; It’s fun there,” Albert suddenly suggested.
Delesov almost agreed at first. However, having come to his senses, he began to persuade Albert not to go. Then he ordered Zakhara not to let Albert go anywhere without his knowledge.
The next day was a holiday. Not a sound was heard in Albert's room, and only at twelve o'clock was heard groaning and coughing outside the door. Delesov overheard how Albert was persuading Zakhar to give him vodka. “No, if you have taken it, you have to endure the character,” Delesov told himself, ordering Zakhar not to give the musician wine.
Two hours later Delesov looked in on Albert. Albert sat motionless by the window, his head in his hands. His face was yellow, wrinkled, and deeply unhappy. He tried to smile in greeting, but his face took on an even more rueful look. He looked like he was ready to cry, but he got up with difficulty and bowed. After that, no matter what Delesov said, suggesting that he play the violin, take a walk, go to the theater in the evening, he only bowed obediently and stubbornly remained silent. Delesov left on business. Returning, he saw that Albert was sitting in a dark hall. He was neatly dressed, washed and combed; but his eyes were dull, dead, and his whole figure expressed weakness and exhaustion, even greater than in the morning.
I spoke today about you to the director, - said Delesov, - he is very glad to receive you, if you allow yourself to be heard.
Thank you, I can’t play, - Albert said under his breath and went into his room, especially quietly closing the door behind him.
A few minutes later the knob turned just as quietly, and he left his room with the violin. Glancing angrily and briefly at Delesov, he put the violin on a chair and disappeared again. Delesov shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “What else can I do? what am I guilty of?" he thought
Albert every day became gloomier and more silent. He seemed to be afraid of Delesov. He did not pick up any books or violin and did not answer any questions.
On the third day of the musician's stay with him, Delesov arrived home late in the evening, tired and upset:
Tomorrow I will get him decisively: does he want or not to stay with me and follow my advice? No - you don't have to. It seems that I did everything I could, - he announced to Zakhar. “No, it was a childish act,” Delesov then decided to himself. “Where can I take to correct others, when only God forbid I can cope with myself.” He wanted to let Albert go now, but on second thought he put it off until tomorrow.
At night, Delesov was awakened by the sound of a fallen table in the hall, voices and clatter. Delesov ran out into the hall: Zakhar stood opposite the door, Albert, in a hat and coat, pushed him away from the door and shouted at him in a tearful voice.
Allow me, Dmitry Ivanovich! - Zakhar turned to the master, continuing to defend the door with his back. - They got up at night, found the key and drank a whole decanter of sweet vodka. And now they want to leave. You didn't order, that's why I can't let them in.
Step back, Zakhar, - said Delesov. “I don’t want to keep you and I can’t, but I would advise you to stay until tomorrow,” he turned to Albert.
Albert stopped screaming. "Failed? They wanted to kill me. No!" he muttered to himself, putting on his galoshes. Without saying goodbye and continuing to say something incomprehensible, he went out the door.
Delesov vividly remembered the first two evenings that he spent with the musician, remembered the last sad days, and most importantly, he remembered that sweet mixed feeling of surprise, love and compassion that this strange man aroused in him at first sight; and he felt sorry for him. “And what will happen to him now? he thought. “Without money, without a warm dress, alone in the middle of the night…” He was about to send Zakhar after him, but it was too late.
It was cold outside, but Albert did not feel the cold - he was so excited by the wine he had drunk and the argument. Putting his hands into the pockets of his trousers and leaning forward, Albert walked along the street with heavy and unsteady steps. He felt extreme heaviness in his legs in his stomach, some invisible force threw him from side to side, but he kept walking forward in the direction of Anna Ivanovna's apartment. Strange, incoherent thoughts roamed in his head.
He recalled the object of his passion and a terrible night in the theater. But, in spite of their incoherence, all these memories appeared to him with such vividness that, closing his eyes, he did not know that there was more reality.
Walking along Malaya Morskaya, Albert stumbled and fell. Waking up for a moment, he saw in front of him some huge, magnificent building. And Albert entered the wide doors. It was dark inside. Some irresistible force pulled him forward to the deepening of the huge hall... There was some kind of elevation, and some small people stood silently around it.
On the dais stood a tall, thin man in a colorful robe. Albert immediately recognized his friend, the artist Petrov. “No, brothers! - said Petrov, pointing to someone. - You did not understand the man who lived between you! He is not a corrupt artist, not a mechanical performer, not a crazy, not a lost person. He is a genius who died among you unnoticed and unappreciated. Albert immediately understood who his friend was talking about; but, not wanting to embarrass him, out of modesty lowered his head.
“He, like a straw, burned out all from that sacred fire that we all serve,” the voice continued, “but he fulfilled everything that was put into him by God; That is why he should be called a great man. He loves one thing - beauty, the only undoubted good in the world. Fall prostrate before him!” he shouted loudly.
But another voice spoke softly from the opposite corner of the hall. “I don’t want to fall in front of him,” Albert immediately recognized Delesov’s voice. - Why is he great? Did he behave honestly? Has he benefited society? Don't we know how he borrowed money and didn't pay it back, how he took the violin from his fellow artist and pawned it? how he flattered because of the money? We don’t know how he was kicked out of the theater?
“Stop! Petrov's voice spoke again. What right do you have to accuse him? Did you live his life? (“True, true!” Albert whispered.) Art is the highest manifestation of power in man. It is given to the rare chosen ones and raises them to such a height at which the head is spinning and it is difficult to stay healthy. In art, as in any struggle, there are heroes who gave everything to their service and perished without reaching their goal. Yes, humiliate, despise him, and of all of us he is the best and happiest!
Albert, listening to these words with bliss in his soul, could not stand it, went up to his friend and wanted to kiss him.
“Get out, I don’t know you,” answered Petrov, “go your way, otherwise you won’t reach ...”
Look, you've been torn apart! You won't get there, - shouted the guard at the crossroads.
There were a few steps left before Anna Ivanovna. Grabbing the railing with frozen hands, Albert ran up the stairs and rang the bell.
It is forbidden! cried the sleepy maid. - Not ordered to let, - and slammed the door.
Albert sat down on the floor, leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. At the same moment, crowds of incoherent visions surrounded him with renewed vigor and carried him somewhere there, into the free and beautiful realm of dreams.
In the nearest church, a blasphemy was heard, he said: “Yes, he is the best and happiest!” “But I’ll go back to the hall,” thought Albert. “Petrov still has a lot to tell me.” There was no one in the hall, and instead of the artist Petrov, Albert himself stood on the dais and played the violin. But the violin was of a strange design: it was all made of glass. And she had to be hugged with both hands and slowly pressed to her chest in order for her to make sounds. The tighter he pressed the violin to his chest, the more gratifying and sweeter he became. The louder the sounds became, the more the shadows scattered and the more the walls of the hall were illuminated with a transparent light. But it was necessary to play the violin very carefully so as not to crush it. Albert played things that he felt no one would ever hear again. He was starting to get tired when another distant dull sound amused him. It was the sound of a bell, but the sound said, “Yes. He seems pitiful to you, you despise him, but he is the best and happiest! No one will ever play this instrument again." Albert stopped playing, raised his hands and eyes to the sky. He felt wonderful and happy. Despite the fact that there was no one in the hall, Albert straightened his chest and, proudly raising his head, stood on a dais so that everyone could see him.
Suddenly a hand lightly touched his shoulder; he turned and saw a woman in the half-light. She looked at him sadly and shook her head. He immediately realized that what he was doing was bad, and he felt ashamed of himself. It was the one he loved. She took his hand and led him out of the room. On the threshold of the hall, Albert saw the moon and water. But the water was not below, as is usually the case, and the moon was not above. The moon and water were together and everywhere. Albert, together with her, threw himself into the moon and water and realized that now he could embrace the one he loved more than anything in the world; he embraced her and felt unbearable happiness.
And then he felt that something inexpressible happiness, which he enjoyed at the present moment, had passed and would never return. "What am I crying about?" he asked her. She silently looked at him sadly. Albert understood what she meant by that. "But how, when I'm alive," he said. Something was pressing harder and harder on Albert. Whether it was the moon and water, her hugs or tears, he did not know, but he felt that he would not express everything that was necessary, and that everything would soon be over.
Two guests, leaving Anna Ivanovna's, stumbled upon Albert stretched out on the threshold. One of them returned and called the hostess.
It's godless, - he said, - you could freeze a person that way.
Ah, this is Albert for me, - answered the hostess. "Put it somewhere in the room," she said to the maid.
Yes, I'm alive, why bury me? - muttered Albert, while he, unconscious, was carried into the rooms.
