Dream Tales and Prose Poems | Page 3

there was in Moscow a
certain widow, a Georgian princess, a person of somewhat dubious,
almost suspicious character. She was close upon forty; in her youth she
had probably bloomed with that peculiar Oriental beauty, which fades
so quickly; now she powdered, rouged, and dyed her hair yellow.
Various reports, not altogether favourable, nor altogether definite, were
in circulation about her; her husband no one had known, and she had
never stayed long in any one town. She had no children, and no
property, yet she kept open house, in debt or otherwise; she had a salon,
as it is called, and received a rather mixed society, for the most part
young men. Everything in her house from her own dress, furniture, and
table, down to her carriage and her servants, bore the stamp of
something shoddy, artificial, temporary,... but the princess herself, as
well as her guests, apparently desired nothing better. The princess was
reputed a devotee of music and literature, a patroness of artists and men
of talent, and she really was interested in all these subjects, even to the
point of enthusiasm, and an enthusiasm not altogether affected. There
was an unmistakable fibre of artistic feeling in her. Moreover she was
very approachable, genial, free from presumption or pretentiousness,
and, though many people did not suspect it, she was fundamentally
good-natured, soft-hearted, and kindly disposed.... Qualities rare--and
the more precious for their rarity--precisely in persons of her sort! 'A
fool of a woman!' a wit said of her: 'but she'll get into heaven, not a
doubt of it! Because she forgives everything, and everything will be
forgiven her.' It was said of her too that when she disappeared from a
town, she always left as many creditors behind as persons she had
befriended. A soft heart readily turned in any direction.
Kupfer, as might have been anticipated, found his way into her house,
and was soon on an intimate--evil tongues said a too intimate--footing
with her. He himself always spoke of her not only affectionately but
with respect; he called her a heart of gold--say what you like! and
firmly believed both in her love for art and her comprehension of art!
One day after dinner at the Aratovs', in discussing the princess and her
evenings, he began to persuade Yakov to break for once from his

anchorite seclusion, and to allow him, Kupfer, to present him to his
friend. Yakov at first would not even hear of it. 'But what do you
imagine?' Kupfer cried at last: 'what sort of presentation are we talking
about? Simply, I take you, just as you are sitting now, in your everyday
coat, and go with you to her for an evening. No sort of etiquette is
necessary there, my dear boy! You're learned, you know, and fond of
literature and music'--(there actually was in Aratov's study a piano on
which he sometimes struck minor chords)--'and in her house there's
enough and to spare of all those goods!... and you'll meet there
sympathetic people, no nonsense about them! And after all, you really
can't at your age, with your looks (Aratov dropped his eyes and waved
his hand deprecatingly), yes, yes, with your looks, you really can't keep
aloof from society, from the world, like this! Why, I'm not going to
take you to see generals! Indeed, I know no generals myself!... Don't be
obstinate, dear boy! Morality is an excellent thing, most laudable.... But
why fall a prey to asceticism? You're not going in for becoming a
monk!'
Aratov was, however, still refractory; but Kupfer found an unexpected
ally in Platonida Ivanovna. Though she had no clear idea what was
meant by the word asceticism, she too was of opinion that it would be
no harm for dear Yasha to take a little recreation, to see people, and to
show himself.
'Especially,' she added, 'as I've perfect confidence in Fyodor Fedoritch!
He'll take you to no bad place!...' 'I'll bring him back in all his maiden
innocence,' shouted Kupfer, at which Platonida Ivanovna, in spite of
her confidence, cast uneasy glances upon him. Aratov blushed up to his
ears, but ceased to make objections.
It ended by Kupfer taking him next day to spend an evening at the
princess's. But Aratov did not remain there long. To begin with, he
found there some twenty visitors, men and women, sympathetic people
possibly, but still strangers, and this oppressed him, even though he had
to do very little talking; and that, he feared above all things. Secondly,
he did not like their hostess, though she received him very graciously
and simply. Everything about her was distasteful to him: her painted

face, and her frizzed curls, and her thickly-sugary voice, her shrill
giggle, her way of rolling her eyes and looking up, her excessively