Dream Tales and Prose Poems | Page 5

came in at that instant,
and glancing at his face, was in a flutter of agitation at once. 'Yasha,'
she cried, 'what's the matter with you? Why are you so upset? Fyodor
Fedoritch, what is it you've been telling him?'
Aratov did not let his friend answer his aunt's question, but hurriedly
snatching the ticket held out to him, told Platonida Ivanovna to give
Kupfer five roubles at once.
She blinked in amazement.... However, she handed Kupfer the money
in silence. Her darling Yasha had ejaculated his commands in a very
imperative manner.
'I tell you, a wonder of wonders!' cried Kupfer, hurrying to the door.
'Wait till to-morrow.'
'Has she black eyes?' Aratov called after him.
'Black as coal!' Kupfer shouted cheerily, as he vanished.
Aratov went away to his room, while Platonida Ivanovna stood rooted

to the spot, repeating in a whisper, 'Lord, succour us! Succour us,
Lord!'
IV
The big drawing-room in the private house in Ostozhonka was already
half full of visitors when Aratov and Kupfer arrived. Dramatic
performances had sometimes been given in this drawing-room, but on
this occasion there was no scenery nor curtain visible. The organisers
of the matinée had confined themselves to fixing up a platform at one
end, putting upon it a piano, a couple of reading-desks, a few chairs, a
table with a bottle of water and a glass on it, and hanging red cloth over
the door that led to the room allotted to the performers. In the first row
was already sitting the princess in a bright green dress. Aratov placed
himself at some distance from her, after exchanging the barest of
greetings with her. The public was, as they say, of mixed materials; for
the most part young men from educational institutions. Kupfer, as one
of the stewards, with a white ribbon on the cuff of his coat, fussed and
bustled about busily; the princess was obviously excited, looked about
her, shot smiles in all directions, talked with those next her ... none but
men were sitting near her. The first to appear on the platform was a
flute-player of consumptive appearance, who most conscientiously
dribbled away--what am I saying?--piped, I mean--a piece also of
consumptive tendency; two persons shouted bravo! Then a stout
gentleman in spectacles, of an exceedingly solid, even surly aspect,
read in a bass voice a sketch of Shtchedrin; the sketch was applauded,
not the reader; then the pianist, whom Aratov had seen before, came
forward and strummed the same fantasia of Liszt; the pianist gained an
encore. He bowed with one hand on the back of the chair, and after
each bow he shook back his hair, precisely like Liszt! At last after a
rather long interval the red cloth over the door on to the platform stirred
and opened wide, and Clara Militch appeared. The room resounded
with applause. With hesitating steps, she moved forward on the
platform, stopped and stood motionless, clasping her large handsome
ungloved hands in front of her, without a courtesy, a bend of the head,
or a smile.

She was a girl of nineteen, tall, rather broad-shouldered, but well-built.
A dark face, of a half-Jewish half-gipsy type, small black eyes under
thick brows almost meeting in the middle, a straight, slightly turned-up
nose, delicate lips with a beautiful but decided curve, an immense mass
of black hair, heavy even in appearance, a low brow still as marble, tiny
ears ... the whole face dreamy, almost sullen. A nature passionate,
wilful--hardly good-tempered, hardly very clever, but gifted--was
expressed in every feature.
For some time she did not raise her eyes; but suddenly she started, and
passed over the rows of spectators a glance intent, but not attentive,
absorbed, it seemed, in herself.... 'What tragic eyes she has!' observed a
man sitting behind Aratov, a grey-headed dandy with the face of a
Revel harlot, well known in Moscow as a prying gossip and writer for
the papers. The dandy was an idiot, and meant to say something
idiotic ... but he spoke the truth. Aratov, who from the very moment of
Clara's entrance had never taken his eyes off her, only at that instant
recollected that he really had seen her at the princess's; and not only
that he had seen her, but that he had even noticed that she had several
times, with a peculiar insistency, gazed at him with her dark intent eyes.
And now too--or was it his fancy?--on seeing him in the front row she
seemed delighted, seemed to flush, and again gazed intently at him.
Then, without turning round, she stepped away a couple of paces in the
direction of the piano, at which her accompanist, a long-haired
foreigner, was sitting. She had to render Glinka's ballad: 'As soon as I
knew you ...' She