“How I wish that you and he might become acquainted! You would enjoy talking with him. How he does understand art! He and I often used to meet at Anna Ivánovna’s, but now she is vexed with him for some reason or other. But I really wish that you might make his acquaintance. He has great, great talent.”
“Oh! Does he paint pictures?” asked Delesof.
“I don’t know. No, I think not; but he was an artist of the Academy. What thoughts he had! Whenever he talks, it is wonderful. Oh, Petrof has great talent, only he leads a very gay life! … It’s too bad,” said Albert with a smile. The next moment he got up from the bed, took the violin, and began to play.
“Have you been at the opera lately?” asked Delesof.
Albert looked round, and sighed.
“Ah, I have not been able to!” he said, clutching his head. Again he sat down by Delesof. “I will tell you,” he went on to say, almost in a whisper. “I can’t go: I can’t play there. I have nothing, nothing at all—no clothes, no home, no violin. It’s a wretched life—a wretched life!” he repeated the phrase. “Yes, and why have I got into such a state? Why, indeed? It ought not to have been,” said he, smiling. “ Akh! Don Juan .”
And he struck his head.
“Now let us have something to eat,” said Delesof.
Albert, without replying, sprang up, seized the violin, and began to play the finale of the first act of Don Juan , accompanying it with a description of the scene in the opera.
Delesof felt the hair stand up on his head, when he played the voice of the dying commander.