"Tolstoy, Leo - Albert" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tolstoy Leo)

betraying his agitation. Delesov experienced an unaccustomed sensation. It
was as if a cold circle, now expanding, now contracting, held his head in a
vice. The roots of his hair became sensitive, cold shivers ran up his
spine, something rising higher and higher in his throat pricked his nose
and palate as if with fine needles, and tears involuntarily wetted his
cheeks. He shook himself, tried to restrain them and wipe them unperceived,
but others rose and ran down his cheeks. By some strange concatenation of
impressions the first sounds of Albert's violin carried Delesov back to his
early youth. Now no longer very young, tired of life and exhausted, he
suddenly felt himself a self-satisfied, good-looking, blissfully foolish
and unconsciously happy lad of seventeen. He remembered his first love -
for his cousin in a little pink dress; remembered his first declaration of
love made in a linden avenue; remembered the warmth and incomprehensible
delight of a spontaneous kiss, and the magic and undivined mystery of the
Nature that then surrounded him. In the memories that returned to him she
shone out amid a mist of vague hopes, uncomprehended desires, and
questioning faith in the possibility of impossible happiness. All the
unappreciated moments of that time arose before him one after another, not
as insignificant moments of a fleeting present, but as arrested, growing,
reproachful images of the past. He contemplated them with joy, and wept -
wept not because the time was past that he might have spent better (if he
had it again he would not have undertaken to employ it better), but merely
because it was past and would never return. Memories rose up of themselves,
and Albert's violin repeated again and again: "For you that time of vigour,
love, and happiness has passed for ever, and will not return. Weep for it,
shed all your tears, die weeping for that time -- that is the best
happiness left for you."

Towards the end of the last variation Albert's face grew red, his eyes
burnt and glowed, and large drops of perspiration ran down his cheeks. The
veins of his forehead swelled up, his whole body came more and more into
motion, his pale lips no longer closed, and his whole figure expressed
ecstatic eagerness for enjoyment.

Passionately swaying his whole body and tossing back his hair he lowered
the violin, and with a smile of proud dignity and happiness surveyed the
audience. Then his back sagged, his head hung down, his lips closed, his
eyes grew dim, and he timidly glanced round as if ashamed of himself, and
made his way stumblingly into the other room.

III

Something strange occurred with everyone present and something strange was
felt in the dead silence that followed Albert's playing. It was as if each
would have liked to express what all this meant, but was unable to do so.
What did it mean -- this bright hot room, brilliant women, the dawn in the
windows, excitement in the blood, and the pure impression left by sounds
that had flowed past? But no one even tried to say what it all meant: on
the contrary everyone, unable to dwell in those regions which the new
impression had revealed to them, rebelled against it.