Chapter 5 - Page 2

musician," he added. "He played something there out of an opera. It's a long time since I took such a liking to anyone."

"Yes, he plays well, but I don't like his playing," said Delesov, wishing to get his companion to talk about music. "He does not understand classical music - Donizetti and Bellini, you know, are not music. You think so too, no doubt?"

"Oh, no, no, excuse me!" began Albert with a gentle, pleading look. "The old music is music, and the new music is music. There are extraordinary beauties in the new music too. Sonnambula, and the finale of Lucia, and Chopin, and Robert! [Note: Sonnambula, opera by Bellini, produced in 1831. Lucia di Lammermoor, opera by Donizetti, produced in 1835. Robert the Devil, opera by Meyerbeer, produced in 1831; or possibly the allusion may be to Roberto Devereux, by Donizetti.] I often think - " he paused, evidently collecting his thoughts - "that if Beethoven were alive he would weep with joy listening to Sonnambula for the first time when Viardot and Rubini were here. [Note: Pauline Viardot-Garcia, the celebrated operatic singer with whom Turgenev had a close friendship for many years. Rubini, an Italian tenor who had great success in Russia in the 'forties of the last century.] It was like this ... " he said, and his eyes glistened as he made a gesture with both arms as though tearing something out of his breast. "A little more and it would have been impossible to bear it."

"And what do you think of the opera at the present time?" asked Delesov.

"Bosio is good, very good," [Note: Angidina Bosio, an Italian singer, who was in Petersburg in 1856-9.] he said, "extraordinarily exquisite, but she does not touch one here," pointing to his sunken chest. "A singer needs passion, and she has none. She gives pleasure but does not torment."

"How about Lablache?" [Note: Luigi Lablache. He was regarded as the chief basso of modern times.]

"I heard him in Paris in the Barbier de Seville. He was unique then, but now he is old: he cannot be an artist, he is old."

"Well, what if he is old? He is still good in morceaux d'ensemble," said Delesov, who was in the habit of saying that of Lablache.

"How 'what if he is old?'" rejoined Albert severely. "He should not be old. An artist should not be old. Much is needed for art, but above all, fire!" said he with glittering eyes and stretching both arms upwards.

And a terrible inner fire really seemed to burn in his whole body.

"O my God!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Don't you know Petrov, the artist?"

"No, I don't," Delesov replied, smiling.

"How I should like you to make his acquaintance! You would enjoy talks with him. How well he understands art, too! I used