It was in Vienna that Lensky received his daughter's letter, at breakfast in a hotel, the day after a concert when he had at length received an ovation. He felt electrified, newly animated, ten years younger.
He read the letter twice; but if the first reading had truly pleased him, the second attentive perusal only moderately satisfied him.
"H-m! h-m!" he murmured to himself. "Yes, it is quite good, it is better than I dared expect. Poor woman! He loves her from convenience; she rules him since she no longer deludes herself about him. But still it is fearful for her to be bound for her whole life to this shallow man. She has a fine character, she will do her duty, will fight out her life-conflict honorably from pride, so as not to be reproached by her children, and not to give the malicious world the pleasure of slandering her. She will be a splendid mother. How maternity sanctifies a woman! And Nita--poor Colia!" Suddenly he felt strangely; remembrance had allured him to a dark spot of which he felt a horror. How would the meeting with Colia be? For years he had longed to be reconciled with his son, and still he could not overcome a certain anxiety in this case.
He tried to think of something else. What city should he appoint as the place of the family meeting? He did not wish to cause Mascha any great expense. Venice would have been the most convenient, but the old Bärenburgs vexed him. Well, it would occur to him. Meanwhile he picked up the newspaper. A correspondence from Rome was among the contents. The name Perfection immediately met his eye, the name of the young pianist who had formerly accompanied him on his concert tours. He had never had any special personal liking for Perfection, but yet he looked upon him as his musical apprentice and was interested in his progress.
He looked over the article more closely. The blood rushed to his head. What was it he read there? His name--yes--near Perfection's.
"Two greater contrasts would be hard to name in the musical world than Albert Perfection and Boris Lensky. This is the more striking as they, travelling together for years, formed a musical whole. But while the art of the pianist developed more splendidly with each year, the virtuosity of the violinist crumbled away bit by bit. The public did not suspect at Lensky's last concert tour what is now apparent to the most short-sighted; namely, that the applause which was accorded to Lensky was really only for Perfection's accompanying. Since then Perfection has emancipated himself from the despotism of his musical tyrant--for whom he has, nevertheless, preserved the most touching affection--and now stands alone in his artistic greatness, one of the noblest phenomenal artists of all times. Especially striking is the circumstance that he has been quite uninfluenced by Lensky in his artistic development.