"What are you doing?—What is it all?" he asked, wearily.
"What is it?—Oh, wonderful truly it is, that you've come at last to your own, Ivan! that Russia holds out her arms to you: that all Moscow is yours: that The Boyar is the opera of the century; and you are the man of—"
He stopped, perforce. Ivan's arms had risen, trembling. His lips had uttered one, slight cry. And then, without warning, he pitched forward, over the tumbled wreaths, into the waiting bosom of his gods.
[1] This incident is not fictitious; but was an actual occurrence in the life of one of the most distinguished of Russian composers.
CHAPTER XIII
STUDENT'S FOLLY
Morning, with its usual mood of depressed calm, brought with it, for Ivan, a pessimistic disbelief in the reality of the recent midnight scene. Nevertheless he had curiosity enough remaining to cause him to hurry through his dressing and then run out to buy all the papers of the day. The result was that by the time Sósha appeared with the early samovar, Ivan was in the clouds again. Buoyancy had set every nerve to tingling; and the elation of the knowledge that success had actually come, quivered from him like a rosy aura.
Beyond doubt, "The Boyar" had at last opened to Ivan the long-locked door of recognition. No Russian opera, it seemed, "Russlan and Ludmilla" possibly excepted, had gone home to the hearts of the Russian people as had this piece of youthful work, which, though its merit was perfectly genuine, was by no means free from faults. At the opera-house itself, every one, from the Menschikov to Merelli and the chorus, was in a state of beaming delight. Already Madame Pervana and the august Limpadello himself had gone quietly to the Signor Impresario with the suggestion that possibly, after all, the parts of Marie Vassilievna and the Boyar were suited to their respective talents; and that it was a pity to allow Russian musical progress to be intrusted to such well-meaning but incompetent persons as the second soprano and tenor.