# Anton: Chapter 5



## Huilunsoittaja (Apr 6, 2010)

Sergei found Anton just as he had been sitting there for 5 minutes.
"So! Just because someone told you that you were not _Russian _enough that you come over here to sulk?" exclaimed Sergei.
"I'm not sulking," Anton muttered, displeased that his friend had found him so soon. "How did you find me?"
"_Everyone _saw you come in here! If you're not here to sulk, what is it? But aren't you aware of what happened?"
"I think so. Something about..." his voice trailed off.
Sergei slowly got down into a chair next to him.
"Are you alright, Anton? You don't look very well."
"Am I alright... but I don't think I can be alright when I lost a... an opportunity."
"_Opportunity?_ You used this soiree completely in your favor, in my opinion. Mitrofan wants to make a deal with you too. Although is it the fact Nikolai Andreyevich didn't stand up for--"
"I'm not talking of that."
Sergei started. Anton was still staring into space, but the edge he had in his tone was hostile. Sergei decided to pause.
Anton finally got up, and Sergei rose with him.
"I will go back. Do you know if there's a guest book or something for this club?"
"A guestbook? Do you want to find someone?"
"_Yes._" Anton's eyes glowed menacingly.
Anton walked quickly past Sergei and out of the room. A crowd was there again, all looking very concerned at him.
"Can somebody make themselves useful and direct me to the guestbook for this club?" he spoke up irritatedly.
No one responded for a bit, and staring at each other in bewilderment. But one man, a servant, finally said,
"I'll show you our guestbook, for those not members of our club."
"Yes, thank you," Anton replied absentmindedly, and followed him.
At the front desk, the servant gave Anton the book, which he immediately scoured for names. Rushing through the pages, and then re-checking the pages he found no woman's name. It was a dead end. He turned the book back in with pained look on his face.
"What are you looking for, Anton? A name?" Sergei was standing a few paces behind him.
"Yes. But I can't talk about it right now. Tomorrow maybe," Anton took a deep breath, biting his lip.
By this time, the other Moscow composers and the visitors of St. Petersburg all had entered the lobby as well, talking with each other excitedly. But when they saw Anton, they all hushed again.
"Are you alright sir?" his student Piotr spoke up.
"I am, Piotr, there is no fear. My headache is gone away. Perhaps I needed fresh air."
"Anton Stepanovich, I must speak with you!" Mitrofan Petrovich stepped forward and bowing. "I wasn't able to give my compliment before, but I would love to make a deal with, as I have asked Sergei Ivanovich."
"You want to publish my Suite?"
"That, and anything else you will compose in the near future."
A silence proceeded in anticipation of Anton's reply. He looked to Nikolai Andreyevich. Nothing could be discerned from his expression.
"I'm afraid I have to think about it a little while longer."
Mitrofan Petrovich frowned, and the other visitors all seemed to fidget for a second.
"Well, as you wish. Please contact me as soon as possible, as we all will be here for only a week."
"As you wish."
Sergei smiled at Anton. This had been his answer as well.
"What is the time?" Anton began to wonder.
"Only 10 minutes past 11. Would you all like to go to dinner?" Mitrofan Petrovich suggested. Everyone agreed to this, and so prepared to head out. As everyone began to disperse into smaller discussion, Anton caught Alexander Konstantinovich watching him carefully. Anton beckoned him to come near him to speak.
"How often do you meet Tchaikovsky?" was his first question.
"Still thinking about that are you?" Anton laughed. "I meet him whenever he comes to Mosccow, usually 3 or 4 times a year now. He's terribly busy. And if I'm not mistaken, he's going to visit St.Petersburg with a series of concerts. I think you will like to see him then."
"I certainly want to," he responded gravely.
"He hasn't been to St.Petersburg in a long while, I'd say. He did study there you know, but he tied himself to Moscow quite quickly afterwards. The same way I had," Anton smiled, but it quickly faded.

Anatoly Konstantinovich was observing the whole conversation and now spoke up himself. "Anton Stepanovich, I truly sorry for the comment you received earlier. To tell you the truth, I found it _unfounded._"
"You mean the implicit statement that I have lost my Russian character?"
"Yes, that. I don't believe them, and neither should you. You are just as much Russian as any of us."
"I do agree to a certain extent that I don't share the same nationalistic qualities as the others. It's something I've not really been interested in," Anton replied. "I think the beauty of the German and French styles should not be rejected but in fact embraced. Don't you agree, Alexander Konstantinovich?" bringing the question to his first speaker.
"Yes, I agree! Although I find some of it difficult, I want to penetrate some of the new style that has been forming in Germany and France, Germany in particular."
"I think the Germans make exquisite music, except for some of the contemporary things," Sergei added darkly.
"Oh? Like what?" Anatoly asked.
"People compare me to Brahms, but I am no such enthusiast for him! If there's anything I agree with Brahms, it's that our original inspiration comes from the great Fathers of German music, and for me in particular J.S. Bach. I am not to model after anyone except those who are worth doing."
Alexander and Anatol exclaimed their approval at this, and Anton smiled to his wise friend.
Anton did not mention anything of what happened to him that evening to the others, but kept it a secret to himself. The dinner was at a local and highly prestigious restaurant, and Mitrofan Petrovich paid for everyone. Anton saw this clearly as a way to cater to himself and Sergei for a contract, but as of yet he felt suspicious. Why should he give up his music to a person of a different city anyhow? Moreover, Mitrofan Petrovich was in league with Nikolai Andreyevich and Mily Alexeyevich. And no doubt he would be asked to change his style to _their _considerations. He and Sergei spoke quietly with each other over dinner about all of this. In the meanwhile, Anton and Sergei made true and long lasting friendships with Anatoly and Alexander.

The next day, Sergei called on Anton in the afternoon.
"Eager to know my secret then, Sergei?" Anton began as Sergei sat down in front of him in his salon. "Yes, there is one, and one you won't expect..."
Anton got up and began pacing the room.
"When I stood up to bow for my piece last night, I saw a woman."
"A woman?" Sergei furrowed his brow. "Why would there have been a woman there last night, and so late too?"
"That's what I wonder too. And yet, there she was... I want to find her."
Sergei sat up in his chair. "Are you serious? Is that all you were upset about yesterday?"
"'Is that all?' you say. Yes that is _all[./I] But it's more important to me than you think. I... I think I'm in love."
Sergei laughed openly. "Anton! Are you really one to fall for love at first sight? I don't believe it exists. That's not how I met my wife after all. What a romantic you are, Anton!"
Anton sneered and said nothing, but continued pacing the floor.
"What are you going to do though?" Sergei wondered.
"I'm going to find her, of course."
"I will go back to the club for the next week."
"Every night? What if she doesn't come again there?"
"Then I will search every club in this city every night until I see her."
Sergei was in stunned silence. Anton, his face perfectly grave, stopped pacing and sat across from Sergei.
"You won't tell anyone about this, will you?"
"Oh, well, if you make me promise."
"I do."
"Very well, I promise I won't say a word. Be careful though. I can't say I have much hope for you but... good luck anyways."
"You doubt my sincerity?"
"I do not at all doubt your sincerity. But I do doubt a presence of reason within in you," Sergei squinted his eyes. "I guess that's how love turns out sometimes," he sighed.
"Whatever you say, Seryozha," Anton used his friend's pet name. Sergei smiled.
"Did she have a pretty face then?"
"Yes."
Speaking on the subject no further, Sergei eventually took leave of Anton's home._


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