# Anton: Chapter 9



## Huilunsoittaja (Apr 6, 2010)

Classes were soon over at Conservatory, and Anton meant to have many engagements over the summer. He wanted to compose as much as he could, especially work on his opera, and do a series of concerts as pianist with some chamber groups, in particular get his Suite for 2 Pianos out into the public.
Anton continued meeting with Katerina Karlovna on sparing occasions, mostly at her home. They would talk and enjoy sharing music with each other, and soon it all led to developing on their life stories.
Katerina had opened up enough now to share her own past with Anton, which he was fascinated with. Her family was very wealthy, more than his own, and had become successful as publishers go in Germany. But as she stressed, her grandfather had most earnest designs to publish Russian music, since he saw the current companies as taking over like a monopoly. The next year was very exciting for her family: they were going to merge their company with the Stellovsky company and thus grow significantly in their abilities. Katerina's own father grew to love the Stellovsky company from working as its own manager for a while, and seeing the huge Russian catalog they had, dating back to the wonderful music of Glinka. Katerina, while describing her father's passion, implicitly expressed her own, and was very happy to have found a friend she could speak of it.
Anton hoped that his fascination of her was apparent when he spoke up in admiration for her heart. In response, he told much of his own musical past, beginning with his parent's strong support of his talent, and his stellar accomplishment in St. Petersburg, winning him a Gold Medal. Katerina was very impressed by his honors, and told him so.
"I see a bright future a head for you," she said one day.
"And for you as well, with your family's company. Your best days are yet ahead I think," he smiled.
"Yes, I dearly hope..." she frowned suddenly.
"Do you think you will be happy living in Moscow?"
"Oh of course! It's just..."
Katerina began staring into space.
Anton waited, and took her hand from across the table they were sitting at. She didn't recoil.
In silence, she began to watch his face. It was despondent, but not anxious. It was more like an awe.
"Sometimes, Anton..." she finally spoke up, although quietly. "I feel this loss of control on my life. Like something is moving me to... to have to do and be things that I didn't intend. It unnerves me. Have you ever felt something like that?"
"I have. But I think God is the reason for it."
"You are Russian Orthodox?"
"Something like that. I am a theist anyway."
"Yes... I see."
"And so, I feel that everything happens for a purpose, don't you think?"
"Yes, maybe..."
Anton watched her carefully. She still seemed to have a gloom around her.
"Is there something wrong?" he asked sympathetically.
She didn't speak, but her eyes pleaded with him.
"The truth is... my family is moving back to Berlin this week for the summer."
"I see. I hope you will be safe on your travel. Are you meeting relatives?"
Katerina fidgeted and put her hand which Anton wasn't holding to her brow.
"I don't want to go back."
"Why not?"
She wouldn't respond again, but stared at him pleadingly.
"Is it time?" Anton thought to himself. "Shall I confess it all now?"
Suddenly, he got an idea.
"I think I need to go now," he stood up.
"But...!" she stood up with him.
"When will you return?"
"Early September."
"Nearly 4 whole months. Well, I guess that's when we'll just have to meet again," he smiled.
"Yes, I guess."
Katerina looked distressed but said nothing more.
Walking toward the door, Anton finally turned around at the entrance.
"Let me give you something though, before you leave. It will come by messenger. A little token from Russia... and from me," he added gravely.
Katerina nodded firmly. Anton took her hand again, and kissed it. It was limp in his hold.
"Thank you," she said softly, and Anton turned away.
Immediately when he got home, he went to his Album of Pushkin Poems. It was some of his most favorite verses, and he knew what he wanted to do now. He got out a blank sheet of paper, found the poem he wanted and wrote out:

_Confession
Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin

I love you - I love you, e'en as I
Rage at myself for this obsession,
And as I make my shamed confession,
Despairing at your feet I lie.
I know, I know - It ill becomes me,
I am too old, time to be wise ...
But how? ... This love - it overcomes me,
A sickness this in passion's guise.
When you are near I'm filled with sadness,
When far, I yawn, for life's a bore.
I must pour out this love, this madness,
There's nothing that I long for more!
When your shirts rustle, when, my angel,
Your girlish voice I hear, when your
Light step sounds in the parlour - strangely,
I turn confused, perturbed, unsure.
Your frown - and I'm in pain, I languish;
You smile - and joy defeats distress;
My one reward for a day's anguish
Comes when your, pale hand, love, I kiss.
When you sit, bent over your sewing,
Your eyes cast down and fine curls blowing.
About your face, with tenderness
I like childlike watch, my heart o'erflowing
With love, in my gaze a caress.
Shall I my jealousy and yearning
Describe, my bitterness and woe
When by yourself on some bleak morning
Off on a distant walk you go,
Or with another spend the evening
And, with him near, the piano play,
Or for Germany leave, or, grieving
Weep and in silence, pass the day?
Katerina! Pray relent have mercy!
I dare not ask for love - with all
My many sins, both great and small,
I am perhaps of love unworthy!
But if feigned love, if you would
Pretend, you'd easily deceive me,
For happily would I, believe me,
Deceive myself if but I could!_

Anton changed 2 words, which originally referred to Russian names, and put in his own which he underlined. But that was all he did. No other notes, no other comments. He didn't mean to claim Pushkin's poem as his own, but this was his Confession to her, which he knew only Pushkin could write so wonderfully, and yet completely be Anton's feelings. In fact, writing out the poem increased his feelings almost to an unbearable level.
"This must work!" he said to himself, "If it doesn't, I don't know what will. But this must prove to her how much I love her. Only now will she know my feeling for her, and when we meet again, I will speak to her as a lover, and not as an acquaintance. And she will respond..." And so he planned to get a messenger to send it to her in the morning.
Although this poem fit his emotions now, his favorite poems were others, two he had never spoken about to anyone. He turned to the page in his book that held one of them now, which he already underlined his favorite lines:

_ The Dream

Not long ago, in a charming dream,
I saw myself -- a king with crown's treasure;
I was in love with you, it seemed,
And heart was beating with a pleasure.
I sang my passion's song by your enchanting knees.
Why, dreams, you didn't prolong my happiness forever?
But gods deprived me not of whole their favor:
I only lost the kingdom of my dreams._

That poem meant everything to Anton. It was evening now, and he went to sleep with that poem repeating over and over in his mind, hoping to see Katerina that night in his dream.
It was what he had desired all his life.


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