Война и мир

Chapter 7

           Thebalaláykawasretunedseveraltimesandthesamenoteswerethrummedagain,butthelistenersdidnotgrowwearyofitandwishedtohearitagainandagain.AnísyaFëdorovnacameinandleanedherportlypersonagainstthedoorpost.

           “Youlikelistening?”shesaidtoNatásha,withasmileextremelylike“Uncle’s.”“That’sagoodplayerofours,”sheadded.

           “Hedoesn’tplaythatpartright!”said“Uncle”suddenly,withanenergeticgesture.“Hereheoughttoburstout—that’sit,comeon!—oughttoburstout.”

           “Doyouplaythen?”askedNatásha.

           “Uncle”didnotanswer,butsmiled.

           “Anísya,goandseeifthestringsofmyguitarareallright.Ihaven’ttoucheditforalongtime.That’sit—comeon!I’vegivenitup.”

           AnísyaFëdorovna,withherlightstep,willinglywenttofulfillhererrandandbroughtbacktheguitar.

           Withoutlookingatanyone,“Uncle”blewthedustoffitand,tappingthecasewithhisbonyfingers,tunedtheguitarandsettledhimselfinhisarmchair.Hetooktheguitaralittleabovethefingerboard,archinghisleftelbowwithasomewhattheatricalgesture,and,withawinkatAnísyaFëdorovna,struckasinglechord,pureandsonorous,andthenquietly,smoothly,andconfidentlybeganplayinginveryslowtime,notMyLady,butthewell-knownsong:Cameamaidendownthestreet.Thetune,playedwithprecisionandinexacttime,begantothrillintheheartsofNicholasandNatásha,arousinginthemthesamekindofsobermirthasradiatedfromAnísyaFëdorovna’swholebeing.

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