Complete Works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  “And, instead of the worst, your excellency has described one of your good actions. You’ve cheated Ferdyshtchenko,” commented Ferdyshtchenko.

  “Yes, general, I never imagined you had such a good heart after all. I am almost sorry,” Nastasya Filippovna dropped carelessly.

  “Sorry! What for?” asked the general with an affable laugh, and not without complacency he sipped his champagne.

  But it was Totsky’s turn, and he too had prepared himself. Every one thought that he would not, like Ptitsyn, refuse, and every one for certain reasons awaited his confession with curiosity; at the same time they were watching Nastasya Filippovna.

  With an extraordinary air of dignity, which was in keeping with his stately appearance, Afanasy Ivanovitch began in his quiet, polite voice to tell one of his “charming anecdotes.” He was, by the way, a man of fine appearance and dignified carriage, tall, rather stout, a little bald and turning grey. He had soft, pendulous, rosy cheeks and false teeth. He wore his clothes loose and well cut, and his linen was always exquisite. His plump white hands were pleasant to look at. On the first finger of his right hand he wore a costly diamond ring.

  All the while he was telling his story, Nastasya Filippovna was staring intently at the lace frill of her sleeve, and kept pinching it with two fingers of her left hand. She didn’t even once glance at the speaker.

  “What makes my task easier,” began Afanasy Ivanovitch, “is the absolute obligation of describing the very basest action of my life. In that case there can be no hesitation; conscience and the prompting of the heart dictate at once what one must tell. I confess with bitterness that among all the innumerable, perhaps frivolous and thoughtless actions of my life there is one the impression of which has lain almost too heavily on my mind. It happened nearly twenty years ago. I was staying then in the country with Platon Ordyntsev. He had just been elected marshal of nobility and had come down with his young wife, Anfisa Alexeyevna, to spend his winter holidays there. It was a few days before her birthday and two dances had been arranged. At that time that charming novel of Dumas fils, ‘La Dame aux Camelias,’ was in the height of fashion and was just making a great sensation in society. It’s a work which, in my opinion, is not destined to die or tarnish with aqe. In the provinces all the ladies were in ecstasies over it — those, at least, who had read it. The charm of the novel, the originality of the situation of the principal character, that enchanting world analysed so subtly, and all the fascinating incidents scattered about the book (for instance, the use of the nosegays of white and pink camellias alternately) — all these charming details, in fact, and the whole ensemble made an overwhelming sensation. Camellias became extraordinarily fashionable, every one wanted them, everyone was trying to get them. I ask you, is it possible to get many camellias in a country district when every one is asking for them for dances, even when there are not many dances? Petya Vorhovsky was breaking his heart at the time, poor fellow, over Anfisa Alexeyevna. I really don’t know whether there was anything between them — that is, I mean whether he had any real grounds for hope. The poor fellow was crazy to get camellias for Anfisa Alexeyevna by the night of the ball. The Countess Sotsky, a visitor from Petersburg staying with the governor’s wife, and Sofya Bezpalov were, we knew for certain, coming with nosegays of white ones. Anfisa Alexeyevna longed to create a special sensation with red ones. Poor Piaton was almost driven distracted — of course, he was the husband. He promised to procure the flowers; and what do you think? On the very eve of the ball they were snapped up by Katerina Alexandrovna, a terrible rival of Anfisa Alexeyevna in everything. They were at daggers drawn. Of course it was a case of hysterics and fainting fits. It was all over with Piaton. “Vbu may well believe that if Petya had been able to contrive a bouquet somehow at that interesting moment, his chances would have greatly improved. A woman’s gratitude in such cases is boundless. He flew about like a madman; but it was an impossible achievement, and it was no use talking about it. All at once I met him at eleven o’clock on the evening before the birthday and the ball given by Madame Zubkov, a neighbor of Ordyntsev’s. He was beaming. ‘What is it?”I have found it. Eureka!”Well, my dear boy, you do surprise me! Where? How?”At “Vfekshaisk, a little town fifteen miles away, not in our district. There’s a merchant of the old style, a rich man called Trepalov, living there with his old wife. Instead of children they keep canaries. They’ve both a passion for flowers, and he has camellias.”Why, it may not be true. And what if he won’t give you them?”I shall fall on my knees and grovel at his feet till he does. I won’t go away without!”When are you going?”To-morrow at daybreak, at five o’clock.”Well, good luck to you!’ And, you know, I felt so pleased on his account. I went back to the Ordyntsevs’. One o’clock at night came and, you know, I was still thinking about it. I meant to go to bed, when suddenly a very original idea came to me. I made my way to the kitchen. I waked Savely, the coachman, gave him fifteen roubles, and said, ‘Let me have the horses in half an hour.’ Half an hour later, of course, the sledge was at the gate. Anfisa Alexeyevna, I was told, had a migraine; she was feverish and delirious. I got in and drove off. Before five o’clock I was at “Vfekshaisk, at the inn. I waited till daybreak, and only till daybreak. By seven o’clock I was at Trepalov’s. I said this and that, and asked, ‘Have you any camellias? My good kind sir, help me, save me! I bow down at your feet!’ The old man was tall, grey-headed, severe — a terrible old man. ‘No, no! On no account. I can’t consent.’ I plumped down at his feet. I positively flopped on the floor. ‘What are you doing, sir? What are you about?’ He was almost alarmed. ‘A human life is at stake!’ I shouted to him. ‘Well, take them if that’s so, in God’s name.’ I did cut those red camellias! They were wonderful, exquisite; there was a little greenhouse full of them. The old man sighed. I pulled out a hundred roubles. ‘No, sir, don’t insult me in such a way.”In that case, my worthy sir, devote that hundred roubles to the hospital here for the food and expenses there.”Well, that,’ said the old man, ‘is a different matter; that’s a good and noble work and pleasing to God. I will present that money to the hospital as a health-offering for you.’ And, you know, I liked that old Russian; he was, so to speak, Russian to the backbone, de la vraie souche! Delighted at my success, I set off homewards. I went back a roundabout way to avoid meeting Petya. As soon as I arrived I sent the bouquet up to Anfisa Alexeyevna to greet her when she waked. “Vbu can imagine her delight, her gratitude, her tears of gratitude. Piaton, who the day before had been at his last gasp, was sobbing on my breast. Alas! all husbands have been the same since the creation of . . . lawful matrimony. I won’t venture to say more, but poor Petya’s chances were completely over after that episode. I expected at first that he would murder me when he found out, and made ready to meet him; but what happened I would never have believed. He fainted; by the evening he was delirious, and next day he had brain fever and was sobbing like a child and in convulsions. A month later, as soon as he was well again, he volunteered for the Caucasus. It turned out quite a romance. It ended by his being killed in the Crimea. By that time his brother, Stepan Vorhovsky, was in command of a regiment; he had distinguished himself. I confess I had pricks of conscience even many years afterwards. Why, with what object had I dealt him such a blow? And it’s not as though I’d been in love myself at the time. It was simple mischief for the sake of flirtation, nothing more. If I hadn’t snatched that bouquet from him — who knows? — the man might have been alive to this day; he might have been happy, he might have been successful, and it would not have entered his head to go to fight the Turks!”

  Afanasy Ivanovitch ceased speaking with the same stately dignity with which he had begun his story. The company noticed that there was a peculiar light in Nastasya Filippovna’s eyes and her lips quivered as he finished. Every one was watching them with curiosity.

  “They’ve cheated Ferdyshtchenko! How they have cheated! This really is cheating!” cried Ferdyshtchenko in a lachrymose voice, realising that he could
and must say something.

  “And whose fault was it that you didn’t know better? bu should learn from these clever people!” Darya Alexeyevna, an old and faithful friend and ally of Totsky’s, snapped out almost triumphantly.

  “You are right, Afanasy Ivanovitch, the game is a very boring one and we must end it quickly,” Nastasya Filippovna commented carelessly. “I’ll tell you myself what I promised, and let us have a game of cards.”

  “But the promised anecdote first of all,” the general assented warmly.

  “Prince,” Nastasya Filippovna turned sharply and unexpectedly to Myshkin, “my old friends here, General Epanchin and Afanasy Ivanovitch, want me to be married. Tell me what you think. Shall I be married or not? As you say, I will do.”

  Afanasy Ivanovitch turned pale; the general was petrified. Every one stared and craned forward. Ganya stood rooted to the spot.

  “To ... to whom?” asked Myshkin in a sinking voice.

  “To Gavril Ardalionovitch Ivolgin,” Nastasya Filippovna went on in the same harsh, firm and distinct voice.

  Several seconds of silence followed. Myshkin seemed struggling to speak and unable to pronounce a word, as though there were some awful weight on his chest.

  “N-no . . . don’t marry him,” he whispered at last, and breathed painfully.

  “So it shall be then. Gavril Ardalionovitch,” she addressed him imperiously and, as it were, triumphantly, “you have heard the prince’s decision? Well, that is my answer, and let it be the end of the matter once for all!”

  “Nastasya Filippovna!” said Totsky in a trembling voice.

  “Nastasya Filippovna!” pronounced the general in a persuasive but agitated voice.

  There was a general stir and commotion.

  “What is the matter, friends?” she went on, lookinq at her guests, as though surprised. “Why are you so upset? And how distressed you all look!”

  “But. . . remember, Nastasya Filippovna,” Totsky muttered, faltering, “you have made a promise quite voluntarily, and might have partly spared .. . I am at a loss and . . . of course, perplexed, but. . . in short, at such a minute and before . . . before people . . . and to do it all like this, to end a serious matter by such a petit-jeu — a matter affecting the honour and the heart... a matter involving ...”

  “I don’t understand you, Afanasy Ivanovitch. bu really don’t know what you are saying. In the first place, what do you mean by ‘before people’? Are we not in the company of dear and intimate friends? And why petit-jeu? I really meant to tell my anecdote, and here I have told it. Isn’t it a nice one? And why do you say that it’s not serious? Isn’t this serious? You heard me say to the prince ‘As you say, so it shall be.’ Had he said ‘Yes,’ I would have given my consent at once. But he said ‘No,’ and I refused. Isn’t that serious? My whole life was hanging in the balance. What could be more serious?”

  “But the prince — what’s the prince to do with it?

  And what is the prince after all?” muttered the general, almost unable to restrain his indignation at the offensive authority given to the prince.

  “Why, what the prince has to do with it is that he is the first man I have met in my whole life that I have believed in as a sincere friend. He believed in me at first sight and I in him.”

  “I have only to thank Nastasya Filippovna for the extraordinary delicacy with which she . .. has treated me,” Ganya, pale and with twitching lips, articulated at last in a quivering voice. “It was of course the fitting way, but . . . the prince ... the prince in this matter! ...”

  “Is after the seventy-five thousand, do you mean?” Nastasya Filippovna broke in suddenly. “Did you mean to say that? Don’t deny it, you certainly meant to say that. Afanasy Ivanovitch, I had forgotten to add, take back that seventy-five thousand, and let me assure you that I set you free for nothing. It’s enough! It’s time you too were free. Nine years and three months! To-morrow, a new leaf; but to-day is my birthday, and I am doing what I like for the first time in my whole life. General, you too take back your pearls; give them to your wife; here they are. To-

  morrow I shall leave this flat for good, and there will be no more parties, friends.”

  Saying this, she suddenly got up, as though she meant to go away.

  “Nastasya Filippovna! Nastasya Filippovna!” was heard on all sides.

  Every one was in excitement, all rose from their seats and surrounded her. All had listened uneasily to her impetuous, feverish, frantic words. They all felt that there was something wrong; no one could explain it, no one could make it out. At that moment there was a violent ring at the bell, exactly as there had been at Ganya’s flat that afternoon.

  “A-ah! Here’s the way out! At last! It’s half-past eleven!” cried Nastasya Filippovna. “I beg you to be seated, friends. Here is the way out!”

  Saying this, she sat down herself. A strange laugh quivered on her lips. She sat in silent and feverish expectation, looking towards the door.

  “Rogozhin and his hundred thousand, not a doubt of it!” Ptitsyn muttered to himself.

  CHAPTER 15

  Katya, the maid, came in, much alarmed.

  “Goodness knows what’s the matter, Nastasya Filippovna! A dozen men have broken in, and they are all drunk. They ask to be shown in. They say it’s Rogozhin, and that you know.”

  “That’s right, Katya; show them all in at once.”

  “You don’t mean ... all of them, Nastasya Filippovna? They are in a disgraceful state — shocking!”

  “Let them all in, Katya, everyone of them; don’t be afraid, or they’ll come in without your showing. What an uproar they are making, just as they did this afternoon! Perhaps you are offended, friends” — she turned to her guests— “at my receiving such company in your presence? I am very sorry, and beg your pardon; but I can’t help it, and I am very, very anxious you should all consent to be my witnesses at this final scene; though, of course, you must please yourselves....”

  The guests were still astonished, looking at one another and whispering. But it was perfectly clear that all this had been calculated and arranged beforehand, and that although Nastasya Filippovna had certainly gone out of her senses, she could not be turned from her intention now. Every one was in agonies of curiosity. Besides, there was no one present likely to be alarmed. There were only two ladies in the party: Darya Alexeyevna, a sprightly lady who had seen the seamy side of life and could not be easily put out of countenance, and the handsome but silent stranger. But the silent stranger could hardly have understood what was passing: she was a German who had not long been in Russia and knew not a word of Russian, and she seemed to be as stupid as she was handsome. She was a novelty and it had become a fashion to invite her to certain parties, sumptuously attired, with her hair dressed as though for a show, and to seat her in the drawing-room as a charming decoration, just as people sometimes borrow from their friends for a special occasion a picture, a statue, a vase, or a fire-screen. As for the men, Ptitsyn, for instance, was a friend of Rogozhin’s. Ferdyshtchenko was in his element. Ganya could not recover himself, yet he had a vague but irresistible impulse to stay out his ignominy to the end. The old teacher, who had only a dim notion of what was going forward, was almost in tears and literally trembling with fear, noticing an exceptional agitation around him and in Nastasya Filippovna, whom he adored as though she had been his grandchild. But he would sooner have died than have deserted her at such a moment. As for Totsky, he would, of course, not have cared to compromise himself by such adventures; but he was too much interested in the matter, though it was taking such a crazy turn. Moreover, Nastasya Filippovna had dropped two or three words for his benefit, which made him feel he could not go home till the matter was cleared up. He resolved to remain to the end and to keep perfectly silent, confining himself to observation, which indeed was the only course consistent with dignity. General Epanchin, who had only just been offended by the unceremonious and ridiculous return of his present, might of course feel stil
l more insulted by these strange eccentricities, or perhaps by the entrance of Rogozhin. A man in his position had indeed demeaned himself too far by sitting down by the side of Ptitsyn and Ferdyshtchenko. For, however much passion might influence him, it might well at last have been overcome by a sense of obligation, by a feeling of duty, of his rank and importance and self-respect generally; so that Rogozhin and his companions were in any case inadmissible in the presence of his excellency.

  “Ach! general,” Nastasya Filippovna interrupted him at once, as soon as he made his protest, “I had forgotten! But, believe me, I had thought of you before. If it’s such an offense to you, I won’t insist on keeping you; though I am very anxious to have you particularly beside me at this moment. In any case I thank you very much for your friendship and flattering notice; but if you are afraid ...”

  “Allow me, Nastasya Filippovna,” cried the general in a rush of chivalrous feeling. “To whom are you saying this? Only from devotion to you I will remain at vour side now, and if there is any danqer. .

  . . Besides, I must confess I am extremely interested. I only meant to say that they will spoil your carpets and perhaps break something.... And you ought not to see them at all, to my thinking, Nastasya Filippovna.”

  “Rogozhin himself,” Ferdyshtchenko announced.