Текст книги "The Idiot"
Автор книги: Федор Достоевский
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 51 страниц)
Everyone laughed loudly.
"Don't shout, Ferdyshchenko," Ptitsyn observed to him disgustedly in a half-whisper.
"I didn't expect such prouesse*from you, Prince," said Ivan Fyodorovich. "Do you know what sort of man that suits? And I considered you a philosopher! Oh, the quiet one!"
"And judging by the way the prince blushes at an innocent joke like an innocent young girl, I conclude that, like a noble youth, he is nurturing the most praiseworthy intentions in his heart," the toothless and hitherto perfectly silent seventy-year-old schoolteacher, whom no one would have expected to make a peep all evening, suddenly said, or, better, maundered. Everyone laughed still more. The little old man, probably thinking they were laughing at his witticism, looked at them all and started laughing all the harder, which brought on so terrible a fit of coughing that Nastasya Filippovna, who for some reason was extremely fond of all such original little old men and women, and even of holy fools, at once began making a fuss over him, kissed him on both cheeks, and
*Prowess.
ordered more tea for him. When the maid came in, she asked for her mantilla, which she wrapped around herself, and told her to put more wood on the fire. Asked what time it was, the maid said it was already half-past ten.
"Ladies and gentlemen, would you care for champagne?" Nastasya Filippovna suddenly invited. "I have it ready. Maybe it will make you merrier. Please don't stand on ceremony."
The invitation to drink, especially in such naïve terms, seemed very strange coming from Nastasya Filippovna. Everyone knew the extraordinary decorum of her previous parties. Generally, the evening was growing merrier, but not in the usual way. The wine, however, was not refused, first, by the general himself, second, by the sprightly lady, the little old man, Ferdyshchenko, and the rest after him. Totsky also took his glass, hoping to harmonize the new tone that was setting in, possibly giving it the character of a charming joke. Ganya alone drank nothing. In the strange, sometimes very abrupt and quick outbursts of Nastasya Filippovna, who also took wine and announced that she would drink three glasses that evening, in her hysterical and pointless laughter, which alternated suddenly with a silent and even sullen pensiveness, it was hard to make anything out. Some suspected she was in a fever; they finally began to notice that she seemed to be waiting for something, glanced frequently at her watch, was growing impatient, distracted.
"You seem to have a little fever?" asked the sprightly lady.
"A big one even, not a little one—that's why I've wrapped myself in a mantilla," replied Nastasya Filippovna, who indeed had turned paler and at moments seemed to suppress a violent shiver.
They all started and stirred.
"Shouldn't we allow our hostess some rest?" Totsky suggested, glancing at Ivan Fyodorovich.
"Certainly not, gentlemen! I precisely ask you to stay. Your presence is particularly necessary for me tonight," Nastasya Filippovna suddenly said insistently and significantly. And as almost all the guests now knew that a very important decision was to be announced that evening, these words seemed extremely weighty. Totsky and the general exchanged glances once again; Ganya stirred convulsively.
"It would be nice to play some petit jeu,"*said the sprightly lady.
"I know an excellent and new petit jeu,"Ferdyshchenko picked
*Parlor game.
up, "at least one that happened only once in the world, and even then it didn't succeed."
"What was it?" the sprightly lady asked.
"A company of us got together once, and we drank a bit, it's true, and suddenly somebody suggested that each of us, without leaving the table, tell something about himself, but something that he himself, in good conscience, considered the worst of all the bad things he'd done in the course of his whole life; and that it should be frank, above all, that it should be frank, no lying!"
"A strange notion!" said the general.
"Strange as could be, Your Excellency, but that's what was good about it."
"A ridiculous idea," said Totsky, "though understandable: a peculiar sort of boasting."
"Maybe that's just what they wanted, Afanasy Ivanovich."
"One is more likely to cry than laugh at such a petit jeu,"the sprightly lady observed.
"An utterly impossible and absurd thing," echoed Ptitsyn.
"And was it a success?" asked Nastasya Filippovna.
"The fact is that it wasn't, it turned out badly, people actually told all sorts of things, many told the truth, and, imagine, many even enjoyed the telling, but then they all felt ashamed, they couldn't stand it! On the whole, though, it was quite amusing—in its own way, that is."
"But that would be really nice!" observed Nastasya Filippovna, suddenly quite animated. "Really, why don't we try it, gentlemen! In fact, we're not very cheerful. If each of us agreed to tell something . . . of that sort.. . naturally, if one agrees, because it's totally voluntary, eh? Maybe we can stand it? At least it's terribly original..."
"A brilliant idea!" Ferdyshchenko picked up. "The ladies are excluded, however, the men will begin. We'll arrange it by drawing lots as we did then! Absolutely, absolutely! If anyone is very reluctant, he needn't tell anything, of course, but that would be particularly unfriendly! Give us your lots here in the hat, gentlemen, the prince will do the drawing. It's the simplest of tasks, to tell the worst thing you've done in your life—it's terribly easy, gentlemen! You'll see! If anyone happens to forget, I'll remind him!"
Nobody liked the idea. Some frowned, others smiled slyly. Some objected, but not very much—Ivan Fyodorovich, for example, who did not want to contradict Nastasya Filippovna and saw how carried away she was by this strange notion. In her desires Nastasya
Filippovna was always irrepressible and merciless, once she decided to voice them, capricious and even useless for her as those desires might be. And now it was as if she was in hysterics, fussing about, laughing convulsively, fitfully, especially in response to the objections of the worried Totsky. Her dark eyes flashed, two red spots appeared on her pale cheeks. The sullen and squeamish tinge on some of her guests' physiognomies perhaps inflamed her mocking desire still more; perhaps she precisely liked the cynicism and cruelty of the idea. Some were even certain that she had some special calculation here. However, they began to agree: in any case it was curious, and for many of them very enticing. Ferdyshchenko fussed about most of all.
"And if it's something that can't be told ... in front of ladies," the silent young man observed timidly.
"Then don't tell it. As if there weren't enough nasty deeds without that," Ferdyshchenko replied. "Ah, young man!"
"But I don't know which to consider the worst thing I've done," the sprightly lady contributed.
"The ladies are exempt from the obligation of telling anything," Ferdyshchenko repeated, "but that is merely an exemption. The personally inspired will be gratefully admitted. The men, if they're very reluctant, are also exempt."
"How can it be proved here that I'm not lying?" asked Ganya. "And if I lie, the whole notion of the game is lost. And who isn't going to lie? Everybody's bound to start lying."
"But that's what's so enticing, to see how the person's going to lie. As for you, Ganechka, you needn't be especially worried about lying, because everybody knows your nastiest deed without that. Just think, ladies and gentlemen," Ferdyshchenko suddenly exclaimed in some sort of inspiration, "just think with what eyes we'll look at each other later, tomorrow, for instance, after our stories!"
"But is this possible? Can this indeed be serious, Nastasya Filippovna?" Totsky asked with dignity.
"He who fears wolves should stay out of the forest!" Nastasya Filippovna observed with a little smile.
"But excuse me, Mr. Ferdyshchenko, is it possible to make a petit jeuout of this?" Totsky went on, growing more and more worried. "I assure you that such things never succeed—you said yourself that it failed once."
"What do you mean, failed! Why, last time I told how I stole three roubles, just up and told it!"
"Granted. But it's surely not possible that you told it so that it resembled the truth and people believed you? And Gavrila Ardalionovich observed very correctly that it only needs to ring slightly false and the whole notion of the game is lost. Truth is then possible only accidentally, through a special sort of boasting mood in the very worst tone, which is unthinkable and quite improper here."
"Ah, what an extraordinarily subtle man you are, Afanasy Ivanovich! I even marvel at it!" cried Ferdyshchenko. "Just imagine, ladies and gentlemen, with his observation that I couldn't tell the story of my theft so that it resembled the truth, Afanasy Ivanovich has hinted in the subtlest fashion that in reality I also couldn't have stolen (because it's indecent to speak of it publicly), though it may be that in himself he's quite certain that Ferdyshchenko might very well steal! But to business, gentlemen, to business, the lots are all here, and even you, Afanasy Ivanovich, have put yours in, so nobody has refused. Draw the lots, Prince!"
The prince silently put his hand into the hat and took out the first lot—Ferdyshchenko's, the second—Ptitsyn's, the third– the general's, the fourth—Afanasy Ivanovich's, the fifth—his own, the sixth—Ganya's, and so on. The ladies had not put in any lots.
"Oh, God, how unlucky!" cried Ferdyshchenko. "And I thought the first turn would go to the prince and the second to the general. But, thank God, at least Ivan Petrovich comes after me, and I'll be rewarded. Well, ladies and gentlemen, of course it's my duty to set a noble example, but I regret most of all at the present moment that I'm so insignificant and in no way remarkable; even my rank is the lowest of the low. Well, what indeed is so interesting about Ferdyshchenko's having done something nasty? And what is the worst thing I've done? Here we have an embarras de richesse*Maybe I should tell about that same theft again, to convince Afanasy Ivanovich that one can steal without being a thief."
"You also convince me, Mr. Ferdyshchenko, that it is indeed possible to feel an intoxicating pleasure in recounting one's foul deeds, though one has not even been asked about them . . . But anyhow . . . Excuse me, Mr. Ferdyshchenko."
"Begin, Ferdyshchenko, you produce a terrible amount of superfluous babble and can never finish!" Nastasya Filippovna ordered irritably and impatiently.
* Embarrassment of riches.
They all noticed that, after her latest fit of laughter, she had suddenly become sullen, peevish, and irritable; nevertheless she insisted stubbornly and despotically on her impossible whim. Afanasy Ivanovich was suffering terribly. He was also furious with Ivan Fyodorovich: the man sat over his champagne as if nothing was happening, and was perhaps even planning to tell something when his turn came.
XIV
"I'm not witty, Nastasya Filippovna, that's why I babble superfluously!" Ferdyshchenko cried, beginning his story. "If I were as witty as Afanasy Ivanovich or Ivan Petrovich, I'd be sitting quietly this evening like Afanasy Ivanovich and Ivan Petrovich. Prince, allow me to ask what you think, because it seems to me that there are many more thieves than nonthieves in the world, and that there does not even exist such an honest man as has not stolen something at least once in his life. That is my thought, from which, however, I by no means conclude that everyone to a man is a thief, though, by God, I'd sometimes like terribly much to draw that conclusion. What do you think?"
"Pah, what stupid talk," responded Darya Alexeevna, "and what nonsense! It can't be that everyone has stolen something. I've never stolen anything."
"You've never stolen anything, Darya Alexeevna; but what will the prince say, who has so suddenly blushed all over?"
"It seems to me that what you say is true, only it's greatly exaggerated," said the prince, who was indeed blushing for some reason.
"And you yourself, Prince, have you ever stolen anything?"
"Pah! how ridiculous! Come to your senses, Mr. Ferdyshchenko," the general stepped in.
"It's quite simply that you're ashamed, now that you have to tell your story, and you want to drag the prince in with you because he's so unprotesting," Darya Alexeevna declared.
"Ferdyshchenko, either tell your story or be quiet and mind your own business. You exhaust all my patience," Nastasya Filippovna said sharply and vexedly.
"This minute, Nastasya Filippovna; but if even the prince admits it, for I maintain that what the prince has said is tantamount to
an admission, then what, for instance, would someone else say (naming no names) if he ever wanted to tell the truth? As far as I'm concerned, ladies and gentlemen, there isn't much more to tell: it's very simple, and stupid, and nasty. But I assure you that I'm not a thief; I stole who knows how. It was two years ago, in Semyon Ivanovich Ishchenko's country house, on a Sunday. He had guests for dinner. After dinner the men sat over the wine. I had the idea of asking Marya Semyonovna, his daughter, a young lady, to play something on the piano. I passed through the corner room, there was a green three-rouble note lying on Marya Ivanovna's worktable: she had taken it out to pay some household expenses. Not a living soul in the room. I took the note and put it in my pocket, why– I don't know. I don't understand what came over me. Only I quickly went back and sat down at the table. I sat and waited in rather great excitement; I talked nonstop, told jokes, laughed; then I went to sit with the ladies. About half an hour later they found it missing and began questioning the maidservants. Suspicion fell on the maid Darya. I showed extraordinary curiosity and concern, and I even remember that, when Darya was completely at a loss, I began persuading her to confess her guilt, betting my life on Marya Ivanovna's kindness—and that aloud, in front of everybody. Everybody was looking, and I felt an extraordinary pleasure precisely because I was preaching while the note was in my pocket. I drank up those three roubles in a restaurant that same evening. I went in and asked for a bottle of Lafite; never before had I asked for a bottle just like that, with nothing; I wanted to spend it quickly. Neither then nor later did I feel any particular remorse. I probably wouldn't do it again; you may believe that or not as you like, it's of no interest to me. Well, sirs, that's all."
"Only, of course, that's not the worst thing you've done," Darya Alexeevna said with loathing.
"It's a psychological case, not a deed," observed Afanasy Ivanovich.
"And the maid?" asked Nastasya Filippovna, not concealing the most squeamish loathing.
"The maid was dismissed the next day, naturally. It was a strict household."
"And you allowed it?"
"Oh, that's wonderful! Should I have gone and denounced myself?" Ferdyshchenko tittered, though somewhat astounded by the generally much too unpleasant impression his story had made.
"How dirty!" cried Nastasya Filippovna.
"Bah! You want to hear a man's nastiest deed and with that you ask him to shine! The nastiest deeds are always very dirty, we'll hear that presently from Ivan Petrovich; and there are all sorts of things that shine externally and want to look like virtue, because they have their own carriage. There are all sorts that have their own carriage . . . And by what means . . ."
In short, Ferdyshchenko was quite unable to stand it and suddenly became angry, even to the point of forgetting himself, going beyond measure; his face even went all awry. Strange as it might seem, it is quite possible that he had anticipated a completely different success for his story. These "blunders" of bad tone and a "peculiar sort of boasting," as Totsky put it, occurred quite frequently with Ferdyshchenko and were completely in character.
Nastasya Filippovna even shook with wrath and stared intently at Ferdyshchenko; the man instantly became cowed and fell silent, all but cold with fright: he had gone much too far.
"Shouldn't we end it altogether?" Afanasy Ivanovich asked slyly.
"It's my turn, but I shall exercise my privilege and not tell anything," Ptitsyn said resolutely.
"You don't want to?"
"I can't, Nastasya Filippovna; and generally I consider such a petit jeuimpossible."
"General, I believe it's your turn next," Nastasya Filippovna turned to him. "If you decline, too, then everything will go to pieces after you, and I'll be very sorry, because I was counting on telling a deed 'from my own life' at the end, only I wanted to do it after you and Afanasy Ivanovich, because you should encourage me," she ended, laughing.
"Oh, if you promise, too," the general cried warmly, "then I'm ready to tell you my whole life; but, I confess, while waiting for my turn I've already prepared my anecdote . . ."
"And by the mere look of his excellency, one can tell with what special literary pleasure he has polished his little anecdote," Ferdyshchenko, still somewhat abashed, ventured to observe with a venomous smile.
Nastasya Filippovna glanced fleetingly at the general and also smiled to herself. But it was obvious that anguish and irritation were growing stronger and stronger in her. Afanasy Ivanovich became doubly frightened, hearing her promise of a story.
"It has happened to me, ladies and gentlemen, as to everyone,
to do certain not entirely elegant deeds in my life," the general began, "but the strangest thing of all is that I consider the short anecdote I'm about to tell you the nastiest anecdote in my whole life. Meanwhile some thirty-five years have passed; but I have never been able, in recalling it, to break free of a certain, so to speak, gnawing impression in my heart. The affair itself, however, was extremely stupid: at that time I had just been made a lieutenant and was pulling my load in the army. Well, everybody knows what a lieutenant is: blood boiling and just pennies to live on. I had an orderly then, Nikifor, who was terribly solicitous of my livelihood: he saved, mended, cleaned and scrubbed, and even pilfered everywhere, whatever he could to add to the household. He was a most trustworthy and honest man. I, of course, was strict but fair. At some point we were stationed in a little town. I was quartered on the outskirts, with a retired lieutenant's wife, and a widow at that. The old hag was eighty or thereabouts. Her little house was decrepit, wretched, wooden, and she didn't even have a serving woman, so poor she was. But the main thing about her was that she had once had the most numerous family and relations; but some had died in the course of her life, others had gone away, still others had forgotten the old woman, and her husband she had buried forty-five years earlier. A few years before then her niece had lived with her, hunchbacked and wicked as a witch, people said, and once she had even bitten the old woman's finger, but she had died, too, so that for some three years the old woman had been getting along all by herself. My life with her was terribly boring, and she herself was so empty I couldn't get anywhere with her. In the end she stole a rooster from me. The affair has remained cloudy to this day, but no one else could have done it. We quarreled over that rooster, and considerably, but here it so happened that, at my first request, I was transferred to other quarters on the opposite side of town, with the numerous family of a merchant with a great big beard—I remember him as if it were yesterday. Nikifor and I are joyfully moving out, we're indignantly leaving the old woman. About three days go by, I come back from drill, Nikifor tells me, 'You shouldn't have left our bowl with the former landlady, Your Honor, we have nothing to serve soup in.' I, naturally, am amazed: 'How's that? Why would our bowl have stayed with the landlady?' The astonished Nikifor goes on to report that the landlady hadn't given him our bowl when we were moving because, since I had broken a pot of hers, she was keeping our
bowl in exchange for her pot, and I had supposedly suggested doing it that way. Such baseness on her part naturally drove me beyond the final limits; my blood boiled, I jumped up and flew to her. By the time I reach the old woman I'm, so to speak, already beside myself; I see her sitting all alone in the corner of the front hall, as if hiding from the sun, resting her cheek on her hand. I immediately loosed a whole thunderstorm on her: 'You're this,' I said, 'and you're that!'—you know, in the best Russian way. Only I see something strange is happening: she sits, her face is turned to me, her eyes are popping out, and she says not a word in reply, and she looks at me so strangely, strangely, as if she's swaying back and forth. I finally calm down, look closely at her, ask her something—not a word in reply. I stand there irresolutely; flies are buzzing, the sun is setting, silence; completely bewildered, I finally leave. Before I reached home I was summoned to the major's, then I had to pass by my company, so that I got home quite late. Nikifor's first words: 'You know, Your Honor, our landlady died.' 'When?' 'This evening, an hour and a half ago.' Which meant that, just at the time when I was abusing her, she was departing. I was so struck, I must tell you, that I had a hard time recovering. It even made its way into my thoughts, you know, even into my dreams at night. I, of course, have no prejudices, but on the third day I went to church for the funeral. In short, the more time passed, the more I thought about her. Nothing special, only I pictured it occasionally and felt rather bad. The main thing is, how did I reason in the end? First, the woman was, so to speak, a personal being, what's known in our time as a human; she lived, lived a long time, too long finally. She once had children, a husband, a family, relations, everything around her was at the boil, there were all these smiles, so to speak, and suddenly—total zero, everything's gone smash, she's left alone, like . . . some sort of fly bearing a curse from time immemorial. And then, finally, God brings her to an end. At sunset, on a quiet summer evening, my old woman also flies away—of course, this is not without its moralizing idea; and at that very moment, instead of, so to speak, a farewell tear, this desperate young lieutenant, jaunty and arms akimbo, sees her off the face of the earth with the Russian element of riotous abuse over a lost bowl! No doubt I was at fault, and though, owing to the distance in time and to changes in my character, I've long regarded my deed as someone else's, I nevertheless continue to regret it. So that, I repeat, I find it strange, the
more so as, even if I am at fault, it's not so completely: why did she decide to die precisely at that moment? Naturally, there's some excuse here—that the deed was in a certain sense psychological– but all the same I never felt at peace until I began, about fifteen years ago, to keep two permanent sick old women at my expense in the almshouse, with the purpose of easing their last days of earthly life by decent maintenance. I intend to leave capital for it in perpetuity. Well, sirs, that's all. I repeat that I may be to blame for many things in life, but I consider this occasion, in all conscience, the nastiest deed of my whole life."
"And instead of the nastiest, Your Excellency has told us one of the good deeds of your life. You've hoodwinked Ferdyshchenko!" concluded Ferdyshchenko.
"Indeed, General, I never imagined that you had a good heart after all; it's even a pity," Nastasya Filippovna said casually.
"A pity? Why is that?" asked the general, laughing amiably and sipping, not without self-satisfaction, from his champagne.
But now it was Afanasy Ivanovich's turn, and he, too, was prepared. They could all tell beforehand that he would not decline like Ivan Petrovich, and, for certain reasons, they awaited his story with particular curiosity and at the same time with occasional glances at Nastasya Filippovna. With extraordinary dignity, which fully corresponded to his stately appearance, in a quiet, amiable voice, Afanasy Ivanovich began one of his "charming stories." (Incidentally speaking, he was an impressive, stately man, tall, slightly bald, slightly gray-haired, and rather corpulent, with soft, ruddy, and somewhat flabby cheeks and false teeth. He wore loose and elegant clothes, and his linen was of astonishing quality. One could not have enough of gazing at his plump white hands. On the index finger of his right hand there was an expensive diamond ring.) All the while he was telling his story, Nastasya Filippovna intently studied the lace on the ruffle of her sleeve and kept plucking at it with two fingers of her left hand, so that she managed not to glance at the storyteller even once.
"What facilitates my task most of all," Afanasy Ivanovich began, "is that I am duty-bound to tell nothing other than the worst thing I've done in my whole life. In that case, naturally, there can be no hesitation: conscience and the heart's memory straightaway prompt one with what must be told. I confess with bitterness that numbered among all the numberless, perhaps light-minded and . . . flighty deeds of my life, there is one the impression of which
weighs all too heavily on my memory. It happened about twenty years ago. I had gone then to visit Platon Ordyntsev on his estate. He had just been elected marshal 40and had come there with his young wife for the winter holidays. Anfisa Alexeevna's birthday also fell just then, and two balls were planned. At that time an enchanting novel by Dumas filshad just become terribly fashionable and made a great deal of noise in high society– La Dame aux camélias, 41a poem which, in my opinion, will never die or grow old. In the provinces all the ladies admired it to the point of rapture, those at least who had read it. The enchanting story, the originality with which the main character is portrayed, that enticing world, so subtly analyzed, and, finally, all those charming details scattered through the book (for instance, about the way bouquets of white and pink camellias are used in turn), in short, all those enchanting details, and everything together, produced almost a shock. The flowers of the camellia became extraordinarily fashionable. Everyone demanded camellias, everyone sought them. I ask you: can one get many camellias in the provinces, when everyone demands them for balls, even though the balls are few? Petya Vorkhovskoy, poor fellow, was then pining away for Anfisa Alexeevna. I really don't know if there was anything between them, that is, I mean to say, whether he could have had any serious hopes. The poor man lost his mind over getting camellias for Anfisa Alexeevna by the evening of the ball. Countess Sotsky, from Petersburg, a guest of the governor's wife, and Sofya Bespalov, as became known, were certain to come with bouquets of white ones. Anfisa Alexeevna, for the sake of some special effect, wanted red ones. Poor Platon nearly broke down; a husband, you know; he promised to get the bouquet, and—what then? It was snapped up the day before by Mytishchev, Katerina Alexandrovna, a fierce rival of Anfisa Alexeevna's in everything. They were at daggers drawn. Naturally, there were hysterics, fainting fits. Platon was lost. It was clear that if Petya could, at this interesting moment, procure a bouquet somewhere, his affairs would improve greatly; a woman's gratitude on such occasions knows no bounds. He rushes about like crazy; but it's an impossible thing, no use talking about it. Suddenly I run into him at eleven in the evening, the night before the birthday and the ball, at Marya Petrovna Zubkov's, a neighbor of the Ordyntsevs. He's beaming. 'What's with you?' 'I found it. Eureka!' 'Well, brother, you surprise me! Where? How?' 'In Ekshaisk' (a little town there, only fifteen miles away, and not in our district),
'there's a merchant named Trepalov there, bearded and rich, lives with his old wife, and no children, just canaries. They both have a passion for flowers, and he's got camellias.' 'Good heavens, there's no certainty there, what if he doesn't give you any?' 'I'll kneel down and grovel at his feet until he does, otherwise I won't leave!' 'When are you going?' 'Tomorrow at daybreak, five o'clock.' 'Well, God be with you!' And I'm so glad for him, you know; I go back to Ordyntsev's; finally, it's past one in the morning and I'm still like this, you know, in a reverie. I was about to go to bed when a most original idea suddenly occurred to me! I immediately make my way to the kitchen, wake up the coachman Savely, give him fifteen roubles, 'have the horses ready in half an hour!' Half an hour later, naturally, the dogcart is at the gate; Anfisa Alexeevna, I'm told, has migraine, fever, and delirium—I get in and go. Before five o'clock I'm in Ekshaisk, at the inn; I wait till daybreak, but only till daybreak; just past six I'm at Trepalov's. 'Thus and so, have you got any camellias? My dear, my heart and soul, help me, save me, I bow down at your feet!' The old man, I see, is tall, gray-haired, stern—a fearsome old man. 'No, no, never! I won't.' I flop down at his feet! I sprawl there like that! 'What's wrong, my dear man, what's wrong?' He even got frightened. 'It's a matter of a human life!' I shout to him. 'Take them, then, and God be with you.' What a lot of red camellias I cut! Wonderful, lovely—he had a whole little hothouse there. The old man sighs. I take out a hundred roubles. 'No, my dear man, kindly do not offend me in this manner.' 'In that case, my esteemed sir,' I say, 'give the hundred roubles to the local hospital, for the improvement of conditions and food.' 'Now that, my dear man, is another matter,' he says, 'good, noble, and pleasing to God. I'll give it for the sake of your health.' And, you know, I liked him, this Russian old man, Russian to the root, so to speak, de la vraie souche*Delighted with my success, I immediately set out on the way back; we made a detour to avoid meeting Petya. As soon as I arrived, I sent the bouquet in to Anfisa Alexeevna, who was just waking up. You can imagine the rapture, the gratitude, the tears of gratitude! Platon, yesterday's crushed and dead Platon, sobs on my breast. Alas! All husbands have been like that since the creation ... of lawful wedlock! I won't venture to add anything, except that Petya's affairs collapsed definitively after this episode. At first I thought he'd put a knife in me when he
