‘Everything about you is perfection ... even that you’re thin and pale ... one would not wish to imagine you differently ... I so much wanted to come and see you ... I ... forgive me ...’
‘Don’t apologize,’ Nastasya Filippovna began to laugh, ‘it will spoil all the strangeness and originality. So it’s true what they say about you, that you’re a strange man. So you think I am perfection, do you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Though you may be a master of guesswork, you are mistaken. I shall remind you of that later this evening ...’
She introduced the prince to the guests, to more than half of whom he was already known. Totsky at once made some kind of complimentary remark. Everyone seemed to liven up a little, they all began to talk and laugh together. Nastasya Filippovna made the prince sit down beside her.
‘But what’s so surprising about the prince showing up?’ Ferdyshchenko shouted louder than any of them. ‘The matter is clear, the matter speaks for itself!’
‘The matter is all too clear and speaks for itself all too well,’ Ganya, who had been silent, chipped in. ‘I have been observing the prince almost constantly today, right from the moment he looked at Nastasya Filippovna’s portrait earlier, on Ivan Fyodorovich’s desk. I very well remember at the time thinking something of which I now quite convinced and which, by the way, the prince himself confessed to me.’
Ganya spoke this entire sentence extremely earnestly, without the slightest jocularity, even gloomily, which seemed slightly strange.
‘I didn’t make any confessions to you,’ replied the prince, blushing, ‘I merely replied to your question.’
‘Bravo, bravo!’ cried Ferdyshchenko. ‘Honest, at least, both cunning and honest!’
They all laughed loudly.
‘Oh, stop shouting, Ferdyshchenko,’ Ptitsyn observed to him in a low voice, with revulsion.
‘I didn’t expect such prowess from you, Prince,’ Ivan Fydorovich said softly. ‘It’s not the kind of thing I’d expect you to say. And there was I thinking you were a philosopher! Oh, the quiet ones!’
‘And judging from the way the prince blushes at an innocent joke like an innocent young girl, I conclude that, as a well-bred young man, he nourishes the most praiseworthy intentions within his heart,’ the toothless and until now completely silent septuagenarian schoolmaster, whom no one could have expected even to utter a word that evening, said, or rather mumbled, quite suddenly and unexpectedly. This made them all laugh even more. The old man, probably thinking that they were laughing at his wit, began, as he looked at them all, to laugh even more, which caused him to have a severe fit of coughing, so that Nastasya Filippovna, who was for some reason inordinately fond of all such eccentric old men and old women, and even of holy fools, at once began to lavish affection on him, kissing him and ordering more tea for him. Of the maid who entered she also asked for a mantilla to be brought for her, in which she wrapped herself, and gave instructions for more wood be put on the fire. In response to the question of what time it was, the maid replied that it was already half-past ten.
‘Would you like some champagne, gentlemen?’ Nastasya Filippovna asked them suddenly. ‘I have some ready. Perhaps it will cheer your mood. Please help yourselves, without ceremony.’
The invitation to drink, especially phrased in such naive terms, seemed very strange coming from Nastasya Filippovna. Everyone knew the extraordinary decorum that had characterized her previous soirees. On the whole, the soiree did become more cheerful, but not in the usual way. The wine was, however, accepted, first by the general himself, second by the pert lady, the old man, Ferdyshchenko, and after that, by everyone else. Totsky also took a glass, hoping to harmonize the new tone that was beginning to emerge by giving it as far as possible the character of a charming joke. Ganya alone took none. Of the strange, sometimes very abrupt and swift caprices of Nastasya Filippovna, who also took wine and announced that this evening she would have three glasses, of her hysterical and aimless laughter, which alternated suddenly with silent and even, gloomy pensiveness, it was hard to make much sense. Some suspected she was suffering from a fever; they began, at last, to notice that she seemed to be waiting for something, frequently looking at the clock, becoming impatient and listless.
‘Do you have a slight fever, perhaps?’ the pert lady asked.
‘Quite a bad one, not a slight one, that’s why I’ve put on this mantilla,’ replied Nastasya Filippovna, who had indeed become paler, and seemed at times to be suppressing a violent shiver.
They all began to be concerned, and there was a general stir. ‘Shouldn’t we give our hostess some rest?’ ventured Totsky, looking at Ivan Fyodorovich.
‘On no account, gentlemen! I particularly request you to stay. I especially need your presence this evening,’ Nastasya Filippovna declared with meaningful insistence. And since nearly all the guests had learned that on this evening a very important decision was to be made, these words carried exceeding weight. The general and Totsky again exchanged glances, and Ganya made a convulsive twitch.
‘It would be nice to play a
petit jeu,’
2
said the pert lady.
‘I know a new and most marvellous
petit jeu,’
Ferdyshchenko chimed in, ‘or at least one that has only been played once, and then not successfully.’
‘What was it?’ asked the pert lady.
‘One day a company of us got together, well, we’d been drinking a bit, it’s true, and suddenly someone proposed that each of us, without getting up from the table, should tell the others something about himself, but something that he himself, in sincere conscience, viewed as the worst of all the bad things he’d done during the whole of his life; but he should be sincere, that was the main thing, sincere, and he must not lie!’
‘A strange idea,’ said the general.
‘Indeed, what could be stranger, your excellency, and that is what makes it so good.’
‘A ridiculous idea,’ said Totsky, ‘though in fact it’s easy to understand: it’s a special kind of boasting.’
‘Perhaps that was the whole purpose of it, Afanasy Ivanovich.’
‘I think one would end up crying, not laughing, in such a game,’ the pert lady observed.
‘It’s quite impossible and absurd,’ was Ptitsyn’s opinion.
‘And did it succeed?’ asked Nastasya Filippovna.
‘That’s just the point, it didn’t, it all went wrong, each person did tell something, many told the truth, and imagine, some even enjoyed the telling, but then they all felt ashamed, couldn’t keep it up! On the whole, though, it was great fun, in its own way.’
‘Yes, it would indeed be fun!’ observed Nastasya Filippovna, growing suddenly animated in the whole of her being. ‘Indeed, let us try, gentlemen! We really could do with cheering up. If each of us would agree to tell something ... of that kind ... by consent, of course, everyone is completely free, all right? Perhaps we might be able to keep it up? At any rate it’s terribly original ...’
‘A brilliant idea!’ Ferdyshchenko chimed in. ‘However, the ladies are excused, the men shall begin; the matter will be settled by drawing lots, like last time! Yes, we must certainly do it that way! If anyone really doesn’t want to, he need not tell anything, but that will be churlish of him! Cast your lots here, gentlemen, over here to me, into my hat, the prince will make the draw. A very simple task, to describe the worst thing you
ever did in your life — it’s terribly easy, gentlemen! You’ll see! If anyone has forgotten, I shall at once undertake to remind him!’
No one liked the idea. Some frowned, others slyly smiled. Some protested, but not greatly — Ivan Fyodorovich, for example, who did not want to go against Nastasya Filippovna’s wishes, and had noticed how attracted she was by this strange notion. Nastasya Filippovna was always unyieldingly relentless in her desires once she had determined to express them, no matter how capricious, and even, from her point of view, how completely useless, those desires might be. And now she was almost in a state of hysteria, agitated, in fits of convulsive laughter, especially at the objections of the alarmed Totsky. Her dark eyes began to glitter, two red spots appeared on her pale cheeks. Perhaps the despondent and squeamish look on the physiognomies of some of the guests inflamed her mocking desire even more; perhaps it was precisely the cynicism and cruelty of the idea that appealed to her. Some were even sure that she had some special calculation in it. However, they began to give their consent: at all events it was intriguing, and for many of them quite tempting. Ferdyshchenko was more agitated than anyone else.
‘But what if it’s something that can’t be told ... in the presence of ladies,’ the silent youth observed timidly.
‘Then don’t tell it; you must have done enough bad things without it,’ replied Ferdyshchenko. ‘Oh, you young people!’
‘But I really don’t know which things I’ve done that I consider the worst,’ the pert lady inserted.
‘Ladies are exempt from the obligation of telling,’ Ferdyshchenko repeated, ‘but are only exempt; the inspiration of the moment is gratefully permitted. As for the men, if they really don’t want to take part, they’re exempt, too’
‘But how am I to prove that I’m not lying?’ Ganya asked. ‘And if I lie, the whole object of the game is defeated. And who will not lie? I’m sure everyone will.’
‘Well, that in itself is rather alluring, to see the way in which people will lie. But you, Ganechka, have no particular need to be afraid of lying, as everyone already knows the worst thing you’ve done. And just think, gentlemen,’ Ferdyshchenko suddenly exclaimed in a kind of inspiration, ‘just think with what eyes we’ll look at one another afterwards, tomorrow, for example, after the stories we’ve heard!’
‘But is this possible? Are you really in earnest, Nastasya Filippovna?’ Totsky inquired with dignity.
‘If you’re frightened of wolves, don’t go into the forest!’ Nastasya Filippovna observed with an ironic smile.
‘But forgive me, Mr Ferdyshchenko, is it really possible to make a parlour game out of this?’ Totsky continued, growing more and more anxious. ‘I assure you that such things are never a success; you say yourself that it didn’t succeed last time.’
‘How do you mean, didn’t succeed? Last time I told the story of how I stole three roubles, I just went ahead and told it!’
‘Very well. But after all, there was no possibility of you telling it in such a way that so as to make it resemble the truth and be believed, was there? And as Gavrila Ardalionovich quite correctly observed, as soon as the slightest note of insincerity is heard, the whole object of the game is defeated. The truth is possible here only accidentally, in a special kind of boastful mood that is in bad taste, unthinkable here and totally indecent.’
‘But what a subtle man you are, Afanasy Ivanovich, why, you even astonish me!’ exclaimed Ferdyshchenko. ‘Imagine, gentlemen: by his observing that I couldn’t possibly tell the story of my theft in such a way that it would resemble the truth, Afanasy Ivanovich is hinting in the most subtle way that I couldn’t possibly commit a theft in real life (because to say so out loud would be indecent), even though he may privately be quite certain that there is every likelihood Ferdyshchenko is capable of theft! But to the matter at hand, gentlemen, to the matter at hand, the lots are gathered and you, Afanasy Ivanovich, have put yours in, too, and therefore no one has refused! Prince, make the draw!’
The prince silently lowered his hand into the hat and took out
the first lot — Ferdyshchenko, the second — Ptitsyn, the third - the gen
eral, the fourth — Afanasy Ivanovich, the fifth — himself, the sixth — Ganya, and so on. The ladies had not cast any lots.
‘Oh Lord, what misfortune!’ exclaimed Ferdyshchenko. ‘And there was I thinking that the prince would be first, and the general would be second. But thank goodness, at least I’m before Ivan Petrovich, and that will be some recompense. Well, gentlemen, of course, I’m obliged to set a noble example, but my principal regret at this moment is that I’m so contemptible and lack distinction in any way; even my rank is the very, very lowest; well, what is there of any interest in the fact that Ferdyshchenko has done something bad? And indeed, what is my most reprehensible deed? I have an
embarras de richesse.
Must I really tell that same story about my theft, in order to convince Afanasy Ivanovich that it’s possible to steal without being a thief?’
‘You’re convincing me, Mr Ferdyshchenko, that one may indeed feel satisfaction to the point of rapture in telling of one’s rotten actions, even though one has never been asked about them ... Though, actually ... Forgive me, Mr Ferdyschchenko.’
‘Do get on with it, Ferdyshchenko, you ramble far too long and never arrive at the end,’ Nastasya Filippovna commanded with irritable impatience.
They all noticed that after her recent convulsive laughter she had suddenly become gloomy, peevish and irritable; none the less, with despotic obstinacy she insisted on her impossible caprice. Afanasy Ivanovich was suffering horribly. Ivan Fyodorovich was also driving him
mad: he sat there drinking his champagne as though nothing were the matter and was even, perhaps, planning to tell something of his own when his turn came.
14
‘I have no wit, Nastasya Filippovna, and that’s why I talk too much!’ exclaimed Ferdyshchenko, as he began his story. ‘Had I the wit of Afanasy Ivanovich or Ivan Petrovich, then I would have sat and kept quiet all evening, like Afanasy Ivanovich and Ivan Petrovich. Prince, allow me to ask you, what do you think, it seems to me that there are many more thieves in the world than there are non-thieves, and that there is not even the most honest man who has not at least once in his life stolen something. That’s my opinion, from which, however, I do not at all conclude that all people are thieves, although, quite honestly, I’m sometimes terribly inclined to suppose that they are. But what do you think?’
‘Fie, what a silly way you have of telling a story,’ replied Darya Alexeyevna, ‘and what nonsense, it cannot possibly be true that everyone has stolen something; I’ve never stolen anything.’