‘Poor Peter Volhofskoi was desperately in love with Anfi-sa Alexeyevna. I don’t know whether there was anything—I mean I don’t know whether he could possibly have in-dulged in any hope. The poor fellow was beside himself to get her a bouquet of camellias. Countess Sotski and Sophia Bespalova, as everyone knew, were coming with white ca-mellia bouquets. Anfisa wished for red ones, for effect. Well, her husband Platon was driven desperate to find some. And the day before the ball, Anfisa’s rival snapped up the only red camellias to be had in the place, from under Platon’s nose, and Platon—wretched man—was done for. Now if Pe-ter had only been able to step in at this moment with a red bouquet, his little hopes might have made gigantic strides. A woman’s gratitude under such circumstances would have been boundless—but it was practically an impossibility.
‘The night before the ball I met Peter, looking radiant. ‘What is it?’ I ask. ‘I’ve found them, Eureka!’ ‘No! where, where?’ ‘At Ekshaisk (a little town fifteen miles off) there’s a
rich old merchant, who keeps a lot of canaries, has no chil-dren, and he and his wife are devoted to flowers. He’s got some camellias.’ ‘And what if he won’t let you have them?’
‘I’ll go on my knees and implore till I get them. I won’t go away.’ ‘When shall you start?’ ‘Tomorrow morning at five o’clock.’ ‘Go on,’ I said, ‘and good luck to you.’
‘I was glad for the poor fellow, and went home. But an idea got hold of me somehow. I don’t know how. It was nearly two in the morning. I rang the bell and ordered the coachman to be waked up and sent to me. He came. I gave him a tip of fifteen roubles, and told him to get the carriage
ready at once. In half an hour it was at the door. I got in and off we went.
‘By five I drew up at the Ekshaisky inn. I waited there till dawn, and soon after six I was off, and at the old merchant Trepalaf’s.
‘Camellias!’ I said, ‘father, save me, save me, let me have some camellias!’ He was a tall, grey old man—a terrible-looking old gentleman. ‘Not a bit of it,’ he says. ‘I won’t.’ Down I went on my knees. ‘Don’t say so, don’t—think what you’re doing!’ I cried; ‘it’s a matter of life and death!’ ‘If that’s the case, take them,’ says he. So up I get, and cut such a bouquet of red camellias! He had a whole greenhouse full of them—lovely ones. The old fellow sighs. I pull out a hun-dred roubles. ‘No, no!’ says he, ‘don’t insult me that way.’
‘Oh, if that’s the case, give it to the village hospital,’ I say. ‘Ah,’ he says, ‘that’s quite a different matter; that’s good of you and generous. I’ll pay it in there for you with pleasure.’ I liked that old fellow, Russian to the core, de la vraie souche. I went home in raptures, but took another road in order to avoid Peter. Immediately on arriving I sent up the bouquet
for Anfisa to see when she awoke.
‘You may imagine her ecstasy, her gratitude. The wretch-ed Platon, who had almost died since yesterday of the reproaches showered upon him, wept on my shoulder. Of course poor Peter had no chance after this.
‘I thought he would cut my throat at first, and went about armed ready to meet him. But he took it differently; he fainted, and had brain fever and convulsions. A month after, when he had hardly recovered, he went off to the Crimea,
and there he was shot.
‘I assure you this business left me no peace for many a long year. Why did I do it? I was not in love with her my-self; I’m afraid it was simply mischief—pure ‘cussedness’ on my part.
‘If I hadn’t seized that bouquet from under his nose he might have been alive now, and a happy man. He might have been successful in life, and never have gone to fight the Turks.’
Totski ended his tale with the same dignity that had characterized its commencement.
Nastasia Philipovna’s eyes were flashing in a most un-mistakable way, now; and her lips were all a-quiver by the time Totski finished his story.
All present watched both of them with curiosity.
‘You were right, Totski,’ said Nastasia, ‘it is a dull game and a stupid one. I’ll just tell my story, as I promised, and then we’ll play cards.’
‘Yes, but let’s have the story first!’ cried the general. ‘Prince,’ said Nastasia Philipovna, unexpectedly turning
to Muishkin, ‘here are my old friends, Totski and Gener-al Epanchin, who wish to marry me off. Tell me what you think. Shall I marry or not? As you decide, so shall it be.’
Totski grew white as a sheet. The general was struck dumb. All present started and listened intently. Gania sat rooted to his chair.
‘Marry whom?’ asked the prince, faintly.
‘Gavrila Ardalionovitch Ivolgin,’ said Nastasia, firmly and evenly.
There were a few seconds of dead silence.
The prince tried to speak, but could not form his words; a great weight seemed to lie upon his breast and suffocate him.
‘N-no! don’t marry him!’ he whispered at last, drawing his breath with an effort.
‘So be it, then. Gavrila Ardalionovitch,’ she spoke sol-emnly and forcibly, ‘you hear the prince’s decision? Take it as my decision; and let that be the end of the matter for good and all.’
‘Nastasia Philipovna!’ cried Totski, in a quaking voice. ‘Nastasia Philipovna!’ said the general, in persuasive but
agitated tones.
Everyone in the room fidgeted in their places, and wait-ed to see what was coming next.
‘Well, gentlemen!’ she continued, gazing around in ap-parent astonishment; ‘what do you all look so alarmed about? Why are you so upset?’
‘But—recollect, Nastasia Philipovna.’ stammered Totski, ‘you gave a promise, quite a free one, and—and you might
have spared us this. I am confused and bewildered, I know; but, in a word, at such a moment, and before company, and all so-so-irregular, finishing off a game with a serious mat-ter like this, a matter of honour, and of heart, and—‘
‘I don’t follow you, Afanasy Ivanovitch; you are losing your head. In the first place, what do you mean by ‘before company’? Isn’t the company good enough for you? And what’s all that about ‘a game’? I wished to tell my little story, and I told it! Don’t you like it? You heard what I said to the
prince? ‘As you decide, so it shall be!’ If he had said ‘yes,’ I should have given my consent! But he said ‘no,’ so I refused. Here was my whole life hanging on his one word! Surely I was serious enough?’
‘The prince! What on earth has the prince got to do with it? Who the deuce is the prince?’ cried the general, who could conceal his wrath no longer.
‘The prince has this to do with it—that I see in him. for the first time in all my life, a man endowed with real truth-fulness of spirit, and I trust him. He trusted me at first sight, and I trust him!’
‘It only remains for me, then, to thank Nastasia Phili-povna for the great delicacy with which she has treated me,’ said Gania, as pale as death, and with quivering lips. ‘That is my plain duty, of course; but the prince—what has he to do in the matter?’
‘I see what you are driving at,’ said Nastasia Philipovna. ‘You imply that the prince is after the seventy-five thou-
sand roubles —I quite understand you. Mr. Totski, I forgot to say, ‘Take your seventy-five thousand roubles’—I don’t want them. I let you go free for nothing take your freedom! You must need it. Nine years and three months’ captivity is enough for anybody. Tomorrow I shall start afresh—today I am a free agent for the first time in my life.
‘General, you must take your pearls back, too—give them to your wife—here they are! Tomorrow I shall leave this flat altogether, and then there’ll be no more of these pleasant little social gatherings, ladies and gentlemen.’
So saying, she scornfully rose from her seat as though
to depart.
‘Nastasia Philipovna! Nastasia Philipovna!’
The words burst involuntarily from every mouth. All present started up in bewildered excitement; all surround-ed her; all had listened uneasily to her wild, disconnected sentences. All felt that something had happened, some-thing had gone very far wrong indeed, but no one could make head or tail of the matter.
At this moment there was a furious ring at the bell, and a great knock at the door—exactly similar to the one which had startled the company at
