Hm! and instead of a bad action, your excellency has detailed one of your noblest deeds, said Ferdishenko. Ferdishenko is done.
Dear me, general, said Nastasia Philipovna, absently, I really never imagined you had such a good heart.
The general laughed with great satisfaction, and applied himself once more to the champagne.
It was now Totskis turn, and his story was awaited with great curiosity while all eyes turned on Nastasia Philipovna, as though anticipating that his revelation must be connected somehow with her. Nastasia, during the whole of his story, pulled at the lace trimming of her sleeve, and never once glanced at the speaker. Totski was a handsome man, rather stout, with a very polite and dignified manner. He was always well dressed, and his linen was exquisite. He had plump white hands, and wore a magnificent diamond ring on one finger.
What simplifies the duty before me considerably, in my opinion, he began, is that I am bound to recall and relate the very worst action of my life. In such circumstances there can, of course, be no doubt. Ones conscience very soon informs one what is the proper narrative to tell. I admit, that among the many silly and thoughtless actions of my life, the memory of one comes prominently forward and reminds me that it lay long like a stone on my heart. Some twenty years since, I paid a visit to Platon Ordintzeff at his country-house. He had just been elected marshal of the nobility, and had come there with his young wife for the winter holidays. Anfisa Alexeyevnas birthday came off just then, too, and there were two balls arranged. At that time Dumas-fils beautiful work, La Dame aux Camelias a novel which I consider imperishable had just come into fashion. In the provinces all the ladies were in raptures over it, those who had read it, at least. Camellias were all the fashion. Everyone inquired for them, everybody wanted them; and a grand lot of camellias are to be got in a country town as you all know and two balls to provide for!
What simplifies the duty before me considerably, in my opinion, he began, is that I am bound to recall and relate the very worst action of my life. In such circumstances there can, of course, be no doubt. Ones conscience very soon informs one what is the proper narrative to tell. I admit, that among the many silly and thoughtless actions of my life, the memory of one comes prominently forward and reminds me that it lay long like a stone on my heart. Some twenty years since, I paid a visit to Platon Ordintzeff at his country-house. He had just been elected marshal of the nobility, and had come there with his young wife for the winter holidays. Anfisa Alexeyevnas birthday came off just then, too, and there were two balls arranged. At that time Dumas-fils beautiful work, La Dame aux Camelias a novel which I consider imperishable had just come into fashion. In the provinces all the ladies were in raptures over it, those who had read it, at least. Camellias were all the fashion. Everyone inquired for them, everybody wanted them; and a grand lot of camellias are to be got in a country town as you all know and two balls to provide for!
Poor Peter Volhofskoi was desperately in love with Anfisa Alexeyevna. I dont know whether there was anything I mean I dont know whether he could possibly have indulged 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 camellia bouquets. Anfisa wished for red ones, for effect. Well, her husband Platon was driven desperate to find some. And the day before the ball, Anfisas rival snapped up the only red camellias to be had in the place, from under Platons nose, and Platon wretched man was done for. Now if Peter had only been able to step in at this moment with a red bouquet, his little hopes might have made gigantic strides. A womans 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. Ive found them, Eureka! No! where, where? At Ekshaisk (a little town fifteen miles off) theres a rich old merchant, who keeps a lot of canaries, has no children, and he and his wife are devoted to flowers. Hes got some camellias. And what if he wont let you have them? Ill go on my knees and implore till I get them. I wont go away. When shall you start? tomorrow morning at five oclock. 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 dont 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 Trepalafs.
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 wont. Down I went on my knees. dont say so, dont think what youre doing! I cried; its a matter of life and death! If thats 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 hundred roubles. No, no! says he, dont insult me that way. Oh, if thats the case, give it to the village hospital, I say. Ah, he says, thats quite a different matter; thats good of you and generous. Ill 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.