The possessed or, The devils
were setting the thing going; there was a rumour that Karmazinov had
consented to increase the subscriptions to the fund by reading his _Merci_
in the costume of the governesses of the district; that there would be
a literary quadrille all in costume, and every costume would symbolise
some special line of thought; and finally that "honest Russian thought"
would dance in costume--which would certainly be a complete novelty in
itself. Who could resist subscribing? Every one subscribed.
II
The programme of the fête was divided into two parts: the literary
matinée from midday till four o'clock, and afterwards a ball from ten
o'clock onwards through the night. But in this very programme there lay
concealed germs of disorder. In the first place, from the very beginning
a rumour had gained ground among the public concerning a luncheon
immediately after the literary matinée, or even while it was going
on, during an interval arranged expressly for it--a free luncheon, of
course, which would form part of the programme and be accompanied by
champagne. The immense price of the tickets (three roubles) tended to
confirm this rumour. "As though one would subscribe for nothing? The
fête is arranged for twenty-four hours, so food must be provided. People
will get hungry." This was how people reasoned in the town. I must admit
that Yulia Mihailovna did much to confirm this disastrous rumour by her
own heedlessness. A month earlier, under the first spell of the great
project, she would babble about it to anyone she met; and even sent a
paragraph to one of the Petersburg papers about the toasts and speeches
arranged for her fête. What fascinated her most at that time was
the idea of these toasts; she wanted to propose them herself and was
continually composing them in anticipation. They were to make clear what
was their banner (what was it? I don't mind betting that the poor dear
composed nothing after all), they were to get into the Petersburg and
Moscow papers, to touch and fascinate the higher powers and then to
spread the idea over all the provinces of Russia, rousing people to
wonder and imitation.
But for toasts, champagne was essential, and as champagne can't be
drunk on an empty stomach, it followed that a lunch was essential too.
Afterwards, when by her efforts a committee had been formed and had
attacked the subject more seriously, it was proved clearly to her at
once that if they were going to dream of banquets there would be very
little left for the governesses, however well people subscribed. There
were two ways out of the difficulty: either Belshazzar's feast with
toasts and speeches, and ninety roubles for the governesses, or a
considerable sum of money with the fête only as a matter of form to
raise it. The committee, however, only wanted to scare her, and had of
course worked out a third course of action, which was reasonable and
combined the advantages of both, that is, a very decent fête in every
respect only without champagne, and so yielding a very respectable sum,
much more than ninety roubles. But Yulia Mihailovna would not agree to
it: her proud spirit revolted from paltry compromise. She decided at
once that if the original idea could not be carried out they should rush
to the opposite extreme, that is, raise an enormous subscription that
would be the envy of other provinces. "The public must understand,"
she said at the end of her flaming speech to the committee, "that
the attainment of an object of universal human interest is infinitely
loftier than the corporeal enjoyments of the passing moment, that the
fête in its essence is only the proclamation of a great idea, and so we
ought to be content with the most frugal German ball simply as a symbol,
that is, if we can't dispense with this detestable ball altogether,"
so great was the aversion she suddenly conceived for it. But she was
pacified at last. It was then that "the literary quadrille" and the
other æsthetic items were invented and proposed as substitutes for the
corporeal enjoyments. It was then that Karmazinov finally consented to
read _Merci_ (until then he had only tantalised them by his hesitation) and
so eradicate the very idea of victuals from the minds of our incontinent
public. So the ball was once more to be a magnificent function, though
in a different style. And not to be too ethereal it was decided that tea
with lemon and round biscuits should be served at the beginning of the
ball, and later on "orchade" and lemonade and at the end even ices--but
nothing else. For those who always and everywhere are hungry and, still
more, thirsty, they might open a buffet in the farthest of the suite of
rooms and put it in charge of Prohorovitch, the head cook of the club,
who would, subject to the strict supervision of the committee, serve
whatever was wanted, at a fixed charge, and a notice should be put up
on the door of the hall that refreshments were extra. But on the morning
they decided not to open the buffet at all for fear of disturbing the
reading, though the buffet would have been five rooms off the White Hall
in which Karmazinov had consented to read _Merci._
It is remarkable that the committee, and even the most practical people
in it, attached enormous consequence to this reading. As for people
of poetical tendencies, the marshal's wife, for instance, informed
Karmazinov that after the reading she would immediately order a marble
slab to be put up in the wall of the White Hall with an inscription
in gold letters, that on such a day and year, here, in this place, the
great writer of Russia and of Europe had read _Merci_ on laying aside his
pen, and so had for the first time taken leave of the Russian public
represented by the leading citizens of our town, and that this
inscription would be read by all at the ball, that is, only five hours
after _Merci_ had been read. I know for a fact that Karmazinov it was who
insisted that there should be no buffet in the morning on any account,
while he was reading, in spite of some protests from members of the
committee that this was rather opposed to our way of doing things.
This was the position of affairs, while in the town people were still
reckoning on a Belshazzar feast, that is, on refreshments provided by
the committee; they believed in this to the last hour. Even the young
ladies were dreaming of masses of sweets and preserves, and something
more beyond their imagination. Every one knew that the subscriptions had
reached a huge sum, that all the town was struggling to go, that people
were driving in from the surrounding districts, and that there were
not tickets enough. It was known, too, that there had been some large
subscriptions apart from the price paid for tickets: Varvara Petrovna,
for instance, had paid three hundred roubles for her ticket and had
given almost all the flowers from her conservatory to decorate the room.
The marshal's wife, who was a member of the committee, provided the
house and the lighting; the club furnished the music, the attendants,
and gave up Prohorovitch for the whole day. There were other
contributions as well, though lesser ones, so much so indeed that the
idea was mooted of cutting down the price of tickets from three roubles
to two. Indeed, the committee were afraid at first that three roubles
would be too much for young ladies to pay, and suggested that they might
have family tickets, so that every family should pay for one daughter
only, while the other young ladies of the family, even if there were a
dozen specimens, should be admitted free. But all their apprehensions
turned out to be groundless: it was just the young ladies who did come.
Even the poorest clerks brought their girls, and it was quite evident
that if they had had no girls it would never have occurred to them to
subscribe for tickets. One insignificant little secretary brought all
his seven daughters, to say nothing of his wife and a niece into the
bargain, and every one of these persons held in her hand an entrance
ticket that cost three roubles.
It may be imagined what an upheaval it made in the town! One has only to
remember that as the fête was divided into two parts every lady needed
two costumes for the occasion--a morning one for the matinée and a
ball dress for the evening. Many middle-class people, as it appeared
afterwards, had pawned everything they had for that day, even the family
linen, even the sheets, and possibly the mattresses, to the Jews, who
had been settling in our town in great numbers during the previous two
years and who became more and more numerous as time went on. Almost all
the officials had asked for their salary in advance, and some of the
landowners sold beasts they could ill spare, and all simply to bring
their ladies got up as marchionesses, and to be as good as anybody. The
magnificence of dresses on this occasion was something unheard of in our
neighbourhood. For a fortnight beforehand the town was overflowing with
funny stories which were all brought by our wits to Yulia Mihailovna's
court. Caricatures were passed from hand to hand. I have seen some
drawings of the sort myself, in Yulia Mihailovna's album. All this
reached the ears of the families who were the source of the jokes; I
believe this was the cause of the general hatred of Yulia Mihailovna
which had grown so strong in the town. People swear and gnash their
teeth when they think of it now. But it was evident, even at the time,
that if the committee were to displease them in anything, or if anything
went wrong at the ball, the outburst of indignation would be something
surprising. That's why every one was secretly expecting a scandal; and
if it was so confidently expected, how could it fail to come to pass?
The orchestra struck up punctually at midday. Being one of the stewards,
that is, one of the twelve "young men with a rosette," I saw with my own
eyes how this day of ignominious memory began. It began with an enormous
crush at the doors. How was it that everything, including the police,
went wrong that day? I don't blame the genuine public: the fathers of
families did not crowd, nor did they push against anyone, in spite of
their position. On the contrary, I am told that they were disconcerted
even in the street, at the sight of the crowd shoving in a way unheard
of in our town, besieging the entry and taking it by assault, instead
of simply going in. Meanwhile the carriages kept driving up, and at last
blocked the street. Now, at the time I write, I have good grounds for
affirming that some of the lowest rabble of our town were brought in
without tickets by Lyamshin and Liputin, possibly, too, by other people
who were stewards like me. Anyway, some complete strangers, who had come
from the surrounding districts and elsewhere, were present. As soon as
these savages entered the hall they began asking where the buffet was,
as though they had been put up to it beforehand, and learning that
there was no buffet they began swearing with brutal directness, and an
unprecedented insolence; some of them, it is true, were drunk when they
came. Some of them were dazed like savages at the splendour of the
hall, as they had never seen anything like it, and subsided for a minute
gazing at it open-mouthed. This great White Hall really was magnificent,
though the building was falling into decay: it was of immense size, with
two rows of windows, with an old-fashioned ceiling covered with gilt
carving, with a gallery with mirrors on the walls, red and white
draperies, marble statues (nondescript but still statues) with heavy old
furniture of the Napoleonic period, white and gold, upholstered in red
velvet. At the moment I am describing, a high platform had been put
up for the literary gentlemen who were to read, and the whole hall was