The possessed or, The devils
to the very last moment, even that morning she would have repudiated any
hint about his health with genuine indignation. But now her eyes were
to be opened on this subject too. As for me, I thought from the first
glance that Andrey Antonovitch looked worse than he had done in the
morning. He seemed to be plunged into a sort of oblivion and hardly
to know where he was. Sometimes he looked about him with unexpected
severity--at me, for instance, twice. Once he tried to say something;
he began loudly and audibly but did not finish the sentence, throwing
a modest old clerk who happened to be near him almost into a panic. But
even this humble section of the assembly held sullenly and timidly
aloof from Yulia Mihailovna and at the same time turned upon her husband
exceedingly strange glances, open and staring, quite out of keeping with
their habitually submissive demeanour.
"Yes, that struck me, and I suddenly began to guess about Andrey
Antonovitch," Yulia Mihailovna confessed to me afterwards.
Yes, she was to blame again! Probably when after my departure she had
settled with Pyotr Stepanovitch that there should be a ball and that
she should be present she must have gone again to the study where Andrey
Antonovitch was sitting, utterly "shattered" by the matinée; must again
have used all her fascinations to persuade him to come with her. But
what misery she must have been in now! And yet she did not go away.
Whether it was pride or simply she lost her head, I do not know. In
spite of her haughtiness, she attempted with smiles and humiliation
to enter into conversation with some ladies, but they were confused,
confined themselves to distrustful monosyllables, "Yes" and "No," and
evidently avoided her.
The only person of undoubted consequence who was present at the ball was
that distinguished general whom I have described already, the one who
after Stavrogin's duel with Gaganov opened the door to public impatience
at the marshal's wife's. He walked with an air of dignity through the
rooms, looked about, and listened, and tried to appear as though he had
come rather for the sake of observation than for the sake of enjoying
himself.... He ended by establishing himself beside Yulia Mihailovna
and not moving a step away from her, evidently trying to keep up her
spirits, and reassure her. He certainly was a most kind-hearted man,
of very high rank, and so old that even compassion from him was not
wounding. But to admit to herself that this old gossip was venturing to
pity her and almost to protect her, knowing that he was doing her honour
by his presence, was very vexatious. The general stayed by her and never
ceased chattering.
"They say a town can't go on without seven righteous men... seven, I
think it is, I am not sure of the number fixed.... I don't know how many
of these seven, the certified righteous of the town... have the honour
of being present at your ball. Yet in spite of their presence I begin
to feel unsafe. _Vous me pardonnez, charmante dame, n'est-ce pas?_ I speak
allegorically, but I went into the refreshment-room and I am glad I
escaped alive.... Our priceless Prohoritch is not in his place there,
and I believe his bar will be destroyed before morning. But I am
laughing. I am only waiting to see what the 'literary quadrille' is
going to be like, and then home to bed. You must excuse a gouty old
fellow. I go early to bed, and I would advise you too to go 'by-by,' as
they say _aux enfants._ I've come, you know, to have a look at the pretty
girls... whom, of course, I could meet nowhere in such profusion as
here. They all live beyond the river and I don't drive out so far.
There's a wife of an officer... in the chasseurs I believe he is...
who is distinctly pretty, distinctly, and... she knows it herself. I've
talked to the sly puss; she is a sprightly one... and the girls too are
fresh-looking; but that's all, there's nothing but freshness. Still,
it's a pleasure to look at them. There are some rosebuds, but their
lips are thick. As a rule there's an irregularity about female beauty
in Russia, and... they are a little like buns.... _vous me pardonnez,
n'est-ce pas?_... with good eyes, however, laughing eyes.... These
rose buds are charming for two years when they are young... even for
three... then they broaden out and are spoilt forever... producing
in their husbands that deplorable indifference which does so much to
promote the woman movement... that is, if I understand it correctly....
H'm! It's a fine hall; the rooms are not badly decorated. It might be
worse. The music might be much worse.... I don't say it ought to have
been. What makes a bad impression is that there are so few ladies. I say
nothing about the dresses. It's bad that that chap in the grey trousers
should dare to dance the cancan so openly. I can forgive him if he does
it in the gaiety of his heart, and since he is the local chemist....
Still, eleven o'clock is a bit early even for chemists. There were two
fellows fighting in the refreshment-bar and they weren't turned out. At
eleven o'clock people ought to be turned out for fighting, whatever the
standard of manners.... Three o'clock is a different matter; then one
has to make concessions to public opinion--if only this ball survives
till three o'clock. Varvara Petrovna has not kept her word, though, and
hasn't sent flowers. H'm! She has no thoughts for flowers, _pauvre mère!_
And poor Liza! Have you heard? They say it's a mysterious story...
and Stavrogin is to the front again.... H'm! I would have gone home
to bed... I can hardly keep my eyes open. But when is this 'literary
quadrille' coming on?"
At last the "literary quadrille" began. Whenever of late there had been
conversation in the town on the ball it had invariably turned on this
literary quadrille, and as no one could imagine what it would be like,
it aroused extraordinary curiosity. Nothing could be more unfavourable
to its chance of success, and great was the disappointment.
The side doors of the White Hall were thrown open and several masked
figures appeared. The public surrounded them eagerly. All the occupants
of the refreshment-bar trooped to the last man into the hall. The masked
figures took their places for the dance. I succeeded in making my way to
the front and installed myself just behind Yulia Mihailovna, Von Lembke,
and the general. At this point Pyotr Stepanovitch, who had kept away
till that time, skipped up to Yulia Mihailovna.
"I've been in the refreshment-room all this time, watching," he
whispered, with the air of a guilty schoolboy, which he, however,
assumed on purpose to irritate her even more. She turned crimson with
anger.
"You might give up trying to deceive me now at least, insolent man!"
broke from her almost aloud, so that it was heard by other people. Pyotr
Stepanovitch skipped away extremely well satisfied with himself.
It would be difficult to imagine a more pitiful, vulgar, dull and
insipid allegory than this "literary quadrille." Nothing could be
imagined less appropriate to our local society. Yet they say it was
Karmazinov's idea. It was Liputin indeed who arranged it with the help
of the lame teacher who had been at the meeting at Virginsky's. But
Karmazinov had given the idea and had, it was said, meant to dress up
and to take a special and prominent part in it. The quadrille was
made up of six couples of masked figures, who were not in fancy dress
exactly, for their clothes were like every one else's. Thus, for
instance, one short and elderly gentleman wearing a dress-coat--in fact,
dressed like every one else--wore a venerable grey beard, tied on (and this
constituted his disguise). As he danced he pounded up and down, taking
tiny and rapid steps on the same spot with a stolid expression of
countenance. He gave vent to sounds in a subdued but husky bass, and
this huskiness was meant to suggest one of the well-known papers.
Opposite this figure danced two giants, X and Z, and these letters were
pinned on their coats, but what the letters meant remained unexplained.
"Honest Russian thought" was represented by a middle-aged gentleman in
spectacles, dress-coat and gloves, and wearing fetters (real fetters).
Under his arm he had a portfolio containing papers relating to some
"case." To convince the sceptical, a letter from abroad testifying to
the honesty of "honest Russian thought" peeped out of his pocket. All
this was explained by the stewards, as the letter which peeped out of
his pocket could not be read. "Honest Russian thought" had his right
hand raised and in it held a glass as though he wanted to propose a
toast. In a line with him on each side tripped a crop-headed Nihilist
girl; while _vis-à-vis_ danced another elderly gentleman in a dress-coat
with a heavy cudgel in his hand. He was meant to represent a formidable
periodical (not a Petersburg one), and seemed to be saying, "I'll
pound you to a jelly." But in spite of his cudgel he could not bear the
spectacles of "honest Russian thought" fixed upon him and tried to look
away, and when he did the _pas de deux,_ he twisted, turned, and did not
know what to do with himself--so terrible, probably, were the stings
of his conscience! I don't remember all the absurd tricks they played,
however; it was all in the same style, so that I felt at last painfully
ashamed. And this same expression, as it were, of shame was reflected in
the whole public, even on the most sullen figures that had come out of
the refreshment-room. For some time all were silent and gazed with angry
perplexity. When a man is ashamed he generally begins to get angry and
is disposed to be cynical. By degrees a murmur arose in the audience.
"What's the meaning of it?" a man who had come in from the
refreshment-room muttered in one of the groups.
"It's silly."
"It's something literary. It's a criticism of the _Voice_."
"What's that to me?"
From another group:
"Asses!"
"No, they are not asses; it's we who are the asses."
"Why are you an ass?"
"I am not an ass."
"Well, if you are not, I am certainly not."
From a third group:
"We ought to give them a good smacking and send them flying."
"Pull down the hall!"
From a fourth group:
"I wonder the Lembkes are not ashamed to look on!"
"Why should they be ashamed? You are not."
"Yes, I am ashamed, and he is the governor."
"And you are a pig."
"I've never seen such a commonplace ball in my life," a lady observed
viciously, quite close to Yulia Mihailovna, obviously with the intention
of being overheard. She was a stout lady of forty with rouge on her
cheeks, wearing a bright-coloured silk dress. Almost every one in the
town knew her, but no one received her. She was the widow of a civil
councillor, who had left her a wooden house and a small pension; but
she lived well and kept horses. Two months previously she had called on
Yulia Mihailovna, but the latter had not received her.
"That might have been foreseen," she added, looking insolently into
Yulia Mihailovna's face.
"If you could foresee it, why did you come?" Yulia Mihailovna could not
resist saying.
"Because I was too simple," the sprightly lady answered instantly, up in
arms and eager for the fray; but the general intervened.
_"Chère dame"_--he bent over to Yulia Mihailovna--"you'd really better be
going. We are only in their way and they'll enjoy themselves thoroughly
without us. You've done your part, you've opened the ball, now leave
them in peace. And Andrey Antonovitch doesn't seem to be feeling quite
satisfactorily.... To avoid trouble."
But it was too late.
All through the quadrille Andrey Antonovitch gazed at the dancers with a
sort of angry perplexity, and when he heard the comments of the audience
he began looking about him uneasily. Then for the first time he caught