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-a-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.
"Chere 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."