"Granted.
But it's surely not possible that you told it so that it resembled the truth and people believed you?
And Gavrila Ardalionovich observed very correctly that it only needs to ring slightly false and the whole notion of the game is lost.
Truth is then possible only accidentally, through a special sort of boasting mood in the very worst tone, which is unthinkable and quite improper here."
"Ah, what an extraordinarily subtle man you are, Afanasy Ivanovich! I even marvel at it!" cried Ferdyshchenko. "Just imagine, ladies and gentlemen, with his observation that I couldn't tell the story of my theft so that it resembled the truth, Afanasy Ivanovich has hinted in the subtlest fashion that in reality I also couldn't have stolen (because it's indecent to speak of it publicly), though it may be that in himself he's quite certain that Ferdyshchenko might very well steal!
But to business, gentlemen, to business, the lots are all here, and even you, Afanasy Ivanovich, have put yours in, so nobody has refused.
Draw the lots, Prince!"
The prince silently put his hand into the hat and took out the first lot—Ferdyshchenko's, the second—Ptitsyn's, the third— the general's, the fourth—Afanasy Ivanovich's, the fifth—his own, the sixth—Ganya's, and so on.
The ladies had not put in any lots.
"Oh, God, how unlucky!" cried Ferdyshchenko. "And I thought the first turn would go to the prince and the second to the general.
But, thank God, at least Ivan Petrovich comes after me, and I'll be rewarded.
Well, ladies and gentlemen, of course it's my duty to set a noble example, but I regret most of all at the present moment that I'm so insignificant and in no way remarkable; even my rank is the lowest of the low. Well, what indeed is so interesting about Ferdyshchenko's having done something nasty?
And what is the worst thing I've done?
Here we have an embarras de richesse* Maybe I should tell about that same theft again, to convince Afanasy Ivanovich that one can steal without being a thief."
"You also convince me, Mr. Ferdyshchenko, that it is indeed possible to feel an intoxicating pleasure in recounting one's foul deeds, though one has not even been asked about them . . . But anyhow . . . Excuse me, Mr. Ferdyshchenko."
"Begin, Ferdyshchenko, you produce a terrible amount of superfluous babble and can never finish!" Nastasya Filippovna ordered irritably and impatiently. * Embarrassment of riches.
They all noticed that, after her latest fit of laughter, she had suddenly become sullen, peevish, and irritable; nevertheless she insisted stubbornly and despotically on her impossible whim.
Afanasy Ivanovich was suffering terribly.
He was also furious with Ivan Fyodorovich: the man sat over his champagne as if nothing was happening, and was perhaps even planning to tell something when his turn came.
XIV
"I'm not witty, Nastasya Filippovna, that's why I babble superfluously!" Ferdyshchenko cried, beginning his story. "If I were as witty as Afanasy Ivanovich or Ivan Petrovich, I'd be sitting quietly this evening like Afanasy Ivanovich and Ivan Petrovich.
Prince, allow me to ask what you think, because it seems to me that there are many more thieves than nonthieves in the world, and that there does not even exist such an honest man as has not stolen something at least once in his life.
That is my thought, from which, however, I by no means conclude that everyone to a man is a thief, though, by God, I'd sometimes like terribly much to draw that conclusion.
What do you think?"
"Pah, what stupid talk," responded Darya Alexeevna, "and what nonsense! It can't be that everyone has stolen something. I've never stolen anything."
"You've never stolen anything, Darya Alexeevna; but what will the prince say, who has so suddenly blushed all over?"
"It seems to me that what you say is true, only it's greatly exaggerated," said the prince, who was indeed blushing for some reason.
"And you yourself, Prince, have you ever stolen anything?"
"Pah! how ridiculous!
Come to your senses, Mr. Ferdyshchenko," the general stepped in.
"It's quite simply that you're ashamed, now that you have to tell your story, and you want to drag the prince in with you because he's so unprotesting," Darya Alexeevna declared.
"Ferdyshchenko, either tell your story or be quiet and mind your own business.
You exhaust all my patience," Nastasya Filippovna said sharply and vexedly.
"This minute, Nastasya Filippovna; but if even the prince admits it, for I maintain that what the prince has said is tantamount to an admission, then what, for instance, would someone else say (naming no names) if he ever wanted to tell the truth?
As far as I'm concerned, ladies and gentlemen, there isn't much more to tell: it's very simple, and stupid, and nasty.
But I assure you that I'm not a thief; I stole who knows how.
It was two years ago, in Semyon Ivanovich Ishchenko's country house, on a Sunday.
He had guests for dinner.
After dinner the men sat over the wine.
I had the idea of asking Marya Semyonovna, his daughter, a young lady, to play something on the piano.
I passed through the corner room, there was a green three-rouble note lying on Marya Ivanovna's worktable: she had taken it out to pay some household expenses.
Not a living soul in the room.
I took the note and put it in my pocket, why— I don't know.
I don't understand what came over me.
Only I quickly went back and sat down at the table.
I sat and waited in rather great excitement; I talked nonstop, told jokes, laughed; then I went to sit with the ladies.
About half an hour later they found it missing and began questioning the maidservants.
Suspicion fell on the maid Darya.
I showed extraordinary curiosity and concern, and I even remember that, when Darya was completely at a loss, I began persuading her to confess her guilt, betting my life on Marya Ivanovna's kindness—and that aloud, in front of everybody.
Everybody was looking, and I felt an extraordinary pleasure precisely because I was preaching while the note was in my pocket.