I ask you: can one get many camellias in the provinces, when everyone demands them for balls, even though the balls are few?
Petya Vorkhovskoy, poor fellow, was then pining away for Anfisa Alexeevna.
I really don't know if there was anything between them, that is, I mean to say, whether he could have had any serious hopes.
The poor man lost his mind over getting camellias for Anfisa Alexeevna by the evening of the ball.
Countess Sotsky, from Petersburg, a guest of the governor's wife, and Sofya Bespalov, as became known, were certain to come with bouquets of white ones.
Anfisa Alexeevna, for the sake of some special effect, wanted red ones.
Poor Platon nearly broke down; a husband, you know; he promised to get the bouquet, and—what then?
It was snapped up the day before by Mytishchev, Katerina Alexandrovna, a fierce rival of Anfisa Alexeevna's in everything. They were at daggers drawn.
Naturally, there were hysterics, fainting fits.
Platon was lost.
It was clear that if Petya could, at this interesting moment, procure a bouquet somewhere, his affairs would improve greatly; a woman's gratitude on such occasions knows no bounds.
He rushes about like crazy; but it's an impossible thing, no use talking about it.
Suddenly I run into him at eleven in the evening, the night before the birthday and the ball, at Marya Petrovna Zubkov's, a neighbor of the Ordyntsevs.
He's beaming.
'What's with you?'
'I found it.
Eureka!'
'Well, brother, you surprise me!
Where?
How?'
'In Ekshaisk' (a little town there, only fifteen miles away, and not in our district), 'there's a merchant named Trepalov there, bearded and rich, lives with his old wife, and no children, just canaries.
They both have a passion for flowers, and he's got camellias.'
'Good heavens, there's no certainty there, what if he doesn't give you any?'
'I'll kneel down and grovel at his feet until he does, otherwise I won't leave!'
'When are you going?'
'Tomorrow at daybreak, five o'clock.'
'Well, God be with you!' And I'm so glad for him, you know; I go back to Ordyntsev's; finally, it's past one in the morning and I'm still like this, you know, in a reverie.
I was about to go to bed when a most original idea suddenly occurred to me!
I immediately make my way to the kitchen, wake up the coachman Savely, give him fifteen roubles, 'have the horses ready in half an hour!'
Half an hour later, naturally, the dogcart is at the gate; Anfisa Alexeevna, I'm told, has migraine, fever, and delirium—I get in and go.
Before five o'clock I'm in Ekshaisk, at the inn; I wait till daybreak, but only till daybreak; just past six I'm at Trepalov's.
'Thus and so, have you got any camellias?
My dear, my heart and soul, help me, save me, I bow down at your feet!'
The old man, I see, is tall, gray-haired, stern—a fearsome old man.
'No, no, never!
I won't.'
I flop down at his feet!
I sprawl there like that!
'What's wrong, my dear man, what's wrong?' He even got frightened.
'It's a matter of a human life!' I shout to him.
'Take them, then, and God be with you.'
What a lot of red camellias I cut! Wonderful, lovely—he had a whole little hothouse there.
The old man sighs.
I take out a hundred roubles.
'No, my dear man, kindly do not offend me in this manner.'
'In that case, my esteemed sir,' I say, 'give the hundred roubles to the local hospital, for the improvement of conditions and food.'
'Now that, my dear man, is another matter,' he says, 'good, noble, and pleasing to God. I'll give it for the sake of your health.'
And, you know, I liked him, this Russian old man, Russian to the root, so to speak, de la vraie souche* Delighted with my success, I immediately set out on the way back; we made a detour to avoid meeting Petya.
As soon as I arrived, I sent the bouquet in to Anfisa Alexeevna, who was just waking up.
You can imagine the rapture, the gratitude, the tears of gratitude!