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Updated: May 2, 2025
Even among the better part of the audience an absurd whisper began to gain ground that perhaps there would not be a fete at all, that Lembke perhaps was really unwell, and so on and so on. But, thank God, the Lembkes at last appeared, she was leaning on his arm; I must confess I was in great apprehension myself about their appearance. But the legends were disproved, and the truth was triumphant.
I know now that Lyamshin, in his capacity of steward, had arranged this, as though in honour of the Lembkes' entrance. Of course he could always excuse it as a blunder or excessive zeal.... Alas! I did not know at the time that they no longer cared even to find excuses, and that all such considerations were from that day a thing of the past.
At the time I did not understand the expression of her face: why was there so much happiness, such joy, such energy and strength in that face? I remembered what had happened the day before and could not make it out. But still the Lembkes did not come. This was distinctly a blunder.
They waited with too solemn an air which is always a bad sign. But nothing was to be seen yet of the Lembkes. Silks, velvets, diamonds glowed and sparkled on every side; whiffs of fragrance filled the air. The men were wearing all their decorations, and the old men were even in uniform. At last the marshal's wife came in with Liza.
"I've bored you," Pyotr Stepanovitch cried, jumping up suddenly, and snatching his perfectly new round hat as though he were going away. He remained and went on talking, however, though he stood up, sometimes pacing about the room and tapping himself on the knee with his hat at exciting parts of the conversation. "I meant to amuse you with stories of the Lembkes, too," he cried gaily.
Every one could see the happiness in her face. She walked in with an open-hearted air, wearing a magnificent dress. She seemed to be at the very pinnacle of her heart's desires, the fete the goal and crown of her diplomacy was an accomplished fact. As they walked to their seats in front of the platform, the Lembkes bowed in all directions and responded to greetings. They were at once surrounded.
"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."
At last the audience began to manifest unmistakable signs of impatience. No one appeared on the platform either. The back rows began applauding, as in a theatre. The elderly gentlemen and the ladies frowned. "The Lembkes are really giving themselves unbearable airs."
But after the first moments of surprise the most senseless questions and protests followed. "Perhaps we don't care for a reading.... We've paid our money.... The audience has been impudently swindled.... This is our entertainment, not the Lembkes!" They seemed, in fact, to have been let in for this purpose.
I have come to talk to you seriously, quite seriously." "Chere, chere amie!" "Now that all these Von Lembkes and Karmazinovs.... Oh, my goodness, how you have deteriorated!... Oh, my goodness, how you do torment me!... I should have liked these people to feel a respect for you, for they're not worth your little finger but the way you behave!... What will they see? What shall I have to show them?
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