My first love (Completed)✔️

chapter 16

After dinner the usual party assembled again at the lodge, and the young princess came out to them. All were there in full force, just as on that first evening which I never forgot; even Nirmatsky had limped to see her; Meidanov came this time earliest of all, he brought some new verses. The games of forfeits began again, but without the strange pranks, the practical jokes and noise – the gipsy element had vanished. Zinaïda gave a different tone to the proceedings. I sat beside her by virtue of my office as page. Among other things, she proposed that any one who had to pay a forfeit should tell his dream; but this was not successful. The dreams were either uninteresting (Byelovzorov had dreamed that he fed his mare on carp, and that she had a wooden head), or unnatural and invented. Meidanov regaled us with a regular romance; there were sepulchres in it, and angels with lyres, and talking flowers and music wafted from afar. Zinaïda did not let him finish. ‘If we are to have compositions,’ she said, ‘let every one tell something made up, and no pretence about it.’ The first who had to speak was again

Byelovzorov.

The young hussar was confused. ‘I can’t make up anything!’ he cried.

‘What nonsense!’ said Zinaïda. ‘Well, imagine, for instance, you are married, and tell us how you would treat your wife.

Would you lock her up?’

‘Yes, I should lock her up.’

‘And would you stay with her yourself?’

‘Yes, I should certainly stay with her myself.’

‘Very good. Well, but if she got sick of that, and she deceived you?’

‘I should kill her.’

‘And if she ran away?’

‘I should catch her up and kill her all the same.’

‘Oh. And suppose now I were your wife, what would you do then?’

Byelovzorov was silent a minute. ‘I should kill myself… .’

Zinaïda laughed. ‘I see yours is not a long story.’

The next forfeit was Zinaïda’s. She looked at the ceiling and considered. ‘Well, listen, she began at last, ‘what I have thought of… . Picture to yourselves a magnificent palace, a summer night, and a marvellous ball. This ball is given by a young queen. Everywhere gold and marble, crystal, silk, lights, diamonds, flowers, fragrant scents, every caprice of luxury.’

‘You love luxury?’ Lushin interposed. ‘Luxury is beautiful,’ she retorted; ‘I love everything beautiful.’ ‘More than what is noble?’ he asked.

‘That’s something clever, I don’t understand it. Don’t interrupt me. So the ball is magnificent. There are crowds of guests, all of them are young, handsome, and brave, all are frantically in love with the queen.’

‘Are there no women among the guests?’ queried Malevsky.

‘No – or wait a minute – yes, there are some.’ ‘Are they all ugly?’

‘No, charming. But the men are all in love with the queen. She is tall and graceful; she has a little gold diadem on her black hair.’

I looked at Zinaïda, and at that instant she seemed to me so much above all of us, there was such bright intelligence, and such power about her unruffled brows, that I thought: ‘You are that queen!’

‘They all throng about her,’ Zinaïda went on, ‘and all lavish the most flattering speeches upon her.’

‘And she likes flattery?’ Lushin queried.