The Idiot quotes

… while still a lieutenant, his wife being a girl of about his own age, who possessed neither beauty nor education, and who brought him no more than fifty souls of landed property, which little estate served, however, as a nest-egg for far more important accumulations.

The general never regretted his early marriage, or regarded it as a foolish youthful escapade; and he so respected and feared his wife that he was very near loving her.

Mrs. Epanchin came of the princely stock of Muishkin, which if not a brilliant, was, at all events, a decidedly ancient family; and she was extremely proud of her descent.

You may place a soldier before a cannon’s mouth in battle, and fire upon him—and he will still hope.

But read to that same soldier his death-sentence, and he will either go mad or burst into tears.

Who dares to say that any man can suffer this without going mad? No, no! it is an abuse, a shame, it is unnecessary—why should such a thing exist?

You may place a soldier before a cannon’s mouth in battle, and fire upon him—and he will still hope. But read to that same soldier his death-sentence, and he will either go mad or burst into tears.

Who dares to say that any man can suffer this without going mad?

No, no! it is an abuse, a shame, it is unnecessary—why should such a thing exist? Doubtless there may be men who have been sentenced, who have suffered this mental anguish for a while and then have been reprieved;

but I feel it so deeply that I’ll tell you what I think. I believe that to execute a man for murder is to punish him immeasurably more dreadfully than is equivalent to his crime.

A murder by sentence is far more dreadful than a murder committed by a criminal.

The man who is attacked by robbers at night, in a dark wood, or anywhere, undoubtedly hopes and hopes that he may yet escape until the very moment of his death.

He tried to tempt her in various ways to lose her heart; he invited princes, hussars, secretaries of embassies, poets, novelists, even Socialists, to see her; but not one of them all made the faintest impression upon Nastasia.

It was as though she had a pebble in place of a heart, as though her feelings and affections were dried up and withered forever.

She lived almost entirely alone; she read, she studied, she loved music. Her principal acquaintances were poor women of various grades, a couple of actresses, and the family of a poor schoolteacher. Among these people she was much beloved.

“Let’s all go to my boudoir,” she said, “and they shall bring some coffee in there. That’s the room where we all assemble and busy ourselves as we like best,” she explained. “Alexandra, my eldest, here, plays the piano, or reads or sews;

Adelaida paints landscapes and portraits (but never finishes any); and Aglaya sits and does nothing.

I don’t work too much, either. Here we are, now; sit down, prince, near the fire and talk to us. I want to hear you relate something. I wish to make sure of you first and then tell my old friend, Princess Bielokonski, about you.

“A donkey? How strange! Yet it is not strange.

Anyone of us might fall in love with a donkey! It happened in mythological times,

” said Madame Epanchin, looking wrathfully at her daughters, who had begun to laugh. “Go on, prince.”

“Oh, why shouldn’t they laugh?” said the prince. “I shouldn’t have let the chance go by in their place, I know.

But I stick up for the donkey, all the same; he’s a patient, good-natured fellow.

”

“I am kind myself, and always kind too, if you please!” she retorted, unexpectedly; “and that is my chief fault, for one ought not to be always kind. I am often angry with these girls and their father; but the worst of it is,

I am always kindest when I am cross.

I was very angry just before you came, and Aglaya there read me a lesson—thanks, Aglaya, dear—come and kiss me—there—that’s enough,” she added, as Aglaya came forward and kissed her lips and then her hand. “Now then, go on, prince.

“Nonsense, what rubbish you talk!” the mother struck in. “

Not know how to see! Open your eyes and look! If you can’t see here, you won’t see abroad either.

Tell us what you saw yourself, prince!”

“I have not been in love,” said the prince, as quietly and seriously as before. “

I have been happy in another way.

”

Children are capable of giving advice in the most important matters. How can one deceive these dear little birds, when they look at one so sweetly and confidingly?

I call them birds because there is nothing in the world better than birds!

“However, most of the people were angry with me about one and the same thing; but Thibaut simply was jealous of me.

“How he could hate me and tell scandalous stories about me, living among children as he did, is what I cannot understand.

Children soothe and heal the wounded heart.

I remember there was one poor fellow at our professor’s who was being treated for madness, and you have no idea what those children did for him, eventually. I don’t think he was mad, but only terribly unhappy.

more cannot be asked of me. People may consider me a child if they like. I am often called an idiot, and at one time I certainly was so ill that I was nearly as bad as an idiot; but

I am not an idiot now. How can I possibly be so when I know myself that I am considered one?

“When I received a letter from those dear little souls, while passing through Berlin, I only then realized how much I loved them. It was very, very painful, getting that first little letter. How melancholy they had been when they saw me off!

“Nonsense!” cried the latter. “He did not flatter me. It was I who found his appreciation flattering. I think you are a great deal more foolish than he is.

He is simple, of course, but also very knowing. Just like myself.

”

“

There is much suffering in this face,

” murmured the prince, more as though talking to himself than answering the question.

“Such beauty is real power,” said Adelaida. “

With such beauty as that one might overthrow the world.

” She returned to her easel thoughtfully.

As if you can possibly like it yourself? The heart is the great thing, and the rest is all rubbish—though one must have sense as well. Perhaps sense is really the great thing. Don’t smile like that, Aglaya. I don’t contradict myself.

A fool with a heart and no brains is just as unhappy as a fool with brains and no heart.

I am one and you are the other, and therefore both of us suffer, both of us are unhappy.”

“I came here to warn you,” he said. “

In the first place, don’t lend me any money, for I shall certainly ask you to.

”

“

Oh! how ashamed you will be of this afterwards!

”

I’m not going to pretend anything, and you’ll see she’ll marry me, all right. If she likes to live quietly, so she shall; but if she gives me any of her nonsense, I shall leave her at once, but I shall keep the money.

I’m not going to look a fool; that’s the first thing, not to look a fool.

”

I have not spoken so sincerely as I am doing at this moment for years. There are uncommonly few honest people about, prince; there isn’t one honester than Ptitsin, he’s the best of the lot. Are you laughing?

You don’t know, perhaps, that blackguards like honest people, and being one myself I like you.

Why am I a blackguard? Tell me honestly, now. They all call me a blackguard because of her, and I have got into the way of thinking myself one. That’s what is so bad about the business.”

Observe, it was a perfectly gratuitous idea on his part, seeing there has never been any discussion of it between us! This has exasperated me, and I am determined to make a fortune! I will do it!

Once I am rich, I shall be a genius, an extremely original man.

One of the vilest and most hateful things connected with money is that it can buy even talent; and will do so as long as the world lasts. You will say that this is childish—or romantic.

This has exasperated me, and I am determined to make a fortune! I will do it! Once I am rich, I shall be a genius, an extremely original man.

One of the vilest and most hateful things connected with money is that it can buy even talent; and will do so as long as the world lasts.

You will say that this is childish—or romantic. Well, that will be all the better for me, but the thing shall be done. I will carry it through. He laughs most, who laughs last. Why does Epanchin insult me?

“Count on my assistance? Go alone? How can you ask me that question, when it is a matter on which the fate of my family so largely depends? You don’t know Ivolgin, my friend.

To trust Ivolgin is to trust a rock; that’s how the first squadron I commanded spoke of me.

‘Depend upon Ivolgin,’ said they all, ‘he is as steady as a rock.’ But, excuse me, I must just call at a house on our way, a house where I have found consolation and help in all my trials for years.”

Have you noticed, prince, how many adventurers there are nowadays? Especially here, in our dear Russia. How it has happened I never can understand. There used to be a certain amount of solidity in all things, but now what happens?

Everything is exposed to the public gaze, veils are thrown back, every wound is probed by careless fingers.

We are forever present at an orgy of scandalous revelations. Parents blush when they remember their old-fashioned morality. At Moscow lately a father was heard urging his son to stop at nothing—at nothing, mind you!—to get money!

How can anyone possibly receive such a man as I am? I quite understand. Now, could I, a Ferdishenko, be allowed to sit shoulder to shoulder with a clever man like Afanasy Ivanovitch? There is one explanation, only one.

I am given the position because it is so entirely inconceivable!

”

“Bah! you wish to hear a man tell of his worst actions, and you expect the story to come out goody-goody!

One’s worst actions always are mean.

We shall see what the general has to say for himself now. All is not gold that glitters, you know; and because a man keeps his carriage he need not be specially virtuous, I assure you, all sorts of people keep carriages.

Don’t you like it? You heard what I said to the prince? ‘As you decide, so it shall be!’ If he had said ‘yes,’ I should have given my consent! But he said ‘no,’ so I refused.

Here was my whole life hanging on his one word!

Surely I was serious enough?”

“

Oh, you get those ideas out of novels, you know. Times are changed now, dear prince; the world sees things as they really are.

That’s all nonsense. Besides, how can you marry? You need a nurse, not a wife.”

“I know nothing, Nastasia Philipovna. I have seen nothing. You are right so far; but I consider that you would be honouring me, and not I you.

I am a nobody. You have suffered, you have passed through hell and emerged pure, and that is very much.

Why do you shame yourself by desiring to go with Rogojin? You are delirious. You have returned to Mr.

You are still quite feverish; you ought to be in bed, not here. You know quite well that if you had gone with Rogojin, you would have become a washerwoman next day, rather than stay with him.

You are proud, Nastasia Philipovna, and perhaps you have really suffered so much that you imagine yourself to be a desperately guilty woman.

You require a great deal of petting and looking after, Nastasia Philipovna, and I will do this. I saw your portrait this morning, and it seemed quite a familiar face to me; it seemed to me that the portrait-face was calling to me for help.

You are proud, Nastasia Philipovna, and perhaps you have really suffered so much that you imagine yourself to be a desperately guilty woman. You require a great deal of petting and looking after, Nastasia Philipovna, and I will do this.

I saw your portrait this morning, and it seemed quite a familiar face to me; it seemed to me that the portrait-face was calling to me for help.

I—I shall respect you all my life, Nastasia Philipovna,” concluded the prince, as though suddenly recollecting himself, and blushing to think of the sort of company before whom he had said all this.

“Thank you, prince; no one has ever spoken to me like that before,” began Nastasia Philipovna. “

Men have always bargained for me, before this; and not a single respectable man has ever proposed to marry me.

Do you hear, Afanasy Ivanovitch? What do you think of what the prince has just been saying? It was almost immodest, wasn’t it? You, Rogojin, wait a moment, don’t go yet! I see you don’t intend to move however.

You had your eye on Aglaya, Gania, you know you had; and you might have married her if you had not come bargaining. You are all like this.

You should choose, once for all, between disreputable women, and respectable ones, or you are sure to get mixed.

Look at the general, how he’s staring at me!”

Take your 75,000 back, sir; you did not reach the hundred thousand. Rogojin cut a better dash than you did. I’ll console Gania myself; I have an idea about that. But now I must be off!

I’ve been in prison for ten years. I’m free at last!

Well, Rogojin, what are you waiting for? Let’s get ready and go.”

The money is all Gania’s. I give it to him, fully conscious of my action, as recompense for—well, for anything he thinks best. Tell him so. Let it lie here beside him. Off we go, Rogojin! Goodbye, prince.

I have seen a man for the first time in my life.

Goodbye, Afanasy Ivanovitch—and thanks!”

His clothes certainly were very different; they were more fashionable, perhaps even too much so, and anyone inclined to mockery might have found something to smile at in his appearance.

But what is there that people will not smile at?

The prince took a cab and drove to a street near the Nativity, where he soon discovered the house he was seeking. It was a small wooden villa, and he was struck by its attractive and clean appearance;

“

She seems always to be searching about, as if she had lost something.

The mere idea of her coming marriage disgusts her; she looks on it as an insult. She cares as much for him as for a piece of orange-peel—not more. Yet I am much mistaken if she does not look on him with fear and trembling.

“

We were not asked, you see. We were made different, with different tastes and feelings, without being consulted.

You say you love her with pity. I have no pity for her. She hates me—that’s the plain truth of the matter. I dream of her every night, and always that she is laughing at me with another man.

“No! I trust you—but I can’t understand.

It seems to me that your pity is greater than my love.

” A hungry longing to speak his mind out seemed to flash in the man’s eyes, combined with an intense anger.

“

Your love is mingled with hatred, and therefore, when your love passes, there will be the greater misery

,” said the prince. “I tell you this, Parfen—”

“

You’ll hate her afterwards for all your present love, and for all the torment you are suffering on her account now.

What seems to me the most extraordinary thing is, that she can again consent to marry you, after all that has passed between you. When I heard the news yesterday, I could hardly bring myself to believe it.

“I like looking at that picture,” muttered Rogojin, not noticing, apparently, that the prince had not answered his question.

“That picture! That picture!” cried Muishkin, struck by a sudden idea. “Why, a man’s faith might be ruined by looking at that picture!”

“So it is!” said Rogojin, unexpectedly. They had now reached the front door.

“Oh, I like that! That beats anything!” he cried convulsively, panting for breath. “

One is an absolute unbeliever; the other is such a thoroughgoing believer that he murders his friend to the tune of a prayer!

Oh, prince, prince, that’s too good for anything! You can’t have invented it. It’s the best thing I’ve heard!”

he saw only too clearly that the result of these ecstatic moments was stupefaction, mental darkness, idiocy. No argument was possible on that point. His conclusion, his estimate of the “moment,” doubtless contained some error, yet the reality of the sensation troubled him.

What’s more unanswerable than a fact?

And this fact had occurred. The prince had confessed unreservedly to himself that the feeling of intense beatitude in that crowded moment made the moment worth a lifetime.

in a country with which one is unfamiliar it is difficult to understand the people one meets.” He was beginning to have a passionate faith in the Russian soul, however, and what discoveries he had made in the last six months, what unexpected discoveries!

But every soul is a mystery, and depths of mystery lie in the soul of a Russian.

He had been intimate with Rogojin, for example, and a brotherly friendship had sprung up between them—yet did he really know him? What chaos and ugliness fills the world at times! What a self-satisfied rascal is that nephew of Lebedeff’s!

But every soul is a mystery, and depths of mystery lie in the soul of a Russian. He had been intimate with Rogojin, for example, and a brotherly friendship had sprung up between them—yet did he really know him?

What chaos and ugliness fills the world at times!

What a self-satisfied rascal is that nephew of Lebedeff’s! “But what am I thinking,” continued the prince to himself. “Can he really have committed that crime? Did he kill those six persons? I seem to be confusing things … how strange it all is.

He will become her slave, her brother, her friend. Compassion will teach even Rogojin, it will show him how to reason.

Compassion is the chief law of human existence.

Oh, how guilty he felt towards Rogojin! And, for a few warm, hasty words spoken in Moscow, Parfen had called him “brother,” while he—but no, this was delirium! It would all come right! That gloomy Parfen had implied that his faith was waning;

Some were there when he bought it, and he was so charmed with the effect that he promptly added to their number. When the tubs containing these plants arrived at the villa and were set in their places,

Lebedeff kept running into the street to enjoy the view of the house, and every time he did so the rent to be demanded from the future tenant went up with a bound.

This country villa pleased the prince very much in his state of physical and mental exhaustion. On the day that they left for Pavlofsk, that is the day after his attack, he appeared almost well, though in reality he felt very far from it.

“

That’s what comes of telling the truth for once in one’s life!

” said Lebedeff. “It reduced him to tears.”

“No, no, read it—read it at once directly, and aloud, aloud!” cried she, calling Colia to her and giving him the journal.—“Read it aloud, so that everyone may hear it!”

An impetuous woman, Lizabetha Prokofievna sometimes weighed her anchors and put out to sea quite regardless of the possible storms she might encounter.

Ivan Fedorovitch felt a sudden pang of alarm, but the others were merely curious, and somewhat surprised. Colia unfolded the paper, and began to read, in his clear, high-pitched voice, the following article:

He does not call it a dishonest action but ‘the impulse of a noble despair’; ‘a negation’; or the devil knows what!

Bah! everything is upside down, everyone walks head downwards.

A young girl, brought up at home, suddenly jumps into a cab in the middle of the street, saying: ‘Goodbye, mother, I married Karlitch, or Ivanitch, the other day!’ And you think it quite right? You call such conduct estimable and natural? The ‘woman question’?

I was saying that to myself only last week, when I was awake in the night.

Do you know what you fear most? You fear our sincerity more than anything, although you despise us!

The idea crossed my mind that night … You thought I was making fun of you just now, Lizabetha Prokofievna? No, the idea of mockery was far from me; I only meant to praise you.

Oh! what a lot of things I wanted! Now I want nothing; I renounce all my wants; I swore to myself that I would want nothing; let them seek the truth without me!

Yes, nature is full of mockery!

Why”—he continued with sudden warmth—“does she create the choicest beings only to mock at them?

“Well, I don’t mind telling you the truth—you only! Because you see through a man somehow.

Words and actions, truth and falsehood, are all jumbled up together in me, and yet I am perfectly sincere.

I feel the deepest repentance, believe it or not, as you choose; but words and lies come out in the infernal craving to get the better of other people.

“I don’t think you should take it quite like that,” said the prince, quietly, and without removing his eyes from the carpet. “

I think it is more a case of his forgiving you.

”

“My dear prince,” began Prince S⸺, hurriedly, exchanging glances with some of those present, “you will not easily find heaven on earth, and yet you seem to expect to.

Heaven is a difficult thing to find anywhere, prince; far more difficult than appears to that good heart of yours.

Better stop this conversation, or we shall all be growing quite disturbed in our minds, and—”

“There is not one of them all who is worthy of these words of yours,” continued Aglaya. “Not one of them is worth your little finger, not one of them has heart or head to compare with yours!

You are more honest than all, and better, nobler, kinder, wiser than all.

There are some here who are unworthy to bend and pick up the handkerchief you have just dropped. Why do you humiliate yourself like this, and place yourself lower than these people? Why do you debase yourself before them? Why have you no pride?”

And, indeed, there were no words in which he could have expressed his horror, yes, horror, for he was now fully convinced from his own private knowledge of her, that the woman was mad.

If, loving a woman above everything in the world, or at least having a foretaste of the possibility of such love for her, one were suddenly to behold her on a chain, behind bars and under the lash of a keeper, one would feel something like what the poor prince now felt.

“What’s the matter?” asked Aglaya, in a whisper, giving his sleeve a little tug.

“N—no!—I don’t think so.

A coward is a man who is afraid and runs away; the man who is frightened but does not run away, is not quite a coward

,” said the prince with a smile, after a moment’s thought.

He pulled the note out and kissed it; then paused and reflected. “How strange it all is! how strange!” he muttered, melancholy enough now.

In moments of great joy, he invariably felt a sensation of melancholy come over him

—he could not tell why.

However, the prince soon changed his mind on this score, and thought that there was not only no affectation of indifference, but that Rogojin was not even particularly agitated. If there were a little apparent awkwardness, it was only in his words and gestures.

The man could not change his heart.

“How did you—find me here?” asked the prince for the sake of saying something.

“General, remember the siege of Kars! And you, gentlemen, I assure you my anecdote is the naked truth. I may remark that reality, although it is governed by invariable law, has at times a resemblance to falsehood.

In fact, the truer a thing is the less true it sounds.

”

Don’t talk to me about your prosperity, your riches, the rarity of famine, the rapidity of the means of transport!

There is more of riches, but less of force.

The idea uniting heart and soul to heart and soul exists no more. All is loose, soft, limp—we are all of us limp. … Enough, gentlemen! I have done. That is not the question.

I believe I’m half asleep. I’ve had such a dreadful dream—I’ve only just remembered it. Prince, I don’t wish you such dreams as that, though sure enough, perhaps, I don’t love you.

Why wish a man evil, though you do not love him, eh?

Give me your hand—let me press it sincerely. There—you’ve given me your hand—you must feel that I do press it sincerely, don’t you? I don’t think I shall drink any more. What time is it? Never mind, I know the time.

“Oh no, not he, not now! But you have to be very careful with this sort of gentleman.

Crime is too often the last resource of these petty nonentities.

This young fellow is quite capable of cutting the throats of ten people, simply for a lark, as he told us in his ‘explanation.’ I assure you those confounded words of his will not let me sleep.”

What was this universe? What was this grand, eternal pageant to which he had yearned from his childhood up, and in which he could never take part?

Every morning the same magnificent sun; every morning the same rainbow in the waterfall; every evening the same glow on the snow-mountains.

Every little fly that buzzed in the sun’s rays was a singer in the universal chorus, “knew its place, and was happy in it.” Every blade of grass grew and was happy.

But of course I don’t know for certain what he thought. Perhaps he thought nothing, but simply longed to see human faces once more, and to hear human praise and feel human affection. Who knows? Only it all came out wrong, somehow.

Some people have luck, and everything comes out right with them; others have none, and never a thing turns out fortunately.

”

When, therefore, she was bound to talk, especially at such delicate moments as this, she invariably did so with an air of haughty defiance.

She always knew beforehand when she was going to blush, long before the blush came.

“Perhaps you do not wish to accept my proposition?” she asked, gazing haughtily at the prince.

“No—never—nowhere!

I’ve been at home all my life, corked up in a bottle; and they expect me to be married straight out of it.

What are you laughing at again? I observe that you, too, have taken to laughing at me, and range yourself on their side against me,” she added, frowning angrily. “Don’t irritate me—I’m bad enough without that—I don’t know what I am doing sometimes.

“Oh no,” continued the prince thoughtfully, not noticing Aglaya’s mocking tone, “I was almost always silent there. I often wished to speak, but I really did not know what to say.

In some cases it is best to say nothing, I think.

I loved her, yes, I loved her very much indeed; but afterwards—afterwards she guessed all.”

An angel cannot hate, perhaps cannot love, either. I often ask myself—is it possible to love everybody? Indeed it is not; it is not in nature.

Abstract love of humanity is nearly always love of self.

But you are different. You cannot help loving all, since you can compare with none, and are above all personal offence or anger. Oh!

To fill a novel with typical characters only, or with merely strange and uncommon people, would render the book unreal and improbable, and would very likely destroy the interest.

In my opinion, the duty of the novelist is to seek out points of interest and instruction even in the characters of commonplace people.

For instance, when the whole essence of an ordinary person’s nature lies in his perpetual and unchangeable commonplaceness;

Such were, for instance, Varvara Ardalionovna Ptitsin, her husband, and her brother, Gania.

There is nothing so annoying as to be fairly rich, of a fairly good family, pleasing presence, average education, to be “not stupid,” kindhearted, and yet to have no talent at all, no originality, not a single idea of one’s own⁠—to be, in fact, “just like everyone else.”

Of such people there are countless numbers in this world—far more even than appear. They can be divided into two classes as all men can—that is, those of limited intellect, and those who are much cleverer. The former of these classes is the happier.

Of such people there are countless numbers in this world—far more even than appear. They can be divided into two classes as all men can—that is, those of limited intellect, and those who are much cleverer. The former of these classes is the happier.

To a commonplace man of limited intellect, for instance, nothing is simpler than to imagine himself an original character, and to revel in that belief without the slightest misgiving.

Many of our young women have thought fit to cut their hair short, put on blue spectacles, and call themselves Nihilists. By doing this they have been able to persuade themselves, without further trouble, that they have acquired new convictions of their own.

This confidence of a stupid man in his own talents has been wonderfully depicted by Gogol in the amazing character of Pirogoff.

Pirogoff has not the slightest doubt of his own genius⁠—nay, of his superiority of genius⁠—so certain is he of it that he never questions it.

How many Pirogoffs have there not been among our writers—scholars, propagandists? I say “have been,” but indeed there are plenty of them at this very day.

“but I shall have a house in the Liteynaya, perhaps two, and that will be enough for me.” “Who knows but what I may have three!” he concluded to himself; but this dream, cherished inwardly, he never confided to a soul.

Nature loves and favours such people.

Ptitsin will certainly have his reward, not three houses, but four, precisely because from childhood up he had realized that he would never be a Rothschild.

“

No, sir, not corkscrew. I am a general, not a bottle, sir.

Make your choice, sir—me or him.”

The fact is that probably Hippolyte was not quite so black as Gania painted him; and it was hardly likely that he had informed Nina Alexandrovna of certain events, of which we know, for the mere pleasure of giving her pain.

We must never forget that human motives are generally far more complicated than we are apt to suppose, and that we can very rarely accurately describe the motives of another.

It is much better for the writer, as a rule, to content himself with the bare statement of events;

“Well, there you see!” said the general, condescendingly. “There is nothing whatever unusual about my tale.

Truth very often appears to be impossible.

I was a page—it sounds strange, I dare say. Had I been fifteen years old I should probably have been terribly frightened when the French arrived, as my mother was (who had been too slow about clearing out of Moscow);

The prince could not doubt the sincerity of his agitation. He understood, too, that the old man had left the room intoxicated with his own success.

The general belonged to that class of liars, who, in spite of their transports of lying, invariably suspect that they are not believed.

On this occasion, when he recovered from his exaltation, he would probably suspect Muishkin of pitying him, and feel insulted.

They did not even consider it very strange; in a word, they might be expected at any moment to range themselves strongly on his side. But both of them decided to say nothing either way.

It had always been noticed in the family that the stronger Mrs. Epanchin’s opposition was to any project, the nearer she was, in reality, to giving in.

Alexandra, however, found it difficult to keep absolute silence on the subject.

It seemed clear to the prince that Aglaya forgave him, and that he might go there again this very evening; and in his eyes that was not only the main thing, but everything in the world.

“What children we are still, Colia!” he cried at last, enthusiastically⁠—“and how delightful it is that we can be children still!”

“Simply—my dear prince—simply she is in love with you—that’s the whole of the secret!” replied Colia, with authority.

She had almost reached the door when she turned round again.

“I shall laugh⁠—I know I shall; I shall die of laughing,” she said, lugubriously.

However, she turned and ran down to the prince as fast as her feet could carry her.

“

It is better to be unhappy and know the worst, than to be happy in a fool’s paradise!

I suppose you don’t believe that you have a rival in that quarter?”

“

Whoever can suffer is worthy to suffer, I should think.

Aglaya Ivanovna wished to see you, after she had read your confession, but—”

However, I see I must make arrangements to die soon, or I myself—Well—leave me now! Au revoir. Look here—before you go, just give me your opinion: how do you think I ought to die, now? I mean—the best, the most virtuous way? Tell me!”

“You should pass us by and forgive us our happiness,” said the prince in a low voice.

“Ha! ha! ha! I thought so. I thought I should hear something like that. Well, you are—you really are—oh dear me! Eloquence, eloquence! Goodbye!”

“Early?” said Lebedeff, sarcastically. “

Time counts for nothing, even in physical chastisement; but my slap in the face was not physical, it was moral.

”

Even the German poet, though as amiable as possible, felt that he was doing the house the greatest of honours by his presence in it.

But the prince only looked at the bright side; he did not turn the coat and see the shabby lining.

Aglaya had not foreseen that particular calamity. She herself looked wonderfully beautiful this evening. All three sisters were dressed very tastefully, and their hair was done with special care.

And is this not the teaching of Antichrist? How could the upshot of all this be other than Atheism? Atheism is the child of Roman Catholicism—it proceeded from these Romans themselves, though perhaps they would not believe it.

It grew and fattened on hatred of its parents; it is the progeny of their lies and spiritual feebleness.

Atheism! In our country it is only among the upper classes that you find unbelievers; men who have lost the root or spirit of their faith;

Say from thirst if you like; the thirst of fever! And please do not suppose that this is so small a matter that we may have a laugh at it and dismiss it; we must be able to foresee our disasters and arm against them.

We Russians no sooner arrive at the brink of the water, and realize that we are really at the brink, than we are so delighted with the outlook that in we plunge and swim to the farthest point we can see.

Why is this? You say you are surprised at Pavlicheff’s action; you ascribe it to madness, to kindness of heart, and whatnot, but it is not so.

But from spiritual thirst, from anguish of longing for higher things, for dry firm land, for foothold on a fatherland which they never believed in because they never knew it.

It is easier for a Russian to become an Atheist, than for any other nationality in the world.

And not only does a Russian ‘become an Atheist,’ but he actually believes in Atheism, just as though he had found a new faith, not perceiving that he has pinned his faith to a negation. Such is our anguish of thirst!

you were in such a hurry when you began, and look what you’ve come to now! Don’t be afraid of speaking—all these ladies and gentlemen have seen far stranger people than yourself; you don’t astonish them. You are nothing out-of-the-way remarkable, you know.

You’ve done nothing but break a vase, and give us all a fright.

”

“What are you making such a fuss about?” said the old lady, with annoyance. “You are a good fellow, but very silly.

One gives you a halfpenny, and you are as grateful as though one had saved your life.

You think this is praiseworthy on your part, but it is not—it is not, indeed.”

I have no right to express my ideas, and said so long ago. Only in Moscow, with Rogojin, did I ever speak absolutely freely! He and I read Pushkin together—all his works. Rogojin knew nothing of Pushkin, had not even heard his name.

I am always afraid of spoiling a great Thought or Idea by my absurd manner.

I have no eloquence, I know. I always make the wrong gestures—inappropriate gestures—and therefore I degrade the Thought, and raise a laugh instead of doing my subject justice. I have no sense of proportion either, and that is the chief thing.

“But, at times, I can’t help thinking that I am wrong in feeling so about it, you know.

Sincerity is more important than elocution, isn’t it?

”

Why should we disappear and give place to others, when we may still, if we choose, remain in the front rank and lead the battle?

Let us be servants, that we may become lords in due season!

”

We are all like this—you and I, and all of them! Why, here are you, now—you are not a bit angry with me for calling you ‘odd,’ are you? And, if so, surely there is good material in you?

Do you know, I sometimes think it is a good thing to be odd. We can forgive one another more easily, and be more humble.

No one can begin by being perfect—there is much one cannot understand in life at first. In order to attain to perfection, one must begin by failing to understand much.

Do you know, I sometimes think it is a good thing to be odd. We can forgive one another more easily, and be more humble. No one can begin by being perfect—there is much one cannot understand in life at first.

In order to attain to perfection, one must begin by failing to understand much. And if we take in knowledge too quickly, we very likely are not taking it in at all.

I say all this to you—you who by this time understand so much—and doubtless have failed to understand so much, also. I am not afraid of you any longer. You are not angry that a mere boy should say such words to you, are you?

It is best simply to give a good example—simply to begin the work. I have done this—I have begun, and—and—oh! can anyone be unhappy, really? Oh! what does grief matter—what does misfortune matter, if one knows how to be happy?

Do you know, I cannot understand how anyone can pass by a green tree, and not feel happy only to look at it! How anyone can talk to a man and not feel happy in loving him!

Oh, it is my own fault that I cannot express myself well enough! But there are lovely things at every step I take—things which even the most miserable man must recognize as beautiful.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” replied Lizabetha; “

I’m not sorry for the vase, I’m sorry for you.

H’m! so you can see that there was a ‘scene,’ can you? Well, it doesn’t matter much, for everyone must realize now that it is impossible to be hard on you. Well, au revoir.

I was astonished to see what a fool a man can look. I remarked upon the fact to Aglaya Ivanovna when he had gone. I don’t think anything ever surprises you, prince!” added Hippolyte, gazing incredulously at the prince’s calm demeanour. “

To be astonished by nothing is a sign, they say, of a great intellect. In my opinion it would serve equally well as a sign of great foolishness.

I am not hinting about you; pardon me! I am very unfortunate today in my expressions.”

Perhaps you are suspicious? Well, well, I’ll drop the subject!” he added, hastily, observing the prince’s impatient gesture. “But I’ve come to you on my own business; I wish to make you a clear explanation.

What a nuisance it is that one cannot die without explanations!

I have made such a quantity of them already. Do you wish to hear what I have to say?”

“If you didn’t mean that, then she has only to go down the steps and walk off, and she need never come back unless she chooses.

Ships are burned behind one sometimes, and one doesn’t care to return whence one came.

Life need not consist only of lunches, and dinners, and Prince S⸺’s. It strikes me you take Aglaya Ivanovna for some conventional boarding-school girl. I said so to her, and she quite agreed with me. Wait till seven or eight o’clock.

but what was the hidden mystery of that soul? The question had long tormented him, although he implicitly trusted that soul. And now it was all to be cleared up. It was a dreadful thought. And “that woman” again!

Why did he always feel as though “that woman” were fated to appear at each critical moment of his life, and tear the thread of his destiny like a bit of rotten string?

That he always had felt this he was ready to swear, although he was half delirious at the moment. If he had tried to forget her, all this time, it was simply because he was afraid of her.

Things had come to this unexpected point too quickly. Unexpected because Nastasia Philipovna, on her way to Pavlofsk, had thought and considered a good deal, and had expected something different, though perhaps not altogether good, from this interview; but

Aglaya had been carried away by her own outburst, just as a rolling stone gathers impetus as it careers downhill, and could not restrain herself in the satisfaction of revenge.

It was strange, Nastasia Philipovna felt, to see Aglaya like this. She gazed at her, and could hardly believe her eyes and ears for a moment or two.

“Yes, me, of course! Of course you were afraid of me, or you would not have decided to come.

You cannot despise one you fear.

And to think that I have actually esteemed you up to this very moment! Do you know why you are afraid of me, and what is your object now?

“Without Aglaya—I—I must see Aglaya!—I shall die in my sleep very soon—I thought I was dying in my sleep last night. Oh! if Aglaya only knew all—I mean really, really all! Because she must know all—that’s the first condition towards understanding.

Why cannot we ever know all about another, especially when that other has been guilty?

But I don’t know what I’m talking about—I’m so confused. You pained me so dreadfully. Surely—surely Aglaya has not the same expression now as she had at the moment when she ran away? Oh, yes! I am guilty and I know it—I know it!

“No, prince, she will not.

Aglaya loved like a woman, like a human being, not like an abstract spirit.

Do you know what, my poor prince? The most probable explanation of the matter is that you never loved either the one or the other in reality.”