I read everything now—the papers, communism, the natural sciences—I get everything because, after all, one must know where one's living and with whom one has to do.
One mustn't spend one's whole life on the heights of one's own fancy.
I've come to the conclusion, and adopted it as a principle, that one must be kind to the young people and so keep them from the brink.
Believe me, Varvara Petrovna, that none but we who make up good society can by our kindness and good influence keep them from the abyss towards which they are brought by the intolerance of all these old men.
I am glad though to learn from you about Stepan Trofimovitch.
You suggest an idea to me: he may be useful at our literary matinee, you know I'm arranging for a whole day of festivities, a subscription entertainment for the benefit of the poor governesses of our province.
They are scattered about Russia; in our district alone we can reckon up six of them. Besides that, there are two girls in the telegraph office, two are being trained in the academy, the rest would like to be but have not the means.
The Russian woman's fate is a terrible one, Varvara Petrovna!
It's out of that they're making the university question now, and there's even been a meeting of the Imperial Council about it.
In this strange Russia of ours one can do anything one likes; and that, again, is why it's only by the kindness and the direct warm sympathy of all the better classes that we can direct this great common cause in the true path.
Oh, heavens, have we many noble personalities among us!
There are some, of course, but they are scattered far and wide.
Let us unite and we shall be stronger.
In one word, I shall first have a literary matinee, then a light luncheon, then an interval, and in the evening a ball.
We meant to begin the evening by living pictures, but it would involve a great deal of expense, and so, to please the public, there will be one or two quadrilles in masks and fancy dresses, representing well-known literary schools.
This humorous idea was suggested by Karmazinov. He has been a great help to me.
Do you know he's going to read us the last thing he's written, which no one has seen yet.
He is laying down the pen, and will write no more. This last essay is his farewell to the public.
It's a charming little thing called
'Merci.'
The title is French; he thinks that more amusing and even subtler.
I do, too. In fact I advised it.
I think Stepan Trofimovitch might read us something too, if it were quite short and... not so very learned.
I believe Pyotr Stepanovitch and some one else too will read something.
Pyotr Stepanovitch shall run round to you and tell you the programme. Better still, let me bring it to you myself."
"Allow me to put my name down in your subscription list too.
I'll tell Stepan Trofimovitch and will beg him to consent."
Varvara Petrovna returned home completely fascinated. She was ready to stand up for Yulia Mihailovna through thick and thin, and for some reason was already quite put out with Stepan Trofimovitch, while he, poor man, sat at home, all unconscious.
"I'm in love with her. I can't understand how I could be so mistaken in that woman," she said to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch and Pyotr Stepanovitch, who dropped in that evening.
"But you must make peace with the old man all the same," Pyotr Stepanovitch submitted. "He's in despair.
You've quite sent him to Coventry.
Yesterday he met your carriage and bowed, and you turned away.
We'll trot him out, you know; I'm reckoning on him for something, and he may still be useful."
"Oh, he'll read something."
"I don't mean only that.
And I was meaning to drop in on him to-day.
So shall I tell him?"
"If you like.
I don't know, though, how you'll arrange it," she said irresolutely.
"I was meaning to have a talk with him myself, and wanted to fix the time and place."
She frowned.
"Oh, it's not worth while fixing a time.
I'll simply give him the message."
"Very well, do.
Add that I certainly will fix a time to see him though.
Be sure to say that too."
Pyotr Stepanovitch ran off, grinning.
He was, in fact, to the best of my recollection, particularly spiteful all this time, and ventured upon extremely impatient sallies with almost every one.
Strange to say, every one, somehow, forgave him.
It was generally accepted that he was not to be looked at from the ordinary standpoint.