I have the right not to be bigoted or superstitious if I don't wish to, and for that I shall naturally be hated by certain persons to the end of time.
Et puis, comme on trouve toujours plus de moines que de raison, and as I thoroughly agree with that..."
"What, what did you say?"
"I said, on trouve toujours plus de moines que de raison, and as I thoroughly..."
"I'm sure that's not your saying. You must have taken it from somewhere."
"It was Pascal said that."
"Just as I thought...it's not your own.
Why don't you ever say anything like that yourself, so shortly and to the point, instead of dragging things out to such a length?
That's much better than what you said just now about administrative ardour..."
"Ma foi, chere..." why?
In the first place probably because I'm not a Pascal after all, et puis... secondly, we Russians never can say anything in our own language.... We never have said anything hitherto, at any rate...."
"H'm! That's not true, perhaps.
Anyway, you'd better make a note of such phrases, and remember them, you know, in case you have to talk.... Ach, Stephan Trofimovitch. 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?
Instead of nobly standing as an example, keeping up the tradition of the past, you surround yourself with a wretched rabble, you have picked up impossible habits, you've grown feeble, you can't do without wine and cards, you read nothing but Paul de Kock, and write nothing, while all of them write; all your time's wasted in gossip.
How can you bring yourself to be friends with a wretched creature like your inseparable Liputin?
"Why is he mine and inseparable?" Stepan Trofimovitch protested timidly.
"Where is he now?" Varvara Petrovna went on, sharply and sternly.
"He... he has an infinite respect for you, and he's gone to S——k, to receive an inheritance left him by his mother."
"He seems to do nothing but get money.
And how's Shatov?
Is he just the same?"
"Irascible, mais bon."
"I can't endure your Shatov. He's spiteful and he thinks too much of himself."
"How is Darya Pavlovna?"
"You mean Dasha?
What made you think of her?" Varvara Petrovna looked at him inquisitively.
"She's quite well. I left her with the Drozdovs. I heard something about your son in Switzerland. Nothing good."
"Oh, c'est un histoire bien bete!
Je vous attendais, ma bonne amie, pour vous raconter..."
"Enough, Stepan Trofimovitch. Leave me in peace. I'm worn out.
We shall have time to talk to our heart's content, especially of what's unpleasant.
You've begun to splutter when you laugh, it's a sign of senility!
And what a strange way of laughing you've taken to!... Good Heavens, what a lot of bad habits you've fallen into!
Karmazinov won't come and see you!
And people are only too glad to make the most of anything as it is.... You've betrayed yourself completely now.
Well, come, that's enough, that's enough, I'm tired.
You really might have mercy upon one!"
Stepan Trofimovitch "had mercy," but he withdrew in great perturbation.
V
Our friend certainly had fallen into not a few bad habits, especially of late.
He had obviously and rapidly deteriorated; and it was true that he had become slovenly.
He drank more and had become more tearful and nervous; and had grown too impressionable on the artistic side.
His face had acquired a strange facility for changing with extraordinary quickness, from the most solemn expression, for instance, to the most absurd, and even foolish.
He could not endure solitude, and was always craving for amusement.