"Precisely, precisely so," the prince cried, "a splendid thought!
Precisely 'from our boredom,' not from satiety, but, on the contrary, from thirst . . . not from satiety, there you're mistaken!
Not only from thirst, but even from inflammation, from feverish thirst!
And . . . and don't think it's all on such a small scale that one can simply laugh; forgive me, but one must be able to foresee!
The Russian people, as soon as they reach the shore, as soon as they believe it's the shore, are so glad of it that they immediately go to the ultimate pillars.36 Why is that?
You marvel at Pavlishchev, you ascribe everything to his madness or to his kindness, but that's not so!
And not only we but the whole of Europe marvels, on such occasions, at *Brotherhood or death. our Russian passion: if one of us embraces Catholicism, then he's bound to become a Jesuit, and of the most underground sort at that;37 if he becomes an atheist, he is bound to start demanding the eradication of belief in God by force, which means by the sword!
Why is that, why is there such frenzy all at once?
You really don't know?
Because he has found his fatherland, which he had missed here, and he rejoices; he has found the shore, the land, and he rushes to kiss it!
It's not only from vainglory, not only from nasty, vainglorious feelings that Russian atheists and Russian Jesuits proceed, but from spiritual pain, spiritual thirst, from the longing for a lofty cause, a firm shore, a native land, in which we've ceased to believe because we've never known it!
It's so easy for a Russian man to become an atheist, easier than for anyone else in the whole world!
And our people don't simply become atheists, but they must believe in atheism, as in a new faith, without ever noticing that they are believing in a zero.
Such is our thirst!
'Whoever has no ground under his feet also has no God.'
That is not my phrase.
It is the phrase of a merchant, an Old Believer,38 I met on my travels.
True, he didn't put it that way, he said:
'Whoever has renounced his native land, has also renounced his God.'
Only think that some of our most educated people got themselves into flagellantism39 . . . And in that case, incidentally, what makes flagellantism worse than nihilism, Jesuitism, atheism?
It may even be a little more profound!
But that is how far their anguish went! . . .
Open to the thirsting and inflamed companions of Columbus the shores of the New World, open to the Russian man the Russian World, let him find the gold, the treasure, hidden from him in the ground!
Show him the future renewal of all mankind and its resurrection, perhaps by Russian thought alone, by the Russian God and Christ, and you'll see what a mighty and righteous, wise and meek giant will rise up before the astonished world, astonished and frightened, because they expect nothing from us but the sword, the sword and violence, because, judging by themselves, they cannot imagine us without barbarism.
And that is so to this day, and the more so the further it goes!
And . . ."
But here an incident suddenly occurred, and the orator's speech was interrupted in the most unexpected way.
This whole feverish tirade, this whole flow of passionate and agitated words and ecstatic thoughts, as if thronging in some sort of turmoil and leaping over each other, all this foreboded something dangerous, something peculiar in the mood of the young man, who had boiled up so suddenly for no apparent reason.
Of those present in the drawing room, all who knew the prince marveled fearfully (and some also with shame) at his outburst, which so disagreed with his usual and even timid restraint, with the rare and particular tact he showed on certain occasions and his instinctive sense of higher propriety.
They could not understand where it came from: the news about Pavlishchev could not have been the cause of it.
In the ladies' corner they looked at him as at one gone mad, and Belokonsky later confessed that "another moment and she would have run for her life."
The "little old men" were nearly at a loss from their initial amazement; the general-superior gazed, displeased and stern, from his chair.
The engineer-colonel sat perfectly motionless.
The little German even turned pale, but was still smiling his false smile, glancing at the others to see how they would react.
However, all this and "the whole scandal" could have been resolved in the most ordinary and natural way, perhaps, even a minute later; Ivan Fyodorovich was extremely surprised but, having collected his thoughts sooner than the others, had already tried several times to stop the prince; failing in that, he was now making his way towards him with firm and resolute purposes.
Another moment and, if it had really been necessary, he might have decided to take the prince out amicably, under the pretext of his illness, which might actually have been true and of which Ivan Fyodorovich was very much convinced in himself. . . But things turned out otherwise.
From the very beginning, as soon as the prince entered the drawing room, he sat down as far as possible from the Chinese vase, with which Aglaya had frightened him so.
Can one possibly believe that, after Aglaya's words the day before, some sort of indelible conviction settled in him, some sort of astonishing and impossible premonition that the next day he would unfailingly break that vase, however far away he kept from it, however much he avoided the disaster?
But it was so.
In the course of the evening other strong but bright impressions began to flow into his soul; we have already spoken of that.
He forgot his premonition.
When he heard about Pavlishchev, and Ivan Fyodorovich brought him and introduced him again to Ivan Petrovich, he moved closer to the table and ended up right in the armchair next to the enormous, beautiful Chinese vase, which stood on a pedestal almost at his elbow, slightly behind him.
With his last words he suddenly got up from his place, carelessly waved his arm, somehow moved his shoulder—and ... a general cry rang out!
The vase rocked, as if undecided at first whether it might not fall on the head of one of the little old men, but suddenly it leaned in the opposite direction, towards the little German, who barely managed to jump aside in terror, and toppled onto the floor.
Noise, shouts, precious pieces scattered over the rug, fear, amazement—oh, it is difficult and almost unnecessary to depict how it was for the prince!
But we cannot omit mention of one strange sensation that struck him precisely at that very moment and suddenly made itself distinct in the crowd of all the other vague and strange sensations: it was not the shame, not the scandal, not the fear, not the unexpectedness that struck him most of all, but the fulfilled prophecy!
Precisely what was so thrilling in this thought he would have been unable to explain to himself; he felt only that he was struck to the heart, and he stood in a fear that was almost mystical.
Another moment and everything before him seemed to expand, instead of horror there was light, joy, rapture; his breath was taken away, and . . . but the moment passed.
Thank God, it was not that!
He caught his breath and looked around.