“Witty and apt. If there are people wiser than we are, then there are people more right than we are, and we may be mistaken, you mean? Mais, ma bonne amie, granted that I may make a mistake, yet have I not the common, human, eternal, supreme right of freedom of conscience? 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, chère …” 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.”
“Chère, chère 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?”