“Allow me. The Gospel, which you apparently respect, teaches us that we are all brothers, that we must help each other and live for each other. Whom will you help, whom will you save, if you hide yourself in a convent and think of nothing but your own soul?”
“Had I taken the veil when I was twenty, there might perhaps have been some reason in your reproaches. But I am now forty. I have lived through a long life, and have convinced myself that I can be of no use to my fellows. My views on life are so personal to me that no one will ever understand me. I have always suffered through the vulgarity and roughness of other people, and as time passes I despise mankind more and more. In separating myself from human companionship, I may, little by little, forget what people are like, and so may perhaps learn to love them a little.”
“Is it possible that among all your friends and acquaintances, you have never met one man who might be worthy of your attention or your love?”
Irene smiled bitterly.
“Russian men have not reached the period of development at which they could understand good women. They are still in the harem period, and they need only rough, vulgar, immoral females.”
“I see you can make nice compliments. But if you have such a poor opinion of our higher circles, what about the masses? What about our honest, simple-minded, warm-hearted, noble-souled people? Is it possible that they awaken no sympathy in you, that you have never felt the wish to help them, to educate them?”
“Don’t speak to me of those pitiful cowards!” exclaimed Irene contemptuously. “They are incapable of anything better than losing the war, and disgracing Russia in the eyes of the whole world.”
“I see you hold somewhat original views. Hundreds and thousands of soldiers have become hopeless cripples for the rest of their lives, in order to keep the enemy from our Russian soil, and in order to ensure for idle people like you the secure and safe enjoyment of their leisure and their capital. And in return you travel in strange lands, and insult our modest heroes. Allow me to congratulate you—such sentiments unquestionably do you honour.”
Irene blushed, but maintained a scornful silence. Several minutes passed. The English party, with its guide and torches, drew near. Gzhatski rose, bowed dryly to Irene, and joined the tourists.