in this way only because I want to. With a good servant, shouldn’t I spend just as much time, even though there was less necessity to work? And who feels the necessity of wasting double time for the sake of the slight improvement over what he, with a less expenditure of time which might be my own? The only necessity upon me is my own will. When the mind is at ease, you give yourself up to these things; but when your mind is disturbed, you neglect them, because you can manage without them. You are apt to give up the less important for more important things. As soon as your feelings get greatly stirred up, they drive away the thoughts about other things. I give lessons, which are things of somewhat more importance; I cannot give them up at the dictate of my will. But this is not the point. I give them closer attention at one time than at another; if during the lesson my mind wanders somewhat, the lesson may go only a little worse than before, because teaching is very easy, and does not absorb the mind. And, after all, do I really make my living by my lessons? does my position depend on them? do they afford me the principal means for living as I do? No; these means were afforded me by Dmitri’s work, now by yours. Giving lessons flatters my feeling of independence; and really they are not unprofitable. Still, there is no vital necessity upon me for keeping them up. At that time I tried to drive away my tormenting thoughts by giving myself up to the shop more than usual; but again I did it more from the impulse of my will. You see, I understood that my presence at the shop was needed only for an hour or an hour and a half; that if I stayed there longer, I adopt an artificial occupation, that may be useful, but is not indispensable for the business. And then, again, this very thing, can it serve as a support for such ordinary mortals as we? Rakhmétof belongs to a different species. They take hold of common affairs in such a way that the necessity of it fills their existence; for them it even forms a substitute for personal existence. But for us, Sasha, this is unattainable. We are not eagles, like him; we can live only in our personal lives. Is the shop my personal life? This affair is not my affair, but others’. I occupy myself with it, not for my own sake, but for theirs. Let us admit that it is for my own satisfaction; but can those such as we—not eagles—bother themselves about others when they are themselves in trouble? Can they give themselves up to their convictions when they are tormented by their feelings? No; a personal interest, an unavoidable necessity on which your life depends, is required; a necessity which for my own self, for my style of life, my means of life, for my whole situation in life, for my entire fate, would be more powerful than all my drawings towards passion. Only such a stimulus can serve as a support in battle with passion; only such a thing cannot be conquered by passion, but by itself overwhelms passions; only such a thing gives strength and rest. I want such a stimulus.”
“You are right, my dear, you are right,” said Kirsánof, kissing his wife, whose eyes were flashing with enthusiasm. “You are right; and I never thought of it before, though it is so evident; I had not noticed it. Yes, Viérotchka, no one else can think for another. Whoever wants to enjoy life must think for himself, look out for himself; no one else is going to do it for him. But what necessity do you feel upon you now? Are you going to fall in love with someone else, Viérotchka?”
Viéra Pavlovna laughed heartily, and for some time neither of them could say a word from laughing.
“Yes, now we both can appreciate that,” she said finally. “Now I can be perfectly sure, and so can you, that nothing of the sort can possibly happen. But seriously, do you know how it seems to me, my dear? If my love for Dmitri was not the love of a fully developed woman, neither did he love me in the sense of the word as we understand it. His feeling for me was a combination of a very warm attachment to me as a friend, with occasional outbursts of passion towards me as a woman. He felt a personal friendship for me, for me particularly; but these outbursts were only the attraction towards woman; they had no personal relation to me. No, that was not love. Was he much concerned with thoughts about me? No; they did not interest him. No, on his side, as well as on mine, there was no real love.”
“You are unjust to him, Viérotchka.”
“No, Sasha; this is so. In talk between you and me there is no use in flattering him. Both of us know how highly we prize him. We also know that, no matter how he protested that it was easy for him, in reality it was not easy. You may also declare that it was an easy matter to struggle with your passion. All this is well, and it is not put on; but such keen assurances must not be taken in the literal sense of the word.”
VIII
“Sasha, let us finish talking about what we left yesterday. It is necessary; for I have made up my mind to go with you: and you must know why,” said Viéra Pavlovna, the next morning.
“With me? You are going with me?”
“Certainly. You asked me, Sasha, why I wanted to do something on which my life could depend, in real earnest, which I could hold as dear as you hold your profession; which would be just as imperative upon me,
