The conversation that she overheard was as follows:—
“Is it necessary to look at life in this way?” These were the first words that Marya Alekséyevna caught.
“Yes, Viéra Pavlovna, it is necessary.”
“Then cold, practical people must tell the truth, when they say that men are governed only by selfish motives?”
“They tell the truth. What are called the higher feelings, ideal aspirations; all these in the general course of life are absolutely nothing in comparison with the inspiration felt by everyone to do things for his own interest. At bottom, the impulse even for the others is caused by selfishness.”
“Da! are you, for example, of the same sort?”
“What do you suppose, Viéra Pavlovna? Just listen and see what is the essential motive of all my life. The essence of my life, hitherto, has consisted in study and preparation to be a doctor. Excellent! Why did my father send me to school? He used constantly to repeat to me: ‘Study, Mítya; when you have finished your course you will be a tchinovnik; you will be able to support me and your mother, and it will be good for you, too.’ And that was the reason that I studied; without that motive, my father would never have let me study: you see my family was in need of a wage-winner. Da! and I myself, though I am fond of study, would not have spent time on it, would I, if I had not thought that the expenditure would have been paid back with interest? After I got through school, I urged my father to send me to the medical academy instead of making me a tchinovnik. How did that come about? Father and I saw that medical men live much better than civil tchinovniks and the heads of departments, and I could not get any higher rank than that. And that was why I got the means and went to the medical school; it stood for bread and butter. Without this in view I should not have gone to the medical school and should not have stayed in it.”
“But you loved to study while you were at school, and have you not liked medical science?”
“Yes. It is an ornament, and it is also profitable; but success is generally won without this ornament, while without a motive, never! Love for science was only a result arising from a certain state of things; it was not its cause; the cause was just one thing—self-interest” [vuigoda, profit].
“Let us suppose that you are right; yes, you are right! All actions that I can remember can be explained by self-interest. But this theory is cold!”
“Theory must by necessity be cold. The mind must judge of things coldly.”
“But it is merciless.”
“Yes, to fancies that are empty and injurious.”
“But it is prosaic.”
“Science does not care for a poetical form.”
“And so this theory, which I cannot help admitting, brings people into a cold, merciless, and prosaic life?”
“No, Viéra Pavlovna; this theory is cold, but it teaches a man to bring out the warmth. A match is cold, the matchbox on which you scratch the match is also cold; but there is fire in them which gets a man warm food, and warms him also. This theory is merciless; but if it is followed, people will not become the wretched objects of idle charity. The lancet must not bend; otherwise it will be necessary to pity the patient, who will suffer none the less because of your sympathy. This theory is prosaic, but it reveals true motives of life and poetry in the truth of life. Why is Shakespeare the greatest poet? Because he is true to life, and has less illusion than other poets.”
“So am I, also, going to be pitiless, Dmitri Sergéitch,” said Viérotchka, smiling. “Don’t be drawn away by the thought that you have in me an obstinate opponent of your self-interest theory, and that you have converted me to be a new disciple. I myself long ago felt the same thing, especially after I read your book and heard it from you. But I thought that these were my individual ideas, that clever and scientific men thought otherwise, and so I was in doubt. All that we used to read was written in a spirit of contrariety; it was full of adverse criticisms, of sarcastic attacks upon what we used to see in ourselves and others. Nature, life, reason, lead you one direction; books drag you the other: they say, ‘This is mean, contemptible.’ Do you know, I myself saw the absurdity of the arguments which I myself brought up!”
“Yes, so they were absurd, Viéra Pavlovna.”
“Well then,” said she, laughing, “we are making each other wonderful compliments. I say to you, ‘You, Dmitri Sergéitch, please don’t lift your nose so high.’ You say to me, ‘You are ridiculous with your doubts, Viéra Pavlovna.’ ”
“At any rate,” said he, also laughing, “we have no selfish interest in making love to each other, and therefore, we don’t make love.”
“All right, Dmitri Sergéitch; people are egotistical, aren’t they? You were speaking about yourself, and now I want to speak about myself.”
“Of course, men must think about themselves most of all.”
“Very good. Now let us see if you will put this into practice.”
“Let us see.”
“A rich man wants to marry me. I don’t like him. Must I accept his offer?”
“Consider what is for your best advantage.”
“My best advantage! You know that I am very poor. On one side is my dislike of the man; on the other, I should have the upper hand of him, an enviable position in society, money, a crowd of worshippers!”
“Weigh everything; choose what would be most advantageous.”
“And if I choose the husband’s wealth and the crowd of worshippers?”
“I shall say that you have chosen that which seemed more correspondent with your interests.”
“And what ought to be said about myself?”
“If you have acted coolly, after mature deliberation, it
