my soul. Humanity ... the love of one's kind. Restore a man to himself,revive his personal dignity, and then ... when the ground is prepared, getto work. I believe that's clear? Yes! Allow me, your Excellency; take asyllogism, for instance: we meet, for instance, a clerk, a poor,downtrodden clerk. 'Well ... who are you?' Answer: 'A clerk.' Very good, aclerk; further: 'What sort of clerk are you?' Answer: 'I am such and such aclerk,' he says. 'Are you in the service?' 'I am.' 'Do you want to behappy?' 'I do.' 'What do you need for happiness?' 'This and that.' 'Why?''Because....' and there the man understands me with a couple of words, theman's mine, the man is caught, so to speak, in a net, and I can do what Ilike with him, that is, for his good. Horrid man that Semyon Ivanovitch!And what a nasty phiz he has!... 'Flog him in the police station,' he saidthat on purpose. No, you are talking rubbish; you can flog, but I'm notgoing to; I shall punish Trifon with words, I shall punish him withreproaches, he will feel it. As for flogging, h'm! ... it is an openquestion, h'm!... What about going to Emerance? Oh, damnation take it, thecursed pavement!" he cried out, suddenly tripping up. "And this is thecapital. Enlightenment! One might break one's leg. H'm! I detest thatSemyon Ivanovitch; a most revolting phiz. He was chuckling at me just nowwhen I said they would embrace each other in a moral sense. Well, and theywill embrace each other, and what's that to do with you? I am not going toembrace you; I'd rather embrace a peasant....If I meet a peasant, I shalltalk to him. I was drunk, though, and perhaps did not express myselfproperly. Possibly I am not expressing myself rightly now....H'm! I shallnever touch wine again. In the evening you babble, and next morning you aresorry for it. After all, I am walking quite steadily....But they are all
scoundrels, anyhow!"So Ivan Ilyitch meditated incoherently and by snatches, as he went onstriding along the pavement. The fresh air began to affect him, set hismind working. Five minutes later he would have felt soothed and sleepy. Butall at once, scarcely two paces from the Great Prospect, he heard music. Helooked round. On the other side of the street, in a verytumble-down-looking long wooden house of one storey, there was a greatfete, there was the scraping of violins, and the droning of a double bass,and the squeaky tooting of a flute playing a very gay quadrille tune. Underthe windows stood an audience, mainly of women in wadded pelisses withkerchiefs on their heads; they were straining every effort to see somethingthrough a crack in the shutters. Evidently there was a gay party within.The sound of the thud of dancing feet reached the other side of the street.Ivan Ilyitch saw a policeman standing not far off, and went up to him."Whose house is that, brother?" he asked, flinging his expensive fur coatopen, just far enough to allow the policeman to see the imposing decorationon his breast.