d ignominy.' And that is all. There is
not a single phase of human life where the basic main truth should
shine with such a monstrous, hideous, stark clearness, without any
shade of human prevarication or self-whitewashing."

"Oh, I don't know! These women lie like the very devil. You just go and
talk with her a bit about her first fall. She'll spin you such a yarn!"

"Well, don't you ask then. What business is that of yours? But even if
they do lie, they lie altogether like children. But then, you know
yourself that children are the foremost, the most charming fibsters,
and at the same time the sincerest people on earth. And it's
remarkable, that both they and the others--that is, both prostitutes
and children--lie only to us--men--and grown-ups. Among themselves they
don't lie--they only inspiredly improvise. But they lie to us because
we ourselves demand this of them, because we clamber into their souls,
altogether foreign to us, with our stupid tactics and questionings,
because they regard us in secret as great fools and senseless
dissemblers. But if you like, I shall right now count off on my fingers
all the occasions when a prostitute is sure to lie, and you yourself
will be convinced that man incites her to lying."

"Well, well, we shall see." "First: she paints herself mercilessly, at
times even in detriment to herself. Why? Because every pimply military
cadet, who is so distressed by his sexual maturity that he grows stupid
in the spring, like a wood-cock on a drumming-log; or some sorry petty
government clerk or other from the department of the parish, the
husband of a pregnant woman and the father of nine infants--why, they
both come here not at all with the prudent and simple purpose of
leaving here the surplus of their passion. He, the good for nothing,
has come to enjoy himself; he needs beauty, d'you see--aesthete that he
is! But all these girls, these daughters of the simple, unpretentious,
great Russian people--how do they regard aesthetics? 'What's sweet,
that's tasty; what's red, that's handsome.' And so, there you are,
receive, if you please, a beauty of antimony, white lead and rouge.

"That's one. Secondly, his desire for beauty isn't enough for this
resplendent cavalier--no, he must in addition be served with a
similitude of love, so that from his caresses there should kindle in
the woman this same 'fa-hire of in-sane pahass-ssion!' which is sung
about In idiotical ballads. Ah! Then THAT is wha