fly the lack of love,
the aversion for people that was felt in absolutely everything.
Your whole system of life was built upon that aversion. Aversion
for the human voice, for faces, for heads, steps . . . in fact, for
everything that makes up a human being. At all the doors and on the
stairs there stand sleek, rude, and lazy grooms in livery to prevent
badly dressed persons from entering the house; in the hall there
are chairs with high backs so that the footmen waiting there, during
balls and receptions, may not soil the walls with their heads; in
every room there are thick carpets that no human step may be heard;
every one who comes in is infallibly warned to speak as softly and
as little as possible, and to say nothing that might have a
disagreeable effect on the nerves or the imagination. And in your
room you don't shake hands with any one or ask him to sit down--
just as you didn't shake hands with me or ask me to sit down. . . ."

"By all means, if you like," said the princess, smiling and holding
out her hand. "Really, to be cross about such trifles. . . ."

"But I am not cross," laughed the doctor, but at once he flushed,
took off his hat, and waving it about, began hotly: "To be candid,
I've long wanted an opportunity to tell you all I think. . . . That
is, I want to tell you that you look upon the mass of mankind from
the Napoleonic standpoint as food for the cannon. But Napoleon had
at least some idea; you have nothing except aversion."

"I have an aversion for people?" smiled the princess, shrugging her
shoulders in astonishment. "I have!"

"Yes, you! You want facts? By all means. In Mihaltsevo three former
cooks of yours, who have gone blind in your kitchens from the heat
of the stove, are living upon charity. All the health and strength
and good looks that is found on your hundreds of thousands of acres
is taken by you and your parasites for your grooms, your footmen,
and your coachmen. All these two-legged cattle are trained to be
flunkeys, overeat themselves, grow coarse, lose the 'image and
likeness,' in fact. . . . Young doctors, agricultural experts,
teachers, intellectual workers generally--think of it!--are
torn away from their honest work and forced for a crust of bread
to take part in all sorts of mummeries which make every decent man
feel ashamed! Some young men cannot be in your service for three
years without becoming hypocrites, toadies, sneaks. . . . Is that
a good thing? Your Polish su