t no classification fitted
him even approximately; and strange to say, while I simply listened and
looked at him, he seemed perfectly clear to me as a person, but as soon
as I began trying to classify him he became an exceptionally complex,
intricate, and incomprehensible character in spite of all his candour
and simplicity. "Is that man," I asked myself, "capable of wasting other
people's money, abusing their confidence, being disposed to sponge on
them?" And now this question, which had once seemed to me grave and
important, struck me as crude, petty, and coarse.

Pie was served; then, I remember, with long intervals between, during
which we drank home-made liquors, they gave us a stew of pigeons,
some dish of giblets, roast sucking-pig, partridges, cauliflower, curd
dumplings, curd cheese and milk, jelly, and finally pancakes and jam.
At first I ate with great relish, especially the cabbage soup and the
buckwheat, but afterwards I munched and swallowed mechanically, smiling
helplessly and unconscious of the taste of anything. My face was burning
from the hot cabbage soup and the heat of the room. Ivan Ivanitch and
Sobol, too, were crimson.

"To the health of your wife," said Sobol. "She likes me. Tell her her
doctor sends her his respects."

"She's fortunate, upon my word," sighed Ivan Ivanitch. "Though she takes
no trouble, does not fuss or worry herself, she has become the most
important person in the whole district. Almost the whole business is
in her hands, and they all gather round her, the doctor, the District
Captains, and the ladies. With people of the right sort that happens
of itself. Yes.... The apple-tree need take no thought for the apple to
grow on it; it will grow of itself."

"It's only people who don't care who take no thought," said I.

"Eh? Yes..." muttered Ivan Ivanitch, not catching what I said, "that's
true.... One must not worry oneself. Just so, just so.... Only do your
duty towards God and your neighbour, and then never mind what happens."

"Eccellenza," said Sobol solemnly, "just look at nature about us: if
you poke your nose or your ear out of your fur collar it will be
frost-bitten; stay in the fields for one hour, you'll be buried in the
snow; while the village is just the same as in the days of Rurik,
the same Petchenyegs and Polovtsi. It's nothing but being burnt down,
starving, and struggling against nature in every way. What was I saying?
Yes! If one thinks about it, you know, l