d by no means put into a reconciled mood)--the case of Hamlet the
Dane, that most typical man of letters. He knew what it means to be
called upon to know without being born to it. To see clearly even
through the tear-woven veil of emotion, to recognize, mark, observe,
and be obliged to thrust aside one's perceptions with a smile at the
very moment when hands clasp each other, lips meet, and when eyes grow
dim, blinded with deep feeling--it is infamous, Lisaveta, it is vile,
revolting ... but what good in revolting?

"Another side of the matter, but not less admirable, is then of
course a blase, indifferent, and ironically weary attitude toward all
truth, and it is a fact that there is nothing on earth stupider or more
hopeless than a circle of brilliant people who are already up to every
dodge in the world. All knowledge is old and tedious. Utter a truth in
whose conquest and possession you perhaps have a certain youthful joy,
and your vulgar enlightenment will be answered by a very brief emission
of air through the nose ... Ah yes, literature wearies, Lisaveta! I
assure you, it can come to pass in human society that sheer scepticism
and continence of opinion make you seem stupid, whereas you are only
proud and discouraged ... So much for 'knowledge.' As for 'speech,'
that is perhaps less a matter of redemption than of taking a feeling
and putting it on ice. Seriously, there is an icy and revolting
presumption in this prompt and superficial dispatching of emotion by
means of literary speech. If your heart is too full, if you feel
yourself too greatly stirred by some sweet or exalted experience, what
could be simpler?--you go to the poet, and everything is regulated in
the shortest time. He will analyze and formulate your affair for you,
name and utter it and make it talk, relieve you of the whole thing, and
make it indifferent to you for all time and accept no thanks for it.
And you--you will go home relieved, cooled, and clarified, and wonder
what there was in the matter that only a moment before could perplex
you with so sweet a tumult. And would you seriously stand up for this
cold and vain charlatan? What is uttered, so runs his confession
of faith, is settled. If the whole world is put into speech, it
is settled, redeemed, done away with ... Very good. Yet I am no
nihilist ..."

"You are no--" said Lisaveta. She was just holding a spoonful of tea
near her mouth, and stayed so as if paralyzed.

"Why yes ... why y