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‘The rocket will go off and fizzle out, perhaps. The peas-
ants are not very fond of listening to these soup-makers, so
far.’
‘Ah, brother, but a Balaam’s ass like that thinks and
thinks, and the devil knows where he gets to.’
‘He’s storing up ideas,’ said Ivan, smiling.
‘You see, I know he can’t bear me, nor anyone else, even
you, though you fancy that he has a high opinion of you.
Worse still with Alyosha, he despises Alyosha. But he
doesn’t steal, that’s one thing, and he’s not a gossip, he holds
his tongue, and doesn’t wash our dirty linen in public. He
makes capital fish pasties too. But, damn him, is he worth
talking about so much?’
‘Of course he isn’t.’
‘And as for the ideas he may be hatching, the Russian
peasant, generally speaking, needs thrashing. That I’ve al-
ways maintained. Our peasants are swindlers, and don’t
deserve to be pitied, and it’s a good thing they’re still flogged
sometimes. Russia is rich in birches. If they destroyed the
forests, it would be the ruin of Russia. I stand up for the
clever people. We’ve left off thrashing the peasants, we’ve
grown so clever, but they go on thrashing themselves. And
a good thing too. ‘For with what measure ye mete it shall be
measured to you again,’ or how does it go? Anyhow, it will
be measured. But Russia’s all swinishness. My dear, if you
only knew how I hate Russia.... That is, not Russia, but all
this vice! But maybe I mean Russia. Tout cela c’est de la co-
chonnerie....* Do you know what I like? I like wit.’
- All this is filthiness.