to make a joke,' said I, 'for the general diversion, as
Mr. Napravnik is our well-known Russian orchestra conductor and what we
need for the harmony of our undertaking is some one of that sort.' And I
explained my comparison very reasonably, didn't I? 'Excuse me,' said he,
'I am an Ispravnik, and I do not allow puns to be made on my calling.' He
turned and walked away. I followed him, shouting, 'Yes, yes, you are an
Ispravnik, not a Napravnik.' 'No,' he said, 'since you called me a
Napravnik I am one.' And would you believe it, it ruined our business! And
I'm always like that, always like that. Always injuring myself with my
politeness. Once, many years ago, I said to an influential person: 'Your
wife is a ticklish lady,' in an honorable sense, of the moral qualities,
so to speak. But he asked me, 'Why, have you tickled her?' I thought I'd
be polite, so I couldn't help saying, 'Yes,' and he gave me a fine
tickling on the spot. Only that happened long ago, so I'm not ashamed to
tell the story. I'm always injuring myself like that."

"You're doing it now," muttered Miuesov, with disgust.

Father Zossima scrutinized them both in silence.

"Am I? Would you believe it, I was aware of that, too, Pyotr
Alexandrovitch, and let me tell you, indeed, I foresaw I should as soon as
I began to speak. And do you know I foresaw, too, that you'd be the first
to remark on it. The minute I see my joke isn't coming off, your
reverence, both my cheeks feel as though they were drawn down to the lower
jaw and there is almost a spasm in them. That's been so since I was young,
when I had to make jokes for my living in noblemen's families. I am an
inveterate buffoon, and have been from birth up, your reverence, it's as
though it were a craze in me. I dare say it's a devil within me. But only
a little one. A more serious one would have chosen another lodging. But
not your soul, Pyotr Alexandrovitch; you're not a lodging worth having
either. But I do believe--I believe in God, though I have had doubts of
late. But now I sit and await words of wisdom. I'm like the philosopher,
Diderot, your reverence. Did you ever hear, most Holy Father, how Diderot
went to see the Metropolitan Platon, in the time of the Empress Catherine?
He went in and said straight out, 'There is no God.' To which the great
bishop lifted up his finger and answered, 'The fool hath said in his heart
there is no God.' And he fell down at his feet on the spot. 'I believe,'
he cried