for me!"

"Karmazinov, that almost imperial intellect. You are too free in your
language, Stepan Trofimovitch."

"Your Karmazinov is a spiteful old woman whose day is over. _Chere,
chere,_ how long have you been so enslaved by them? Oh God!"

"I can't endure him even now for the airs he gives himself. But I do
justice to his intellect. I repeat, I have done my best to defend you
as far as I could. And why do you insist on being absurd and tedious?
On the contrary, come on to the platform with a dignified smile as
the representative of the last generation, and tell them two or three
anecdotes in your witty way, as only you can tell things sometimes.
Though you may be an old man now, though you may belong to a past age,
though you may have dropped behind them, in fact, yet you'll recognise
it yourself, with a smile, in your preface, and all will see that you're
an amiable, good-natured, witty relic... in brief, a man of the old
savour, and so far advanced as to be capable of appreciating at their
value all the absurdities of certain ideas which you have hitherto
followed. Come, as a favour to me, I beg you."

"_Chere,_ enough. Don't ask me. I can't. I shall speak of the Madonna,
but I shall raise a storm that will either crush them all or shatter me
alone."

"It will certainly be you alone, Stepan Trofimovitch."

"Such is my fate. I will speak of the contemptible slave, of the
stinking, depraved flunkey who will first climb a ladder with scissors
in his hands, and slash to pieces the divine image of the great ideal,
in the name of equality, envy, and... digestion. Let my curse thunder
out upon them, and then--then..."

"The madhouse?"

"Perhaps. But in any case, whether I shall be left vanquished or
victorious, that very evening I shall take my bag, my beggar's bag.
I shall leave all my goods and chattels, all your presents, all your
pensions and promises of future benefits, and go forth on foot to end my
life a tutor in a merchant's family or to die somewhere of hunger in a
ditch. I have said it. _Alea jacta est._" He got up again.

"I've been convinced for years," said Varvara Petrovna, getting up with
flashing eyes, "that your only object in life is to put me and my house
to shame by your calumnies! What do you mean by being a tutor in a
merchant's family or dying in a ditch? It's spite, calumny, and nothing
more."

"You have always despised me. But I will end like a knight, faithful to
my lady. Your good