because they were not funny. Thus, one day,
for instance, intending to make a joke, he said to Pyotr: "Pyotr,
you're not a sturgeon;" and this aroused a general laugh, and he,
too, laughed for a long time, much pleased at having made such a
successful jest. Whenever one of the professors was buried, he
walked in front with the mutes.

Yartsev and Kish usually came in the evening to tea. If the Laptevs
were not going to the theatre or a concert, the evening tea lingered
on till supper. One evening in February the following conversation
took place:

"A work of art is only significant and valuable when there are some
serious social problems contained in its central idea," said Kostya,
looking wrathfully at Yartsev. "If there is in the work a protest
against serfdom, or the author takes up arms against the vulgarity
of aristocratic society, the work is significant and valuable. The
novels that are taken up with 'Ach!' and 'Och!' and 'she loved him,
while he ceased to love her,' I tell you, are worthless, and damn
them all, I say!"

"I agree with you, Konstantin Ivanovitch," said Yulia Sergeyevna.
"One describes a love scene; another, a betrayal; and the third,
meeting again after separation. Are there no other subjects? Why,
there are many people sick, unhappy, harassed by poverty, to whom
reading all that must be distasteful."

It was disagreeable to Laptev to hear his wife, not yet twenty-two,
speaking so seriously and coldly about love. He understood why this
was so.

"If poetry does not solve questions that seem so important," said
Yartsev, "you should turn to works on technical subjects, criminal
law, or finance, read scientific pamphlets. What need is there to
discuss in 'Romeo and Juliet,' liberty of speech, or the disinfecting
of prisons, instead of love, when you can find all that in special
articles and textbooks?"

"That's pushing it to the extreme," Kostya interrupted. "We are not
talking of giants like Shakespeare or Goethe; we are talking of the
hundreds of talented mediocre writers, who would be infinitely more
valuable if they would let love alone, and would employ themselves
in spreading knowledge and humane ideas among the masses."

Kish, lisping and speaking a little through his nose, began telling
the story of a novel he had lately been reading. He spoke
circumstantially and without haste. Three minutes passed, then five,
then ten, and no one could make out what he was talking about, and
his