Page 813 - the-idiot

She seemed to be very angry, but suddenly burst out
laughing, quite good-humouredly.
Lizabetha Prokofievna’s face brightened up, too; so did
that of General Epanchin.
‘I told you Lef Nicolaievitch was a man—a man—if only
he would not be in such a hurry, as the princess remarked,’
said the latter, with delight.
Aglaya alone seemed sad and depressed; her face was
flushed, perhaps with indignation.
‘He really is very charming,’ whispered the old dignitary
to Ivan Petrovitch.
‘I came into this room with anguish in my heart,’ con-
tinued the prince, with ever-growing agitation, speaking
quicker and quicker, and with increasing strangeness. ‘I—I
was afraid of you all, and afraid of myself. I was most afraid
of myself. When I returned to Petersburg, I promised myself
to make a point of seeing our greatest men, and members
of our oldest families—the old families like my own. I am
now among princes like myself, am I not? I wished to know
you, and it was necessary, very, very necessary. I had always
heard so much that was evil said of you all—more evil than
good; as to how small and petty were your interests, how
absurd your habits, how shallow your education, and so
on. There is so much written and said about you! I came
here today with anxious curiosity; I wished to see for my-
self and form my own convictions as to whether it were true
that the whole of this upper stratum of Russian society is
WORTHLESS, has outlived its time, has existed too long,
and is only fit to die— and yet is dying with petty, spiteful

1 The Idiot