THE POSSESSED

PYOTR: Listen, when I set off to come here, I mean here in the large sense, to this town, ten days ago, I
made up my mind, of course, to assume a character. It would have been best to have done without
anything, to have kept one's own character, wouldn't it? There is no better dodge than one's own
character, because no one believes in it. I meant, I must own, to assume the part of a fool, because it is
easier to be a fool than to act one's own character; but as a fool is after all something extreme, and
anything extreme excites curiosity, I ended by sticking to my own character. And what is my own
character? The golden mean: neither wise nor foolish, rather stupid, and dropped from the moon, as
sensible people say here, isn't that it? Ah, you agree—I'm very glad; I knew beforehand that it was your
own opinion. . . . You needn't trouble, I am not annoyed, and I didn't describe myself in that way to get a
flattering contradiction from you—no, you're not stupid, you're clever. ... Ah! you're smiling again! . . .
I've blundered once more. You would not have said "you're clever," granted; I'll let it pass
anyway. Passons, as papa says, and, in parenthesis, don't be vexed with my verbosity. By the way, I
always say a lot, that is, use a great many words and talk very fast, and I never speak well. And why do I
use so many words, and why do I never speak well? Because I don't know how to speak. People who can
speak well, speak briefly. So that I am stupid, am I not? But as this gift of stupidity is natural to me, why
shouldn't I make skilful use of it? And I do make use of it. It's true that as I came here, I did think, at first,
of being silent. But you know silence is a great talent, and therefore incongruous for me, and secondly
silence would be risky, anyway. So I made up my mind finally that it would be best to talk, but to talk
stupidly—that is, to talk and talk and talk—to be in a tremendous hurry to explain things, and in the end
to get muddled in my own explanations, so that my listener would walk away without hearing the end,
with a shrug, or, better still, with a curse. You succeed straight off in persuading them of your simplicity,
in boring them and in being incomprehensible—three advantages all at once! Do you suppose anybody
will suspect you of mysterious designs after that? Why, every one of them would take it as a personal
affront if anyone were to say I had secret designs. And I sometimes amuse them too, and that's
priceless. Why, they're ready to forgive me everything now, just because the clever fellow who used to
publish manifestoes out there turns out to be stupider than themselves—that's so, isn't it? From your
smile I see you approve.
THE ROMANTIC YOUNG LADY
I was jealous of every woman my first husband looked in the face ... and he was a portrait painter, do
you remember? My second husband suffered tortures from his own jealousy ... of your grandfather.
That was premature, but prophetic, for your dear grandfather was our neighbor in those days and he
used to stand and look at me from his balcony. And then he in his turn tortured himself, poor man, with
jealousy of my second husband, who was dead by that time to be sure ... but that only seemed to make
it worse. When I think of the times I've walked into my first husband's studio, shaking all over, to see
what sort of woman he was painting this time ... and how much of her, and of the times when I'd glance
up at your grandfather on his balcony and let my dear second husband imagine ... God forgive me ... that
I was smiling at him; and then when your grandfather would catch me looking at my poor second
husband's portrait ... my first husband had painted it while they were both alive ... and if I wanted to
drive him to fury, I'd only to give one sigh. Well, now they're in Heaven all three and I'm almost sorry I
worried them so. [She kisses the three pictures.]  But never forget that I was an obedient wife, gentle and
loving, an angel of the fireside, an angel in crinoline. No doubt it's far nobler to "live your own life" (isn't
that what you call it?) but I fear you'll never find it so amusing.