grow on it; it will grow of itself."

"It's only people who don't care who take no thought," said I.

"Eh? Yes..." muttered Ivan Ivanitch, not catching what I said, "that's
true.... One must not worry oneself. Just so, just so.... Only do your
duty towards God and your neighbour, and then never mind what happens."

"Eccellenza," said Sobol solemnly, "just look at nature about us: if
you poke your nose or your ear out of your fur collar it will be
frost-bitten; stay in the fields for one hour, you'll be buried in the
snow; while the village is just the same as in the days of Rurik,
the same Petchenyegs and Polovtsi. It's nothing but being burnt down,
starving, and struggling against nature in every way. What was I saying?
Yes! If one thinks about it, you know, looks into it and analyses all
this hotchpotch, if you will allow me to call it so, it's not life but
more like a fire in a theatre! Any one who falls down or screams with
terror, or rushes about, is the worst enemy of good order; one must
stand up and look sharp, and not stir a hair! There's no time for
whimpering and busying oneself with trifles. When you have to deal with
elemental forces you must put out force against them, be firm and as
unyielding as a stone. Isn't that right, grandfather?" He turned to Ivan
Ivanitch and laughed. "I am no better than a woman myself; I am a limp
rag, a flabby creature, so I hate flabbiness. I can't endure petty
feelings! One mopes, another is frightened, a third will come straight
in here and say: 'Fie on you! Here you've guzzled a dozen courses and
you talk about the starving!' That's petty and stupid! A fourth will
reproach you, Eccellenza, for being rich. Excuse me, Eccellenza," he
went on in a loud voice, laying his hand on his heart, "but your
having set our magistrate the task of hunting day and night for your