Sunday, 27 August 1876 (15 August) — Pacha's Despair and Self-Burial

— But what is the matter? I asked.
— What?
— But everyone looks so mysterious. Truly, so much mystery astonishes me in a country estate in Russia.
— Then you know nothing?
— Nothing. But do tell.
— Paul has not told you?
— No.
— Then I shall not say — it is sordid business that does not concern me.
— More riddles! You confound me.
— You know, Mousse, I am thinking of buying a hut at Gavronzi, the man said abruptly.
— It is so good when one is buried in the snow — one hears nothing, one sees nobody, one can dream at liberty.
— But what an idea, to bury yourself!
— There is nothing left for me but to bury myself.
— And why?
— Because my life is broken.
— Come now — who broke it for you, young man?
— My father and the upbringing I was given. My character has been crippled, and you see — I am nothing and shall never be anything.
— What notions — it is you who are crippling yourself.