“‘In September, was it? H’m! what was I thinking about?’ cried Pavel Pavlovitch, much surprised. ‘Well, if that’s so, let me see, you went away on the twelfth of September, and Liza was born on the eighth of May, so--September--October--November--December--January--February--March--April--a little over eight months! And if you only knew how my poor wife ...’ “‘Show me--call her,’ Velchaninov faltered in a breaking voice.”[87] And thus Velchaninov learns that his passing whim, by which he had set so little store, has left its mark. At once the question presents itself--does the husband know? Almost to the very end of the book the reader is left in doubt. Dostoevsky keeps us undecided, and this very indecision tortures Velchaninov. He does not know where he is. Or rather, it seems to us early in the day that Pavel Pavlovitch knows, but feigns ignorance, precisely in order to torture the lover by the indecision he skilfully maintains in his mind. Here is one way of considering this strange book. _The Eternal Husband_ depicts the struggle between genuine and sincere feeling on one hand, and conventional feeling, accepted and current psychology on the other. “There is but one way out--a duel,” cries Velchaninov. But you realize what a base issue that is, bringing satisfaction to no existing feeling, and simply pandering to an artificial conception of honour, one I touched on lately, a Western conception, for which we have no use here. We soon realize that, in his heart of hearts, Pavel Pavlovitch hugs his very jealousy. Yes, he positively loves and welcomes his suffering. This eagerness to suffer played already an important part in _Notes from Underground_. In France, where the Russians are concerned, there has been much talk, in imitation of De Vogüé, of a _religion of suffering_. We French love to hear a formula, and to use one! It is one easy way of naturalizing an author and assigning him to his place in the show-case. Our mind likes precise data to hold fast by; and once satisfied, what need for thought or personal contact?--Nietzsche? Oh, yes! “The _superman_. Be ruthless. Live dangerously.”--Tolstoy? “Non-resistance to evil.”--Ibsen? “Northern mists.”--Darwin? “Man is descended from the monkey. The struggle for life.”--D’Annunzio? “The religion of beauty.” Woe betide the authors whose ideas refuse to be reduced to a formula! The bulk of the reading public simply cannot tolerate them (and Barrès realized this when to his merchandise he affixed the label: _La Terre et Les Morts_). Yes, in France we tend to deceive ourselves with words, and believe that everything possible has been achieved and that it is time to apply the closure and pass on, once the formula has been found. In the same way we believed victory already in our grasp, thanks to Joffre and his “wearing down the enemy,” or to Russia and her “steam-roller advance.”