Timothy Stanley

Apropos our travails on the Paris metro, my wife pointed me to this hilarious little story in Dostoyevsky’s The Idiot this weekend:

It’s a stupid story and can be told in two words,’ began the general complacently. ‘Two years ago – yes, nearly two, just after the opening of the new X. railway – I was already in civilian dress then and busy about an affair of great importance in connection with my giving up the service. I took a first-class ticket, went in, sat down and began to smoke. Or rather I went on smoking; I had lighted my cigar before. I was alone in the compartment. Smoking was not prohibited, nor was it allowed; it was sort of half allowed, as it usually is. Of course it depends on the person. The window was down. Just before the whistle sounded, two ladies with a lap-dog seated themselves just opposite me. They were late. One of them was dressed in gorgeous style in light blue; the other more soberly in black silk with a cape. They were nice-looking, had a disdainful air, and talked English. I took no notice, of course, and went on smoking.

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