Demons, page 48
"You wouldn't happen to have a deck of cards?" Verkhovensky, with a gaping yawn, addressed the hostess.
"I am altogether, altogether in sympathy with your question!" the girl student ripped out, aglow with indignation at the major's words.
"Precious time is being wasted listening to stupid talk," the hostess cut off, looking demandingly at her husband.
The girl student drew herself up.
"I wanted to declare to the meeting about the suffering and protest of the students, but since time is being wasted on immoral talk..."
"There's no such thing as moral or immoral!" the high-school boy could not bear it, once the girl student started.
"I knew that, mister high-school student, way before you were taught such things."
"And I maintain," the boy flew into a frenzy, "that you are a child come from Petersburg to enlighten us all, when we know it ourselves. About the commandment: 'Honor thy father and mother,' which you didn't know how to recite, and its being immoral—since Belinsky everyone in Russia has known that."
"Will this never end?" Madame Virginsky said determinedly to her husband. As hostess, she blushed at the worthlessness of the talk, especially when she noticed a few smiles and even some perplexity among the first-time visitors.
"Gentlemen," Virginsky suddenly raised his voice, "if anyone wished to begin on something more pertinent, or has something to state, I suggest he set about it without wasting time."
"I venture to make a question," the lame teacher, who had hitherto been silent and was sitting especially decorously, gently said. "I should like to know whether we here and now constitute some sort of meeting, or are a gathering of ordinary mortals who have come as guests? I ask more for the sake of order, and so as not to be in ignorance."
This "cunning" question produced its effect; everyone exchanged glances, each apparently expecting another to answer, and suddenly, as if on command, they all turned their eyes to Verkhovensky and Stavrogin.
"I simply suggest we vote on how to answer the question: 'Are we a meeting, or not?’“ said Madame Virginsky.
"I join fully in the suggestion," echoed Liputin, "though it is somewhat vague."
"I join, too." "So do I," came other voices.
"And it seems to me there would indeed be more order," Virginsky clinched.
"So, then, let's vote!" the hostess announced. "Lyamshin, I ask that you sit down at the piano: you can give your vote from there, when the voting starts."
"Again!" cried Lyamshin. "I've banged enough for you."
"I urgently ask you, sit down and play; don't you want to be of use to the cause?"
"But I assure you, Arina Prokhorovna, no one is eavesdropping. It's just your fantasy. And the windows are high, and, besides, who'd understand anything even if he was eavesdropping?"
"We don't understand what it's about ourselves," someone's voice grumbled.
"And I tell you that precaution is always necessary. It's in case there are spies," she turned to Verkhovensky with her interpretation, "let them hear from the street that we're having a party and music."
"Eh, the devil!" Lyamshin swore, sat down at the piano, and started banging out a waltz, striking the keys randomly and all but with his fists.
"I suggest that those who wish it to be a meeting raise their right hand," Madame Virginsky suggested.
Some raised their hand, others did not. There were some who raised it and then took it back. Took it back and then raised it again.
"Pah, the devil! I didn't understand a thing," one officer shouted.
"I don't either," shouted another.
"No, I understand," a third one shouted, "hand up if it's yes.”
"Yes, but what does yes mean?"
"It means a meeting."
"No, not a meeting."
"I voted a meeting," the high-school boy shouted, addressing Madame Virginsky.
"Then why didn't you raise your hand?"
"I kept looking at you, you didn't raise yours, so I didn't either."
"How stupid, it's because I made the suggestion, that's why I didn't raise mine. Gentlemen, I suggest we do it again the other way round: whoever wants a meeting can sit and not raise his hand, and whoever doesn't, raise his right hand."
"Whoever doesn't?" the high-school boy repeated.
"Are you doing it on purpose, or what?" Madame Virginsky shouted wrathfully.
"No, excuse me, is it whoever wants or whoever doesn't—because it needs to be defined more precisely," came two or three voices.
"Whoever does not, does not.”
"Very well, but what should one do, raise it or not raise it, if one does not want?" shouted an officer.
"Ehh, we're not really used to a constitution yet," the major observed.
"Mr. Lyamshin, if you don't mind, you're pounding so that no one can hear anything," observed the lame teacher.
"But, by God, Arina Prokhorovna, nobody's eavesdropping," Lyamshin jumped up. "I simply don't want to play! I came here as a guest, not a banger on pianos!"
"Gentlemen," Virginsky suggested, "answer by voice: are we a meeting, or not?"
"A meeting, a meeting!" came from all sides.
"If so, there's no point in voting, it's enough. Is it enough, gentlemen, or need we also vote?"
"No need, no need, we understand!"
"Maybe there's someone who doesn't want a meeting?"
"No, no, we all want it."
"But what is a meeting?" shouted a voice. It went unanswered.
"We must elect a president," the shout came from all sides.
"Our host, certainly, our host!"
"If so, gentlemen," the elected Virginsky began, "then I suggest my original suggestion from earlier: if anyone wished to begin on something more pertinent, or has something to state, let him set about it without wasting time."
General silence. The eyes of all again turned to Stavrogin and Verkhovensky.
"Verkhovensky, do you have anything to state?" the hostess asked directly.
"Precisely nothing," he stretched himself, yawning, on his chair. "I would like a glass of cognac, though."
"Stavrogin, what about you?"
"Thanks, I don't drink."
"I'm asking whether or not you wish to speak, not about cognac."
"Speak? About what? No, I don't wish to."
"You'll get your cognac," she answered Verkhovensky.
The girl student stood up. She had already tried to jump up several times.
"I came to declare about the sufferings of the unfortunate students and about arousing them everywhere to protest ..."
But she stopped short; at the other end of the table another competitor had appeared, and all eyes turned to him. Long-eared Shigalyov, with a gloomy and sullen air, slowly rose from his seat and melancholically placed a fat notebook, filled with extremely small writing, on the table. He remained standing and was silent. Many looked at the notebook in bewilderment, but Liputin, Virginsky, and the lame teacher seemed pleased with something.
"I ask for the floor," Shigalyov declared sullenly but firmly.
"You have it," Virginsky permitted.
The orator sat down, was silent for about half a minute, then said in an important voice:
"Gentlemen..."
"Here's the cognac!" the relative who had been pouring tea chopped off squeamishly and scornfully, returning with the cognac and now setting it in front of Verkhovensky, along with a glass which she brought in her fingers without a tray or plate.
The interrupted orator paused with dignity.
"Never mind, go on, I'm not listening," cried Verkhovensky, filling his glass.
"Gentlemen, addressing myself to your attention," Shigalyov began again, "and, as you will see further on, requesting your assistance on a point of paramount importance, I must pronounce a preface."
"Arina Prokhorovna, have you got scissors?" Pyotr Stepanovich suddenly asked.
"What do you want scissors for?" she goggled her eyes at him.
"I forgot to cut my nails, it's three days now I've been meaning to cut them," he uttered, serenely studying his long and none-too-clean nails.
Arina Prokhorovna flushed, but Miss Virginsky seemed to like something.
"I think I saw them here on the windowsill earlier." She got up from the table, went, found the scissors, and brought them back with her at once. Pyotr Stepanovich did not even glance at her, took the scissors, and began pottering with them. Arina Prokhorovna realized that this was actually a method, and was ashamed of her touchiness. The gathering silently exchanged glances. The lame teacher spitefully and enviously watched Verkhovensky. Shigalyov began to go on:
"Having devoted my energy to studying the question of the social organization of the future society which is to replace the present one, I have come to the conclusion that all creators of social systems from ancient times to our year 187 - have been dreamers, tale-tellers, fools who contradicted themselves and understood precisely nothing of natural science or of that strange animal known as man. Plato, Rousseau, Fourier, aluminum columns[149]—all this is fit perhaps for sparrows, but not for human society. But since the future social form is necessary precisely now, when we are all finally going to act, so as to stop any further thinking about it, I am suggesting my own system of world organization. Here it is!" he struck the notebook. "I wanted to explain my book to the gathering in the briefest possible way; but I see that I will have to add a great deal of verbal clarification, and therefore the whole explanation will take at least ten evenings, according to the number of chapters in my book." (Laughter was heard.) "Besides that, I announce ahead of time that my system is not finished." (More laughter.) "I got entangled in my own data, and my conclusion directly contradicts the original idea from which I start. Starting from unlimited freedom, I conclude with unlimited despotism. I will add, however, that apart from my solution of the social formula, there can be no other."
The laughter was increasing more and more, but it was mostly the young and, so to speak, less initiated guests who laughed. The faces of the hostess, Liputin, and the lame teacher expressed a certain vexation.
"If you yourself weren't able to hold your system together, and arrived at despair, what are we supposed to do?" one officer observed cautiously.
"You're right, mister active officer," Shigalyov turned abruptly to him, "and most of all in having used the word 'despair.' Yes, I kept arriving at despair; nevertheless, everything expounded in my book is irreplaceable, and there is no other way out; no one can invent anything. And so I hasten, without wasting time, to invite the whole society, having heard my book in the course of ten evenings, to state its opinion. And if the members do not want to listen to me, let us break up at the very beginning—the men to occupy themselves with state service, the women to go to their kitchens, for, having rejected my book, they will find no other way out. None what-so-ever! And by losing time, they will only harm themselves, because later they will inevitably come back to the same thing."
People began to stir. "Is he crazy, or what?" voices asked.
"So it all comes down to Shigalyov's despair," Lyamshin concluded, "and the essential question is whether he is to be or not to be in despair?"
"Shigalyov's proximity to despair is a personal question," the high-school boy declared.
"I suggest we vote on how far Shigalyov's despair concerns the common cause, and along with that, whether it's worth listening to him or not," the officer gaily decided.
"That's not the point here," the lame man finally mixed in. Generally, he spoke with a certain mocking smile, as it were, so that it might have been difficult to tell whether he was speaking sincerely or joking. "That's not the point here, gentlemen. Mr. Shigalyov is all too seriously devoted to his task, and, what's more, is too modest. I know his book. He suggests, as a final solution of the question, the division of mankind into two unequal parts. One tenth is granted freedom of person and unlimited rights over the remaining nine tenths.[150] These must lose their person and turn into something like a herd, and in unlimited obedience, through a series of regenerations, attain to primeval innocence, something like the primeval paradise—though, by the way, they will have to work. The measures proposed by the author for removing the will from nine tenths of mankind and remaking them into a herd, by means of a re-educating of entire generations—are quite remarkable, based on natural facts, and extremely logical. One may disagree with certain conclusions, but it is difficult to doubt the author's intelligence and knowledge. It's a pity the stipulation of ten evenings is totally incompatible with the circumstances, otherwise we might hear a great many interesting things."
"Are you really serious?" Madame Virginsky turned to the lame man even somewhat alarmed. "If this man, not knowing what to do about the people, turns nine tenths of them into slavery? I've long suspected him."
"Your own dear brother, you mean?" the lame man asked.
"Family ties? Are you laughing at me or not?"
"And, besides, to work for the aristocrats and obey them as if they were gods is vileness!" the girl student observed furiously.
"What I propose is not vileness but paradise, earthly paradise, and there can be no other on earth," Shigalyov concluded imperiously.
"Instead of paradise," Lyamshin shouted, "I'd take these nine tenths of mankind, since there's really nothing to do about them, and blow them sky-high, and leave just a bunch of learned people who would then start living happily in an educated way."[151]
"Only a buffoon could talk like that," the girl student flared up.
"He is a buffoon, but he's useful," Madame Virginsky whispered to her.
"And that might be the best solution of the problem," Shigalyov turned hotly to Lyamshin. "You, of course, don't even know what a profound thing you've managed to say, mister funny fellow. But since your idea is almost unrealizable, we must limit ourselves to the earthly paradise, if that's what we're calling it."
"That's a lot of nonsense, however!" escaped, as it were, from Verkhovensky. Nevertheless he went on cutting his nails with complete indifference and without raising his eyes.
"Why nonsense, sir?" the lame man picked up at once, as if he had just been waiting for his first word in order to seize upon it. "Why nonsense precisely? Mr. Shigalyov is somewhat of a fanatic in his love of mankind; but remember that in Fourier, in Cabet, and even in Proudhon himself,[152] there are many quite despotic and fantastic pre-resolutions of the problem. Mr. Shigalyov perhaps resolves the matter even far more soberly than they do. I assure you that after reading his book, it is almost impossible to disagree with some things. He is perhaps least distant of all from realism, and his earthly paradise is almost the real one, the very one mankind sighs for the loss of, if indeed it ever existed."
"Well, I just knew I was letting myself in for it," Verkhovensky muttered again.
"Excuse me, sir," the lame man was seething more and more, "conversations and judgments about the future social organization are an almost imperative necessity of all modern thinking people. Herzen spent his whole life worrying about just that. Belinsky, as I know for certain, passed whole evenings with his friends debating and pre-resolving beforehand even the pettiest kitchen details, so to speak, in the future social arrangement."
"Some even lose their minds," the major suddenly remarked.
"Still, it's possible to agree on something at least, rather than sit looking like dictators and say nothing," Liputin hissed, as if finally daring to begin an attack.
"When I said it was nonsense, I didn't mean Shigalyov," mumbled Verkhovensky. "You see, gentlemen," he raised his eyes a bit, "I think all these books, these Fouriers, Cabets, all these 'rights to work,' Shigalyovism[153]—it's all like novels, of which a hundred thousand can be written. An aesthetic pastime. I understand that you're bored in this wretched little town, so you fall on any paper with writing on it."
"Excuse me, sir," the lame man was twitching on his chair, "though we are provincials, and are most certainly deserving of pity for that, nevertheless we know that so far nothing so new has happened in the world that we should weep over having missed it. Now it is being suggested to us, through various strewn-about leaflets of foreign manufacture, that we close ranks and start groups with the sole purpose of universal destruction, under the pretext that however you try to cure the world, you're not going to cure it, but by radically lopping off a hundred million heads, thereby relieving ourselves, we can more assuredly jump over the little ditch. A beautiful thought, no doubt, but one at least as incompatible with reality as 'Shigalyovism,' to which you adverted just now with such disdain."
"Well, I really didn't come here for discussions," Verkhovensky let slip this significant little phrase and, as if not noticing the slip at all, moved the candle towards him to have more light.
"It's a pity, sir, a great pity, that you didn't come here for discussions, and a great pity that you're so occupied now with your toilette."
"And what is my toilette to you?"
"A hundred million heads are as hard to realize as remaking the world by propaganda. Maybe even harder, especially if it's in Russia," Liputin ventured again.
"It's Russia they've now set their hopes on," an officer said.
"We've heard about those hopes, too," the lame man picked up. "It is known to us that the mysterious index is pointed at our beautiful fatherland as the country most capable of fulfilling the great task. Only here's the thing, sir: in the event of a gradual resolution of the task by propaganda, I at least gain something personally, well, even if it's just pleasant chitchat, and I might indeed get a promotion from the authorities for services to the social cause. But in the other event—that is, this quick resolution by means of a hundred million heads—what in fact will be my reward? Once you start propagandizing, you may well have your tongue cut off."
