"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 indexis 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."
"Yours will certainly be cut off," said Verkhovensky.
"You see, sir. And since under the most favorable circumstances it would take fifty, or, say, thirty years to finish such a slaughter, because they're not sheep, they may not just let themselves be slaughtered— isn't it better to pack bag and baggage and move somewhere beyond the peaceful seas to some peaceful islands and there serenely close your eyes? Believe me, sir," he tapped the table significantly with his finger, "you'll only provoke emigration with such propaganda, and nothing else, sir!"
He finished, visibly triumphant. Here was one of the powerful intellects of the province. Liputin was smiling insidiously, Virginsky was listening somewhat glumly, the rest followed the argument with great attention, especially the ladies and officers. Everyone realized that the agent of a hundred million heads had been driven into a corner, and waited to see what would come of it.
"That was well put, by the way," Verkhovensky mumbled with still greater indifference than before, and even as if with boredom. "Emigration is a good idea. But if, in spite of all the obvious disadvantages you anticipate, there are still more and more soldiers coming to the common cause every day, then it can do without you. Here, my dear, a new religion is on its way to replace the old one, that's why so many fighters are coming, and this is a big thing. Go ahead and emigrate! And, you know, I'd advise you to go to Dresden, not to any peaceful islands. First, it's a city that has never seen an epidemic, and you, being a developed man, are surely afraid of death; second, it's close to the Russian border, so that one can the sooner receive one's income from the beloved fatherland; third, it contains so-called treasures of art, and you are an aesthetic man, a former teacher of literature, I believe; well, and, finally, it contains its own pocket Switzerland—this now is for poetic inspiration, because you surely must scribble verses. In short, a treasure in a snuffbox!"
There was movement; the officers especially stirred. Another moment and everyone would start talking at once. But the lame man irritably fell upon the bait:
"No, sir, perhaps we won't leave the common cause yet! This must be understood, sir..."
"What, you mean you'd really join a fivesome if I offered it?" Verkhovensky suddenly blurted out and laid the scissors down on the table.
Everyone started, as it were. The mysterious man had suddenly disclosed himself too much. Had even spoken directly about a "five-some."
"Everyone feels himself an honest man and will not shirk the common cause," the lame man went all awry, "but..."
"No, sir, it's not a matter of any but," Verkhovensky interrupted imperiously and curtly. "I declare to you, gentlemen, that I want a direct answer. I understand only too well that, having come here and gathered you all together myself, I owe you explanations" (again an unexpected disclosure), "but I cannot give you any before I know what way of thinking you hold with. Talking aside—for we can't babble for another thirty years as we've been babbling for the past thirty—I ask you which is dearer to you: the slow way that consists in the writing of social novels and the bureaucratic predetermining of human destinies on paper for thousands of years to come, with despotism meanwhile gobbling up the roasted hunks that are flying into your mouths of themselves, but that you let go past your mouths; or do you hold with a quick solution, whatever it may consist in, which will finally untie all hands and give mankind the freedom to organize socially by itself, and that in reality, not on paper? 'A hundred million heads,' they shout, and maybe that's just a metaphor, but why be afraid of them if, with these slow paper reveries, despotism in some hundred years will eat up not a hundred but five hundred million heads? Note, too, that the incurable patient is not going to be cured anyway, no matter what prescriptions are given it on paper, and, on the contrary, if there's a delay, it will turn so rotten that it will infect us as well, and corrupt all the fresh forces which can still be counted on now, so that we'll all finally go under. I fully agree that babbling liberally and eloquently is extremely pleasant, while acting is a bit rough... Well, anyhow, I'm not a good speaker; I came here with communications, and therefore I ask the whole honorable company not even to vote but to declare directly and simply which is more fun for you: a snail's pace through the swamp, or full steam across it?"
"I'm positively for steaming across!" the high-school boy shouted in rapture.
"Me, too," echoed Lyamshin.
"There is certainly no doubt about the choice," one officer muttered, and another after him, and someone else after that one. Above all, everyone was struck that Verkhovensky had "communications" and had himself promised to speak presently.
"Gentlemen, I see that you almost all decide in the spirit of the tracts," he said, scanning the company.
"All, all," came a majority of voices.
"I confess I rather adhere to a humane solution," the major said, "but since it's all, I'll be with all the rest."
"So it turns out that you're not against it either?" Verkhovensky addressed the lame man.
"It's not that I..." the latter seemed to blush somewhat, "but if I do agree with you all now, it's solely so as not to disrupt..."
"You're all like that! The man is ready to argue for half a year for the sake of liberal eloquence, and then winds up voting with all the rest! Consider, however, gentlemen: is it true that you are all ready?" (Ready for what?—his question was a vague but terribly tempting one.)
"Of course, all..." declarations were heard. They all nevertheless kept glancing at each other.
"And maybe afterwards you'll be offended for having agreed so quickly? Because that's almost always what happens with you."
There was agitation of various sorts, great agitation. The lame man flew at Verkhovensky.
"Allow me to observe to you, however, that the answers to such questions depend on certain things. Even if we've given a decision, observe all the same that a question asked in such a strange way..."
"What strange way?"
"A way in which such questions are not asked."
"Teach me, please. And, you know, I was just sure you'd be the first to get offended."
"You dragged an answer out of us about readiness for immediate action, but what right did you have to do so? On what authority do you ask such questions?"
"You should have thought of asking that earlier! Why did you answer, then? First you consent, and now you repent."
"And in my opinion the light-minded frankness of your main question gives me the idea that you have no authority or rights, but were just curious for yourself."
"But what is this, what is this?" Verkhovensky cried, as if he were beginning to be greatly alarmed.
"It's that recruiting, whatever it is, is in any case done in private, and not in an unknown company of twenty people!" the lame man blurted out. He spoke his mind, but he was much too irritated. Verkhovensky quickly turned to the company with a superbly feigned look of alarm.
"Gentlemen, I consider it my duty to announce to you all that this is all foolishness and our talk has gone too far. I have not yet recruited anyone whatsoever, and no one has the right to say of me that I am recruiting, when we were simply talking about opinions. Right? But, whether it's right or not, you alarm me greatly," he again turned to the lame man. "I never thought one had to speak of such all but innocent things in private here. Or are you afraid someone will inform on you? Can it be that there's an informer among us?"