"There's not much more," Evgeny Pavlovich went on. "I merely wanted to observe that from this case it's possible to jump over directly to the right of force, that is, to the right of the singular fist and personal wanting, as, incidentally, has happened very often in this world. Proudhon stopped at the right of force. 41In the American war, many of the most progressive liberals declared themselves on the side of the plantation owners, in this sense, that Negroes are Negroes, inferior to the white race, and consequently the right of force belongs to the whites ..."
"Well?"
"So you don't deny the right of force?"
"Go on."
"You're consistent, then. I only wanted to observe that from the right of force to the right of tigers and crocodiles and even to Danilov and Gorsky is not a long step."
"I don't know; go on."
Ippolit was barely listening to Evgeny Pavlovich, and even if he said "well" and "go on" to him, it seemed to be more from an old, adopted habit of conversation, and not out of attention and curiosity.
"There's nothing more . . . that's all."
"Incidentally, I'm not angry with you," Ippolit suddenly concluded quite unexpectedly and, hardly with full consciousness, held out his hand, even with a smile. Evgeny Pavlovich was surprised at first, but touched the hand held out to him with a most serious air, as though receiving forgiveness.
"I cannot help adding," he said in the same ambiguously respectful tone, "my gratitude to you for the attention with which you have allowed me to speak, because it has been my oft-repeated observation that our liberal has never yet been able to allow anyone to have his own convictions and not reply at once to his opponent with abuse or even worse ..."
"That is perfectly right," General Ivan Fyodorovich observed and, putting his hands behind his back, with a most bored air retreated to the door of the terrace, where he proceeded to yawn with vexation.
"Well, enough for you, dear boy," Lizaveta Prokofyevna suddenly announced to Evgeny Pavlovich, "I'm tired of you . . ."
"It's time," Ippolit suddenly stood up with a preoccupied and all but frightened look, gazing around in perplexity, "I've kept you; I wanted to tell you ... I thought that everyone ... for the last time ... it was a fantasy . . ."
One could see that he would become animated in bursts, suddenly coming out of what was almost real delirium for a few moments, and with full consciousness would suddenly remember and speak, mostly in fragments, perhaps thought up and memorized much earlier, in the long, boring hours of illness, in bed, alone, sleepless.
"So, farewell!" he suddenly said sharply. "Do you think it's easy for me to say farewell to you? Ha, ha!" he smiled vexedly at his own awkwardquestion and suddenly, as if angry that he kept failing to say what he wanted, declared loudly and irritably: "Your Excellency! I have the honor of inviting you to my funeral, if you
will vouchsafe me such an honor, and ... all of you, ladies and gentlemen, along with the general! . . ."
He laughed again; but this was now the laughter of a madman. Lizaveta Prokofyevna fearfully moved towards him and grasped his arm. He gazed at her intently, with the same laughter, though it no longer went on but seemed to have stopped and frozen on his face.
"Do you know that I came here in order to see trees? Those . . ." (he pointed to the trees in the park), "that's not funny, eh? There's nothing funny in it, is there?" he asked Lizaveta Prokofyevna seriously, and suddenly fell to thinking; then, after a moment, he raised his head and began curiously searching through the crowd with his eyes. He was looking for Evgeny Pavlovich, who was standing very near, to the right, in the same spot as before, but he had already forgotten and searched all around. "Ah, you haven't left!" he finally found him. "You laughed at me earlier, that I wanted to talk through the window for a quarter of an hour . . . But do you know that I'm not eighteen years old: I've spent so long lying on that pillow, and spent so long looking out of that window, and thought so much . . . about everybody . . . that ... A dead man has no age, you know. I thought of that last week, when I woke up in the night . . . But do you know what you're most afraid of? You're most afraid of our sincerity, though you despise us! I thought of that at the same time, at night, on my pillow . . . Do you think I meant to laugh at you earlier, Lizaveta Prokofyevna? No, I wasn't laughing at you, I only meant to praise you . . . Kolya told me that the prince called you a child . . . that's good . . . So, what was I . . . there was something else I wanted . . ."
He covered his face with his hands and fell to thinking.
"It was this: as you were taking your leave earlier, I suddenly thought: here are these people, and they'll never be there anymore, never! And no trees either—there'll just be the brick wall, red brick, of Meyer's house . . . across from my window . . . well, go and tell them about all that . . . try telling them; here's a beautiful girl . . . but you're dead, introduce yourself as a dead man, tell her 'a dead man can say everything' . . . and that Princess Marya Alexeevna won't scold you, 42ha, ha! . . . You're not laughing?" he looked around mistrustfully. "And you know, a lot of thoughts occurred to me on that pillow . . . you know, I became convinced that nature is very much given to mockery . . . You said earlier that I was an atheist, but you know, this nature . . . Why are you laughing again? You're terribly cruel!" he suddenly said with rueful
indignation, looking them all over. "I haven't corrupted Kolya," he ended in a completely different tone, serious and assured, as if also suddenly remembering.
"Nobody, nobody here is laughing at you, calm down!" Lizaveta Prokofyevna was almost suffering. "Tomorrow a new doctor will come; the other one was wrong; and sit down, you can hardly stand on your feet! You're delirious . . . Ah, what's to be done with him now!" she bustled about, sitting him in an armchair. A small tear glistened on her cheek.
Ippolit stopped almost dumbstruck, raised his hand, reached out timidly, and touched that little tear. He smiled a sort of childlike smile.
"I . . . you . . ." he began joyfully, "you don't know how I ... he always spoke of you with such rapture, him, Kolya ... I love his rapture. I haven't corrupted him! I have only him to leave ... I wanted to have them all, all of them—but there was no one, no one ... I wanted to be an activist, I had the right . . . Oh, there was so much I wanted! Now I don't want anything, I don't want to want anything, I gave myself my word on it, that I would no longer want anything; let them, let them seek the truth without me! Yes, nature is given to mockery! Why does she," he suddenly continued ardently, "why does she create the best beings only so as to mock them afterwards? Didn't she make it so that the single being on earth who has been acknowledged as perfect 43. . . didn't she make it so that, having shown him to people, she destined him to say things that have caused so much blood to be shed, that if it had been shed all at once, people would probably have drowned in it! Oh, it's good that I'm dying! I, too, might utter some terrible lie, nature would arrange it that way! ... I haven't corrupted anybody ... I wanted to live for the happiness of all people, for the discovery and proclaiming of the truth! ... I looked through my window at Meyer's wall and thought I could talk for only a quarter of an hour and everybody, everybody would be convinced, and for once in my life I got together . . . with you, if not with the people! And what came of it? Nothing! It turned out that you despise me! Therefore I'm not needed, therefore I'm a fool, therefore it's time to go! Without managing to leave any memory! Not a sound, not a trace, not a single deed, not spreading any conviction! . . . Don't laugh at the stupid man! Forget! Forget everything . . . please forget, don't be so cruel! Do you know, if this consumption hadn't turned up, I'd have killed myself. . ."