"'Surly dullards,' as you once deigned to express it."
"Nothing is more amusing sometimes than a surly dullard."
"Ah, you mean Mavriky Nikolaevitch?
I am convinced he came to give up his betrothed to you, eh?
I egged him on to do it, indirectly, would you believe it?
And if he doesn't give her up, we'll take her, anyway, won't we—eh?"
Pyotr Stepanovitch knew no doubt that he was running some risk in venturing on such sallies, but when he was excited he preferred to risk anything rather than to remain in uncertainty.
Stavrogin only laughed.
"You still reckon you'll help me?" he asked.
"If you call me.
But you know there's one way, and the best one."
"Do I know your way?"
"Oh no, that's a secret for the time.
Only remember, a secret has its price."
"I know what it costs," Stavrogin muttered to himself, but he restrained himself and was silent.
"What it costs? What did you say?" Pyotr Stepanovitch was startled.
"I said, 'Damn you and your secret!'
You'd better be telling me who will be there.
I know that we are going to a name-day party, but who will be there?"
"Oh, all sorts!
Even Kirillov."
"All members of circles?"
"Hang it all, you are in a hurry!
There's not one circle formed yet."
"How did you manage to distribute so many manifestoes then?"
"Where we are going only four are members of the circle.
The others on probation are spying on one another with jealous eagerness, and bring reports to me.
They are a trustworthy set.
It's all material which we must organise, and then we must clear out.
But you wrote the rules yourself, there's no need to explain."
"Are things going badly then?
Is there a hitch?"
"Going?
Couldn't be better.
It will amuse you: the first thing which has a tremendous effect is giving them titles.
Nothing has more influence than a title.
I invent ranks and duties on purpose; I have secretaries, secret spies, treasurers, presidents, registrars, their assistants—they like it awfully, it's taken capitally.
Then, the next force is sentimentalism, of course.
You know, amongst us socialism spreads principally through sentimentalism.
But the trouble is these lieutenants who bite; sometimes you put your foot in it.
Then come the out-and-out rogues; well, they are a good sort, if you like, and sometimes very useful; but they waste a lot of one's time, they want incessant looking after.
And the most important force of all—the cement that holds everything together—is their being ashamed of having an opinion of their own.
That is a force!
And whose work is it, whose precious achievement is it, that not one idea of their own is left in their heads!
They think originality a disgrace."
"If so, why do you take so much trouble?"
"Why, if people lie simply gaping at every one, how can you resist annexing them?
Can you seriously refuse to believe in the possibility of success?
Yes, you have the faith, but one wants will.
It's just with people like this that success is possible.