I tell you I could make them go through fire; one has only to din it into them that they are not advanced enough.
The fools reproach me that I have taken in every one here over the central committee and 'the innumerable branches.'
You once blamed me for it yourself, but where's the deception? You and I are the central committee and there will be as many branches as we like."
"And always the same sort of rabble!"
"Raw material.
Even they will be of use."
"And you are still reckoning on me?"
"You are the chief, you are the head; I shall only be a subordinate, your secretary.
We shall take to our barque, you know; the oars are of maple, the sails are of silk, at the helm sits a fair maiden, Lizaveta Nikolaevna... hang it, how does it go in the ballad?"
"He is stuck," laughed Stavrogin.
"No, I'd better give you my version.
There you reckon on your fingers the forces that make up the circles.
All that business of titles and sentimentalism is a very good cement, but there is something better; persuade four members of the circle to do for a fifth on the pretence that he is a traitor, and you'll tie them all together with the blood they've shed as though it were a knot.
They'll be your slaves, they won't dare to rebel or call you to account.
Ha ha ha!"
"But you... you shall pay for those words," Pyotr Stepanovitch thought to himself, "and this very evening, in fact.
You go too far."
This or something like this must have been Pyotr Stepanovitch's reflection.
They were approaching Virginsky's house.
"You've represented me, no doubt, as a member from abroad, an inspector in connection with the Internationale?" Stavrogin asked suddenly.
"No, not an inspector; you won't be an inspector; but you are one of the original members from abroad, who knows the most important secrets—that's your role.
You are going to speak, of course?"
"What's put that idea into your head?"
"Now you are bound to speak."
Stavrogin positively stood still in the middle of the street in surprise, not far from a street lamp.
Pyotr Stepanovitch faced his scrutiny calmly and defiantly.
Stavrogin cursed and went on.
"And are you going to speak?" he suddenly asked Pyotr Stepanovitch.
"No, I am going to listen to you."
"Damn you, you really are giving me an idea!"
"What idea?" Pyotr Stepanovitch asked quickly.
"Perhaps I will speak there, but afterwards I will give you a hiding—and a sound one too, you know."
"By the way, I told Karmazinov this morning that you said he ought to be thrashed, and not simply as a form but to hurt, as they flog peasants."
"But I never said such a thing; ha ha!"
"No matter.
Se non e vero..."
"Well, thanks. I am truly obliged."
"And another thing. Do you know, Karmazinov says that the essence of our creed is the negation of honour, and that by the open advocacy of a right to be dishonourable a Russian can be won over more easily than by anything."
"An excellent saying!
Golden words!" cried Stavrogin.
"He's hit the mark there!
The right to dishonour—why, they'd all flock to us for that, not one would stay behind!
And listen, Verhovensky, you are not one of the higher police, are you?"
"Anyone who has a question like that in his mind doesn't utter it."
"I understand, but we are by ourselves."
"No, so far I am not one of the higher police.
Enough, here we are.
Compose your features, Stavrogin; I always do mine when I go in.
A gloomy expression, that's all, nothing more is wanted; it's a very simple business."
CHAPTER VII.