This fact expresses the whole essence of Russian liberalism of the sort I'm talking about.
First of all, what is liberalism, generally speaking, if not an attack (whether reasonable or mistaken is another question) on the existing order of things?
Isn't that so?
Well, so my fact consists in this, that Russian liberalism is not an attack on the existing order of things, but is an attack on the very essence of our things, on the things themselves and not merely on their order, not on Russian order, but on Russia itself.
My liberal has reached the point where he denies Russia itself, that is, he hates and beats his own mother.
Every unfortunate and unsuccessful Russian fact evokes laughter in him and all but delight.
He hates Russian customs, Russian history, everything.
If there's any vindication for him, it is perhaps only that he doesn't understand what he's doing and takes his hatred of Russia for the most fruitful liberalism (oh, among us you will often meet a liberal whom all the rest applaud and who perhaps is in essence the most absurd, the most obtuse and dangerous conservative, without knowing it himself!).
Some of our liberals, still not long ago, took this hatred of Russia for all but a genuine love of the fatherland and boasted of seeing better than others what it should consist of; but by now they've become more candid, and have even begun to be ashamed of the words 'love of the fatherland,' have even banished and removed the very notion as harmful and worthless.
That is a true fact, I'll stand behind it and . . . some day the truth had to be spoken out fully, simply, and candidly; but at the same time it is a fact such as has never been or occurred anywhere, in all the ages, among any people, and therefore it is an accidental fact and may go away, I agree.
There could be no such liberal anywhere as would hate his own fatherland.
How, then, can all this be explained in our country?
In the same way as before—that the Russian liberal is so far not a Russian liberal; there's no other way, in my opinion."
"I take all you've said as a joke, Evgeny Pavlych," Prince Shch. objected seriously.
"I haven't seen all the liberals and will not venture to judge," said Alexandra Ivanovna, "but I have listened to your thought with indignation: you've taken a particular case and made it a general rule, and that means slander."
"A particular case?
Ahh!
The word has been spoken," Evgeny Pavlovich picked up.
"What do you think, Prince, is it a particular case or not?"
"I also must say that I've seen little of and have spent little time . . . with liberals," said the prince, "but it seems to me that you may be somewhat right and that the Russian liberalism you spoke of is indeed partly inclined to hate Russia itself and not only its order of things.
Of course, that's only in part ... of course, it wouldn't be fair to say of all . . ."
He faltered and did not finish.
Despite all his agitation, he was extremely interested in the conversation.
There was a special feature in the prince, consisting of the extraordinary naivety of the attention with which he always listened to something that interested him, and of the replies he gave when he was addressed with questions about it.
His face and even the attitude of his body somehow reflected this naivety, this faith, suspecting neither mockery nor humor.
But although Evgeny Pavlovich had long been addressing him not otherwise than with a certain peculiar smile, now, at the prince's response, he looked at him somehow very seriously, as if he had never expected such a response from him.
"So . . . that's strange, though, on your part," he said, "and you really have answered me seriously, Prince?"
"Why, weren't you asking seriously?" the other retorted in surprise.
Everyone laughed.
"Trust him," said Adelaida, "Evgeny Pavlych always makes fools of everyone!
If you only knew what stories he tells sometimes in the most serious way!"
"In my opinion, this is a painful conversation, and should never have been started at all," Alexandra observed sharply. "We wanted to go for a walk ..."
"Let's go, it's a lovely evening!" cried Evgeny Pavlovich. "But, to prove to you that this time I was speaking quite seriously, and, above all, to prove it to the prince (I'm extremely interested in you, Prince, and I swear to you that I'm not at all such an empty man as I must certainly seem—though, in fact, I am an empty man!), and ... if you will permit me, ladies and gentlemen, I will ask the prince one last question, out of personal curiosity, and we'll end there.
This question occurred to me, as if on purpose, two hours ago (you see, Prince, I also sometimes think about serious things); I've answered it, but let's see what the prince says.
Mention has just been made of a 'particular case.'
This has become a very portentous little phrase among us, one hears it often.
Recently everyone was talking and writing about that terrible murder of six people by that . . . young man, and of a strange speech by his defense attorney, in which he said that, given the destitute condition of the criminal, it naturally had to occur to him to kill those six people.
That's not literal, but the meaning, I think, was that or something approaching it.
In my personal opinion, the defense attorney, in voicing such a strange thought, was fully convinced that what he was saying was the most liberal, the most humane and progressive thing that could possibly be said in our time.
Well, what would you say: is this perversion of notions and convictions, this possibility of such a warped and extraordinary view of things, a particular case or a general one?"
Everyone burst out laughing.
"A particular one, naturally, a particular one," laughed Alexandra and Adelaida.
"And allow me to remind you again, Evgeny Pavlych," added Prince Shch., "that by now your joke has worn too thin."
"What do you think, Prince?" Evgeny Pavlovich did not listen, having caught the curious and grave gaze of Prince Lev Nikolaevich upon him.
"How does it seem to you: is this a particular case or a general one?
I confess, it was for you that I thought up this question."
"No, not particular," the prince said quietly but firmly.
"For pity's sake, Lev Nikolaevich," Prince Shch. cried with some vexation, "don't you see that he's trying to trap you; he's decidedly laughing, and it's precisely you that he intends to sharpen his teeth on."
"I thought Evgeny Pavlych was speaking seriously," the prince blushed and lowered his eyes.
"My dear Prince," Prince Shch. went on, "remember what you and I talked about once, about three months ago; we precisely talked about the fact that, in our newly opened young courts,4 one can already point to so many remarkable and talented defense attorneys!