"You're always talking about sleep; you're my nanny, Prince!
As soon as the sun appears and 'resounds' in the sky (who said that in a poem: 'the sun resounded in the sky'?8 It's meaningless, but good!)—we'll go to bed.
Lebedev!
Is the sun the wellspring of life?
What are the 'wellsprings of life' in the Apocalypse?
Have you heard of 'the star Wormwood,'9 Prince?"
"I've heard that Lebedev thinks this 'star Wormwood' is the network of railways spread over Europe."
"No, excuse me, sir, that's not it, sir!" Lebedev cried, jumping up and waving his arms, as if wishing to stop the general laughter that was beginning. "Excuse me, sir!
With these gentlemen ... all these gentlemen," he suddenly turned to the prince, "in certain points, it's like this, sir . . ." and he unceremoniously rapped the table twice, which increased the laughter still more.
Lebedev, though in his usual "evening" state, was much too agitated and irritated this time by the preceding long "learned" argument, and on such occasions his attitude towards his opponents was one of boundless and highly candid contempt.
"That's not it, sir!
Half an hour ago, Prince, we made an agreement not to interrupt; not to laugh while someone is talking; to allow him to say everything freely, and then let the atheists object if they want to; we made the general our chairman, so we did, sir!
Or else what, sir?
Or else anybody can get thrown off, even with the highest idea, sir, even with the deepest idea . . ."
"Well, speak, speak: nobody's throwing you off!" voices rang out.
"Speak, but not through your hat."
"What is this 'star Wormwood'?" somebody asked.
"I have no idea!" General Ivolgin answered, taking his recently appointed place as chairman with an air of importance.
"I have a remarkable fondness for all these arguments and irritations, Prince—learned ones, naturally," murmured Keller, meanwhile stirring on his chair in decided rapture and impatience, "learned and political ones," he turned suddenly and unexpectedly to Evgeny Pavlovich, who was sitting almost next to him.
"You know, I'm terribly fond of reading about the English Parliaments in the newspapers, that is, not in the sense of what they discuss (I'm no politician, you know), but of the way they discuss things together, and behave, so to speak, like politicians: 'the noble viscount sitting opposite me,' 'the noble earl, who shares my thinking,' 'my noble opponent, who has astonished Europe with his proposal,' that is, all those little expressions, all that parliamentarianism of a free nation—that's what our sort finds attractive!
I'm captivated, Prince.
I've always been an artist in the depths of my soul, I swear to you, Evgeny Pavlych."
"So then," Ganya was seething in another corner, "it turns out, in your opinion, that the railways are cursed, that they're the bane of mankind, a plague that has fallen upon the earth to muddy the 'wellsprings of life'?"10
Gavrila Ardalionovich was in a particularly agitated mood that evening, a merry, almost triumphant mood, as it seemed to the prince.
He was, of course, joking with Lebedev, egging him on, but soon he became excited himself.
"Not the railways, no, sir!" Lebedev protested, beside himself and at the same time enjoying himself tremendously. "By themselves the railways won't muddy the wellsprings of life, but the thing as a whole is cursed, sir, all this mood of our last few centuries, as a general whole, scientific and practical, is maybe indeed cursed, sir."
"Certainly cursed or only maybe?
It's important in this case," inquired Evgeny Pavlovich.
"Cursed, cursed, certainly cursed!" Lebedev confirmed with passion.
"Don't rush, Lebedev, you're much kinder in the mornings," Ptitsyn observed, smiling.
"But more candid in the evenings!
More heartfelt and more candid in the evenings!" Lebedev turned to him heatedly. "More simple-hearted and more definite, more honest and more honorable, and though I expose myself to you in this way, I spit on it, sir. I challenge you all now, all you atheists: how are you going to save the world, and what is the normal path you've found for it— you men of science, industry, associations, salaries, and the rest?
What is it?
Credit?
What is credit?
What will credit lead you to?"
"Aren't you a curious one!" observed Evgeny Pavlovich.
"My opinion is that whoever isn't interested in such questions is a high-society chenapan,* sir!"
"At least it will lead to general solidarity and the balance of interests," observed Ptitsyn.
"And that's all, that's all!
Without recognizing any moral foundations except the satisfaction of personal egoism and material necessity?
Universal peace, universal happiness—from necessity!
May I venture to ask if I understand you correctly, my dear sir?"
"But the universal necessity to live, eat, and drink, and the full, finally scientific, conviction that you will never satisfy that necessity without universal association and solidarity of interests is, it seems, a strong enough thought to serve as a foothold and a 'wellspring of life' for the future ages of mankind," observed the now seriously excited Ganya.
"The necessity to eat and drink, that is, the mere sense of self-preservation . . ."
"But isn't the sense of self-preservation enough?
The sense of self-preservation is the normal law of mankind ..."
"Who told you that?" Evgeny Pavlovich cried suddenly. "A law it is, true, but no more normal than the law of destruction, and perhaps also of self-destruction.
Can self-preservation be the only normal law of mankind?"
"Aha!" cried Ippolit, turning quickly to Evgeny Pavlovich and looking him over with wild curiosity; but seeing that the man was laughing, he laughed himself, nudged Kolya, who was standing *Rascal or good-for-nothing. beside him, and again asked him what time it was, even pulling Kolya's silver watch towards him and greedily looking at the dial.