"Or spend my time in spiritual ecstasies or sublime meditations upon the
gospel of feminism," continued Razumov. "I made my way here for my share
of action--action, most respected Peter Ivanovitch! It was not the great
European writer who attracted me, here, to this odious town of liberty.
It was somebody much greater. It was the idea of the chief which
attracted me. There are starving young men in Russia who believe in
you so much that it seems the only thing that keeps them alive in their
misery. Think of that, Peter Ivanovitch! No! But only think of that!"
The great man, thus entreated, perfectly motionless and silent, was the
very image of patient, placid respectability.
"Of course I don't speak of the people. They are brutes," added Razumov,
in the same subdued but forcible tone. At this, a protesting murmur
issued from the "heroic fugitive's" beard. A murmur of authority.
"Say--children."
"No! Brutes!" Razumov insisted bluntly.
"But they are sound, they are innocent," the great man pleaded in a
whisper.
"As far as that goes, a brute is sound enough." Razumov raised his
voice at last. "And you can't deny the natural innocence of a brute.
But what's the use of disputing about names? You just try to give these
children the power and stature of men and see what they will be like.
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