XXII
A Theoretical Conversation
On the following day, Kirsánof had just thrown himself down like a sybarite, with a cigar, intending to read and rest after his late dinner upon returning from the hospital, when Lopukhóf came in.
“A guest at the wrong time is worse than a Tartar,” said Lopukhóf, in a jocular tone; but his tone proved not to be very successfully jocular. “I disturb you, Aleksandr; but even if it is so, you must put up with it. I want to speak to you seriously. I meant to have come earlier, but I overslept this morning, and I should not have found you.” Lopukhóf was now speaking without joking.
“What does it mean? Has he really suspected?” wondered Kirsánof.
“Let us have a little talk,” continued Lopukhóf, seating himself. “Look me in the eye.”
“Yes, he is going to speak about it; there is no doubt about it.”
“Listen, Dmitri,” said Kirsánof, in a tone still more serious. “You and I are friends; but there are things which even friends must not allow themselves. I beg of you to cease this conversation. I am not inclined now to serious conversations, and I am never ready for it.” Kirsánof’s eyes looked keenly and angrily, as though a man were before him whom he suspected of committing a murder.
“It is impossible not to speak, Aleksandr,” continued Lopukhóf, in a calm, but rather dull voice. “I have understood your maneuvers.”
“Silence! I forbid you to speak, unless you want me to be your enemy forever—if you don’t want to lose my respect.”
“Some time ago, you were not afraid of losing my respect; do you remember? Now I understand all. I did not understand it then.”
“Dmitri, I beg of you to leave the room, or I shall.”
“You cannot leave. What do you suppose—that I do not have your interests at heart?”
Kirsánof did not reply.
“My situation is a good one. Yours, judging by your words, is not. I appear to you in the guise of a man doing a noble deed. But that’s nonsense. I cannot act otherwise, according to common sense. I beg of you, Aleksandr, to cease your maneuvers; they will lead to nothing.”
“How? was it really too late? Forgive me,” cried Kirsánof, impetuously; and he could not decide whether it was joy or grief excited in him by the words, “they will lead to nothing.”
“No; you have not understood me. It was not too late. So far there has been no harm done; we shall see whether there will be. But now there is nothing to be seen. However, Aleksandr, I do not understand what you are speaking about; neither do you understand what I mean. We do not understand each other; isn’t that so? There is not any need of our understanding each other, is there? These are little enigmas which you do not understand; they are unpleasant. There was nothing of the sort; I have not said anything. I have nothing to say to you. Give me a cigar; I forgot mine. I’m forgetful. I am going to smoke and have a talk with you about scientific questions; that was all that I came for. I wanted to spend a little time in scientific talk, as I had nothing else to do. What do you think about these strange experiments on the mechanical production of albumen?” Lopukhóf moved from one chair to another, so as to have a comfortable place for his feet; he got into an easy position, and while he smoked his cigar he continued what he had to say. “According to my view it is a great discovery. Have you repeated the experiments?”
“No; but I shall have to.”
“How fortunate you are to have such a splendid laboratory at your disposal. I beg of you, try them for yourself; try them more carefully. A complete revolution of the whole question of food, and of all human life—the artificial production of the principal element of nutrition, directly from inorganic matter. It is a most extraordinary thing; it is equal to Newton’s discovery. Don’t you think so?”
“Certainly. Only I greatly doubt the accuracy of the experiments. Sooner or later we shall reach this without doubt; science is going on in that direction, that is evident. But now we have hardly come to it.”
“Do you think so? I think so myself. Then our conversation is ended. Goodbye, Aleksandr. But while I say goodbye, I will ask you to call on us often, just as you used to do. Dō svidánya.”
Kirsánof’s eyes, which all the time had been looking fiercely and steadily at Lopukhóf, flashed with indignation. “It seems to me, Dmitri, that you want me to get the opinion that you have low thoughts.”
“I don’t want anything of the sort. But you must come to see us. There is nothing strange in that, is there? You and I are friends. What is there strange in my request?”
“I cannot. You are beginning a foolish piece of work, and, therefore, wretched.”
“I do not understand what you mean. And I must tell you that what you say does not please me at all; just as two minutes ago what I said did not please you.”
“I demand an explanation, Dmitri.”
“There’s none to give. There is nothing, and there is nothing to explain, and there is nothing to understand. You are getting excited over mere nothing.”
“No, I cannot let you go so.” Kirsánof took Lopukhóf by the arm as he started to leave. “Sit down; you began to speak when it was not necessary. You don’t realize what you ask of me. You must hear me now to the end.”
Lopukhóf sat down.
“What right have you”—Kirsánof began in a voice of greater indignation than before—“what right have you to ask of me what is hard for me? Is there anything that I owe you? What does this mean? It’s absurd. Try to clear your brain of romantic nonsense. Whatever you and I regard as a normal life will come to be so, only after the ideas of general society have entirely changed. There must be absolute reorganization, that is true. It will be reorganized according as life is developed. Whoever gets the new training, helps others, that is true. But until this new education is accomplished, as long as things are not completely changed, you have no right to risk the happiness of another. This is a horrible thing; do you understand it, or have you lost your senses?”
“No; I do not understand anything at all, Aleksandr. I do not know what you are talking about. You are pleased to see a wonderful design in the simple request of a friend, not to forget him, because he likes to see you at his house. I don’t understand why you need to get excited about it.”
“No, Dmitri; in such talk you will not get rid of me with a jest. I must show you that you are crazy, in thinking about such a miserable piece of work. There are a good many things that you and I don’t acknowledge, aren’t there? We don’t acknowledge that a box on the ear carries with it something dishonorable; it is a stupid prejudice, a harmful prejudice, and nothing more. But have you the right now to subject a man to the risk of getting a boxing? That would be on your part, a mean, low abomination, for you would have taken away from a man the peace of his life. Do you understand what I mean, stupid? Do you understand that if I love this person, and you ask me to give him a box in the ear, which, according to my ideas and yours, is a trifle—do you understand that if you asked me to do this, I should consider you a fool and a low fellow; and if you compelled me to do it, I should kill either you or myself, according to whose life were the less desirable—I would kill either you or myself, but I would not do this. Do you understand this, you stupid fellow? I am speaking about a man and a slap, which is a trifle, but which takes away the peace of life from a man. Besides men, there are in this world women, who are also human beings; besides slaps, there are other kinds of trifles, which, according to your idea and mine, and which are really trifles, but which also deprive people of the peace of life. Do you understand that to subject any person, even though it be a woman, to any such thing, which, according to your opinion and mine, and in reality are trifles—well, to do any such thing, it does not matter what—do you understand, that to subject anyone to such a thing, is mean, contemptible, dishonest? Do you hear me? I say that you have dishonorable thoughts.”
“My friend, you speak the exact truth about what is honorable and dishonorable; only I do not know what you are saying these things for, and I do not understand what relation it may have to me. I have not told you anything at all, nor have I said anything about any intention of risking the peace of life of anybody in the world! nothing of the kind! You are indulging in fancies, and that’s all there is of it. I ask of you, my friend, not to forget me, because it is agreeable to me, as your friend, to spend time with you, and that’s all. Will you fulfil your friend’s request?”
“It is dishonorable, I told you, and I don’t act dishonorably.”
“It is very praiseworthy of you that you don’t; but you got angry over some fancy or other, and you dashed off into theory. You apparently wanted to theorize without any reason, without any applicability to what we were talking about. Now I also am going to theorize, also absolutely without any direct intention, I will ask you a question that has no relation, whatever to anything except the explanation of an abstract truth, without any application to anyone in particular. If anyone without any distaste to himself can afford to give another pleasure, then common sense, according to my view, demands that he give it to him, because he himself will get pleasure from it; isn’t that so?”
“That’s nonsense, Dmitri! You are off the point.”
“I am not saying anything, Aleksandr; I am only indulging myself in theoretical speculations. Here is still another: If any desire, whatsoever, is awakened for anything, does our attempt to stifle this desire ever lead to anything good? Is not that so? No, such an attempt would lead to no good. It leads only to the necessity increasing threefold; it becomes injurious or takes a false direction; it is both harmful and miserable, or if the desire is stifled also, life is stifled; that is pitiful.”
“That is not the point, Dmitri. I am going to put your theoretical problem in another form: Has anybody a right to subject a person to a risk, if that person’s life is happy without that risk? There will come a time when all the demands of every man’s nature will be fully satisfied, that you and I know; but we both know equally well that this time has not yet come. Now a reasonable man is satisfied if he has enough to live upon, even though parts of his nature are not satisfied with the position in which he is satisfied to live. I shall suppose, by the way of abstract hypothesis, that such a fortunate man is in existence. I shall suppose that this person is a woman; I shall suppose again, in the way of an abstract hypothesis, that the position in which she is satisfied to live is married life. I will suppose that she is satisfied with her position, and I say: given such facts according to this abstract hypothesis, who has a right to run the risk of destroying what is good, what she is satisfied with, in order to try to give this person something better, which she can easily manage to get along without. There will be a golden age; we know that it is coming, but it is far in the future. The age of iron is almost gone, but the golden age has not yet made its appearance. If according to my abstract hypothesis, some strong demand of this person, let us suppose—since it is only for an example, let us suppose, love—the necessity of love were not entirely satisfied or were ill satisfied, I would not say anything against the danger run by the person, but only against such danger itself, and not against the danger brought upon him by somebody else. And if this person finds perfect satisfaction after all for his demand, then he himself must not run the risk. Now I will say abstractly that he does not want to run the risk, and I will say further, he is right and sensible because he does not want to run the risk; and I say, mean and contemptible is the man who would subject to the risk the one who does not want to run the risk. What can you say against this hypothetical result? Nothing! Understand, then, that you have no right.”
“If I had been in your place, Aleksandr, I should have answered in the same way; I, like you, am speaking only in parables; I will imagine that you have a personal interest in this question. I know of course that it does not concern any one of us; we are speaking only as scientific men about certain interesting sides of universal scientific principles, which seem to us right; according to these views, everybody judges about every case from his own standpoint, which is formed by his individual relations to the thing. I only say in this sense of the word, that if I were in your place I should have spoken as you have, and you in my place would have said exactly what I have said. From the general scientific standpoint, this is an undisputable truth. A in B’s place is B; if A were not B when in B’s place, then he would not be in B’s place; he would somehow fail to be in B’s place; isn’t it so? Consequently you have nothing to say against this, just as I had nothing to say against what you said. But according to your example I will establish my hypothesis, which is also abstract, and which also has no application to anybody. Let us suppose that there are three people in existence—a supposition which contains nothing impossible; let us suppose that one of them has a secret which he would like to keep from the second, and particularly from the third; let us suppose that the second finds out the secret of the third, and says to him: Do as I tell you, else I shall expose your secret to the third. What do you think about this matter?”
Kirsánof grew rather pale and for a long time twisted his mustache. “Dmitri, you behave shamefully towards me,” he said at last.
“Have I any special necessity upon me to act well toward you? what interest do I take in you? And besides, I do not understand what you are talking about. You and I have been speaking as two scientific men speak among themselves. We offered each other various scientific hypotheses; at last I succeeded in offering one which brought you to terms, and my scientific self-respect is satisfied. And therefore I shall cease this theoretical conversation. I have a great deal of work to do, not less than you have, and so dō svidánya. By the way, I had almost forgotten; Aleksandr will you fulfil my request to come and see us; we are good friends, you know; and we shall be always glad to see you. Come just as you used to these last few months.”
Lopukhóf got up. Kirsánof was sitting, looking at his fingers as though each one were a abstract hypothesis. “You are acting cruelly towards me, Dmitri. I cannot help fulfilling your request. But in my turn I shall impose one condition; I will come to see you; but if I leave your house not by myself, you must also go everywhere that I go, and I must have no necessity of asking you. Do you hear? You yourself, of your own free will, without my asking you. Without you I shall not take a step; not to the opera, not to call on friends or go anywhere.”
“Oughtn’t that condition to be offensive to me Aleksandr? Do you think I look upon you as a thief?”
“I didn’t speak in that sense of the word. I would not bring such an affront upon you as to think that you could take me for a thief. I would give my life into your hands without any hesitation. I hope I have a right to expect this from you also. But what I mean is for me to know. You do what I say, and that’s all.”
“Now I too know. Yes, you have done a great deal in this respect; you want now to guard against this even more solicitously. Well, in this respect you are in the right. Yes, you have a right to compel me. But no matter how thankful I am to you, my friend, this will amount to nothing. I myself tried to compel myself; I too have a will as well as you, and my scheme has been as clever as yours. But whatever is done through calculation, through a feeling of duty, by strength of will, and not by the drawing of nature, results lifelessly. Only to kill a thing is possible through these means, just as you have been doing with yourself, but to make a living thing is impossible.”
Lopukhóf had become sentimental over Kirsánof’s words, “what I mean is for me to know.” “Thank you, my friend. And since we have never kissed each other, maybe we have a desire to now?”
If Lopukhóf had examined his actions during this conversation, as a theorist, he would have noticed with satisfaction: “How true the theory is, Egotism makes sport of men. Now here the most important thing he entirely suppressed: ‘Let us suppose that this person is satisfied with his situation.’ Now when that was said, he ought to have replied: ‘Aleksandr, your supposition is not true.’ But I held my peace because it was not to my advantage to say it. It is pleasant for a man, as a theorist, to notice what tricks his egotism plays with him in practical life. You are retreating from the battle because the battle is lost for you, but egotism turns your gestures so that you are playing the man who is doing noble actions.”
Had Kirsánof examined his actions during this conversation, as a theorist, he would have noticed with pleasure “How true this theory is. I wanted to preserve my own peace, to rest upon my laurels, and here I was saying, ‘You have no right to risk a woman’s peace of mind’; and this means—be sure you yourself understand it—that I actually have done a noble action to my own detriment, for the sake of another’s peace, and for your sake, my friend, and therefore fall on your knees before the grandeur of my soul! It is pleasant for a man, as a theorist, to notice what tricks his egotism plays with him in practical life. He retreated from the battle so as not to be a fool, and gained glory because he had accomplished a heroic action of magnanimous nobility. You did not yield to the demand at the first word, so that you might not be troubled again about yourself, so that you might not be deprived of the sweet triumph in your nobility; but egotism turns your actions so that you are playing the man who presses forward into noble endeavor.”
But neither Lopukhóf nor Kirsánof had time to examine their actions as theorists, or to make these pleasant observations; and the practical solution of the question seemed to both pretty hard.