"You do things, then? At all events, you are preparing to do things?"
Bazarov did not reply, although, in his excitement, Paul Petrovitch had started up and then quickly recovered his self-command.
"H'm!" continued Paul Petrovitch. "With you to act is to demolish. But how is such demolition to benefit when you do not even know its purpose?"
"We demolish because we are a force," interposed Arkady.
Paul Petrovitch stared—then smiled.
"And a force need render account to no one," added Arkady with a self-conscious straightening of his form.
"Fool!" gasped Paul Petrovitch. Evidently he could contain himself no longer. "Have you ever considered what you are maintaining with your miserable creed? Even an angel would lose patience! 'A force,' forsooth! You might as well say that the wild Kalmuck, or the barbaric Mongol, represents a force. What boots such a force? Civilisation and its fruits are what we value. And do not tell me that those fruits are to be overlooked, seeing that even the meanest barbouilleur,[3] the meanest piano-player who ever earned five kopecks a night, is of more use to society than you. For men of that kind at least stand for culture rather than for some rude, Mongolian propelling-power. Yes, you may look upon yourselves as 'the coming race,' yet you are fit but to sit in a Kalmuck shanty. 'A force,' forsooth! Good and 'forceful' sirs, I beg to tell you that you number but four men and a boy, whereas those others number millions, and are folk of the kind who will not permit such as you to trample upon their sacred beliefs, but will first trample upon your worthy selves."
"Let them trample upon us," retorted Bazarov. "We are more in number than you think."
"What? You really believe that you will succeed in inoculating the nation as a whole?"
"From a little candle," replied Bazarov, "there arose, as you know, the conflagration of Moscow."[4]