"Then, it is not worth while doing anything," drawled Novikoff, and,
thinking of Sanine, he added, "Egoists, that's all you are!"
"No, it's not!" replied Yourii vehemently, influenced by his memories
of the past and by the dusk that gave a grey look to all things in the
room.
"If one speaks of Humanity, of what good are all our efforts in the
cause of constitutions or of revolutions if one cannot even
approximately estimate what humanity really requires? Perhaps in this
liberty of which we dream lie the germs of future degeneracy, and man,
having realized his ideal, will go back, walking once more on all
fours? Thus, all would have to be recommenced. And if I care for
nothing but myself, what then? What do I gain by it? The most I could
do would be to get fame by my talents and achievements, intoxicated by
the respect of my inferiors, that is to say by the respect of those
whom I do not esteem and whose veneration ought to be valueless to me.
And then? To go on living, living, until the grave--nothing after that!
And the crown of laurels would fit my skull so closely, that I should
soon find it irksome!"
"Always about himself!" muttered Novikoff, mockingly.
Yourii did not hear him, being morbidly pleased with his own eloquence.
There was a beautiful gloom about his utterances, so he thought; they
seemed to ennoble him, to heighten his sense of self-respect.
"At the worst, I should become a genius misjudged, a ridiculous
dreamer, a theme for humorous tales, a foolish individual, of no use to
anybody!"
"Aha!" cried Novikoff, as he rose from the couch, "Of no use to
anybody. You admit that yourself, then?"
"How absurd you are!" exclaimed Yourii, "do you really think that I
don't know for what to live and in what to believe? Possibly I should
gladly submit to crucifixion if I believed that my death could save the
world. But I don't believe this; and whatever I did would never alter
the course of history; moreover, my help would be so slight, so
insignificant, that the world would not have suffered a jot if I had
never existed. Yet, for the sake of such infinitesimal help, I am
obliged to live, and suffer, and sorrowfully wait for death."
Yourii did not perceive that he was now talking of something quite
different, replying, not to Novikoff, but to his own strange,
depressing thoughts. Suddenly he remembered Semenoff, and stopped
short. A cold shiver ran down his spine.