‘That’s all your invention, O friend of my bosom.... You threatening any one with a stick.... You haven’t got a stick. _C’est pour faire rire ces dames._ For the sake of a good story. But that’s not the point. I said just now that we must turn back completely. Understand me. I am not hostile to so-called progress, but all these universities and seminaries, and popular schools, these students, priests’ sons, and commoners, all these small fry, _tout ce fond du sac, la petite propriété, pire que le prolétariat_ (the general uttered this in a languishing, almost faint voice) _voilà ce qui m’effraie_ ... that’s where one ought to draw the line, and make other people draw it too.’ (Again he gave Litvinov a genial glance.) ‘Yes, one must draw the line. Don’t forget that among us no one makes any demand, no one is asking for anything. Local government, for instance--who asks for that? Do you ask for it? or you, or you? or you, _mesdames_? You rule not only yourselves but all of us, you know.’ (The general’s handsome face was lighted up by a smile of amusement.) ‘My dear friends, why should we curry favour with the multitude. You like democracy, it flatters you, and serves your ends ... but you know it’s a double weapon. It is better in the old way, as before ... far more secure. Don’t deign to reason with the herd, trust in the aristocracy, in that alone is power.... Indeed it will be better. And progress ... I certainly have nothing against progress. Only don’t give us lawyers and sworn juries and elective officials ... only don’t touch discipline, discipline before all things--you may build bridges, and quays, and hospitals, and why not light the streets with gas?’ ‘Petersburg has been set on fire from one end to the other, so there you have your progress!’ hissed the irritable general. ‘Yes, you’re a mischievous fellow, I can see,’ said the stout general, shaking his head lazily; ‘you would do for a chief-prosecutor, but in my opinion _avec Orphée aux enfers le progrès a dit son dernier mot_.’ ‘_Vous dites toujours des bêtises_,’ giggled the lady from Arzamass. The general looked dignified. ‘_Je ne suis jamais plus sérieux, madame, que quand je dis des bêtises._’ ‘Monsieur Verdier has uttered that very phrase several times already,’ observed Irina in a low voice. ‘_De la poigne et des formes_,’ cried the stout general, ‘_de la poigne surtout_. And to translate into Russian: be civil but don’t spare your fists.’ ‘Ah, you’re a rascal, an incorrigible rascal,’ interposed the condescending general. ‘_Mesdames_, don’t listen to him, please. A barking dog does not bite. He cares for nothing but flirtation.’ ‘That’s not right, though, Boris,’ began Ratmirov, after exchanging a glance with his wife, ‘it’s all very well to be mischievous, but that’s going too far. Progress is a phenomenon of social life, and this is what we must not forget; it’s a symptom. It’s what we must watch.’