know, they are all, with very few exceptions, regular Gogolesque
pig faces here. But I saw what you were at once that time at the
picnic. You are a noble soul, an honest, high-minded man! I respect
you, and feel it a great honour to shake hands with you!" he went
on enthusiastically. "To have made such a complete and violent
change of life as you have done, you must have passed through a
complicated spiritual crisis, and to continue this manner of life
now, and to keep up to the high standard of your convictions
continually, must be a strain on your mind and heart from day to
day. Now to begin our talk, tell me, don't you consider that if you
had spent your strength of will, this strained activity, all these
powers on something else, for instance, on gradually becoming a
great scientist, or artist, your life would have been broader and
deeper and would have been more productive?"

We talked, and when we got upon manual labour I expressed this idea:
that what is wanted is that the strong should not enslave the weak,
that the minority should not be a parasite on the majority, nor a
vampire for ever sucking its vital sap; that is, all, without
exception, strong and weak, rich and poor, should take part equally
in the struggle for existence, each one on his own account, and
that there was no better means for equalizing things in that way
than manual labour, in the form of universal service, compulsory
for all.

"Then do you think everyone without exception ought to engage in
manual labour?" asked the doctor.

"Yes."

"And don't you think that if everyone, including the best men, the
thinkers and great scientists, taking part in the struggle for
existence, each on his own account, are going to waste their time
breaking stones and painting roofs, may not that threaten a grave
danger to progress?"

"Where is the danger?" I asked. "Why, progress is in deeds of love,
in fulfilling the moral law; if you don't enslave anyone, if you
don't oppress anyone, what further progress do you want?"

"But, excuse me," Blagovo suddenly fired up, rising to his feet.
"But, excuse me! If a snail in its shell busies itself over perfecting
its own personality and muddles about with the moral law, do you
call that progress?"

"Why muddles?" I said, offended. "If you don't force your neighbour
to feed and clothe you, to transport you from place to place and
defend you from your enemies, surely in the midst of a life entirely
resting on s