eased to express yourself. I wish only to
tell you that aristocracy is a principle, and in our days none but
immoral or silly people can live without principles. I said that to
Arkady the day after he came home, and I repeat it now. Isn't it so,
Nikolai?'

Nikolai Petrovitch nodded his head.

'Aristocracy, Liberalism, progress, principles,' Bazarov was saying
meanwhile; 'if you think of it, what a lot of foreign ... and useless
words! To a Russian they're good for nothing.'

'What is good for something according to you? If we listen to you, we
shall find ourselves outside humanity, outside its laws. Come--the
logic of history demands ...'

'But what's that logic to us? We call get on without that too.'

'How do you mean?'

'Why, this. You don't need logic, I hope, to put a bit of bread in your
mouth when you're hungry. What's the object of these abstractions to
us?'

Pavel Petrovitch raised his hands in horror.

'I don't understand you, after that. You insult the Russian people. I
don't understand how it's possible not to acknowledge principles,
rules! By virtue of what do you act then?'

'I've told you already, uncle, that we don't accept any authorities,'
put in Arkady.

'We act by virtue of what we recognise as beneficial,' observed
Bazarov. 'At the present time, negation is the most beneficial of
all--and we deny----'

'Everything?'

'Everything!'

'What? not only art and poetry ... but even ... horrible to say ...'

'Everything,' repeated Bazarov, with indescribable composure.

Pavel Petrovitch stared at him. He had not expected this; while Arkady
fairly blushed with delight.

'Allow me, though,' began Nikolai Petrovitch. 'You deny everything; or,
speaking more precisely, you destroy everything.... But one must
construct too, you know.'

'That's not our business now.... The ground wants clearing first.'

'The present condition of the people requires it,' added Arkady, with
dignity; 'we are bound to carry out these requirements, we have no
right to yield to the satisfaction of our personal egoism.'

This last phrase obviously displeased Bazarov; there was a flavour of
philosophy, that is to say, romanticism about it, for Bazarov called
philosophy, too, romanticism, but he did not think it necessary to
correct his young disciple.

'No, no!' cried Pavel Petrovitch, with sudden energy. 'I'm not willing
to believe that you, young men, know the Russian people really, that
you are the represent