g; that's not our way.'

'What do you do, then?'

'I'll tell you what we do. Not long ago we used to say that our
officials took bribes, that we had no roads, no commerce, no real
justice ...'

'Oh, I see, you are reformers--that's what that's called, I fancy. I
too should agree to many of your reforms, but ...'

'Then we suspected that talk, perpetual talk, and nothing but talk,
about our social diseases, was not worth while, that it all led to
nothing but superficiality and pedantry; we saw that our leading men,
so-called advanced people and reformers, are no good; that we busy
ourselves over foolery, talk rubbish about art, unconscious
creativeness, parliamentarism, trial by jury, and the deuce knows what
all; while, all the while, it's a question of getting bread to eat,
while we're stifling under the grossest superstition, while all our
enterprises come to grief, simply because there aren't honest men
enough to carry them on, while the very emancipation our Government's
busy upon will hardly come to any good, because peasants are glad to
rob even themselves to get drunk at the gin-shop.'

'Yes,' interposed Pavel Petrovitch, 'yes; you were convinced of all
this, and decided not to undertake anything seriously, yourselves.'

'We decided not to undertake anything,' repeated Bazarov grimly. He
suddenly felt vexed with himself for having, without reason, been so
expansive before this gentleman.

'But to confine yourselves to abuse?'

'To confine ourselves to abuse.'

'And that is called nihilism?'

'And that's called nihilism,' Bazarov repeated again, this time with
peculiar rudeness.

Pavel Petrovitch puckered up his face a little. 'So that's it!' he
observed in a strangely composed voice. 'Nihilism is to cure all our
woes, and you, you are our heroes and saviours. But why do you abuse
others, those reformers even? Don't you do as much talking as every one
else?'

'Whatever faults we have, we do not err in that way,' Bazarov muttered
between his teeth.

'What, then? Do you act, or what? Are you preparing for action?'

Bazarov made no answer. Something like a tremor passed over Pavel
Petrovitch, but he at once regained control of himself.

'Hm! ... Action, destruction ...' he went on. 'But how destroy without
even knowing why?'

'We shall destroy, because we are a force,' observed Arkady.

Pavel Petrovitch looked at his nephew and laughed.

'Yes, a force is not to be called to account,' said Arka