diff options
Diffstat (limited to '8117-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 8117-h/8117-h.htm | 33586 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 8117-h/8117-h.htm~ | 33586 |
2 files changed, 67172 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/8117-h/8117-h.htm b/8117-h/8117-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8e7dfaf --- /dev/null +++ b/8117-h/8117-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,33586 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> +<title> + The Possessed (or, The Devils), + by Fyodor Dostoevsky +</title> +<meta charset="utf-8"> + +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body { text-align:justify;} + p { margin:15%; margin-top: 0.75em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; } + p.centered { text-align: center;} + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; } + hr.full { width: 100%; } + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + .play { margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; text-align: justify; font-size: 100%; } + img {border: 0;} + HR { width: 33%; text-align: center; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;} + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 1%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: left; + color: gray; + } /* page numbers */ + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 10%; margin-left: 1%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; + margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 5%; margin-bottom: .75em; font-size: 110%;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent {font-style: italic; font-size: 100%; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + table.centered { margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 10px;} + pre { font-family: Times,serif; font-style: italic; font-size: 100%; margin-left: 25%;} + --> +</style> + +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 8117 ***</div> + + + +<br><br> + +<h1> + THE POSSESSED<br><br> + + or, The Devils +</h1><br><br> +<h3> +A Novel In Three Parts +</h3><br><br> + +<h2> +By Fyodor Dostoevsky +</h2><br><br> + +<h3> +Translated From The Russian By Constance Garnett +</h3><br><br> + +<h3>1916</h3> + +<br> +<br> +<hr> +<br> +<br> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table class="centered"> +<tr><td> + + <a href="#H2_PART1"> +<b>PART I.</b> </a></td><td> +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0001"> +CHAPTER I. </a></td><td>INTRODUCTORY +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0002"> +CHAPTER II. </a></td><td>PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0003"> +CHAPTER III. </a></td><td>THE SINS OF OTHERS +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0004"> +CHAPTER IV. </a></td><td>THE CRIPPLE +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0005"> +CHAPTER V. </a></td><td>THE SUBTLE SERPENT +</td></tr><tr><td> + + </td><td> </td></tr><tr><td> + + <a href="#H2_PART2"> +<b>PART II.</b> </a></td><td> +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0006"> +CHAPTER I. </a></td><td>NIGHT +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0007"> +CHAPTER II. </a></td><td>NIGHT (continued) +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0008"> +CHAPTER III. </a></td><td>THE DUEL +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0009"> +CHAPTER IV. </a></td><td>ALL IN EXPECTATION +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0010"> +CHAPTER V. </a></td><td>ON THE EVE OF THE FETE +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0011"> +CHAPTER VI. </a></td><td>PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0012"> +CHAPTER VII. </a></td><td>A MEETING +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0013"> +CHAPTER VIII. </a></td><td>IVAN THE TSAREVITCH +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0014"> +CHAPTER IX. </a></td><td>A RAID AT STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0015"> +CHAPTER X. </a></td><td>FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING +</td></tr><tr><td> + + </td><td> </td></tr><tr><td> + + <a href="#H2_PART3"> +<b>PART III.</b> </a></td><td> +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0016"> +CHAPTER I. </a></td><td>THE FETE—FIRST PART +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0017"> +CHAPTER II. </a></td><td>THE END OF THE FETE +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0018"> +CHAPTER III. </a></td><td>A ROMANCE ENDED +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0019"> +CHAPTER IV. </a></td><td>THE LAST RESOLUTION +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0020"> +CHAPTER V. </a></td><td>A WANDERER +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0021"> +CHAPTER VI. </a></td><td>A BUSY NIGHT +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0022"> +CHAPTER VII. </a></td><td>STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0023"> +CHAPTER VIII. </a></td><td>CONCLUSION +</td></tr><tr><td> +</td><td></td></tr> +</table> + +<br> +<br> +<hr> +<br> +<br> + +<a id="H2_TOC"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + + +<pre> + “Strike me dead, the track has vanished, + Well, what now? We’ve lost the way, + Demons have bewitched our horses, + Led us in the wilds astray. + + “What a number! Whither drift they? + What’s the mournful dirge they sing? + Do they hail a witch’s marriage + Or a goblin’s burying?” + + <b>A. Pushkin.</b> +</pre> +<br><br> +<pre> + “And there was one herd of many swine feeding on this + mountain; and they besought him that he would suffer them to + enter into them. And he suffered them. + + “Then went the devils out of the man and entered into the + swine; and the herd ran violently down a steep place into + the lake and were choked. + + “When they that fed them saw what was done, they fled, and + went and told it in the city and in the country. + + “Then they went out to see what was done; and came to Jesus + and found the man, out of whom the devils were departed, + sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind; + and they were afraid.” + + <b>Luke, ch. viii. 32-37.</b> +</pre> + +<br> +<br> +<hr> +<br> +<br> + +<a id="H2_PART1"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + + + +<h2> + PART I +</h2> +<a id="H2CH0001"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY +</h2> +<p> +SOME DETAILS OF THE BIOGRAPHY OF THAT HIGHLY RESPECTED GENTLEMAN STEPAN +TROFIMOVITCH VERHOVENSKY. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +IN UNDERTAKING to describe the recent and strange incidents in our town, +till lately wrapped in uneventful obscurity, I find myself forced in +absence of literary skill to begin my story rather far back, that is +to say, with certain biographical details concerning that talented and +highly-esteemed gentleman, Stepan Trofimovitch Verhovensky. I trust that +these details may at least serve as an introduction, while my projected +story itself will come later. +</p> +<p> +I will say at once that Stepan Trofimovitch had always filled a +particular rôle among us, that of the progressive patriot, so to say, +and he was passionately fond of playing the part—so much so that I +really believe he could not have existed without it. Not that I would +put him on a level with an actor at a theatre, God forbid, for I really +have a respect for him. This may all have been the effect of habit, or +rather, more exactly of a generous propensity he had from his earliest +years for indulging in an agreeable day-dream in which he figured as +a picturesque public character. He fondly loved, for instance, his +position as a “persecuted” man and, so to speak, an “exile.” There is a +sort of traditional glamour about those two little words that fascinated +him once for all and, exalting him gradually in his own opinion, raised +him in the course of years to a lofty pedestal very gratifying to +vanity. In an English satire of the last century, Gulliver, returning +from the land of the Lilliputians where the people were only three or +four inches high, had grown so accustomed to consider himself a giant +among them, that as he walked along the streets of London he could not +help crying out to carriages and passers-by to be careful and get out of +his way for fear he should crush them, imagining that they were little +and he was still a giant. He was laughed at and abused for it, and rough +coachmen even lashed at the giant with their whips. But was that just? +What may not be done by habit? Habit had brought Stepan Trofimovitch +almost to the same position, but in a more innocent and inoffensive +form, if one may use such expressions, for he was a most excellent man. +</p> +<p> +I am even inclined to suppose that towards the end he had been entirely +forgotten everywhere; but still it cannot be said that his name had +never been known. It is beyond question that he had at one time belonged +to a certain distinguished constellation of celebrated leaders of +the last generation, and at one time—though only for the briefest +moment—his name was pronounced by many hasty persons of that day almost +as though it were on a level with the names of Tchaadaev, of Byelinsky, +of Granovsky, and of Herzen, who had only just begun to write abroad. +But Stepan Trofimovitch’s activity ceased almost at the moment it began, +owing, so to say, to a “vortex of combined circumstances.” And would you +believe it? It turned out afterwards that there had been no “vortex” and +even no “circumstances,” at least in that connection. I only learned +the other day to my intense amazement, though on the most unimpeachable +authority, that Stepan Trofimovitch had lived among us in our province +not as an “exile” as we were accustomed to believe, and had never even +been under police supervision at all. Such is the force of imagination! +All his life he sincerely believed that in certain spheres he was a +constant cause of apprehension, that every step he took was watched +and noted, and that each one of the three governors who succeeded one +another during twenty years in our province came with special and uneasy +ideas concerning him, which had, by higher powers, been impressed upon +each before everything else, on receiving the appointment. Had anyone +assured the honest man on the most irrefutable grounds that he had +nothing to be afraid of, he would certainly have been offended. Yet +Stepan Trofimovitch was a most intelligent and gifted man, even, so to +say, a man of science, though indeed, in science … well, in fact he +had not done such great things in science. I believe indeed he had done +nothing at all. But that’s very often the case, of course, with men of +science among us in Russia. +</p> +<p> +He came back from abroad and was brilliant in the capacity of lecturer +at the university, towards the end of the forties. He only had time +to deliver a few lectures, I believe they were about the Arabs; he +maintained, too, a brilliant thesis on the political and Hanseatic +importance of the German town Hanau, of which there was promise in the +epoch between 1413 and 1428, and on the special and obscure reasons +why that promise was never fulfilled. This dissertation was a cruel +and skilful thrust at the Slavophils of the day, and at once made him +numerous and irreconcilable enemies among them. Later on—after he had +lost his post as lecturer, however—he published (by way of revenge, +so to say, and to show them what a man they had lost) in a progressive +monthly review, which translated Dickens and advocated the views of +George Sand, the beginning of a very profound investigation into the +causes, I believe, of the extraordinary moral nobility of certain +knights at a certain epoch or something of that nature. +</p> +<p> +Some lofty and exceptionally noble idea was maintained in it, anyway. +It was said afterwards that the continuation was hurriedly forbidden and +even that the progressive review had to suffer for having printed the +first part. That may very well have been so, for what was not possible +in those days? Though, in this case, it is more likely that there +was nothing of the kind, and that the author himself was too lazy to +conclude his essay. He cut short his lectures on the Arabs because, +somehow and by someone (probably one of his reactionary enemies) a +letter had been seized giving an account of certain circumstances, in +consequence of which someone had demanded an explanation from him. I +don’t know whether the story is true, but it was asserted that at the +same time there was discovered in Petersburg a vast, unnatural, and +illegal conspiracy of thirty people which almost shook society to its +foundations. It was said that they were positively on the point of +translating Fourier. As though of design a poem of Stepan Trofimovitch’s +was seized in Moscow at that very time, though it had been written six +years before in Berlin in his earliest youth, and manuscript copies had +been passed round a circle consisting of two poetical amateurs and one +student. This poem is lying now on my table. No longer ago than last +year I received a recent copy in his own handwriting from Stepan +Trofimovitch himself, signed by him, and bound in a splendid red leather +binding. It is not without poetic merit, however, and even a certain +talent. It’s strange, but in those days (or to be more exact, in the +thirties) people were constantly composing in that style. I find it +difficult to describe the subject, for I really do not understand it. +It is some sort of an allegory in lyrical-dramatic form, recalling the +second part of Faust. The scene opens with a chorus of women, followed +by a chorus of men, then a chorus of incorporeal powers of some sort, +and at the end of all a chorus of spirits not yet living but very +eager to come to life. All these choruses sing about something very +indefinite, for the most part about somebody’s curse, but with a tinge +of the higher humour. But the scene is suddenly changed. There begins a +sort of “festival of life” at which even insects sing, a tortoise +comes on the scene with certain sacramental Latin words, and even, if +I remember aright, a mineral sings about something that is a quite +inanimate object. In fact, they all sing continually, or if they +converse, it is simply to abuse one another vaguely, but again with +a tinge of higher meaning. At last the scene is changed again; a +wilderness appears, and among the rocks there wanders a civilized young +man who picks and sucks certain herbs. Asked by a fairy why he sucks +these herbs, he answers that, conscious of a superfluity of life in +himself, he seeks forgetfulness, and finds it in the juice of these +herbs, but that his great desire is to lose his reason at once (a desire +possibly superfluous). Then a youth of indescribable beauty rides in on +a black steed, and an immense multitude of all nations follow him. +The youth represents death, for whom all the peoples are yearning. And +finally, in the last scene we are suddenly shown the Tower of Babel, and +certain athletes at last finish building it with a song of new hope, and +when at length they complete the topmost pinnacle, the lord (of Olympia, +let us say) takes flight in a comic fashion, and man, grasping the +situation and seizing his place, at once begins a new life with new +insight into things. Well, this poem was thought at that time to be +dangerous. Last year I proposed to Stepan Trofimovitch to publish it, +on the ground of its perfect harmlessness nowadays, but he declined +the suggestion with evident dissatisfaction. My view of its complete +harmlessness evidently displeased him, and I even ascribe to it a +certain coldness on his part, which lasted two whole months. +</p> +<p> +And what do you think? Suddenly, almost at the time I proposed printing +it here, our poem was published abroad in a collection of revolutionary +verse, without the knowledge of Stepan Trofimovitch. He was at +first alarmed, rushed to the governor, and wrote a noble letter in +self-defence to Petersburg. He read it to me twice, but did not send +it, not knowing to whom to address it. In fact he was in a state of +agitation for a whole month, but I am convinced that in the secret +recesses of his heart he was enormously flattered. He almost took the +copy of the collection to bed with him, and kept it hidden under his +mattress in the daytime; he positively would not allow the women to turn +his bed, and although he expected every day a telegram, he held his head +high. No telegram came. Then he made friends with me again, which is a +proof of the extreme kindness of his gentle and unresentful heart. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +Of course I don’t assert that he had never suffered for his convictions +at all, but I am fully convinced that he might have gone on lecturing +on his Arabs as long as he liked, if he had only given the necessary +explanations. But he was too lofty, and he proceeded with peculiar haste +to assure himself that his career was ruined forever “by the vortex of +circumstance.” And if the whole truth is to be told the real cause of +the change in his career was the very delicate proposition which had +been made before and was then renewed by Varvara Petrovna Stavrogin, a +lady of great wealth, the wife of a lieutenant-general, that he should +undertake the education and the whole intellectual development of her +only son in the capacity of a superior sort of teacher and friend, to +say nothing of a magnificent salary. This proposal had been made to +him the first time in Berlin, at the moment when he was first left a +widower. His first wife was a frivolous girl from our province, whom he +married in his early and unthinking youth, and apparently he had had a +great deal of trouble with this young person, charming as she was, +owing to the lack of means for her support; and also from other, more +delicate, reasons. She died in Paris after three years’ separation +from him, leaving him a son of five years old; “the fruit of our first, +joyous, and unclouded love,” were the words the sorrowing father once +let fall in my presence. +</p> +<p> +The child had, from the first, been sent back to Russia, where he was +brought up in the charge of distant cousins in some remote region. +Stepan Trofimovitch had declined Varvara Petrovna’s proposal on that +occasion and had quickly married again, before the year was over, a +taciturn Berlin girl, and, what makes it more strange, there was no +particular necessity for him to do so. But apart from his marriage there +were, it appears, other reasons for his declining the situation. He was +tempted by the resounding fame of a professor, celebrated at that time, +and he, in his turn, hastened to the lecturer’s chair for which he had +been preparing himself, to try his eagle wings in flight. But now with +singed wings he naturally remembered the proposition which even then had +made him hesitate. The sudden death of his second wife, who did not live +a year with him, settled the matter decisively. To put it plainly it was +all brought about by the passionate sympathy and priceless, so to +speak, classic friendship of Varvara Petrovna, if one may use such +an expression of friendship. He flung himself into the arms of this +friendship, and his position was settled for more than twenty years. I +use the expression “flung himself into the arms of,” but God forbid that +anyone should fly to idle and superfluous conclusions. These embraces +must be understood only in the most loftily moral sense. The most +refined and delicate tie united these two beings, both so remarkable, +forever. +</p> +<p> +The post of tutor was the more readily accepted too, as the property—a +very small one—left to Stepan Trofimovitch by his first wife was close +to Skvoreshniki, the Stavrogins’ magnificent estate on the outskirts of +our provincial town. Besides, in the stillness of his study, far from +the immense burden of university work, it was always possible to devote +himself to the service of science, and to enrich the literature of his +country with erudite studies. These works did not appear. But on the +other hand it did appear possible to spend the rest of his life, more +than twenty years, “a reproach incarnate,” so to speak, to his native +country, in the words of a popular poet: +</p> +<p> +<i>Reproach incarnate thou didst stand</i> +<i>Erect before thy Fatherland,</i> +<i>O Liberal idealist!</i> +</p> +<p> +But the person to whom the popular poet referred may perhaps have had +the right to adopt that pose for the rest of his life if he had wished +to do so, though it must have been tedious. Our Stepan Trofimovitch was, +to tell the truth, only an imitator compared with such people; moreover, +he had grown weary of standing erect and often lay down for a while. +But, to do him justice, the “incarnation of reproach” was preserved even +in the recumbent attitude, the more so as that was quite sufficient for +the province. You should have seen him at our club when he sat down to +cards. His whole figure seemed to exclaim “Cards! Me sit down to whist +with you! Is it consistent? Who is responsible for it? Who has shattered +my energies and turned them to whist? Ah, perish, Russia!” and he would +majestically trump with a heart. +</p> +<p> +And to tell the truth he dearly loved a game of cards, which led him, +especially in later years, into frequent and unpleasant skirmishes with +Varvara Petrovna, particularly as he was always losing. But of that +later. I will only observe that he was a man of tender conscience (that +is, sometimes) and so was often depressed. In the course of his twenty +years’ friendship with Varvara Petrovna he used regularly, three or +four times a year, to sink into a state of “patriotic grief,” as it +was called among us, or rather really into an attack of spleen, but our +estimable Varvara Petrovna preferred the former phrase. Of late years +his grief had begun to be not only patriotic, but at times alcoholic +too; but Varvara Petrovna’s alertness succeeded in keeping him all his +life from trivial inclinations. And he needed someone to look after him +indeed, for he sometimes behaved very oddly: in the midst of his exalted +sorrow he would begin laughing like any simple peasant. There were +moments when he began to take a humorous tone even about himself. But +there was nothing Varvara Petrovna dreaded so much as a humorous tone. +She was a woman of the classic type, a female Mæcenas, invariably +guided only by the highest considerations. The influence of this exalted +lady over her poor friend for twenty years is a fact of the first +importance. I shall need to speak of her more particularly, which I now +proceed to do. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +There are strange friendships. The two friends are always ready to fly +at one another, and go on like that all their lives, and yet they cannot +separate. Parting, in fact, is utterly impossible. The one who has begun +the quarrel and separated will be the first to fall ill and even die, +perhaps, if the separation comes off. I know for a positive fact that +several times Stepan Trofimovitch has jumped up from the sofa and +beaten the wall with his fists after the most intimate and emotional +<i>tête-à-tête</i> with Varvara Petrovna. +</p> +<p> +This proceeding was by no means an empty symbol; indeed, on one +occasion, he broke some plaster off the wall. It may be asked how I come +to know such delicate details. What if I were myself a witness of it? +What if Stepan Trofimovitch himself has, on more than one occasion, +sobbed on my shoulder while he described to me in lurid colours all his +most secret feelings. (And what was there he did not say at such times!) +But what almost always happened after these tearful outbreaks was that +next day he was ready to crucify himself for his ingratitude. He would +send for me in a hurry or run over to see me simply to assure me that +Varvara Petrovna was “an angel of honour and delicacy, while he was very +much the opposite.” He did not only run to confide in me, but, on more +than one occasion, described it all to her in the most eloquent letter, +and wrote a full signed confession that no longer ago than the day +before he had told an outsider that she kept him out of vanity, that +she was envious of his talents and erudition, that she hated him and was +only afraid to express her hatred openly, dreading that he would leave +her and so damage her literary reputation, that this drove him to +self-contempt, and he was resolved to die a violent death, and that he +was waiting for the final word from her which would decide everything, +and so on and so on in the same style. You can fancy after this what +an hysterical pitch the nervous outbreaks of this most innocent of +all fifty-year-old infants sometimes reached! I once read one of these +letters after some quarrel between them, arising from a trivial matter, +but growing venomous as it went on. I was horrified and besought him not +to send it. +</p> +<p> +“I must … more honourable … duty … I shall die if I don’t confess +everything, everything!” he answered almost in delirium, and he did send +the letter. +</p> +<p> +That was the difference between them, that Varvara Petrovna never would +have sent such a letter. It is true that he was passionately fond of +writing, he wrote to her though he lived in the same house, and during +hysterical interludes he would write two letters a day. I know for a +fact that she always read these letters with the greatest attention, +even when she received two a day, and after reading them she put them +away in a special drawer, sorted and annotated; moreover, she pondered +them in her heart. But she kept her friend all day without an answer, +met him as though there were nothing the matter, exactly as though +nothing special had happened the day before. By degrees she broke him in +so completely that at last he did not himself dare to allude to what had +happened the day before, and only glanced into her eyes at times. But +she never forgot anything, while he sometimes forgot too quickly, and +encouraged by her composure he would not infrequently, if friends came +in, laugh and make jokes over the champagne the very same day. With what +malignancy she must have looked at him at such moments, while he noticed +nothing! Perhaps in a week’s time, a month’s time, or even six months +later, chancing to recall some phrase in such a letter, and then the +whole letter with all its attendant circumstances, he would suddenly +grow hot with shame, and be so upset that he fell ill with one of his +attacks of “summer cholera.” These attacks of a sort of “summer cholera” +were, in some cases, the regular consequence of his nervous agitations +and were an interesting peculiarity of his physical constitution. +</p> +<p> +No doubt Varvara Petrovna did very often hate him. But there was one +thing he had not discerned up to the end: that was that he had become +for her a son, her creation, even, one may say, her invention; he had +become flesh of her flesh, and she kept and supported him not simply +from “envy of his talents.” And how wounded she must have been by such +suppositions! An inexhaustible love for him lay concealed in her heart +in the midst of continual hatred, jealousy, and contempt. She would not +let a speck of dust fall upon him, coddled him up for twenty-two years, +would not have slept for nights together if there were the faintest +breath against his reputation as a poet, a learned man, and a public +character. She had invented him, and had been the first to believe in +her own invention. He was, after a fashion, her day-dream.… But in +return she exacted a great deal from him, sometimes even slavishness. It +was incredible how long she harboured resentment. I have two anecdotes +to tell about that. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +On one occasion, just at the time when the first rumours of the +emancipation of the serfs were in the air, when all Russia was exulting +and making ready for a complete regeneration, Varvara Petrovna was +visited by a baron from Petersburg, a man of the highest connections, +and very closely associated with the new reform. Varvara Petrovna prized +such visits highly, as her connections in higher circles had grown +weaker and weaker since the death of her husband, and had at last ceased +altogether. The baron spent an hour drinking tea with her. There was no +one else present but Stepan Trofimovitch, whom Varvara Petrovna invited +and exhibited. The baron had heard something about him before or +affected to have done so, but paid little attention to him at tea. +Stepan Trofimovitch of course was incapable of making a social blunder, +and his manners were most elegant. Though I believe he was by no means +of exalted origin, yet it happened that he had from earliest childhood +been brought up in a Moscow household—of high rank, and consequently +was well bred. He spoke French like a Parisian. Thus the baron was to +have seen from the first glance the sort of people with whom Varvara +Petrovna surrounded herself, even in provincial seclusion. But things +did not fall out like this. When the baron positively asserted the +absolute truth of the rumours of the great reform, which were then +only just beginning to be heard, Stepan Trofimovitch could not contain +himself, and suddenly shouted “Hurrah!” and even made some gesticulation +indicative of delight. His ejaculation was not over-loud and quite +polite, his delight was even perhaps premeditated, and his gesture +purposely studied before the looking-glass half an hour before tea. But +something must have been amiss with it, for the baron permitted himself +a faint smile, though he, at once, with extraordinary courtesy, put in +a phrase concerning the universal and befitting emotion of all Russian +hearts in view of the great event. Shortly afterwards he took his +leave and at parting did not forget to hold out two fingers to Stepan +Trofimovitch. On returning to the drawing-room Varvara Petrovna was +at first silent for two or three minutes, and seemed to be looking for +something on the table. Then she turned to Stepan Trofimovitch, and with +pale face and flashing eyes she hissed in a whisper: +</p> +<p> +“I shall never forgive you for that!” +</p> +<p> +Next day she met her friend as though nothing had happened, she never +referred to the incident, but thirteen years afterwards, at a tragic +moment, she recalled it and reproached him with it, and she turned pale, +just as she had done thirteen years before. Only twice in the course of +her life did she say to him: +</p> +<p> +“I shall never forgive you for that!” +</p> +<p> +The incident with the baron was the second time, but the first incident +was so characteristic and had so much influence on the fate of Stepan +Trofimovitch that I venture to refer to that too. +</p> +<p> +It was in 1855, in spring-time, in May, just after the news had reached +Skvoreshniki of the death of Lieutenant-General Stavrogin, a frivolous +old gentleman who died of a stomach ailment on the way to the Crimea, +where he was hastening to join the army on active service. Varvara +Petrovna was left a widow and put on deep mourning. She could not, it is +true, deplore his death very deeply, since, for the last four years, +she had been completely separated from him owing to incompatibility of +temper, and was giving him an allowance. (The Lieutenant-General himself +had nothing but one hundred and fifty serfs and his pay, besides his +position and his connections. All the money and Skvoreshniki belonged to +Varvara Petrovna, the only daughter of a very rich contractor.) Yet she +was shocked by the suddenness of the news, and retired into complete +solitude. Stepan Trofimovitch, of course, was always at her side. +</p> +<p> +May was in its full beauty. The evenings were exquisite. The wild cherry +was in flower. The two friends walked every evening in the garden and +used to sit till nightfall in the arbour, and pour out their thoughts +and feelings to one another. They had poetic moments. Under the +influence of the change in her position Varvara Petrovna talked more +than usual. She, as it were, clung to the heart of her friend, and this +continued for several evenings. A strange idea suddenly came over Stepan +Trofimovitch: “Was not the inconsolable widow reckoning upon him, and +expecting from him, when her mourning was over, the offer of his hand?” +A cynical idea, but the very loftiness of a man’s nature sometimes +increases a disposition to cynical ideas if only from the many-sidedness +of his culture. He began to look more deeply into it, and thought it +seemed like it. He pondered: “Her fortune is immense, of course, but …” +Varvara Petrovna certainly could not be called a beauty. She was a +tall, yellow, bony woman with an extremely long face, suggestive of a +horse. Stepan Trofimovitch hesitated more and more, he was tortured by +doubts, he positively shed tears of indecision once or twice (he wept +not infrequently). In the evenings, that is to say in the arbour, his +countenance involuntarily began to express something capricious and +ironical, something coquettish and at the same time condescending. This +is apt to happen as it were by accident, and the more gentlemanly the +man the more noticeable it is. Goodness only knows what one is to think +about it, but it’s most likely that nothing had begun working in her +heart that could have fully justified Stepan Trofimovitch’s suspicions. +Moreover, she would not have changed her name, Stavrogin, for his +name, famous as it was. Perhaps there was nothing in it but the play +of femininity on her side; the manifestation of an unconscious feminine +yearning so natural in some extremely feminine types. However, I won’t +answer for it; the depths of the female heart have not been explored to +this day. But I must continue. +</p> +<p> +It is to be supposed that she soon inwardly guessed the significance of +her friend’s strange expression; she was quick and observant, and he was +sometimes extremely guileless. But the evenings went on as before, and +their conversations were just as poetic and interesting. And behold +on one occasion at nightfall, after the most lively and poetical +conversation, they parted affectionately, warmly pressing each other’s +hands at the steps of the lodge where Stepan Trofimovitch slept. Every +summer he used to move into this little lodge which stood adjoining the +huge seignorial house of Skvoreshniki, almost in the garden. He had only +just gone in, and in restless hesitation taken a cigar, and not having +yet lighted it, was standing weary and motionless before the open +window, gazing at the light feathery white clouds gliding around the +bright moon, when suddenly a faint rustle made him start and turn +round. Varvara Petrovna, whom he had left only four minutes earlier, +was standing before him again. Her yellow face was almost blue. Her lips +were pressed tightly together and twitching at the corners. For ten full +seconds she looked him in the eyes in silence with a firm relentless +gaze, and suddenly whispered rapidly: +</p> +<p> +“I shall never forgive you for this!” +</p> +<p> +When, ten years later, Stepan Trofimovitch, after closing the doors, +told me this melancholy tale in a whisper, he vowed that he had been so +petrified on the spot that he had not seen or heard how Varvara Petrovna +had disappeared. As she never once afterwards alluded to the incident +and everything went on as though nothing had happened, he was all his +life inclined to the idea that it was all an hallucination, a symptom +of illness, the more so as he was actually taken ill that very night +and was indisposed for a fortnight, which, by the way, cut short the +interviews in the arbour. +</p> +<p> +But in spite of his vague theory of hallucination he seemed every day, +all his life, to be expecting the continuation, and, so to say, the +<i>dénouement</i> of this affair. He could not believe that that was the end of +it! And if so he must have looked strangely sometimes at his friend. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +V +</p> +<p> +She had herself designed the costume for him which he wore for the rest +of his life. It was elegant and characteristic; a long black frock-coat, +buttoned almost to the top, but stylishly cut; a soft hat (in summer a +straw hat) with a wide brim, a white batiste cravat with a full bow +and hanging ends, a cane with a silver knob; his hair flowed on to his +shoulders. It was dark brown, and only lately had begun to get a little +grey. He was clean-shaven. He was said to have been very handsome in his +youth. And, to my mind, he was still an exceptionally impressive figure +even in old age. Besides, who can talk of old age at fifty-three? +From his special pose as a patriot, however, he did not try to appear +younger, but seemed rather to pride himself on the solidity of his +age, and, dressed as described, tall and thin with flowing hair, he +looked almost like a patriarch, or even more like the portrait of the +poet Kukolnik, engraved in the edition of his works published in 1830 or +thereabouts. This resemblance was especially striking when he sat in the +garden in summertime, on a seat under a bush of flowering lilac, with +both hands propped on his cane and an open book beside him, musing +poetically over the setting sun. In regard to books I may remark that +he came in later years rather to avoid reading. But that was only quite +towards the end. The papers and magazines ordered in great profusion by +Varvara Petrovna he was continually reading. He never lost interest in +the successes of Russian literature either, though he always maintained +a dignified attitude with regard to them. He was at one time engrossed +in the study of our home and foreign politics, but he soon gave up the +undertaking with a gesture of despair. It sometimes happened that he +would take De Tocqueville with him into the garden while he had a Paul +de Kock in his pocket. But these are trivial matters. +</p> +<p> +I must observe in parenthesis about the portrait of Kukolnik; the +engraving had first come into the hands of Varvara Petrovna when she was +a girl in a high-class boarding-school in Moscow. She fell in love with +the portrait at once, after the habit of all girls at school who fall +in love with anything they come across, as well as with their teachers, +especially the drawing and writing masters. What is interesting in this, +though, is not the characteristics of girls but the fact that even at +fifty Varvara Petrovna kept the engraving among her most intimate and +treasured possessions, so that perhaps it was only on this account that +she had designed for Stepan Trofimovitch a costume somewhat like the +poet’s in the engraving. But that, of course, is a trifling matter too. +</p> +<p> +For the first years or, more accurately, for the first half of the time +he spent with Varvara Petrovna, Stepan Trofimovitch was still planning a +book and every day seriously prepared to write it. But during the later +period he must have forgotten even what he had done. More and more +frequently he used to say to us: +</p> +<p> +“I seem to be ready for work, my materials are collected, yet the work +doesn’t get done! Nothing is done!” +</p> +<p> +And he would bow his head dejectedly. No doubt this was calculated +to increase his prestige in our eyes as a martyr to science, but he +himself was longing for something else. “They have forgotten me! I’m +no use to anyone!” broke from him more than once. This intensified +depression took special hold of him towards the end of the fifties. +Varvara Petrovna realised at last that it was a serious matter. Besides, +she could not endure the idea that her friend was forgotten and useless. +To distract him and at the same time to renew his fame she carried him +off to Moscow, where she had fashionable acquaintances in the +literary and scientific world; but it appeared that Moscow too was +unsatisfactory. +</p> +<p> +It was a peculiar time; something new was beginning, quite unlike the +stagnation of the past, something very strange too, though it was felt +everywhere, even at Skvoreshniki. Rumours of all sorts reached us. The +facts were generally more or less well known, but it was evident that +in addition to the facts there were certain ideas accompanying them, +and what’s more, a great number of them. And this was perplexing. It was +impossible to estimate and find out exactly what was the drift of these +ideas. Varvara Petrovna was prompted by the feminine composition of her +character to a compelling desire to penetrate the secret of them. +She took to reading newspapers and magazines, prohibited publications +printed abroad and even the revolutionary manifestoes which were just +beginning to appear at the time (she was able to procure them all); but +this only set her head in a whirl. She fell to writing letters; she got +few answers, and they grew more incomprehensible as time went on. Stepan +Trofimovitch was solemnly called upon to explain “these ideas” to +her once for all, but she remained distinctly dissatisfied with his +explanations. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch’s view of the general movement was supercilious in +the extreme. In his eyes all it amounted to was that he was forgotten +and of no use. At last his name was mentioned, at first in periodicals +published abroad as that of an exiled martyr, and immediately afterwards +in Petersburg as that of a former star in a celebrated constellation. +He was even for some reason compared with Radishtchev. Then someone +printed the statement that he was dead and promised an obituary notice +of him. Stepan Trofimovitch instantly perked up and assumed an air of +immense dignity. All his disdain for his contemporaries evaporated and +he began to cherish the dream of joining the movement and showing his +powers. Varvara Petrovna’s faith in everything instantly revived and she +was thrown into a violent ferment. It was decided to go to Petersburg +without a moment’s delay, to find out everything on the spot, to go into +everything personally, and, if possible, to throw themselves heart and +soul into the new movement. Among other things she announced that she +was prepared to found a magazine of her own, and henceforward to devote +her whole life to it. Seeing what it had come to, Stepan Trofimovitch +became more condescending than ever, and on the journey began to behave +almost patronisingly to Varvara Petrovna—which she at once laid up in +her heart against him. She had, however, another very important reason +for the trip, which was to renew her connections in higher spheres. +It was necessary, as far as she could, to remind the world of her +existence, or at any rate to make an attempt to do so. The ostensible +object of the journey was to see her only son, who was just finishing +his studies at a Petersburg lyceum. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VI +</p> +<p> +They spent almost the whole winter season in Petersburg. But by Lent +everything burst like a rainbow-coloured soap-bubble. +</p> +<p> +Their dreams were dissipated, and the muddle, far from being cleared +up, had become even more revoltingly incomprehensible. To begin with, +connections with the higher spheres were not established, or only on a +microscopic scale, and by humiliating exertions. In her mortification +Varvara Petrovna threw herself heart and soul into the “new ideas,” and +began giving evening receptions. She invited literary people, and they +were brought to her at once in multitudes. Afterwards they came of +themselves without invitation, one brought another. Never had she seen +such literary men. They were incredibly vain, but quite open in their +vanity, as though they were performing a duty by the display of it. +Some (but by no means all) of them even turned up intoxicated, seeming, +however, to detect in this a peculiar, only recently discovered, merit. +They were all strangely proud of something. On every face was written +that they had only just discovered some extremely important secret. They +abused one another, and took credit to themselves for it. It was rather +difficult to find out what they had written exactly, but among them +there were critics, novelists, dramatists, satirists, and exposers of +abuses. Stepan Trofimovitch penetrated into their very highest circle +from which the movement was directed. Incredible heights had to be +scaled to reach this group; but they gave him a cordial welcome, though, +of course, no one of them had ever heard of him or knew anything about +him except that he “represented an idea.” His manœuvres among them +were so successful that he got them twice to Varvara Petrovna’s salon +in spite of their Olympian grandeur. These people were very serious and +very polite; they behaved nicely; the others were evidently afraid of +them; but it was obvious that they had no time to spare. Two or three +former literary celebrities who happened to be in Petersburg, and with +whom Varvara Petrovna had long maintained a most refined correspondence, +came also. But to her surprise these genuine and quite indubitable +celebrities were stiller than water, humbler than the grass, and some +of them simply hung on to this new rabble, and were shamefully cringing +before them. At first Stepan Trofimovitch was a success. People caught +at him and began to exhibit him at public literary gatherings. The first +time he came on to the platform at some public reading in which he was +to take part, he was received with enthusiastic clapping which lasted +for five minutes. He recalled this with tears nine years afterwards, +though rather from his natural artistic sensibility than from gratitude. +“I swear, and I’m ready to bet,” he declared (but only to me, and in +secret), “that not one of that audience knew anything whatever about +me.” A noteworthy admission. He must have had a keen intelligence since +he was capable of grasping his position so clearly even on the platform, +even in such a state of exaltation; it also follows that he had not +a keen intelligence if, nine years afterwards, he could not recall +it without mortification. He was made to sign two or three collective +protests (against what he did not know); he signed them. Varvara +Petrovna too was made to protest against some “disgraceful action” and +she signed too. The majority of these new people, however, though they +visited Varvara Petrovna, felt themselves for some reason called upon +to regard her with contempt, and with undisguised irony. Stepan +Trofimovitch hinted to me at bitter moments afterwards that it was from +that time she had been envious of him. She saw, of course, that she +could not get on with these people, yet she received them eagerly, +with all the hysterical impatience of her sex, and, what is more, she +expected something. At her parties she talked little, although she could +talk, but she listened the more. They talked of the abolition of the +censorship, and of phonetic spelling, of the substitution of the Latin +characters for the Russian alphabet, of someone’s having been sent into +exile the day before, of some scandal, of the advantage of splitting +Russia into nationalities united in a free federation, of the abolition +of the army and the navy, of the restoration of Poland as far as +the Dnieper, of the peasant reforms, and of the manifestoes, of the +abolition of the hereditary principle, of the family, of children, and +of priests, of women’s rights, of Kraevsky’s house, for which no one +ever seemed able to forgive Mr. Kraevsky, and so on, and so on. It was +evident that in this mob of new people there were many impostors, but +undoubtedly there were also many honest and very attractive people, in +spite of some surprising characteristics in them. The honest ones were +far more difficult to understand than the coarse and dishonest, but it +was impossible to tell which was being made a tool of by the other. +When Varvara Petrovna announced her idea of founding a magazine, people +flocked to her in even larger numbers, but charges of being a capitalist +and an exploiter of labour were showered upon her to her face. The +rudeness of these accusations was only equalled by their unexpectedness. +The aged General Ivan Ivanovitch Drozdov, an old friend and comrade +of the late General Stavrogin’s, known to us all here as an extremely +stubborn and irritable, though very estimable, man (in his own way, of +course), who ate a great deal, and was dreadfully afraid of atheism, +quarrelled at one of Varvara Petrovna’s parties with a distinguished +young man. The latter at the first word exclaimed, “You must be a +general if you talk like that,” meaning that he could find no word of +abuse worse than “general.” +</p> +<p> +Ivan Ivanovitch flew into a terrible passion: “Yes, sir, I am a general, +and a lieutenant-general, and I have served my Tsar, and you, sir, are a +puppy and an infidel!” +</p> +<p> +An outrageous scene followed. Next day the incident was exposed in +print, and they began getting up a collective protest against Varvara +Petrovna’s disgraceful conduct in not having immediately turned +the general out. In an illustrated paper there appeared a malignant +caricature in which Varvara Petrovna, Stepan Trofimovitch, and General +Drozdov were depicted as three reactionary friends. There were verses +attached to this caricature written by a popular poet especially for the +occasion. I may observe, for my own part, that many persons of general’s +rank certainly have an absurd habit of saying, “I have served my +Tsar” … just as though they had not the same Tsar as all the rest of us, +their simple fellow-subjects, but had a special Tsar of their own. +</p> +<p> +It was impossible, of course, to remain any longer in Petersburg, all +the more so as Stepan Trofimovitch was overtaken by a complete fiasco. +He could not resist talking of the claims of art, and they laughed +at him more loudly as time went on. At his last lecture he thought to +impress them with patriotic eloquence, hoping to touch their hearts, +and reckoning on the respect inspired by his “persecution.” He did +not attempt to dispute the uselessness and absurdity of the word +“fatherland,” acknowledged the pernicious influence of religion, but +firmly and loudly declared that boots were of less consequence than +Pushkin; of much less, indeed. He was hissed so mercilessly that he +burst into tears, there and then, on the platform. Varvara Petrovna took +him home more dead than alive. <i>“On m’a traité comme un vieux bonnet +de coton,”</i> he babbled senselessly. She was looking after him all night, +giving him laurel-drops and repeating to him till daybreak, “You will +still be of use; you will still make your mark; you will be appreciated +… in another place.” +</p> +<p> +Early next morning five literary men called on Varvara Petrovna, three +of them complete strangers, whom she had never set eyes on before. With +a stern air they informed her that they had looked into the question of +her magazine, and had brought her their decision on the subject. Varvara +Petrovna had never authorised anyone to look into or decide anything +concerning her magazine. Their decision was that, having founded the +magazine, she should at once hand it over to them with the capital to +run it, on the basis of a co-operative society. She herself was to +go back to Skvoreshniki, not forgetting to take with her Stepan +Trofimovitch, who was “out of date.” From delicacy they agreed to +recognise the right of property in her case, and to send her every year +a sixth part of the net profits. What was most touching about it +was that of these five men, four certainly were not actuated by any +mercenary motive, and were simply acting in the interests of the +“cause.” +</p> +<p> +“We came away utterly at a loss,” Stepan Trofimovitch used to say +afterwards. “I couldn’t make head or tail of it, and kept muttering, I +remember, to the rumble of the train: +</p> +<pre> + ‘Vyek, and vyek, and Lyov Kambek, + Lyov Kambek and vyek, and vyek.’ +</pre> +<p> +and goodness knows what, all the way to Moscow. It was only in Moscow +that I came to myself—as though we really might find something +different there.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, my friends!” he would exclaim to us sometimes with fervour, “you +cannot imagine what wrath and sadness overcome your whole soul when a +great idea, which you have long cherished as holy, is caught up by the +ignorant and dragged forth before fools like themselves into the street, +and you suddenly meet it in the market unrecognisable, in the mud, +absurdly set up, without proportion, without harmony, the plaything of +foolish louts! No! In our day it was not so, and it was not this for +which we strove. No, no, not this at all. I don’t recognise it.… Our +day will come again and will turn all the tottering fabric of to-day +into a true path. If not, what will happen?…” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VII +</p> +<p> +Immediately on their return from Petersburg Varvara Petrovna sent her +friend abroad to “recruit”; and, indeed, it was necessary for them to +part for a time, she felt that. Stepan Trofimovitch was delighted to go. +</p> +<p> +“There I shall revive!” he exclaimed. “There, at last, I shall set to +work!” But in the first of his letters from Berlin he struck his usual +note: +</p> +<p> +“My heart is broken!” he wrote to Varvara Petrovna. “I can forget +nothing! Here, in Berlin, everything brings back to me my old past, my +first raptures and my first agonies. Where is she? Where are they both? +Where are you two angels of whom I was never worthy? Where is my son, my +beloved son? And last of all, where am I, where is my old self, strong +as steel, firm as a rock, when now some Andreev, our orthodox clown with +a beard, <i>peut briser mon existence en deux</i>”—and so on. +</p> +<p> +As for Stepan Trofimovitch’s son, he had only seen him twice in his +life, the first time when he was born and the second time lately in +Petersburg, where the young man was preparing to enter the university. +The boy had been all his life, as we have said already, brought up by +his aunts (at Varvara Petrovna’s expense) in a remote province, nearly +six hundred miles from Skvoreshniki. As for Andreev, he was nothing +more or less than our local shopkeeper, a very eccentric fellow, a +self-taught archæologist who had a passion for collecting Russian +antiquities and sometimes tried to outshine Stepan Trofimovitch in +erudition and in the progressiveness of his opinions. This worthy +shopkeeper, with a grey beard and silver-rimmed spectacles, still owed +Stepan Trofimovitch four hundred roubles for some acres of timber he had +bought on the latter’s little estate (near Skvoreshniki). Though Varvara +Petrovna had liberally provided her friend with funds when she sent him +to Berlin, yet Stepan Trofimovitch had, before starting, particularly +reckoned on getting that four hundred roubles, probably for his secret +expenditure, and was ready to cry when Andreev asked leave to defer +payment for a month, which he had a right to do, since he had brought +the first installments of the money almost six months in advance to meet +Stepan Trofimovitch’s special need at the time. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna read this first letter greedily, and underlining in +pencil the exclamation: “Where are they both?” numbered it and put it +away in a drawer. He had, of course, referred to his two deceased wives. +The second letter she received from Berlin was in a different strain: +</p> +<p> +“I am working twelve hours out of the twenty-four.” (“Eleven would be +enough,” muttered Varvara Petrovna.) “I’m rummaging in the libraries, +collating, copying, rushing about. I’ve visited the professors. I have +renewed my acquaintance with the delightful Dundasov family. What a +charming creature Lizaveta Nikolaevna is even now! She sends you her +greetings. Her young husband and three nephews are all in Berlin. I +sit up talking till daybreak with the young people and we have almost +Athenian evenings, Athenian, I mean, only in their intellectual subtlety +and refinement. Everything is in noble style; a great deal of music, +Spanish airs, dreams of the regeneration of all humanity, ideas +of eternal beauty, of the Sistine Madonna, light interspersed with +darkness, but there are spots even on the sun! Oh, my friend, my noble, +faithful friend! In heart I am with you and am yours; with you alone, +always, <i>en tout pays</i>, even in <i>le pays de Makar et de ses veaux</i>, of +which we often used to talk in agitation in Petersburg, do you remember, +before we came away. I think of it with a smile. Crossing the frontier I +felt myself in safety, a sensation, strange and new, for the first time +after so many years”—and so on and so on. +</p> +<p> +“Come, it’s all nonsense!” Varvara Petrovna commented, folding up that +letter too. “If he’s up till daybreak with his Athenian nights, he isn’t +at his books for twelve hours a day. Was he drunk when he wrote it? +That Dundasov woman dares to send me greetings! But there, let him amuse +himself!” +</p> +<p> +The phrase “<i>dans le pays de Makar et de ses veaux</i>” meant: “wherever +Makar may drive his calves.” Stepan Trofimovitch sometimes purposely +translated Russian proverbs and traditional sayings into French in the +most stupid way, though no doubt he was able to understand and translate +them better. But he did it from a feeling that it was chic, and thought +it witty. +</p> +<p> +But he did not amuse himself for long. He could not hold out for four +months, and was soon flying back to Skvoreshniki. His last letters +consisted of nothing but outpourings of the most sentimental love for +his absent friend, and were literally wet with tears. There are natures +extremely attached to home like lap-dogs. The meeting of the friends was +enthusiastic. Within two days everything was as before and even duller +than before. “My friend,” Stepan Trofimovitch said to me a fortnight +after, in dead secret, “I have discovered something awful for me … +something new: <i>je suis un simple</i> dependent, <i>et rien de plus! Mais +r-r-rien de plus.</i>” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VIII +</p> +<p> +After this we had a period of stagnation which lasted nine years. +The hysterical outbreaks and sobbings on my shoulder that recurred at +regular intervals did not in the least mar our prosperity. I wonder that +Stepan Trofimovitch did not grow stout during this period. His nose was +a little redder, and his manner had gained in urbanity, that was all. By +degrees a circle of friends had formed around him, although it was never +a very large one. Though Varvara Petrovna had little to do with the +circle, yet we all recognised her as our patroness. After the lesson she +had received in Petersburg, she settled down in our town for good. In +winter she lived in her town house and spent the summer on her estate +in the neighbourhood. She had never enjoyed so much consequence and +prestige in our provincial society as during the last seven years of +this period, that is up to the time of the appointment of our present +governor. Our former governor, the mild Ivan Ossipovitch, who will never +be forgotten among us, was a near relation of Varvara Petrovna’s, and +had at one time been under obligations to her. His wife trembled at the +very thought of displeasing her, while the homage paid her by provincial +society was carried almost to a pitch that suggested idolatry. So Stepan +Trofimovitch, too, had a good time. He was a member of the club, lost at +cards majestically, and was everywhere treated with respect, though +many people regarded him only as a “learned man.” Later on, when Varvara +Petrovna allowed him to live in a separate house, we enjoyed greater +freedom than before. Twice a week we used to meet at his house. We were +a merry party, especially when he was not sparing of the champagne. The +wine came from the shop of the same Andreev. The bill was paid twice +a year by Varvara Petrovna, and on the day it was paid Stepan +Trofimovitch almost invariably suffered from an attack of his “summer +cholera.” +</p> +<p> +One of the first members of our circle was Liputin, an elderly +provincial official, and a great liberal, who was reputed in the town +to be an atheist. He had married for the second time a young and pretty +wife with a dowry, and had, besides, three grown-up daughters. He +brought up his family in the fear of God, and kept a tight hand over +them. He was extremely stingy, and out of his salary had bought himself +a house and amassed a fortune. He was an uncomfortable sort of man, and +had not been in the service. He was not much respected in the town, and +was not received in the best circles. Moreover, he was a scandal-monger, +and had more than once had to smart for his back-biting, for which he +had been badly punished by an officer, and again by a country gentleman, +the respectable head of a family. But we liked his wit, his inquiring +mind, his peculiar, malicious liveliness. Varvara Petrovna disliked him, +but he always knew how to make up to her. +</p> +<p> +Nor did she care for Shatov, who became one of our circle during the +last years of this period. Shatov had been a student and had been +expelled from the university after some disturbance. In his childhood he +had been a student of Stepan Trofimovitch’s and was by birth a serf of +Varvara Petrovna’s, the son of a former valet of hers, Pavel Fyodoritch, +and was greatly indebted to her bounty. She disliked him for his pride +and ingratitude and could never forgive him for not having come straight +to her on his expulsion from the university. On the contrary he had not +even answered the letter she had expressly sent him at the time, and +preferred to be a drudge in the family of a merchant of the new style, +with whom he went abroad, looking after his children more in the +position of a nurse than of a tutor. He was very eager to travel at the +time. The children had a governess too, a lively young Russian lady, who +also became one of the household on the eve of their departure, and +had been engaged chiefly because she was so cheap. Two months later the +merchant turned her out of the house for “free thinking.” Shatov took +himself off after her and soon afterwards married her in Geneva. +They lived together about three weeks, and then parted as free people +recognising no bonds, though, no doubt, also through poverty. He +wandered about Europe alone for a long time afterwards, living God knows +how; he is said to have blacked boots in the street, and to have been a +porter in some dockyard. At last, a year before, he had returned to his +native place among us and settled with an old aunt, whom he buried a +month later. His sister Dasha, who had also been brought up by Varvara +Petrovna, was a favourite of hers, and treated with respect and +consideration in her house. He saw his sister rarely and was not on +intimate terms with her. In our circle he was always sullen, and never +talkative; but from time to time, when his convictions were touched +upon, he became morbidly irritable and very unrestrained in his +language. +</p> +<p> +“One has to tie Shatov up and then argue with him,” Stepan Trofimovitch +would sometimes say in joke, but he liked him. +</p> +<p> +Shatov had radically changed some of his former socialistic convictions +abroad and had rushed to the opposite extreme. He was one of those +idealistic beings common in Russia, who are suddenly struck by some +overmastering idea which seems, as it were, to crush them at once, and +sometimes forever. They are never equal to coping with it, but put +passionate faith in it, and their whole life passes afterwards, as it +were, in the last agonies under the weight of the stone that has fallen +upon them and half crushed them. In appearance Shatov was in complete +harmony with his convictions: he was short, awkward, had a shock of +flaxen hair, broad shoulders, thick lips, very thick overhanging white +eyebrows, a wrinkled forehead, and a hostile, obstinately downcast, as +it were shamefaced, expression in his eyes. His hair was always in a +wild tangle and stood up in a shock which nothing could smooth. He was +seven- or eight-and-twenty. +</p> +<p> +“I no longer wonder that his wife ran away from him,” Varvara Petrovna +enunciated on one occasion after gazing intently at him. He tried to be +neat in his dress, in spite of his extreme poverty. He refrained again +from appealing to Varvara Petrovna, and struggled along as best he +could, doing various jobs for tradespeople. At one time he served in a +shop, at another he was on the point of going as an assistant clerk on a +freight steamer, but he fell ill just at the time of sailing. It is +hard to imagine what poverty he was capable of enduring without thinking +about it at all. After his illness Varvara Petrovna sent him a hundred +roubles, anonymously and in secret. He found out the secret, however, +and after some reflection took the money and went to Varvara Petrovna to +thank her. She received him with warmth, but on this occasion, too, +he shamefully disappointed her. He only stayed five minutes, staring +blankly at the ground and smiling stupidly in profound silence, and +suddenly, at the most interesting point, without listening to what +she was saying, he got up, made an uncouth sideways bow, helpless +with confusion, caught against the lady’s expensive inlaid work-table, +upsetting it on the floor and smashing it to atoms, and walked out +nearly dead with shame. Liputin blamed him severely afterwards for +having accepted the hundred roubles and having even gone to thank +Varvara Petrovna for them, instead of having returned the money with +contempt, because it had come from his former despotic mistress. He +lived in solitude on the outskirts of the town, and did not like any +of us to go and see him. He used to turn up invariably at Stepan +Trofimovitch’s evenings, and borrowed newspapers and books from him. +</p> +<p> +There was another young man who always came, one Virginsky, a clerk in +the service here, who had something in common with Shatov, though on +the surface he seemed his complete opposite in every respect. He was a +“family man” too. He was a pathetic and very quiet young man though +he was thirty; he had considerable education though he was chiefly +self-taught. He was poor, married, and in the service, and supported the +aunt and sister of his wife. His wife and all the ladies of his family +professed the very latest convictions, but in rather a crude form. +It was a case of “an idea dragged forth into the street,” as Stepan +Trofimovitch had expressed it upon a former occasion. They got it +all out of books, and at the first hint coming from any of our little +progressive corners in Petersburg they were prepared to throw anything +overboard, so soon as they were advised to do so. Madame Virginsky +practised as a midwife in the town. She had lived a long while +in Petersburg as a girl. Virginsky himself was a man of rare +single-heartedness, and I have seldom met more honest fervour. +</p> +<p> +“I will never, never, abandon these bright hopes,” he used to say to me +with shining eyes. Of these “bright hopes” he always spoke quietly, in +a blissful half-whisper, as it were secretly. He was rather tall, but +extremely thin and narrow-shouldered, and had extraordinarily lank hair +of a reddish hue. All Stepan Trofimovitch’s condescending gibes at +some of his opinions he accepted mildly, answered him sometimes very +seriously, and often nonplussed him. Stepan Trofimovitch treated him +very kindly, and indeed he behaved like a father to all of us. “You are +all half-hearted chickens,” he observed to Virginsky in joke. “All +who are like you, though in you, Virginsky, I have not observed that +narrow-mindedness I found in Petersburg, <i>chez ces séminaristes</i>. But +you’re a half-hatched chicken all the same. Shatov would give anything +to hatch out, but he’s half-hatched too.” +</p> +<p> +“And I?” Liputin inquired. +</p> +<p> +“You’re simply the golden mean which will get on anywhere in its own +way.” Liputin was offended. +</p> +<p> +The story was told of Virginsky, and it was unhappily only too true, +that before his wife had spent a year in lawful wedlock with him she +announced that he was superseded and that she preferred Lebyadkin. This +Lebyadkin, a stranger to the town, turned out afterwards to be a very +dubious character, and not a retired captain as he represented himself +to be. He could do nothing but twist his moustache, drink, and chatter +the most inept nonsense that can possibly be imagined. This fellow, who +was utterly lacking in delicacy, at once settled in his house, glad to +live at another man’s expense, ate and slept there and came, in the end, +to treating the master of the house with condescension. It was asserted +that when Virginsky’s wife had announced to him that he was superseded +he said to her: +</p> +<p> +“My dear, hitherto I have only loved you, but now I respect you,” but I +doubt whether this renunciation, worthy of ancient Rome, was ever really +uttered. On the contrary they say that he wept violently. A fortnight +after he was superseded, all of them, in a “family party,” went one day +for a picnic to a wood outside the town to drink tea with their friends. +Virginsky was in a feverishly lively mood and took part in the dances. +But suddenly, without any preliminary quarrel, he seized the giant +Lebyadkin with both hands, by the hair, just as the latter was dancing +a can-can solo, pushed him down, and began dragging him along with +shrieks, shouts, and tears. The giant was so panic-stricken that he did +not attempt to defend himself, and hardly uttered a sound all the time +he was being dragged along. But afterwards he resented it with all the +heat of an honourable man. Virginsky spent a whole night on his knees +begging his wife’s forgiveness. But this forgiveness was not granted, as +he refused to apologise to Lebyadkin; moreover, he was upbraided for the +meanness of his ideas and his foolishness, the latter charge based on +the fact that he knelt down in the interview with his wife. The captain +soon disappeared and did not reappear in our town till quite lately, +when he came with his sister, and with entirely different aims; but +of him later. It was no wonder that the poor young husband sought our +society and found comfort in it. But he never spoke of his home-life to +us. On one occasion only, returning with me from Stepan Trofimovitch’s, +he made a remote allusion to his position, but clutching my hand at once +he cried ardently: +</p> +<p> +“It’s of no consequence. It’s only a personal incident. It’s no +hindrance to the ‘cause,’ not the slightest!” +</p> +<p> +Stray guests visited our circle too; a Jew, called Lyamshin, and a +Captain Kartusov came. An old gentleman of inquiring mind used to come +at one time, but he died. Liputin brought an exiled Polish priest called +Slontsevsky, and for a time we received him on principle, but afterwards +we didn’t keep it up. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IX +</p> +<p> +At one time it was reported about the town that our little circle was a +hotbed of nihilism, profligacy, and godlessness, and the rumour gained +more and more strength. And yet we did nothing but indulge in the most +harmless, agreeable, typically Russian, light-hearted liberal chatter. +“The higher liberalism” and the “higher liberal,” that is, a liberal +without any definite aim, is only possible in Russia. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch, like every witty man, needed a listener, and, +besides that, he needed the consciousness that he was fulfilling the +lofty duty of disseminating ideas. And finally he had to have someone +to drink champagne with, and over the wine to exchange light-hearted +views of a certain sort, about Russia and the “Russian spirit,” about +God in general, and the “Russian God” in particular, to repeat for the +hundredth time the same Russian scandalous stories that every one knew +and every one repeated. We had no distaste for the gossip of the town +which often, indeed, led us to the most severe and loftily moral +verdicts. We fell into generalising about humanity, made stern +reflections on the future of Europe and mankind in general, +authoritatively predicted that after Cæsarism France would at once sink +into the position of a second-rate power, and were firmly convinced that +this might terribly easily and quickly come to pass. We had long ago +predicted that the Pope would play the part of a simple archbishop in +a united Italy, and were firmly convinced that this thousand-year-old +question had, in our age of humanitarianism, industry, and railways, +become a trifling matter. But, of course, “Russian higher liberalism” +could not look at the question in any other way. Stepan Trofimovitch +sometimes talked of art, and very well, though rather abstractly. He +sometimes spoke of the friends of his youth—all names noteworthy in +the history of Russian progress. He talked of them with emotion and +reverence, though sometimes with envy. If we were very much bored, the +Jew, Lyamshin (a little post-office clerk), a wonderful performer on +the piano, sat down to play, and in the intervals would imitate a pig, +a thunderstorm, a confinement with the first cry of the baby, and so on, +and so on; it was only for this that he was invited, indeed. If we had +drunk a great deal—and that did happen sometimes, though not often—we +flew into raptures, and even on one occasion sang the “Marseillaise” in +chorus to the accompaniment of Lyamshin, though I don’t know how it +went off. The great day, the nineteenth of February, we welcomed +enthusiastically, and for a long time beforehand drank toasts in its +honour. But that was long ago, before the advent of Shatov or Virginsky, +when Stepan Trofimovitch was still living in the same house with Varvara +Petrovna. For some time before the great day Stepan Trofimovitch +fell into the habit of muttering to himself well-known, though rather +far-fetched, lines which must have been written by some liberal +landowner of the past: +</p> +<p> +<i>“The peasant with his axe is coming,</i> +<i>Something terrible will happen.”</i> +</p> +<p> +Something of that sort, I don’t remember the exact words. Varvara +Petrovna overheard him on one occasion, and crying, “Nonsense, +nonsense!” she went out of the room in a rage. Liputin, who happened to +be present, observed malignantly to Stepan Trofimovitch: +</p> +<p> +“It’ll be a pity if their former serfs really do some mischief to +<i>messieurs les</i> landowners to celebrate the occasion,” and he drew his +forefinger round his throat. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Cher ami,</i>” Stepan Trofimovitch observed, “believe me that—this (he +repeated the gesture) will never be of any use to our landowners nor to +any of us in general. We shall never be capable of organising anything +even without our heads, though our heads hinder our understanding more +than anything.” +</p> +<p> +I may observe that many people among us anticipated that something +extraordinary, such as Liputin predicted, would take place on the day +of the emancipation, and those who held this view were the so-called +“authorities” on the peasantry and the government. I believe Stepan +Trofimovitch shared this idea, so much so that almost on the eve of the +great day he began asking Varvara Petrovna’s leave to go abroad; in fact +he began to be uneasy. But the great day passed, and some time +passed after it, and the condescending smile reappeared on Stepan +Trofimovitch’s lips. In our presence he delivered himself of some +noteworthy thoughts on the character of the Russian in general, and the +Russian peasant in particular. +</p> +<p> +“Like hasty people we have been in too great a hurry with our peasants,” +he said in conclusion of a series of remarkable utterances. “We have +made them the fashion, and a whole section of writers have for several +years treated them as though they were newly discovered curiosities. We +have put laurel-wreaths on lousy heads. The Russian village has given us +only ‘Kamarinsky’ in a thousand years. A remarkable Russian poet who was +also something of a wit, seeing the great Rachel on the stage for the +first time cried in ecstasy, ‘I wouldn’t exchange Rachel for a peasant!’ +I am prepared to go further. I would give all the peasants in Russia +for one Rachel. It’s high time to look things in the face more +soberly, and not to mix up our national rustic pitch with <i>bouquet de +l’Impératrice.</i>” +</p> +<p> +Liputin agreed at once, but remarked that one had to perjure oneself and +praise the peasant all the same for the sake of being progressive, that +even ladies in good society shed tears reading “Poor Anton,” and that +some of them even wrote from Paris to their bailiffs that they were, +henceforward, to treat the peasants as humanely as possible. +</p> +<p> +It happened, and as ill-luck would have it just after the rumours of the +Anton Petrov affair had reached us, that there was some disturbance +in our province too, only about ten miles from Skvoreshniki, so that a +detachment of soldiers was sent down in a hurry. +</p> +<p> +This time Stepan Trofimovitch was so much upset that he even frightened +us. He cried out at the club that more troops were needed, that they +ought to be telegraphed for from another province; he rushed off to the +governor to protest that he had no hand in it, begged him not to allow +his name on account of old associations to be brought into it, and +offered to write about his protest to the proper quarter in Petersburg. +Fortunately it all passed over quickly and ended in nothing, but I was +surprised at Stepan Trofimovitch at the time. +</p> +<p> +Three years later, as every one knows, people were beginning to talk +of nationalism, and “public opinion” first came upon the scene. Stepan +Trofimovitch laughed a great deal. +</p> +<p> +“My friends,” he instructed us, “if our nationalism has ‘dawned’ as +they keep repeating in the papers—it’s still at school, at some German +‘Peterschule,’ sitting over a German book and repeating its everlasting +German lesson, and its German teacher will make it go down on its knees +when he thinks fit. I think highly of the German teacher. But nothing +has happened and nothing of the kind has dawned and everything is going +on in the old way, that is, as ordained by God. To my thinking that +should be enough for Russia, <i>pour notre Sainte Russie</i>. Besides, all this +Slavism and nationalism is too old to be new. Nationalism, if you like, +has never existed among us except as a distraction for gentlemen’s +clubs, and Moscow ones at that. I’m not talking of the days of Igor, of +course. And besides it all comes of idleness. Everything in Russia comes +of idleness, everything good and fine even. It all springs from the +charming, cultured, whimsical idleness of our gentry! I’m ready to +repeat it for thirty thousand years. We don’t know how to live by our +own labour. And as for the fuss they’re making now about the ‘dawn’ +of some sort of public opinion, has it so suddenly dropped from heaven +without any warning? How is it they don’t understand that before we +can have an opinion of our own we must have work, our own work, our own +initiative in things, our own experience. Nothing is to be gained for +nothing. If we work we shall have an opinion of our own. But as we +never shall work, our opinions will be formed for us by those who have +hitherto done the work instead of us, that is, as always, Europe, the +everlasting Germans—our teachers for the last two centuries. Moreover, +Russia is too big a tangle for us to unravel alone without the Germans, +and without hard work. For the last twenty years I’ve been sounding the +alarm, and the summons to work. I’ve given up my life to that appeal, +and, in my folly I put faith in it. Now I have lost faith in it, but I +sound the alarm still, and shall sound it to the tomb. I will pull at +the bell-ropes until they toll for my own requiem!” +</p> +<p> +“Alas! We could do nothing but assent. We applauded our teacher and with +what warmth, indeed! And, after all, my friends, don’t we still hear +to-day, every hour, at every step, the same “charming,” “clever,” +“liberal,” old Russian nonsense? Our teacher believed in God. +</p> +<p> +“I can’t understand why they make me out an infidel here,” he used to +say sometimes. “I believe in God, <i>mais distinguons</i>, I believe in Him as +a Being who is conscious of Himself in me only. I cannot believe as my +Nastasya (the servant) or like some country gentleman who believes ‘to +be on the safe side,’ or like our dear Shatov—but no, Shatov doesn’t +come into it. Shatov believes ‘on principle,’ like a Moscow Slavophil. +As for Christianity, for all my genuine respect for it, I’m not a +Christian. I am more of an antique pagan, like the great Goethe, or +like an ancient Greek. The very fact that Christianity has failed to +understand woman is enough, as George Sand has so splendidly shown in +one of her great novels. As for the bowings, fasting and all the rest +of it, I don’t understand what they have to do with me. However busy the +informers may be here, I don’t care to become a Jesuit. In the year 1847 +Byelinsky, who was abroad, sent his famous letter to Gogol, and warmly +reproached him for believing in some sort of God. <i>Entre nous soit dit,</i> I +can imagine nothing more comic than the moment when Gogol (the Gogol of +that period!) read that phrase, and … the whole letter! But dismissing +the humorous aspect, and, as I am fundamentally in agreement, I point to +them and say—these were men! They knew how to love their people, they +knew how to suffer for them, they knew how to sacrifice everything for +them, yet they knew how to differ from them when they ought, and did not +filch certain ideas from them. Could Byelinsky have sought salvation +in Lenten oil, or peas with radish!…” But at this point Shatov +interposed. +</p> +<p> +“Those men of yours never loved the people, they didn’t suffer for them, +and didn’t sacrifice anything for them, though they may have amused +themselves by imagining it!” he growled sullenly, looking down, and +moving impatiently in his chair. +</p> +<p> +“They didn’t love the people!” yelled Stepan Trofimovitch. “Oh, how they +loved Russia!” +</p> +<p> +“Neither Russia nor the people!” Shatov yelled too, with flashing eyes. +“You can’t love what you don’t know and they had no conception of the +Russian people. All of them peered at the Russian people through their +fingers, and you do too; Byelinsky especially: from that very letter to +Gogol one can see it. Byelinsky, like the Inquisitive Man in Krylov’s +fable, did not notice the elephant in the museum of curiosities, but +concentrated his whole attention on the French Socialist beetles; he did +not get beyond them. And yet perhaps he was cleverer than any of you. +You’ve not only overlooked the people, you’ve taken up an attitude of +disgusting contempt for them, if only because you could not imagine any +but the French people, the Parisians indeed, and were ashamed that the +Russians were not like them. That’s the naked truth. And he who has +no people has no God. You may be sure that all who cease to understand +their own people and lose their connection with them at once lose to +the same extent the faith of their fathers, and become atheistic or +indifferent. I’m speaking the truth! This is a fact which will be +realised. That’s why all of you and all of us now are either beastly +atheists or careless, dissolute imbeciles, and nothing more. And you +too, Stepan Trofimovitch, I don’t make an exception of you at all! In +fact, it is on your account I am speaking, let me tell you that!” +</p> +<p> +As a rule, after uttering such monologues (which happened to him pretty +frequently) Shatov snatched up his cap and rushed to the door, in the +full conviction that everything was now over, and that he had cut short +all friendly relations with Stepan Trofimovitch forever. But the latter +always succeeded in stopping him in time. +</p> +<p> +“Hadn’t we better make it up, Shatov, after all these endearments,” he +would say, benignly holding out his hand to him from his arm-chair. +</p> +<p> +Shatov, clumsy and bashful, disliked sentimentality. Externally he was +rough, but inwardly, I believe, he had great delicacy. Although he often +went too far, he was the first to suffer for it. Muttering something +between his teeth in response to Stepan Trofimovitch’s appeal, and +shuffling with his feet like a bear, he gave a sudden and unexpected +smile, put down his cap, and sat down in the same chair as before, with +his eyes stubbornly fixed on the ground. Wine was, of course, brought +in, and Stepan Trofimovitch proposed some suitable toast, for instance +the memory of some leading man of the past. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0002"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER II. PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING. +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +THERE WAS ANOTHER being in the world to whom Varvara Petrovna was as +much attached as she was to Stepan Trofimovitch, her only son, Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch Stavrogin. It was to undertake his education that Stepan +Trofimovitch had been engaged. The boy was at that time eight years old, +and his frivolous father, General Stavrogin, was already living apart +from Varvara Petrovna, so that the child grew up entirely in his +mother’s care. To do Stepan Trofimovitch justice, he knew how to win his +pupil’s heart. The whole secret of this lay in the fact that he was a +child himself. I was not there in those days, and he continually felt +the want of a real friend. He did not hesitate to make a friend of this +little creature as soon as he had grown a little older. It somehow came +to pass quite naturally that there seemed to be no discrepancy of age +between them. More than once he awaked his ten- or eleven-year-old +friend at night, simply to pour out his wounded feelings and weep before +him, or to tell him some family secret, without realising that this was +an outrageous proceeding. They threw themselves into each other’s arms +and wept. The boy knew that his mother loved him very much, but I doubt +whether he cared much for her. She talked little to him and did not +often interfere with him, but he was always morbidly conscious of her +intent, searching eyes fixed upon him. Yet the mother confided his whole +instruction and moral education to Stepan Trofimovitch. At that time her +faith in him was unshaken. One can’t help believing that the tutor had +rather a bad influence on his pupil’s nerves. When at sixteen he was +taken to a lyceum he was fragile-looking and pale, strangely quiet and +dreamy. (Later on he was distinguished by great physical strength.) +One must assume too that the friends went on weeping at night, throwing +themselves in each other’s arms, though their tears were not always due +to domestic difficulties. Stepan Trofimovitch succeeded in reaching +the deepest chords in his pupil’s heart, and had aroused in him a vague +sensation of that eternal, sacred yearning which some elect souls can +never give up for cheap gratification when once they have tasted and +known it. (There are some connoisseurs who prize this yearning more than +the most complete satisfaction of it, if such were possible.) But in any +case it was just as well that the pupil and the preceptor were, though +none too soon, parted. +</p> +<p> +For the first two years the lad used to come home from the lyceum +for the holidays. While Varvara Petrovna and Stepan Trofimovitch were +staying in Petersburg he was sometimes present at the literary evenings +at his mother’s, he listened and looked on. He spoke little, and was +quiet and shy as before. His manner to Stepan Trofimovitch was as +affectionately attentive as ever, but there was a shade of reserve in +it. He unmistakably avoided distressing, lofty subjects or reminiscences +of the past. By his mother’s wish he entered the army on completing +the school course, and soon received a commission in one of the most +brilliant regiments of the Horse Guards. He did not come to show himself +to his mother in his uniform, and his letters from Petersburg began to +be infrequent. Varvara Petrovna sent him money without stint, though +after the emancipation the revenue from her estate was so diminished +that at first her income was less than half what it had been before. She +had, however, a considerable sum laid by through years of economy. +She took great interest in her son’s success in the highest Petersburg +society. Where she had failed, the wealthy young officer with +expectations succeeded. He renewed acquaintances which she had hardly +dared to dream of, and was welcomed everywhere with pleasure. But very +soon rather strange rumours reached Varvara Petrovna. The young man +had suddenly taken to riotous living with a sort of frenzy. Not that he +gambled or drank too much; there was only talk of savage recklessness, +of running over people in the street with his horses, of brutal conduct +to a lady of good society with whom he had a liaison and whom he +afterwards publicly insulted. There was a callous nastiness about this +affair. It was added, too, that he had developed into a regular bully, +insulting people for the mere pleasure of insulting them. Varvara +Petrovna was greatly agitated and distressed. Stepan Trofimovitch +assured her that this was only the first riotous effervescence of a too +richly endowed nature, that the storm would subside and that this was +only like the youth of Prince Harry, who caroused with Falstaff, Poins, +and Mrs. Quickly, as described by Shakespeare. +</p> +<p> +This time Varvara Petrovna did not cry out, “Nonsense, nonsense!” as she +was very apt to do in later years in response to Stepan Trofimovitch. On +the contrary she listened very eagerly, asked him to explain this theory +more exactly, took up Shakespeare herself and with great attention read +the immortal chronicle. But it did not comfort her, and indeed she did +not find the resemblance very striking. With feverish impatience she +awaited answers to some of her letters. She had not long to wait for +them. The fatal news soon reached her that “Prince Harry” had been +involved in two duels almost at once, was entirely to blame for both of +them, had killed one of his adversaries on the spot and had maimed the +other and was awaiting his trial in consequence. The case ended in his +being degraded to the ranks, deprived of the rights of a nobleman, and +transferred to an infantry line regiment, and he only escaped worse +punishment by special favour. +</p> +<p> +In 1863 he somehow succeeded in distinguishing himself; he received a +cross, was promoted to be a non-commissioned officer, and rose +rapidly to the rank of an officer. During this period Varvara Petrovna +despatched perhaps hundreds of letters to the capital, full of prayers +and supplications. She even stooped to some humiliation in this +extremity. After his promotion the young man suddenly resigned his +commission, but he did not come back to Skvoreshniki again, and gave up +writing to his mother altogether. They learned by roundabout means that +he was back in Petersburg, but that he was not to be met in the same +society as before; he seemed to be in hiding. They found out that he was +living in strange company, associating with the dregs of the population +of Petersburg, with slip-shod government clerks, discharged military +men, beggars of the higher class, and drunkards of all sorts—that he +visited their filthy families, spent days and nights in dark slums and +all sorts of low haunts, that he had sunk very low, that he was in rags, +and that apparently he liked it. He did not ask his mother for money, +he had his own little estate—once the property of his father, General +Stavrogin, which yielded at least some revenue, and which, it was +reported, he had let to a German from Saxony. At last his mother +besought him to come to her, and “Prince Harry” made his appearance +in our town. I had never set eyes on him before, but now I got a very +distinct impression of him. He was a very handsome young man of +five-and-twenty, and I must own I was impressed by him. I had expected +to see a dirty ragamuffin, sodden with drink and debauchery. He was on +the contrary, the most elegant gentleman I had ever met, extremely well +dressed, with an air and manner only to be found in a man accustomed to +culture and refinement. I was not the only person surprised. It was a +surprise to all the townspeople to whom, of course, young Stavrogin’s +whole biography was well known in its minutest details, though one could +not imagine how they had got hold of them, and, what was still more +surprising, half of their stories about him turned out to be true. +</p> +<p> +All our ladies were wild over the new visitor. They were sharply divided +into two parties, one of which adored him while the other half regarded +him with a hatred that was almost blood-thirsty: but both were crazy +about him. Some of them were particularly fascinated by the idea that he +had perhaps a fateful secret hidden in his soul; others were positively +delighted at the fact that he was a murderer. It appeared too that +he had had a very good education and was indeed a man of considerable +culture. No great acquirements were needed, of course, to astonish us. +But he could judge also of very interesting everyday affairs, and, what +was of the utmost value, he judged of them with remarkable good sense. I +must mention as a peculiar fact that almost from the first day we all of +us thought him a very sensible fellow. He was not very talkative, he was +elegant without exaggeration, surprisingly modest, and at the same time +bold and self-reliant, as none of us were. Our dandies gazed at him with +envy, and were completely eclipsed by him. His face, too, impressed me. +His hair was of a peculiarly intense black, his light-coloured eyes were +peculiarly light and calm, his complexion was peculiarly soft and white, +the red in his cheeks was too bright and clear, his teeth were like +pearls, and his lips like coral—one would have thought that he must +be a paragon of beauty, yet at the same time there seemed something +repellent about him. It was said that his face suggested a mask; so much +was said though, among other things they talked of his extraordinary +physical strength. He was rather tall. Varvara Petrovna looked at him +with pride, yet with continual uneasiness. He spent about six months +among us—listless, quiet, rather morose. He made his appearance in +society, and with unfailing propriety performed all the duties demanded +by our provincial etiquette. He was related, on his father’s side, to +the governor, and was received by the latter as a near kinsman. But a +few months passed and the wild beast showed his claws. +</p> +<p> +I may observe by the way, in parenthesis, that Ivan Ossipovitch, our +dear mild governor, was rather like an old woman, though he was of good +family and highly connected—which explains the fact that he remained so +long among us, though he steadily avoided all the duties of his office. +From his munificence and hospitality he ought rather to have been a +marshal of nobility of the good old days than a governor in such busy +times as ours. It was always said in the town that it was not he, but +Varvara Petrovna who governed the province. Of course this was said +sarcastically; however, it was certainly a falsehood. And, indeed, much +wit was wasted on the subject among us. On the contrary, in later years, +Varvara Petrovna purposely and consciously withdrew from anything like +a position of authority, and, in spite of the extraordinary respect +in which she was held by the whole province, voluntarily confined her +influence within strict limits set up by herself. Instead of these +higher responsibilities she suddenly took up the management of her +estate, and, within two or three years, raised the revenue from it +almost to what it had yielded in the past. Giving up her former romantic +impulses (trips to Petersburg, plans for founding a magazine, and so +on) she began to be careful and to save money. She kept even Stepan +Trofimovitch at a distance, allowing him to take lodgings in another +house (a change for which he had long been worrying her under various +pretexts). Little by little Stepan Trofimovitch began to call her a +prosaic woman, or more jestingly, “My prosaic friend.” I need hardly say +he only ventured on such jests in an extremely respectful form, and on +rare, and carefully chosen, occasions. +</p> +<p> +All of us in her intimate circle felt—Stepan Trofimovitch more acutely +than any of us—that her son had come to her almost, as it were, as a +new hope, and even as a sort of new aspiration. Her passion for her son +dated from the time of his successes in Petersburg society, and grew +more intense from the moment that he was degraded in the army. Yet she +was evidently afraid of him, and seemed like a slave in his presence. +It could be seen that she was afraid of something vague and mysterious +which she could not have put into words, and she often stole searching +glances at “Nicolas,” scrutinising him reflectively … and behold—the +wild beast suddenly showed his claws. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +Suddenly, apropos of nothing, our prince was guilty of incredible +outrages upon various persons and, what was most striking these outrages +were utterly unheard of, quite inconceivable, unlike anything commonly +done, utterly silly and mischievous, quite unprovoked and objectless. +One of the most respected of our club members, on our committee of +management, Pyotr Pavlovitch Gaganov, an elderly man of high rank in the +service, had formed the innocent habit of declaring vehemently on all +sorts of occasions: “No, you can’t lead me by the nose!” Well, there +is no harm in that. But one day at the club, when he brought out this +phrase in connection with some heated discussion in the midst of a +little group of members (all persons of some consequence) Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, who was standing on one side, alone and unnoticed, +suddenly went up to Pyotr Pavlovitch, took him unexpectedly and firmly +with two fingers by the nose, and succeeded in leading him two or three +steps across the room. He could have had no grudge against Mr. Gaganov. +It might be thought to be a mere schoolboy prank, though, of course, a +most unpardonable one. Yet, describing it afterwards, people said that +he looked almost dreamy at the very instant of the operation, “as though +he had gone out of his mind,” but that was recalled and reflected upon +long afterwards. In the excitement of the moment all they recalled was +the minute after, when he certainly saw it all as it really was, and far +from being confused smiled gaily and maliciously “without the slightest +regret.” There was a terrific outcry; he was surrounded. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch kept turning round, looking about him, answering nobody, +and glancing curiously at the persons exclaiming around him. At last he +seemed suddenly, as it were, to sink into thought again—so at least it +was reported—frowned, went firmly up to the affronted Pyotr Pavlovitch, +and with evident vexation said in a rapid mutter: +</p> +<p> +“You must forgive me, of course … I really don’t know what suddenly +came over me … it’s silly.” +</p> +<p> +The carelessness of his apology was almost equivalent to a fresh insult. +The outcry was greater than ever. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch shrugged his +shoulders and went away. All this was very stupid, to say nothing of its +gross indecency— +</p> +<p> +A calculated and premeditated indecency as it seemed at first sight—and +therefore a premeditated and utterly brutal insult to our whole society. +So it was taken to be by every one. We began by promptly and unanimously +striking young Stavrogin’s name off the list of club members. Then it +was decided to send an appeal in the name of the whole club to the +governor, begging him at once (without waiting for the case to be +formally tried in court) to use “the administrative power entrusted to +him” to restrain this dangerous ruffian, “this duelling bully from the +capital, and so protect the tranquillity of all the gentry of our town +from injurious encroachments.” It was added with angry resentment that +“a law might be found to control even Mr. Stavrogin.” This phrase was +prepared by way of a thrust at the governor on account of Varvara +Petrovna. They elaborated it with relish. As ill luck would have it, +the governor was not in the town at the time. He had gone to a little +distance to stand godfather to the child of a very charming lady, +recently left a widow in an interesting condition. But it was known that +he would soon be back. In the meanwhile they got up a regular ovation +for the respected and insulted gentleman; people embraced and kissed +him; the whole town called upon him. It was even proposed to give a +subscription dinner in his honour, and they only gave up the idea at +his earnest request—reflecting possibly at last that the man had, +after all, been pulled by the nose and that that was really nothing +to congratulate him upon. Yet, how had it happened? How could it have +happened? It is remarkable that no one in the whole town put down this +savage act to madness. They must have been predisposed to expect such +actions from Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, even when he was sane. For my part +I don’t know to this day how to explain it, in spite of the event that +quickly followed and apparently explained everything, and conciliated +every one. I will add also that, four years later, in reply to a +discreet question from me about the incident at the club, Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch answered, frowning: “I wasn’t quite well at the time.” +But there is no need to anticipate events. +</p> +<p> +The general outburst of hatred with which every one fell upon the +“ruffian and duelling bully from the capital” also struck me as curious. +They insisted on seeing an insolent design and deliberate intention to +insult our whole society at once. The truth was no one liked the fellow, +but, on the contrary, he had set every one against him—and one wonders +how. Up to the last incident he had never quarrelled with anyone, nor +insulted anyone, but was as courteous as a gentleman in a fashion-plate, +if only the latter were able to speak. I imagine that he was hated for +his pride. Even our ladies, who had begun by adoring him, railed against +him now, more loudly than the men. Varvara Petrovna was dreadfully +overwhelmed. She confessed afterwards to Stepan Trofimovitch that she +had had a foreboding of all this long before, that every day for the +last six months she had been expecting “just something of that sort,” +a remarkable admission on the part of his own mother. “It’s begun!” she +thought to herself with a shudder. The morning after the incident at the +club she cautiously but firmly approached the subject with her son, but +the poor woman was trembling all over in spite of her firmness. She had +not slept all night and even went out early to Stepan Trofimovitch’s +lodgings to ask his advice, and shed tears there, a thing which she had +never been known to do before anyone. She longed for “Nicolas” to say +something to her, to deign to give some explanation. Nikolay, who was +always so polite and respectful to his mother, listened to her for some +time scowling, but very seriously. He suddenly got up without saying +a word, kissed her hand and went away. That very evening, as though by +design, he perpetrated another scandal. It was of a more harmless and +ordinary character than the first. Yet, owing to the state of the public +mind, it increased the outcry in the town. +</p> +<p> +Our friend Liputin turned up and called on Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +immediately after the latter’s interview with his mother, and earnestly +begged for the honour of his company at a little party he was giving for +his wife’s birthday that evening. Varvara Petrovna had long watched with +a pang at her heart her son’s taste for such low company, but she had +not dared to speak of it to him. He had made several acquaintances +besides Liputin in the third rank of our society, and even in lower +depths—he had a propensity for making such friends. He had never been +in Liputin’s house before, though he had met the man himself. He guessed +that Liputin’s invitation now was the consequence of the previous day’s +scandal, and that as a local liberal he was delighted at the scandal, +genuinely believing that that was the proper way to treat stewards at +the club, and that it was very well done. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch smiled +and promised to come. +</p> +<p> +A great number of guests had assembled. The company was not very +presentable, but very sprightly. Liputin, vain and envious, only +entertained visitors twice a year, but on those occasions he did +it without stint. The most honoured of the invited guests, Stepan +Trofimovitch, was prevented by illness from being present. Tea was +handed, and there were refreshments and vodka in plenty. Cards were +played at three tables, and while waiting for supper the young people +got up a dance. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch led out Madame Liputin—a very +pretty little woman who was dreadfully shy of him—took two turns round +the room with her, sat down beside her, drew her into conversation and +made her laugh. Noticing at last how pretty she was when she laughed, he +suddenly, before all the company, seized her round the waist and +kissed her on the lips two or three times with great relish. The poor +frightened lady fainted. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch took his hat and went +up to the husband, who stood petrified in the middle of the general +excitement. Looking at him he, too, became confused and muttering +hurriedly “Don’t be angry,” went away. Liputin ran after him in the +entry, gave him his fur-coat with his own hands, and saw him down the +stairs, bowing. But next day a rather amusing sequel followed this +comparatively harmless prank—a sequel from which Liputin gained some +credit, and of which he took the fullest possible advantage. +</p> +<p> +At ten o’clock in the morning Liputin’s servant Agafya, an +easy-mannered, lively, rosy-cheeked peasant woman of thirty, made +her appearance at Stavrogin’s house, with a message for Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch. She insisted on seeing “his honour himself.” He had a +very bad headache, but he went out. Varvara Petrovna succeeded in being +present when the message was given. +</p> +<p> +“Sergay Vassilyevitch” (Liputin’s name), Agafya rattled off briskly, +“bade me first of all give you his respectful greetings and ask after +your health, what sort of night your honour spent after yesterday’s +doings, and how your honour feels now after yesterday’s doings?” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch smiled. +</p> +<p> +“Give him my greetings and thank him, and tell your master from me, +Agafya, that he’s the most sensible man in the town.” +</p> +<p> +“And he told me to answer that,” Agafya caught him up still more +briskly, “that he knows that without your telling him, and wishes you +the same.” +</p> +<p> +“Really! But how could he tell what I should say to you?” +</p> +<p> +“I can’t say in what way he could tell, but when I had set off and had +gone right down the street, I heard something, and there he was, running +after me without his cap. ‘I say, Agafya, if by any chance he says to +you, “Tell your master that he has more sense than all the town,” you +tell him at once, don’t forget, “The master himself knows that very +well, and wishes you the same.”’” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +At last the interview with the governor took place too. Our dear, mild, +Ivan Ossipovitch had only just returned and only just had time to hear +the angry complaint from the club. There was no doubt that something +must be done, but he was troubled. The hospitable old man seemed also +rather afraid of his young kinsman. He made up his mind, however, to +induce him to apologise to the club and to his victim in satisfactory +form, and, if required, by letter, and then to persuade him to leave us +for a time, travelling, for instance, to improve his mind, in Italy, or +in fact anywhere abroad. In the waiting-room in which on this occasion +he received Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch (who had been at other times +privileged as a relation to wander all over the house unchecked), +Alyosha Telyatnikov, a clerk of refined manners, who was also a member +of the governor’s household, was sitting in a corner opening envelopes +at a table, and in the next room, at the window nearest to the door, a +stout and sturdy colonel, a former friend and colleague of the governor, +was sitting alone reading the Golos, paying no attention, of course, +to what was taking place in the waiting-room; in fact, he had his back +turned. Ivan Ossipovitch approached the subject in a roundabout way, +almost in a whisper, but kept getting a little muddled. Nikolay looked +anything but cordial, not at all as a relation should. He was pale and +sat looking down and continually moving his eyebrows as though trying to +control acute pain. +</p> +<p> +“You have a kind heart and a generous one, Nicolas,” the old man put in +among other things, “you’re a man of great culture, you’ve grown up in +the highest circles, and here too your behaviour has hitherto been a +model, which has been a great consolation to your mother, who is so +precious to all of us.… And now again everything has appeared in such +an unaccountable light, so detrimental to all! I speak as a friend of +your family, as an old man who loves you sincerely and a relation, at +whose words you cannot take offence.… Tell me, what drives you to such +reckless proceedings so contrary to all accepted rules and habits? What +can be the meaning of such acts which seem almost like outbreaks of +delirium?” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay listened with vexation and impatience. All at once there was a +gleam of something sly and mocking in his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“I’ll tell you what drives me to it,” he said sullenly, and looking +round him he bent down to Ivan Ossipovitch’s ear. The refined Alyosha +Telyatnikov moved three steps farther away towards the window, and the +colonel coughed over the Golos. Poor Ivan Ossipovitch hurriedly and +trustfully inclined his ear; he was exceedingly curious. And then +something utterly incredible, though on the other side only too +unmistakable, took place. The old man suddenly felt that, instead of +telling him some interesting secret, Nikolay had seized the upper +part of his ear between his teeth and was nipping it rather hard. He +shuddered, and breath failed him. +</p> +<p> +“Nicolas, this is beyond a joke!” he moaned mechanically in a voice not +his own. +</p> +<p> +Alyosha and the colonel had not yet grasped the situation, besides they +couldn’t see, and fancied up to the end that the two were whispering +together; and yet the old man’s desperate face alarmed them. They looked +at one another with wide-open eyes, not knowing whether to rush to his +assistance as agreed or to wait. Nikolay noticed this perhaps, and bit +the harder. +</p> +<p> +“Nicolas! Nicolas!” his victim moaned again, “come … you’ve had your +joke, that’s enough!” +</p> +<p> +In another moment the poor governor would certainly have died of terror; +but the monster had mercy on him, and let go his ear. The old man’s +deadly terror lasted for a full minute, and it was followed by a sort of +fit. Within half an hour Nikolay was arrested and removed for the time +to the guard-room, where he was confined in a special cell, with a +special sentinel at the door. This decision was a harsh one, but +our mild governor was so angry that he was prepared to take the +responsibility even if he had to face Varvara Petrovna. To the general +amazement, when this lady arrived at the governor’s in haste and in +nervous irritation to discuss the matter with him at once, she was +refused admittance, whereupon, without getting out of the carriage, she +returned home, unable to believe her senses. +</p> +<p> +And at last everything was explained! At two o’clock in the morning +the prisoner, who had till then been calm and had even slept, suddenly +became noisy, began furiously beating on the door with his fists,—with +unnatural strength wrenched the iron grating off the door, broke the +window, and cut his hands all over. When the officer on duty ran with +a detachment of men and the keys and ordered the cell to be opened +that they might rush in and bind the maniac, it appeared that he was +suffering from acute brain fever. He was taken home to his mother. +</p> +<p> +Everything was explained at once. All our three doctors gave it as their +opinion that the patient might well have been in a delirious state for +three days before, and that though he might have apparently been in +possession of full consciousness and cunning, yet he might have been +deprived of common sense and will, which was indeed borne out by the +facts. So it turned out that Liputin had guessed the truth sooner than +any one. Ivan Ossipovitch, who was a man of delicacy and feeling, +was completely abashed. But what was striking was that he, too, had +considered Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch capable of any mad action even when +in the full possession of his faculties. At the club, too, people were +ashamed and wondered how it was they had failed to “see the elephant” +and had missed the only explanation of all these marvels: there were, +of course, sceptics among them, but they could not long maintain their +position. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay was in bed for more than two months. A famous doctor was +summoned from Moscow for a consultation; the whole town called on +Varvara Petrovna. She forgave them. When in the spring Nikolay had +completely recovered and assented without discussion to his mother’s +proposal that he should go for a tour to Italy, she begged him further +to pay visits of farewell to all the neighbours, and so far as possible +to apologise where necessary. Nikolay agreed with great alacrity. It +became known at the club that he had had a most delicate explanation +with Pyotr Pavlovitch Gaganov, at the house of the latter, who had been +completely satisfied with his apology. As he went round to pay these +calls Nikolay was very grave and even gloomy. Every one appeared to +receive him sympathetically, but everybody seemed embarrassed and glad +that he was going to Italy. Ivan Ossipovitch was positively tearful, but +was, for some reason, unable to bring himself to embrace him, even +at the final leave-taking. It is true that some of us retained the +conviction that the scamp had simply been making fun of us, and that the +illness was neither here nor there. He went to see Liputin too. +</p> +<p> +“Tell me,” he said, “how could you guess beforehand what I should say +about your sense and prime Agafya with an answer to it?” +</p> +<p> +“Why,” laughed Liputin, “it was because I recognised that you were a +clever man, and so I foresaw what your answer would be.” +</p> +<p> +“Anyway, it was a remarkable coincidence. But, excuse me, did you +consider me a sensible man and not insane when you sent Agafya?” +</p> +<p> +“For the cleverest and most rational, and I only pretended to believe +that you were insane.… And you guessed at once what was in my mind, +and sent a testimonial to my wit through Agafya.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, there you’re a little mistaken. I really was … unwell …” +muttered Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, frowning. “Bah!” he cried, “do you +suppose I’m capable of attacking people when I’m in my senses? What +object would there be in it?” +</p> +<p> +Liputin shrank together and didn’t know what to answer. Nikolay turned +pale or, at least, so it seemed to Liputin. +</p> +<p> +“You have a very peculiar way of looking at things, anyhow,” Nikolay +went on, “but as for Agafya, I understand, of course, that you simply +sent her to be rude to me.” +</p> +<p> +“I couldn’t challenge you to a duel, could I?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no, of course! I seem to have heard that you’re not fond of +duels.…” +</p> +<p> +“Why borrow from the French?” said Liputin, doubling up again. +</p> +<p> +“You’re for nationalism, then?” +</p> +<p> +Liputin shrank into himself more than ever. +</p> +<p> +“Bah, bah! What do I see?” cried Nicolas, noticing a volume of Considérant +in the most conspicuous place on the table. “You don’t mean to say +you’re a Fourierist! I’m afraid you must be! And isn’t this too +borrowing from the French?” he laughed, tapping the book with his +finger. +</p> +<p> +“No, that’s not taken from the French,” Liputin cried with positive +fury, jumping up from his chair. “That is taken from the universal +language of humanity, not simply from the French. From the language of +the universal social republic and harmony of mankind, let me tell you! +Not simply from the French!” +</p> +<p> +“Foo! hang it all! There’s no such language!” laughed Nikolay. +</p> +<p> +Sometimes a trifle will catch the attention and exclusively absorb it +for a time. Most of what I have to tell of young Stavrogin will come +later. But I will note now as a curious fact that of all the impressions +made on him by his stay in our town, the one most sharply imprinted +on his memory was the unsightly and almost abject figure of the little +provincial official, the coarse and jealous family despot, the miserly +money-lender who picked up the candle-ends and scraps left from dinner, +and was at the same time a passionate believer in some visionary future +“social harmony,” who at night gloated in ecstasies over fantastic +pictures of a future phalanstery, in the approaching realisation of +which, in Russia, and in our province, he believed as firmly as in his +own existence. And that in the very place where he had saved up to +buy himself a “little home,” where he had married for the second time, +getting a dowry with his bride, where perhaps, for a hundred miles round +there was not one man, himself included, who was the very least like a +future member “of the universal human republic and social harmony.” +</p> +<p> +“God knows how these people come to exist!” Nikolay wondered, recalling +sometimes the unlooked-for Fourierist. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +Our prince travelled for over three years, so that he was almost +forgotten in the town. We learned from Stepan Trofimovitch that he +had travelled all over Europe, that he had even been in Egypt and had +visited Jerusalem, and then had joined some scientific expedition to +Iceland, and he actually did go to Iceland. It was reported too that he +had spent one winter attending lectures in a German university. He did +not write often to his mother, twice a year, or even less, but Varvara +Petrovna was not angry or offended at this. She accepted submissively +and without repining the relations that had been established once for +all between her son and herself. She fretted for her “Nicolas” and +dreamed of him continually. She kept her dreams and lamentations to +herself. She seemed to have become less intimate even with Stepan +Trofimovitch. She was forming secret projects, and seemed to have become +more careful about money than ever. She was more than ever given to +saving money and being angry at Stepan Trofimovitch’s losses at cards. +</p> +<p> +At last, in the April of this year, she received a letter from Paris +from Praskovya Ivanovna Drozdov, the widow of the general and the +friend of Varvara Petrovna’s childhood. Praskovya Ivanovna, whom Varvara +Petrovna had not seen or corresponded with for eight years, wrote, +informing her that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had become very intimate +with them and a great friend of her only daughter, Liza, and that he was +intending to accompany them to Switzerland, to Verney-Montreux, +though in the household of Count K. (a very influential personage in +Petersburg), who was now staying in Paris. He was received like a son +of the family, so that he almost lived at the count’s. The letter was +brief, and the object of it was perfectly clear, though it contained +only a plain statement of the above-mentioned facts without drawing any +inferences from them. Varvara Petrovna did not pause long to consider; +she made up her mind instantly, made her preparations, and taking with +her her protégée, Dasha (Shatov’s sister), she set off in the middle of +April for Paris, and from there went on to Switzerland. She returned in +July, alone, leaving Dasha with the Drozdovs. She brought us the news +that the Drozdovs themselves had promised to arrive among us by the end +of August. +</p> +<p> +The Drozdovs, too, were landowners of our province, but the official +duties of General Ivan Ivanovitch Drozdov (who had been a friend +of Varvara Petrovna’s and a colleague of her husband’s) had always +prevented them from visiting their magnificent estate. On the death of +the general, which had taken place the year before, the inconsolable +widow had gone abroad with her daughter, partly in order to try the +grape-cure which she proposed to carry out at Verney-Montreux during the +latter half of the summer. On their return to Russia they intended to +settle in our province for good. She had a large house in the town which +had stood empty for many years with the windows nailed up. They were +wealthy people. Praskovya Ivanovna had been, in her first marriage, a +Madame Tushin, and like her school-friend, Varvara Petrovna, was the +daughter of a government contractor of the old school, and she too had +been an heiress at her marriage. Tushin, a retired cavalry captain, was +also a man of means, and of some ability. At his death he left a snug +fortune to his only daughter Liza, a child of seven. Now that Lizaveta +Nikolaevna was twenty-two her private fortune might confidently be +reckoned at 200,000 roubles, to say nothing of the property—which was +bound to come to her at the death of her mother, who had no children by +her second marriage. Varvara Petrovna seemed to be very well satisfied +with her expedition. In her own opinion she had succeeded in coming to +a satisfactory understanding with Praskovya Ivanovna, and immediately +on her arrival she confided everything to Stepan Trofimovitch. She was +positively effusive with him as she had not been for a very long time. +</p> +<p> +“Hurrah!” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, and snapped his fingers. +</p> +<p> +He was in a perfect rapture, especially as he had spent the whole time +of his friend’s absence in extreme dejection. On setting off she had not +even taken leave of him properly, and had said nothing of her plan to +“that old woman,” dreading, perhaps, that he might chatter about it. +She was cross with him at the time on account of a considerable gambling +debt which she had suddenly discovered. But before she left Switzerland +she had felt that on her return she must make up for it to her forsaken +friend, especially as she had treated him very curtly for a long time +past. Her abrupt and mysterious departure had made a profound and +poignant impression on the timid heart of Stepan Trofimovitch, and to +make matters worse he was beset with other difficulties at the same +time. He was worried by a very considerable money obligation, which had +weighed upon him for a long time and which he could never hope to meet +without Varvara Petrovna’s assistance. Moreover, in the May of this +year, the term of office of our mild and gentle Ivan Ossipovitch came to +an end. He was superseded under rather unpleasant circumstances. Then, +while Varvara Petrovna was still away, there followed the arrival of +our new governor, Andrey Antonovitch von Lembke, and with that a change +began at once to be perceptible in the attitude of almost the whole +of our provincial society towards Varvara Petrovna, and consequently +towards Stepan Trofimovitch. He had already had time anyway to make some +disagreeable though valuable observations, and seemed very apprehensive +alone without Varvara Petrovna. He had an agitating suspicion that he +had already been mentioned to the governor as a dangerous man. He knew +for a fact that some of our ladies meant to give up calling on Varvara +Petrovna. Of our governor’s wife (who was only expected to arrive in the +autumn) it was reported that though she was, so it was heard, proud, +she was a real aristocrat, and “not like that poor Varvara Petrovna.” +Everybody seemed to know for a fact, and in the greatest detail, that +our governor’s wife and Varvara Petrovna had met already in society and +had parted enemies, so that the mere mention of Madame von Lembke’s name +would, it was said, make a painful impression on Varvara Petrovna. +The confident and triumphant air of Varvara Petrovna, the contemptuous +indifference with which she heard of the opinions of our provincial +ladies and the agitation in local society, revived the flagging spirits +of Stepan Trofimovitch and cheered him up at once. With peculiar, +gleefully-obsequious humour, he was beginning to describe the new +governor’s arrival. +</p> +<p> +“You are no doubt aware, <i>excellente amie</i>,” he said, jauntily +and coquettishly drawling his words, “what is meant by a Russian +administrator, speaking generally, and what is meant by a new Russian +administrator, that is the newly-baked, newly-established … <i>ces +interminables mots Russes!</i> But I don’t think you can know in practice +what is meant by administrative ardour, and what sort of thing that is.” +</p> +<p> +“Administrative ardour? I don’t know what that is.” +</p> +<p> +“Well … <i>Vous savez chez nous … En un mot,</i> set the most insignificant +nonentity to sell miserable tickets at a railway station, and the +nonentity will at once feel privileged to look down on you like a +Jupiter, <i>pour montrer son pouvoir</i> when you go to take a ticket. ‘Now +then,’ he says, ‘I shall show you my power’ … and in them it comes to a +genuine, administrative ardour. <i>En un mot,</i> I’ve read that some verger +in one of our Russian churches abroad—<i>mais c’est très curieux</i>—drove, +literally drove a distinguished English family, <i>les dames charmantes</i>, +out of the church before the beginning of the Lenten service … <i>vous +savez ces chants et le livre de Job</i> … on the simple pretext that +‘foreigners are not allowed to loaf about a Russian church, and that +they must come at the time fixed.…’ And he sent them into fainting +fits.… That verger was suffering from an attack of administrative +ardour, <i>et il a montré son pouvoir</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Cut it short if you can, Stepan Trofimovitch.” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. von Lembke is making a tour of the province now. <i>En un mot,</i> this +Andrey Antonovitch, though he is a russified German and of the Orthodox +persuasion, and even—I will say that for him—a remarkably handsome man +of about forty …” +</p> +<p> +“What makes you think he’s a handsome man? He has eyes like a sheep’s.” +</p> +<p> +“Precisely so. But in this I yield, of course, to the opinion of our +ladies.” +</p> +<p> +“Let’s get on, Stepan Trofimovitch, I beg you! By the way, you’re +wearing a red neck-tie. Is it long since you’ve taken to it?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve … I’ve only put it on to-day.” +</p> +<p> +“And do you take your constitutional? Do you go for a four-mile walk +every day as the doctor told you to?” +</p> +<p> +“N-not … always.” +</p> +<p> +“I knew you didn’t! I felt sure of that when I was in Switzerland!” she +cried irritably. “Now you must go not four but six miles a day! You’ve +grown terribly slack, terribly, terribly! You’re not simply getting old, +you’re getting decrepit.… You shocked me when I first saw you just +now, in spite of your red tie, <i>quelle idee rouge</i>! Go on about Von +Lembke if you’ve really something to tell me, and do finish some time, I +entreat you, I’m tired.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>En un mot,</i> I only wanted to say that he is one of those administrators +who begin to have power at forty, who, till they’re forty, have been +stagnating in insignificance and then suddenly come to the front through +suddenly acquiring a wife, or some other equally desperate means.… +That is, he has gone away now … that is, I mean to say, it was at once +whispered in both his ears that I am a corrupter of youth, and a hot-bed +of provincial atheism.… He began making inquiries at once.” +</p> +<p> +“Is that true?” +</p> +<p> +“I took steps about it, in fact. When he was ‘informed’ that you ‘ruled +the province,’ <i>vous savez,</i> he allowed himself to use the expression that +‘there shall be nothing of that sort in the future.’” +</p> +<p> +“Did he say that?” +</p> +<p> +“That ‘there shall be nothing of the sort in future,’ and, <i>avec cette +morgue</i>.… His wife, Yulia Mihailovna, we shall behold at the end of +August, she’s coming straight from Petersburg.” +</p> +<p> +“From abroad. We met there.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Vraiment?”</i> +</p> +<p> +“In Paris and in Switzerland. She’s related to the Drozdovs.” +</p> +<p> +“Related! What an extraordinary coincidence! They say she is ambitious +and … supposed to have great connections.” +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense! Connections indeed! She was an old maid without a farthing +till she was five-and-forty. But now she’s hooked her Von Lembke, +and, of course, her whole object is to push him forward. They’re both +intriguers.” +</p> +<p> +“And they say she’s two years older than he is?” +</p> +<p> +“Five. Her mother used to wear out her skirts on my doorsteps in Moscow; +she used to beg for an invitation to our balls as a favour when my +husband was living. And this creature used to sit all night alone in a +corner without dancing, with her turquoise fly on her forehead, so that +simply from pity I used to have to send her her first partner at two +o’clock in the morning. She was five-and-twenty then, and they used to +rig her out in short skirts like a little girl. It was improper to have +them about at last.” +</p> +<p> +“I seem to see that fly.” +</p> +<p> +“I tell you, as soon as I arrived I was in the thick of an intrigue. You +read Madame Drozdov’s letter, of course. What could be clearer? What did +I find? That fool Praskovya herself—she always was a fool—looked at +me as much as to ask why I’d come. You can fancy how surprised I was. +I looked round, and there was that Lembke woman at her tricks, and that +cousin of hers—old Drozdov’s nephew—it was all clear. You may be sure +I changed all that in a twinkling, and Praskovya is on my side again, +but what an intrigue!” +</p> +<p> +“In which you came off victor, however. Bismarck!” +</p> +<p> +“Without being a Bismarck I’m equal to falseness and stupidity wherever +I meet it, falseness, and Praskovya’s folly. I don’t know when I’ve met +such a flabby woman, and what’s more her legs are swollen, and she’s +a good-natured simpleton, too. What can be more foolish than a +good-natured simpleton?” +</p> +<p> +“A spiteful fool, <i>ma bonne amie,</i> a spiteful fool is still more foolish,” +Stepan Trofimovitch protested magnanimously. +</p> +<p> +“You’re right, perhaps. Do you remember Liza?” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Charmante enfant!”</i> +</p> +<p> +“But she’s not an <i>enfant</i> now, but a woman, and a woman of character. +She’s a generous, passionate creature, and what I like about her, she +stands up to that confiding fool, her mother. There was almost a row +over that cousin.” +</p> +<p> +“Bah, and of course he’s no relation of Lizaveta Nikolaevna’s at +all.… Has he designs on her?” +</p> +<p> +“You see, he’s a young officer, not by any means talkative, modest in +fact. I always want to be just. I fancy he is opposed to the intrigue +himself, and isn’t aiming at anything, and it was only the Von Lembke’s +tricks. He had a great respect for Nicolas. You understand, it all +depends on Liza. But I left her on the best of terms with Nicolas, +and he promised he would come to us in November. So it’s only the Von +Lembke who is intriguing, and Praskovya is a blind woman. She suddenly +tells me that all my suspicions are fancy. I told her to her face she +was a fool. I am ready to repeat it at the day of judgment. And if it +hadn’t been for Nicolas begging me to leave it for a time, I wouldn’t +have come away without unmasking that false woman. She’s been trying +to ingratiate herself with Count K. through Nicolas. She wants to +come between mother and son. But Liza’s on our side, and I came to an +understanding with Praskovya. Do you know that Karmazinov is a relation +of hers?” +</p> +<p> +“What? A relation of Madame von Lembke?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, of hers. Distant.” +</p> +<p> +“Karmazinov, the novelist?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, the writer. Why does it surprise you? Of course he considers +himself a great man. Stuck-up creature! She’s coming here with him. Now +she’s making a fuss of him out there. She’s got a notion of setting up a +sort of literary society here. He’s coming for a month, he wants to sell +his last piece of property here. I very nearly met him in Switzerland, +and was very anxious not to. Though I hope he will deign to recognise +me. He wrote letters to me in the old days, he has been in my house. +I should like you to dress better, Stepan Trofimovitch; you’re growing +more slovenly every day.… Oh, how you torment me! What are you reading +now?” +</p> +<p> +“I … I …” +</p> +<p> +“I understand. The same as ever, friends and drinking, the club and +cards, and the reputation of an atheist. I don’t like that reputation, +Stepan Trofimovitch; I don’t care for you to be called an atheist, +particularly now. I didn’t care for it in old days, for it’s all nothing +but empty chatter. It must be said at last.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mais, ma chère …”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Listen, Stepan Trofimovitch, of course I’m ignorant compared with you +on all learned subjects, but as I was travelling here I thought a great +deal about you. I’ve come to one conclusion.” +</p> +<p> +“What conclusion?” +</p> +<p> +“That you and I are not the wisest people in the world, but that there +are people wiser than we are.” +</p> +<p> +“Witty and apt. If there are people wiser than we are, then there are +people more right than we are, and we may be mistaken, you mean? <i>Mais, +ma bonne amie,</i> granted that I may make a mistake, yet have I not the +common, human, eternal, supreme right of freedom of conscience? I have +the right not to be bigoted or superstitious if I don’t wish to, and for +that I shall naturally be hated by certain persons to the end of time. +<i>Et puis, comme on trouve toujours plus de moines que de raison,</i> and as I +thoroughly agree with that …” +</p> +<p> +“What, what did you say?” +</p> +<p> +“I said, <i>on trouve toujours plus de moines que de raison,</i> and as I +thoroughly …” +</p> +<p> +“I’m sure that’s not your saying. You must have taken it from +somewhere.” +</p> +<p> +“It was Pascal said that.” +</p> +<p> +“Just as I thought … it’s not your own. Why don’t you ever say anything +like that yourself, so shortly and to the point, instead of dragging +things out to such a length? That’s much better than what you said just +now about administrative ardour …” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Ma foi, chère …” </i>why? In the first place probably because I’m not +a Pascal after all, <i>et puis</i> … secondly, we Russians never can say +anything in our own language.… We never have said anything hitherto, +at any rate.…” +</p> +<p> +“H’m! That’s not true, perhaps. Anyway, you’d better make a note of such +phrases, and remember them, you know, in case you have to talk.… +Ach, Stephan Trofimovitch. I have come to talk to you seriously, quite +seriously.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Chère, chère amie!”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Now that all these Von Lembkes and Karmazinovs.… Oh, my goodness, how +you have deteriorated!… Oh, my goodness, how you do torment me!… +I should have liked these people to feel a respect for you, for they’re +not worth your little finger—but the way you behave!… What will they +see? What shall I have to show them? Instead of nobly standing as an +example, keeping up the tradition of the past, you surround yourself +with a wretched rabble, you have picked up impossible habits, you’ve +grown feeble, you can’t do without wine and cards, you read nothing +but Paul de Kock, and write nothing, while all of them write; all your +time’s wasted in gossip. How can you bring yourself to be friends with a +wretched creature like your inseparable Liputin?” +</p> +<p> +“Why is he <i>mine</i> and <i>inseparable</i>?” Stepan Trofimovitch protested +timidly. +</p> +<p> +“Where is he now?” Varvara Petrovna went on, sharply and sternly. +</p> +<p> +“He … he has an infinite respect for you, and he’s gone to S——k, to +receive an inheritance left him by his mother.” +</p> +<p> +“He seems to do nothing but get money. And how’s Shatov? Is he just the +same?” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Irascible, mais bon.”</i> +</p> +<p> +“I can’t endure your Shatov. He’s spiteful and he thinks too much of +himself.” +</p> +<p> +“How is Darya Pavlovna?” +</p> +<p> +“You mean Dasha? What made you think of her?” Varvara Petrovna looked +at him inquisitively. “She’s quite well. I left her with the Drozdovs. I +heard something about your son in Switzerland. Nothing good.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Oh, c’est un histoire bien bête! Je vous attendais, ma bonne amie, pour +vous raconter …”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Enough, Stepan Trofimovitch. Leave me in peace. I’m worn out. We +shall have time to talk to our heart’s content, especially of what’s +unpleasant. You’ve begun to splutter when you laugh, it’s a sign of +senility! And what a strange way of laughing you’ve taken to!… Good +Heavens, what a lot of bad habits you’ve fallen into! Karmazinov won’t +come and see you! And people are only too glad to make the most of +anything as it is.… You’ve betrayed yourself completely now. Well, +come, that’s enough, that’s enough, I’m tired. You really might have +mercy upon one!” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch “had mercy,” but he withdrew in great perturbation. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +V +</p> +<p> +Our friend certainly had fallen into not a few bad habits, especially of +late. He had obviously and rapidly deteriorated; and it was true that +he had become slovenly. He drank more and had become more tearful and +nervous; and had grown too impressionable on the artistic side. His +face had acquired a strange facility for changing with extraordinary +quickness, from the most solemn expression, for instance, to the most +absurd, and even foolish. He could not endure solitude, and was always +craving for amusement. One had always to repeat to him some gossip, some +local anecdote, and every day a new one. If no one came to see him for +a long time he wandered disconsolately about the rooms, walked to the +window, puckering up his lips, heaved deep sighs, and almost fell to +whimpering at last. He was always full of forebodings, was afraid of +something unexpected and inevitable; he had become timorous; he began to +pay great attention to his dreams. +</p> +<p> +He spent all that day and evening in great depression, he sent for me, +was very much agitated, talked a long while, gave me a long account of +things, but all rather disconnected. Varvara Petrovna had known for a +long time that he concealed nothing from me. It seemed to me at last +that he was worried about something particular, and was perhaps unable +to form a definite idea of it himself. As a rule when we met <i>tête-à-tête</i> +and he began making long complaints to me, a bottle was almost always +brought in after a little time, and things became much more comfortable. +This time there was no wine, and he was evidently struggling all the +while against the desire to send for it. +</p> +<p> +“And why is she always so cross?” he complained every minute, like a +child. <i>“Tous les hommes de génie et de progrès en Russie étaient, +sont, et seront toujours des</i> gamblers <i>et des</i> drunkards <i>qui boivent</i> in +outbreaks … and I’m not such a gambler after all, and I’m not such a +drunkard. She reproaches me for not writing anything. Strange +idea!… She asks why I lie down? She says I ought to stand, ‘an example +and reproach.’ <i>Mais, entre nous soit dit,</i> what is a man to do who is +destined to stand as a ‘reproach,’ if not to lie down? Does she +understand that?” +</p> +<p> +And at last it became clear to me what was the chief particular trouble +which was worrying him so persistently at this time. Many times that +evening he went to the looking-glass, and stood a long while before +it. At last he turned from the looking-glass to me, and with a sort +of strange despair, said: “<i>Mon cher, je suis un</i> broken-down man.” Yes, +certainly, up to that time, up to that very day there was one thing only +of which he had always felt confident in spite of the “new views,” and +of the “change in Varvara Petrovna’s ideas,” that was, the conviction +that still he had a fascination for her feminine heart, not simply as an +exile or a celebrated man of learning, but as a handsome man. For twenty +years this soothing and flattering opinion had been rooted in his mind, +and perhaps of all his convictions this was the hardest to part with. +Had he any presentiment that evening of the colossal ordeal which was +preparing for him in the immediate future? +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VI +</p> +<p> +I will now enter upon the description of that almost forgotten incident +with which my story properly speaking begins. +</p> +<p> +At last at the very end of August the Drozdovs returned. Their arrival +made a considerable sensation in local society, and took place shortly +before their relation, our new governor’s wife, made her long-expected +appearance. But of all these interesting events I will speak later. +For the present I will confine myself to saying that Praskovya Ivanovna +brought Varvara Petrovna, who was expecting her so impatiently, a most +perplexing problem: Nikolay had parted from them in July, and, +meeting Count K. on the Rhine, had set off with him and his family for +Petersburg. (N.B.—The Count’s three daughters were all of marriageable +age.) +</p> +<p> +“Lizaveta is so proud and obstinate that I could get nothing out of +her,” Praskovya Ivanovna said in conclusion. “But I saw for myself that +something had happened between her and Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. I don’t +know the reasons, but I fancy, my dear Varvara Petrovna, that you +will have to ask your Darya Pavlovna for them. To my thinking Liza +was offended. I’m glad. I can tell you that I’ve brought you back your +favourite at last and handed her over to you; it’s a weight off my +mind.” +</p> +<p> +These venomous words were uttered with remarkable irritability. It was +evident that the “flabby” woman had prepared them and gloated beforehand +over the effect they would produce. But Varvara Petrovna was not the +woman to be disconcerted by sentimental effects and enigmas. She sternly +demanded the most precise and satisfactory explanations. Praskovya +Ivanovna immediately lowered her tone and even ended by dissolving into +tears and expressions of the warmest friendship. This irritable but +sentimental lady, like Stepan Trofimovitch, was forever yearning for +true friendship, and her chief complaint against her daughter Lizaveta +Nikolaevna was just that “her daughter was not a friend to her.” +</p> +<p> +But from all her explanations and outpourings nothing certain could be +gathered but that there actually had been some sort of quarrel between +Liza and Nikolay, but of the nature of the quarrel Praskovya Ivanovna +was obviously unable to form a definite idea. As for her imputations +against Darya Pavlovna, she not only withdrew them completely in the +end, but even particularly begged Varvara Petrovna to pay no attention +to her words, because “they had been said in irritation.” In fact, it +had all been left very far from clear—suspicious, indeed. According to +her account the quarrel had arisen from Liza’s “obstinate and ironical +character.” “Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch is proud, too, and though he +was very much in love, yet he could not endure sarcasm, and began to be +sarcastic himself. Soon afterwards we made the acquaintance of a +young man, the nephew, I believe, of your ‘Professor’ and, indeed, the +surname’s the same.” +</p> +<p> +“The son, not the nephew,” Varvara Petrovna corrected her. +</p> +<p> +Even in old days Praskovya Ivanovna had been always unable to recall +Stepan Trofimovitch’s name, and had always called him the “Professor.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, his son, then; so much the better. Of course, it’s all the same +to me. An ordinary young man, very lively and free in his manners, but +nothing special in him. Well, then, Liza herself did wrong, she +made friends with the young man with the idea of making Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch jealous. I don’t see much harm in that; it’s the way of +girls, quite usual, even charming in them. Only instead of being jealous +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch made friends with the young man himself, just as +though he saw nothing and didn’t care. This made Liza furious. The young +man soon went away (he was in a great hurry to get somewhere) and +Liza took to picking quarrels with Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch at every +opportunity. She noticed that he used sometimes to talk to Dasha; and, +well, she got in such a frantic state that even my life wasn’t worth +living, my dear. The doctors have forbidden my being irritated, and I +was so sick of their lake they make such a fuss about, it simply gave me +toothache, I had such rheumatism. It’s stated in print that the Lake of +Geneva does give people the toothache. It’s a feature of the place. Then +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch suddenly got a letter from the countess and he +left us at once. He packed up in one day. They parted in a friendly way, +and Liza became very cheerful and frivolous, and laughed a great deal +seeing him off; only that was all put on. When he had gone she became +very thoughtful, and she gave up speaking of him altogether and wouldn’t +let me mention his name. And I should advise you, dear Varvara Petrovna, +not to approach the subject with Liza, you’ll only do harm. But if you +hold your tongue she’ll begin to talk of it herself, and then you’ll +learn more. I believe they’ll come together again, if only Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch doesn’t put off coming, as he promised.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll write to him at once. If that’s how it was, there was nothing in +the quarrel; all nonsense! And I know Darya too well. It’s nonsense!” +</p> +<p> +“I’m sorry for what I said about Dashenka, I did wrong. Their +conversations were quite ordinary and they talked out loud, too. But it +all upset me so much at the time, my dear. And Liza, I saw, got on with +her again as affectionately as before.…” +</p> +<p> +That very day Varvara Petrovna wrote to Nikolay, and begged him to come, +if only one month, earlier than the date he had fixed. But yet she still +felt that there was something unexplained and obscure in the matter. +She pondered over it all the evening and all night. Praskovya’s opinion +seemed to her too innocent and sentimental. “Praskovya has always +been too sentimental from the old schooldays upwards,” she reflected. +“Nicolas is not the man to run away from a girl’s taunts. There’s some +other reason for it, if there really has been a breach between them. +That officer’s here though, they’ve brought him with them. As a relation +he lives in their house. And, as for Darya, Praskovya was in too much +haste to apologise. She must have kept something to herself, which she +wouldn’t tell me.” +</p> +<p> +By the morning Varvara Petrovna had matured a project for putting a stop +once for all to one misunderstanding at least; a project amazing in its +unexpectedness. What was in her heart when she conceived it? It would +be hard to decide and I will not undertake to explain beforehand all +the incongruities of which it was made up. I simply confine myself as +chronicler to recording events precisely as they happened, and it is not +my fault if they seem incredible. Yet I must once more testify that by +the morning there was not the least suspicion of Dasha left in Varvara +Petrovna’s mind, though in reality there never had been any—she had +too much confidence in her. Besides, she could not admit the idea that +“Nicolas” could be attracted by her Darya. Next morning when Darya +Pavlovna was pouring out tea at the table Varvara Petrovna looked for a +long while intently at her and, perhaps for the twentieth time since the +previous day, repeated to herself: “It’s all nonsense!” +</p> +<p> +All she noticed was that Dasha looked rather tired, and that she was +even quieter and more apathetic than she used to be. After their morning +tea, according to their invariable custom, they sat down to needlework. +Varvara Petrovna demanded from her a full account of her impressions +abroad, especially of nature, of the inhabitants, of the towns, the +customs, their arts and commerce—of everything she had time to observe. +She asked no questions about the Drozdovs or how she had got on with +them. Dasha, sitting beside her at the work-table helping her with the +embroidery, talked for half an hour in her even, monotonous, but rather +weak voice. +</p> +<p> +“Darya!” Varvara Petrovna interrupted suddenly, “is there nothing +special you want to tell me?” +</p> +<p> +“No, nothing,” said Dasha, after a moment’s thought, and she glanced at +Varvara Petrovna with her light-coloured eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing on your soul, on your heart, or your conscience?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing,” Dasha repeated, quietly, but with a sort of sullen firmness. +</p> +<p> +“I knew there wasn’t! Believe me, Darya, I shall never doubt you. Now +sit still and listen. In front of me, on that chair. I want to see the +whole of you. That’s right. Listen, do you want to be married?” +</p> +<p> +Dasha responded with a long, inquiring, but not greatly astonished look. +</p> +<p> +“Stay, hold your tongue. In the first place there is a very great +difference in age, but of course you know better than anyone what +nonsense that is. You’re a sensible girl, and there must be no mistakes +in your life. Besides, he’s still a handsome man … In short, Stepan +Trofimovitch, for whom you have always had such a respect. Well?” +</p> +<p> +Dasha looked at her still more inquiringly, and this time not simply +with surprise; she blushed perceptibly. +</p> +<p> +“Stay, hold your tongue, don’t be in a hurry! Though you will have money +under my will, yet when I die, what will become of you, even if you have +money? You’ll be deceived and robbed of your money, you’ll be lost in +fact. But married to him you’re the wife of a distinguished man. Look at +him on the other hand. Though I’ve provided for him, if I die what will +become of him? But I could trust him to you. Stay, I’ve not finished. +He’s frivolous, shilly-shally, cruel, egoistic, he has low habits. But +mind you think highly of him, in the first place because there are many +worse. I don’t want to get you off my hands by marrying you to a rascal, +you don’t imagine anything of that sort, do you? And, above all, because +I ask you, you’ll think highly of him,”— +</p> +<p> +She broke off suddenly and irritably. “Do you hear? Why won’t you say +something?” +</p> +<p> +Dasha still listened and did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“Stay, wait a little. He’s an old woman, but you know, that’s all the +better for you. Besides, he’s a pathetic old woman. He doesn’t deserve +to be loved by a woman at all, but he deserves to be loved for his +helplessness, and you must love him for his helplessness. You understand +me, don’t you? Do you understand me?” +</p> +<p> +Dasha nodded her head affirmatively. +</p> +<p> +“I knew you would. I expected as much of you. He will love you because +he ought, he ought; he ought to adore you.” Varvara Petrovna almost +shrieked with peculiar exasperation. “Besides, he will be in love with +you without any ought about it. I know him. And another thing, I shall +always be here. You may be sure I shall always be here. He will complain +of you, he’ll begin to say things against you behind your back, he’ll +whisper things against you to any stray person he meets, he’ll be for +ever whining and whining; he’ll write you letters from one room to +another, two a day, but he won’t be able to get on without you all the +same, and that’s the chief thing. Make him obey you. If you can’t make +him you’ll be a fool. He’ll want to hang himself and threaten, to—don’t +you believe it. It’s nothing but nonsense. Don’t believe it; but still +keep a sharp look-out, you never can tell, and one day he may hang +himself. It does happen with people like that. It’s not through strength +of will but through weakness that people hang themselves, and so +never drive him to an extreme, that’s the first rule in married life. +Remember, too, that he’s a poet. Listen, Dasha, there’s no greater +happiness than self-sacrifice. And besides, you’ll be giving me great +satisfaction and that’s the chief thing. Don’t think I’ve been talking +nonsense. I understand what I’m saying. I’m an egoist, you be an egoist, +too. Of course I’m not forcing you. It’s entirely for you to decide. +As you say, so it shall be. Well, what’s the good of sitting like this. +Speak!” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t mind, Varvara Petrovna, if I really must be married,” said +Dasha firmly. +</p> +<p> +“Must? What are you hinting at?” Varvara Petrovna looked sternly and +intently at her. +</p> +<p> +Dasha was silent, picking at her embroidery canvas with her needle. +</p> +<p> +“Though you’re a clever girl, you’re talking nonsense; though it is true +that I have certainly set my heart on marrying you, yet it’s not because +it’s necessary, but simply because the idea has occurred to me, and only +to Stepan Trofimovitch. If it had not been for Stepan Trofimovitch, I +should not have thought of marrying you yet, though you are twenty.… +Well?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll do as you wish, Varvara Petrovna.” +</p> +<p> +“Then you consent! Stay, be quiet. Why are you in such a hurry? I +haven’t finished. In my will I’ve left you fifteen thousand roubles. +I’ll give you that at once, on your wedding-day. You will give eight +thousand of it to him; that is, not to him but to me. He has a debt of +eight thousand. I’ll pay it, but he must know that it is done with your +money. You’ll have seven thousand left in your hands. Never let him +touch a farthing of it. Don’t pay his debts ever. If once you pay them, +you’ll never be free of them. Besides, I shall always be here. You +shall have twelve hundred roubles a year from me, with extras, fifteen +hundred, besides board and lodging, which shall be at my expense, just +as he has it now. Only you must set up your own servants. Your yearly +allowance shall be paid to you all at once straight into your hands. But +be kind, and sometimes give him something, and let his friends come to +see him once a week, but if they come more often, turn them out. But +I shall be here, too. And if I die, your pension will go on till his +death, do you hear, till his death, for it’s his pension, not yours. +And besides the seven thousand you’ll have now, which you ought to keep +untouched if you’re not foolish, I’ll leave you another eight thousand +in my will. And you’ll get nothing more than that from me, it’s right +that you should know it. Come, you consent, eh? Will you say something +at last?” +</p> +<p> +“I have told you already, Varvara Petrovna.” +</p> +<p> +“Remember that you’re free to decide. As you like, so it shall be.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, may I ask, Varvara Petrovna, has Stepan Trofimovitch said +anything yet?” +</p> +<p> +“No, he hasn’t said anything, he doesn’t know … but he will speak +directly.” +</p> +<p> +She jumped up at once and threw on a black shawl. Dasha flushed a little +again, and watched her with questioning eyes. Varvara Petrovna turned +suddenly to her with a face flaming with anger. +</p> +<p> +“You’re a fool!” She swooped down on her like a hawk. “An ungrateful +fool! What’s in your mind? Can you imagine that I’d compromise you, in +any way, in the smallest degree. Why, he shall crawl on his knees to +ask you, he must be dying of happiness, that’s how it shall be arranged. +Why, you know that I’d never let you suffer. Or do you suppose he’ll +take you for the sake of that eight thousand, and that I’m hurrying off +to sell you? You’re a fool, a fool! You’re all ungrateful fools. Give me +my umbrella!” +</p> +<p> +And she flew off to walk by the wet brick pavements and the wooden +planks to Stepan Trofimovitch’s. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VII +</p> +<p> +It was true that she would never have let Dasha suffer; on the contrary, +she considered now that she was acting as her benefactress. The most +generous and legitimate indignation was glowing in her soul, when, as +she put on her shawl, she caught fixed upon her the embarrassed and +mistrustful eyes of her protégée. She had genuinely loved the girl from +her childhood upwards. Praskovya Ivanovna had with justice called Darya +Pavlovna her favourite. Long ago Varvara Petrovna had made up her mind +once for all that “Darya’s disposition was not like her brother’s” (not, +that is, like Ivan Shatov’s), that she was quiet and gentle, and capable +of great self-sacrifice; that she was distinguished by a power of +devotion, unusual modesty, rare reasonableness, and, above all, by +gratitude. Till that time Dasha had, to all appearances, completely +justified her expectations. +</p> +<p> +“In that life there will be no mistakes,” said Varvara Petrovna when the +girl was only twelve years old, and as it was characteristic of her to +attach herself doggedly and passionately to any dream that fascinated +her, any new design, any idea that struck her as noble, she made up her +mind at once to educate Dasha as though she were her own daughter. She +at once set aside a sum of money for her, and sent for a governess, Miss +Criggs, who lived with them until the girl was sixteen, but she was +for some reason suddenly dismissed. Teachers came for her from the High +School, among them a real Frenchman, who taught Dasha French. He, too, +was suddenly dismissed, almost turned out of the house. A poor lady, a +widow of good family, taught her to play the piano. Yet her chief tutor +was Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +In reality he first discovered Dasha. He began teaching the quiet child +even before Varvara Petrovna had begun to think about her. I repeat +again, it was wonderful how children took to him. Lizaveta Nikolaevna +Tushin had been taught by him from the age of eight till eleven (Stepan +Trofimovitch took no fees, of course, for his lessons, and would not on +any account have taken payment from the Drozdovs). But he fell in love +with the charming child and used to tell her poems of a sort about the +creation of the world, about the earth, and the history of humanity. +His lectures about the primitive peoples and primitive man were more +interesting than the Arabian Nights. Liza, who was ecstatic over these +stories, used to mimic Stepan Trofimovitch very funnily at home. He +heard of this and once peeped in on her unawares. Liza, overcome +with confusion, flung herself into his arms and shed tears; Stepan +Trofimovitch wept too with delight. But Liza soon after went away, and +only Dasha was left. When Dasha began to have other teachers, Stepan +Trofimovitch gave up his lessons with her, and by degrees left off +noticing her. Things went on like this for a long time. Once when she +was seventeen he was struck by her prettiness. It happened at Varvara +Petrovna’s table. He began to talk to the young girl, was much pleased +with her answers, and ended by offering to give her a serious and +comprehensive course of lessons on the history of Russian literature. +Varvara Petrovna approved, and thanked him for his excellent idea, +and Dasha was delighted. Stepan Trofimovitch proceeded to make special +preparations for the lectures, and at last they began. They began +with the most ancient period. The first lecture went off enchantingly. +Varvara Petrovna was present. When Stepan Trofimovitch had finished, and +as he was going informed his pupil that the next time he would deal with +“The Story of the Expedition of Igor,” Varvara Petrovna suddenly got up +and announced that there would be no more lessons. Stepan Trofimovitch +winced, but said nothing, and Dasha flushed crimson. It put a stop to +the scheme, however. This had happened just three years before Varvara +Petrovna’s unexpected fancy. +</p> +<p> +Poor Stepan Trofimovitch was sitting alone free from all misgivings. +Plunged in mournful reveries he had for some time been looking out of +the window to see whether any of his friends were coming. But nobody +would come. It was drizzling. It was turning cold, he would have to have +the stove heated. He sighed. Suddenly a terrible apparition flashed upon +his eyes: +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna in such weather and at such an unexpected hour to see +him! And on foot! He was so astounded that he forgot to put on his +coat, and received her as he was, in his everlasting pink-wadded +dressing-jacket. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Ma bonne amie!”</i> he cried faintly, to greet her. “You’re alone; I’m +glad; I can’t endure your friends. How you do smoke! Heavens, what an +atmosphere! You haven’t finished your morning tea and it’s nearly twelve +o’clock. It’s your idea of bliss—disorder! You take pleasure in dirt. +What’s that torn paper on the floor? Nastasya, Nastasya! What is +your Nastasya about? Open the window, the casement, the doors, fling +everything wide open. And we’ll go into the drawing-room. I’ve come to +you on a matter of importance. And you sweep up, my good woman, for once +in your life.” +</p> +<p> +“They make such a muck!” Nastasya whined in a voice of plaintive +exasperation. +</p> +<p> +“Well, you must sweep, sweep it up fifteen times a day! You’ve a +wretched drawing-room” (when they had gone into the drawing-room). “Shut +the door properly. She’ll be listening. You must have it repapered. +Didn’t I send a paperhanger to you with patterns? Why didn’t you choose +one? Sit down, and listen. Do sit down, I beg you. Where are you off to? +Where are you off to? Where are you off to?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll be back directly,” Stepan Trofimovitch cried from the next room. +“Here I am again.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah,—you’ve changed your coat.” She scanned him mockingly. (He had +flung his coat on over the dressing-jacket.) “Well, certainly that’s +more suited to our subject. Do sit down, I entreat you.” +</p> +<p> +She told him everything at once, abruptly and impressively. She hinted at +the eight thousand of which he stood in such terrible need. She told him +in detail of the dowry. Stepan Trofimovitch sat trembling, opening +his eyes wider and wider. He heard it all, but he could not realise it +clearly. He tried to speak, but his voice kept breaking. All he knew +was that everything would be as she said, that to protest and refuse to +agree would be useless, and that he was a married man irrevocably. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mais, ma bonne amie!</i> … for the third time, and at my age … and to +such a child.” He brought out at last, <i>“Mais, c’est une enfant!”</i> +</p> +<p> +“A child who is twenty years old, thank God. Please don’t roll your +eyes, I entreat you, you’re not on the stage. You’re very clever and +learned, but you know nothing at all about life. You will always want a +nurse to look after you. I shall die, and what will become of you? +She will be a good nurse to you; she’s a modest girl, strong-willed, +reasonable; besides, I shall be here too, I shan’t die directly. She’s +fond of home, she’s an angel of gentleness. This happy thought came to +me in Switzerland. Do you understand if I tell you myself that she is +an angel of gentleness!” she screamed with sudden fury. “Your house is +dirty, she will bring in order, cleanliness. Everything will shine like +a mirror. Good gracious, do you expect me to go on my knees to you with +such a treasure, to enumerate all the advantages, to court you! Why, you +ought to be on your knees.… Oh, you shallow, shallow, faint-hearted +man!” +</p> +<p> +“But … I’m an old man!” +</p> +<p> +“What do your fifty-three years matter! Fifty is the middle of life, +not the end of it. You are a handsome man and you know it yourself. You +know, too, what a respect she has for you. If I die, what will become of +her? But married to you she’ll be at peace, and I shall be at peace. You +have renown, a name, a loving heart. You receive a pension which I look +upon as an obligation. You will save her perhaps, you will save her! In +any case you will be doing her an honour. You will form her for life, +you will develop her heart, you will direct her ideas. How many people +come to grief nowadays because their ideas are wrongly directed. By that +time your book will be ready, and you will at once set people talking +about you again.” +</p> +<p> +“I am, in fact,” he muttered, at once flattered by Varvara Petrovna’s +adroit insinuations. “I was just preparing to sit down to my ‘Tales from +Spanish History.’” +</p> +<p> +“Well, there you are. It’s just come right.” +</p> +<p> +“But … she? Have you spoken to her?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t worry about her. And there’s no need for you to be inquisitive. +Of course, you must ask her yourself, entreat her to do you the honour, +you understand? But don’t be uneasy. I shall be here. Besides, you love +her.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch felt giddy. The walls were going round. There was +one terrible idea underlying this to which he could not reconcile +himself. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Excellente amie,”</i> his voice quivered suddenly. “I could never have +conceived that you would make up your mind to give me in marriage to +another … woman.” +</p> +<p> +“You’re not a girl, Stepan Trofimovitch. Only girls are given in +marriage. You are taking a wife,” Varvara Petrovna hissed malignantly. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Oui, j’ai pris un mot pour un autre. Mais c’est égal.”</i> He gazed at her +with a hopeless air. +</p> +<p> +“I see that <i>c’est égal</i>,” she muttered contemptuously through her teeth. +“Good heavens! Why he’s going to faint. Nastasya, Nastasya, water!” +</p> +<p> +But water was not needed. He came to himself. Varvara Petrovna took up +her umbrella. +</p> +<p> +“I see it’s no use talking to you now.…” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Oui, oui, je suis incapable.”</i> +</p> +<p> +“But by to-morrow you’ll have rested and thought it over. Stay at home. +If anything happens let me know, even if it’s at night. Don’t write +letters, I shan’t read them. To-morrow I’ll come again at this time +alone, for a final answer, and I trust it will be satisfactory. Try to +have nobody here and no untidiness, for the place isn’t fit to be seen. +Nastasya, Nastasya!” +</p> +<p> +The next day, of course, he consented, and, indeed, he could do nothing +else. There was one circumstance … +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VIII +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch’s estate, as we used to call it (which consisted +of fifty souls, reckoning in the old fashion, and bordered on +Skvoreshniki), was not really his at all, but his first wife’s, and +so belonged now to his son Pyotr Stepanovitch Verhovensky. Stepan +Trofimovitch was simply his trustee, and so, when the nestling was +full-fledged, he had given his father a formal authorisation to manage +the estate. This transaction was a profitable one for the young man. He +received as much as a thousand roubles a year by way of revenue from the +estate, though under the new regime it could not have yielded more than +five hundred, and possibly not that. God knows how such an arrangement +had arisen. The whole sum, however, was sent the young man by Varvara +Petrovna, and Stepan Trofimovitch had nothing to do with a single rouble +of it. On the other hand, the whole revenue from the land remained in +his pocket, and he had, besides, completely ruined the estate, letting +it to a mercenary rogue, and without the knowledge of Varvara Petrovna +selling the timber which gave the estate its chief value. He had some +time before sold the woods bit by bit. It was worth at least +eight thousand, yet he had only received five thousand for it. But +he sometimes lost too much at the club, and was afraid to ask Varvara +Petrovna for the money. She clenched her teeth when she heard at last of +everything. And now, all at once, his son announced that he was +coming himself to sell his property for what he could get for it, and +commissioned his father to take steps promptly to arrange the sale. It +was clear that Stepan Trofimovitch, being a generous and disinterested +man, felt ashamed of his treatment of <i>ce cher enfant</i> (whom he had seen +for the last time nine years before as a student in Petersburg). The +estate might originally have been worth thirteen or fourteen thousand. +Now it was doubtful whether anyone would give five for it. No doubt +Stepan Trofimovitch was fully entitled by the terms of the trust to sell +the wood, and taking into account the incredibly large yearly revenue of +a thousand roubles which had been sent punctually for so many years, +he could have put up a good defence of his management. But Stepan +Trofimovitch was a generous man of exalted impulses. A wonderfully fine +inspiration occurred to his mind: when Petrusha returned, to lay on the +table before him the maximum price of fifteen thousand roubles without +a hint at the sums that had been sent him hitherto, and warmly and with +tears to press <i>ce cher fils</i> to his heart, and so to make an end of all +accounts between them. He began cautiously and indirectly unfolding +this picture before Varvara Petrovna. He hinted that this would add a +peculiarly noble note to their friendship … to their “idea.” This +would set the parents of the last generation—and people of the last +generation generally—in such a disinterested and magnanimous light in +comparison with the new frivolous and socialistic younger generation. He +said a great deal more, but Varvara Petrovna was obstinately silent. At +last she informed him airily that she was prepared to buy their estate, +and to pay for it the maximum price, that is, six or seven thousand +(though four would have been a fair price for it). Of the remaining +eight thousand which had vanished with the woods she said not a word. +</p> +<p> +This conversation took place a month before the match was proposed to +him. Stepan Trofimovitch was overwhelmed, and began to ponder. There +might in the past have been a hope that his son would not come, +after all—an outsider, that is to say, might have hoped so. Stepan +Trofimovitch as a father would have indignantly rejected the +insinuation that he could entertain such a hope. Anyway queer rumours +had hitherto been reaching us about Petrusha. To begin with, on +completing his studies at the university six years before, he had hung +about in Petersburg without getting work. Suddenly we got the news that +he had taken part in issuing some anonymous manifesto and that he +was implicated in the affair. Then he suddenly turned up abroad in +Switzerland at Geneva—he had escaped, very likely. +</p> +<p> +“It’s surprising to me,” Stepan Trofimovitch commented, greatly +disconcerted. “Petrusha, <i>c’est une si pauvre tête!</i> He’s good, +noble-hearted, very sensitive, and I was so delighted with him in +Petersburg, comparing him with the young people of to-day. But <i>c’est un +pauvre sire, tout de même</i>.… And you know it all comes from that +same half-bakedness, that sentimentality. They are fascinated, not by +realism, but by the emotional ideal side of socialism, by the religious +note in it, so to say, by the poetry of it … second-hand, of course. +And for me, for me, think what it means! I have so many enemies here and +more still <i>there</i>, they’ll put it down to the father’s influence. Good +God! Petrusha a revolutionist! What times we live in!” +</p> +<p> +Very soon, however, Petrusha sent his exact address from Switzerland for +money to be sent him as usual; so he could not be exactly an exile. +And now, after four years abroad, he was suddenly making his appearance +again in his own country, and announced that he would arrive shortly, +so there could be no charge against him. What was more, someone seemed +to be interested in him and protecting him. He wrote now from the south +of Russia, where he was busily engaged in some private but important +business. All this was capital, but where was his father to get that +other seven or eight thousand, to make up a suitable price for the +estate? And what if there should be an outcry, and instead of that +imposing picture it should come to a lawsuit? Something told Stepan +Trofimovitch that the sensitive Petrusha would not relinquish anything +that was to his interest. “Why is it—as I’ve noticed,” Stepan +Trofimovitch whispered to me once, “why is it that all these desperate +socialists and communists are at the same time such incredible +skinflints, so avaricious, so keen over property, and, in fact, the +more socialistic, the more extreme they are, the keener they are over +property … why is it? Can that, too, come from sentimentalism?” I +don’t know whether there is any truth in this observation of Stepan +Trofimovitch’s. I only know that Petrusha had somehow got wind of the +sale of the woods and the rest of it, and that Stepan Trofimovitch was +aware of the fact. I happened, too, to read some of Petrusha’s letters +to his father. He wrote extremely rarely, once a year, or even less +often. Only recently, to inform him of his approaching visit, he had +sent two letters, one almost immediately after the other. All his +letters were short, dry, consisting only of instructions, and as the +father and son had, since their meeting in Petersburg, adopted the +fashionable “thou” and “thee,” Petrusha’s letters had a striking +resemblance to the missives that used to be sent by landowners of the +old school from the town to their serfs whom they had left in charge of +their estates. And now suddenly this eight thousand which would solve +the difficulty would be wafted to him by Varvara Petrovna’s proposition. +And at the same time she made him distinctly feel that it never could +be wafted to him from anywhere else. Of course Stepan Trofimovitch +consented. +</p> +<p> +He sent for me directly she had gone and shut himself up for the whole +day, admitting no one else. He cried, of course, talked well and talked +a great deal, contradicted himself continually, made a casual pun, and +was much pleased with it. Then he had a slight attack of his “summer +cholera”—everything in fact followed the usual course. Then he brought +out the portrait of his German bride, now twenty years deceased, and +began plaintively appealing to her: “Will you forgive me?” In fact he +seemed somehow distracted. Our grief led us to get a little drunk. He +soon fell into a sweet sleep, however. Next morning he tied his cravat +in masterly fashion, dressed with care, and went frequently to look at +himself in the glass. He sprinkled his handkerchief with scent, only a +slight dash of it, however, and as soon as he saw Varvara Petrovna out +of the window he hurriedly took another handkerchief and hid the scented +one under the pillow. +</p> +<p> +“Excellent!” Varvara Petrovna approved, on receiving his consent. “In +the first place you show a fine decision, and secondly you’ve listened +to the voice of reason, to which you generally pay so little heed in +your private affairs. There’s no need of haste, however,” she added, +scanning the knot of his white tie, “for the present say nothing, and I +will say nothing. It will soon be your birthday; I will come to see you +with her. Give us tea in the evening, and please without wine or other +refreshments, but I’ll arrange it all myself. Invite your friends, but +we’ll make the list together. You can talk to her the day before, if +necessary. And at your party we won’t exactly announce it, or make an +engagement of any sort, but only hint at it, and let people know without +any sort of ceremony. And then the wedding a fortnight later, as far +as possible without any fuss.… You two might even go away for a time +after the wedding, to Moscow, for instance. I’ll go with you, too, +perhaps … The chief thing is, keep quiet till then.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch was surprised. He tried to falter that he could +not do like that, that he must talk it over with his bride. But Varvara +Petrovna flew at him in exasperation. +</p> +<p> +“What for? In the first place it may perhaps come to nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“Come to nothing!” muttered the bridegroom, utterly dumbfoundered. +</p> +<p> +“Yes. I’ll see.… But everything shall be as I’ve told you, and don’t +be uneasy. I’ll prepare her myself. There’s really no need for you. +Everything necessary shall be said and done, and there’s no need for you +to meddle. Why should you? In what character? Don’t come and don’t write +letters. And not a sight or sound of you, I beg. I will be silent too.” +</p> +<p> +She absolutely refused to explain herself, and went away, obviously +upset. Stepan Trofimovitch’s excessive readiness evidently impressed +her. Alas! he was utterly unable to grasp his position, and the question +had not yet presented itself to him from certain other points of view. +On the contrary a new note was apparent in him, a sort of conquering and +jaunty air. He swaggered. +</p> +<p> +“I do like that!” he exclaimed, standing before me, and flinging wide +his arms. “Did you hear? She wants to drive me to refusing at last. Why, +I may lose patience, too, and … refuse! ‘Sit still, there’s no need +for you to go to her.’ But after all, why should I be married? Simply +because she’s taken an absurd fancy into her heart. But I’m a serious +man, and I can refuse to submit to the idle whims of a giddy-woman! I +have duties to my son and … and to myself! I’m making a sacrifice. Does +she realise that? I have agreed, perhaps, because I am weary of life +and nothing matters to me. But she may exasperate me, and then it will +matter. I shall resent it and refuse. <i>Et enfin, le ridicule</i> … what will +they say at the club? What will … what will … Laputin say? ‘Perhaps +nothing will come of it’—what a thing to say! That beats everything. +That’s really … what is one to say to that?… <i>Je suis un forçat, un +Badinguet, un</i> man pushed to the wall.…” +</p> +<p> +And at the same time a sort of capricious complacency, something +frivolous and playful, could be seen in the midst of all these plaintive +exclamations. In the evening we drank too much again. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0003"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER III. THE SINS OF OTHERS +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +ABOUT A WEEK had passed, and the position had begun to grow more +complicated. +</p> +<p> +I may mention in passing that I suffered a great deal during that +unhappy week, as I scarcely left the side of my affianced friend, in the +capacity of his most intimate confidant. What weighed upon him most +was the feeling of shame, though we saw no one all that week, and sat +indoors alone. But he was even ashamed before me, and so much so that +the more he confided to me the more vexed he was with me for it. He was +so morbidly apprehensive that he expected that every one knew about it +already, the whole town, and was afraid to show himself, not only at the +club, but even in his circle of friends. He positively would not go out +to take his constitutional till well after dusk, when it was quite dark. +</p> +<p> +A week passed and he still did not know whether he were betrothed or +not, and could not find out for a fact, however much he tried. He had +not yet seen his future bride, and did not know whether she was to be +his bride or not; did not, in fact, know whether there was anything +serious in it at all. Varvara Petrovna, for some reason, resolutely +refused to admit him to her presence. In answer to one of his first +letters to her (and he wrote a great number of them) she begged him +plainly to spare her all communications with him for a time, because +she was very busy, and having a great deal of the utmost importance to +communicate to him she was waiting for a more free moment to do so, and +that she would let him know <i>in time</i> when he could come to see her. She +declared she would send back his letters unopened, as they were “simple +self-indulgence.” I read that letter myself—he showed it me. +</p> +<p> +Yet all this harshness and indefiniteness were nothing compared with +his chief anxiety. That anxiety tormented him to the utmost and without +ceasing. He grew thin and dispirited through it. It was something of +which he was more ashamed than of anything else, and of which he would +not on any account speak, even to me; on the contrary, he lied on +occasion, and shuffled before me like a little boy; and at the same time +he sent for me himself every day, could not stay two hours without me, +needing me as much as air or water. +</p> +<p> +Such conduct rather wounded my vanity. I need hardly say that I had +long ago privately guessed this great secret of his, and saw through it +completely. It was my firmest conviction at the time that the revelation +of this secret, this chief anxiety of Stepan Trofimovitch’s would not +have redounded to his credit, and, therefore, as I was still young, I +was rather indignant at the coarseness of his feelings and the ugliness +of some of his suspicions. In my warmth—and, I must confess, in my +weariness of being his confidant—I perhaps blamed him too much. I was +so cruel as to try and force him to confess it all to me himself, though +I did recognise that it might be difficult to confess some things. He, +too, saw through me; that is, he clearly perceived that I saw through +him, and that I was angry with him indeed, and he was angry with me +too for being angry with him and seeing through him. My irritation was +perhaps petty and stupid; but the unrelieved solitude of two friends +together is sometimes extremely prejudicial to true friendship. From a +certain point of view he had a very true understanding of some aspects +of his position, and defined it, indeed, very subtly on those points +about which he did not think it necessary to be secret. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, how different she was then!” he would sometimes say to me about +Varvara Petrovna. “How different she was in the old days when we used to +talk together.… Do you know that she could talk in those days! Can +you believe that she had ideas in those days, original ideas! Now, +everything has changed! She says all that’s only old-fashioned twaddle. +She despises the past.… Now she’s like some shopman or cashier, she +has grown hard-hearted, and she’s always cross.…” +</p> +<p> +“Why is she cross now if you are carrying out her orders?” I answered. +</p> +<p> +He looked at me subtly. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Cher ami</i>; if I had not agreed she would have been dreadfully angry, +dread-ful-ly! But yet less than now that I have consented.” +</p> +<p> +He was pleased with this saying of his, and we emptied a bottle between +us that evening. But that was only for a moment, next day he was worse +and more ill-humoured than ever. +</p> +<p> +But what I was most vexed with him for was that he could not bring +himself to call on the Drozdovs, as he should have done on their +arrival, to renew the acquaintance of which, so we heard they were +themselves desirous, since they kept asking about him. It was a source +of daily distress to him. He talked of Lizaveta Nikolaevna with an +ecstasy which I was at a loss to understand. No doubt he remembered in +her the child whom he had once loved. But besides that, he imagined for +some unknown reason that he would at once find in her company a solace +for his present misery, and even the solution of his more serious +doubts. He expected to meet in Lizaveta Nikolaevna an extraordinary +being. And yet he did not go to see her though he meant to do so every +day. The worst of it was that I was desperately anxious to be presented +to her and to make her acquaintance, and I could look to no one but +Stepan Trofimovitch to effect this. I was frequently meeting her, in the +street of course, when she was out riding, wearing a riding-habit and +mounted on a fine horse, and accompanied by her cousin, so-called, a +handsome officer, the nephew of the late General Drozdov—and these +meetings made an extraordinary impression on me at the time. My +infatuation lasted only a moment, and I very soon afterwards recognised +the impossibility of my dreams myself—but though it was a fleeting +impression it was a very real one, and so it may well be imagined +how indignant I was at the time with my poor friend for keeping so +obstinately secluded. +</p> +<p> +All the members of our circle had been officially informed from the +beginning that Stepan Trofimovitch would see nobody for a time, and +begged them to leave him quite alone. He insisted on sending round a +circular notice to this effect, though I tried to dissuade him. I +went round to every one at his request and told everybody that Varvara +Petrovna had given “our old man” (as we all used to call Stepan +Trofimovitch among ourselves) a special job, to arrange in order some +correspondence lasting over many years; that he had shut himself up to +do it and I was helping him. Liputin was the only one I did not have +time to visit, and I kept putting it off—to tell the real truth I was +afraid to go to him. I knew beforehand that he would not believe one +word of my story, that he would certainly imagine that there was some +secret at the bottom of it, which they were trying to hide from him +alone, and as soon as I left him he would set to work to make inquiries +and gossip all over the town. While I was picturing all this to myself +I happened to run across him in the street. It turned out that he had +heard all about it from our friends, whom I had only just informed. But, +strange to say, instead of being inquisitive and asking questions about +Stepan Trofimovitch, he interrupted me, when I began apologising for not +having come to him before, and at once passed to other subjects. It is +true that he had a great deal stored up to tell me. He was in a state +of great excitement, and was delighted to have got hold of me for a +listener. He began talking of the news of the town, of the arrival +of the governor’s wife, “with new topics of conversation,” of an +opposition party already formed in the club, of how they were all in a +hubbub over the new ideas, and how charmingly this suited him, and so +on. He talked for a quarter of an hour and so amusingly that I could not +tear myself away. Though I could not endure him, yet I must admit he had +the gift of making one listen to him, especially when he was very angry +at something. This man was, in my opinion, a regular spy from his very +nature. At every moment he knew the very latest gossip and all the +trifling incidents of our town, especially the unpleasant ones, and it +was surprising to me how he took things to heart that were sometimes +absolutely no concern of his. It always seemed to me that the leading +feature of his character was envy. When I told Stepan Trofimovitch the +same evening of my meeting Liputin that morning and our conversation, +the latter to my amazement became greatly agitated, and asked me the +wild question: “Does Liputin know or not?” +</p> +<p> +I began trying to prove that there was no possibility of his finding it +out so soon, and that there was nobody from whom he could hear it. But +Stepan Trofimovitch was not to be shaken. “Well, you may believe it or +not,” he concluded unexpectedly at last, “but I’m convinced that he not +only knows every detail of ‘our’ position, but that he knows something +else besides, something neither you nor I know yet, and perhaps never +shall, or shall only know when it’s too late, when there’s no turning +back!…” +</p> +<p> +I said nothing, but these words suggested a great deal. For five whole +days after that we did not say one word about Liputin; it was clear to +me that Stepan Trofimovitch greatly regretted having let his tongue run +away with him, and having revealed such suspicions before me. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +One morning, on the seventh or eighth day after Stepan Trofimovitch had +consented to become “engaged,” about eleven o’clock, when I was hurrying +as usual to my afflicted friend, I had an adventure on the way. +</p> +<p> +I met Karmazinov, “the great writer,” as Liputin called him. I had read +Karmazinov from a child. His novels and tales were well known to the +past and even to the present generation. I revelled in them; they were +the great enjoyment of my childhood and youth. Afterwards I grew rather +less enthusiastic over his work. I did not care so much for the novels +with a purpose which he had been writing of late as for his first, +early works, which were so full of spontaneous poetry, and his latest +publications I had not liked at all. Speaking generally, if I may +venture to express my opinion on so delicate a subject, all these +talented gentlemen of the middling sort who are sometimes in their +lifetime accepted almost as geniuses, pass out of memory quite suddenly +and without a trace when they die, and what’s more, it often happens +that even during their lifetime, as soon as a new generation grows up +and takes the place of the one in which they have flourished, they are +forgotten and neglected by every one in an incredibly short time. This +somehow happens among us quite suddenly, like the shifting of the scenes +on the stage. Oh, it’s not at all the same as with Pushkin, Gogol, +Molière, Voltaire, all those great men who really had a new original +word to say! It’s true, too, that these talented gentlemen of the +middling sort in the decline of their venerable years usually write +themselves out in the most pitiful way, though they don’t observe the +fact themselves. It happens not infrequently that a writer who has been +for a long time credited with extraordinary profundity and expected +to exercise a great and serious influence on the progress of society, +betrays in the end such poverty, such insipidity in his fundamental +ideas that no one regrets that he succeeded in writing himself out so +soon. But the old grey-beards don’t notice this, and are angry. Their +vanity sometimes, especially towards the end of their career, reaches +proportions that may well provoke wonder. God knows what they begin +to take themselves for—for gods at least! People used to say about +Karmazinov that his connections with aristocratic society and powerful +personages were dearer to him than his own soul, people used to say that +on meeting you he would be cordial, that he would fascinate and enchant +you with his open-heartedness, especially if you were of use to him in +some way, and if you came to him with some preliminary recommendation. +But that before any stray prince, any stray countess, anyone that he +was afraid of, he would regard it as his sacred duty to forget your +existence with the most insulting carelessness, like a chip of wood, +like a fly, before you had even time to get out of his sight; he +seriously considered this the best and most aristocratic style. In spite +of the best of breeding and perfect knowledge of good manners he is, +they say, vain to such an hysterical pitch that he cannot conceal his +irritability as an author even in those circles of society where little +interest is taken in literature. If anyone were to surprise him by being +indifferent, he would be morbidly chagrined, and try to revenge himself. +</p> +<p> +A year before, I had read an article of his in a review, written with +an immense affectation of naïve poetry, and psychology too. He described +the wreck of some steamer on the English coast, of which he had been +the witness, and how he had seen the drowning people saved, and the +dead bodies brought ashore. All this rather long and verbose article +was written solely with the object of self-display. One seemed to read +between the lines: “Concentrate yourselves on me. Behold what I was like +at those moments. What are the sea, the storm, the rocks, the splinters +of wrecked ships to you? I have described all that sufficiently to you +with my mighty pen. Why look at that drowned woman with the dead child +in her dead arms? Look rather at me, see how I was unable to bear that +sight and turned away from it. Here I stood with my back to it; here +I was horrified and could not bring myself to look; I blinked my +eyes—isn’t that interesting?” When I told Stepan Trofimovitch my +opinion of Karmazinov’s article he quite agreed with me. +</p> +<p> +When rumours had reached us of late that Karmazinov was coming to the +neighbourhood I was, of course, very eager to see him, and, if possible, +to make his acquaintance. I knew that this might be done through Stepan +Trofimovitch, they had once been friends. And now I suddenly met him at +the cross-roads. I knew him at once. He had been pointed out to me two +or three days before when he drove past with the governor’s wife. He +was a short, stiff-looking old man, though not over fifty-five, with a +rather red little face, with thick grey locks of hair clustering under +his chimney-pot hat, and curling round his clean little pink ears. +His clean little face was not altogether handsome with its thin, long, +crafty-looking lips, with its rather fleshy nose, and its sharp, shrewd +little eyes. He was dressed somewhat shabbily in a sort of cape such as +would be worn in Switzerland or North Italy at that time of year. But, +at any rate, all the minor details of his costume, the little studs, +and collar, the buttons, the tortoise-shell lorgnette on a narrow black +ribbon, the signet-ring, were all such as are worn by persons of the +most irreproachable good form. I am certain that in summer he must have +worn light prunella shoes with mother-of-pearl buttons at the side. +When we met he was standing still at the turning and looking about him, +attentively. Noticing that I was looking at him with interest, he asked +me in a sugary, though rather shrill voice: +</p> +<p> +“Allow me to ask, which is my nearest way to Bykovy Street?” +</p> +<p> +“To Bykovy Street? Oh, that’s here, close by,” I cried in great +excitement. “Straight on along this street and the second turning to the +left.” +</p> +<p> +“Very much obliged to you.” +</p> +<p> +A curse on that minute! I fancy I was shy, and looked cringing. He +instantly noticed all that, and of course realised it all at once; that +is, realised that I knew who he was, that I had read him and revered +him from a child, and that I was shy and looked at him cringingly. He +smiled, nodded again, and walked on as I had directed him. I don’t know +why I turned back to follow him; I don’t know why I ran for ten paces +beside him. He suddenly stood still again. +</p> +<p> +“And could you tell me where is the nearest cab-stand?” he shouted out +to me again. +</p> +<p> +It was a horrid shout! A horrid voice! +</p> +<p> +“A cab-stand? The nearest cab-stand is … by the Cathedral; there are +always cabs standing there,” and I almost turned to run for a cab for +him. I almost believe that that was what he expected me to do. Of +course I checked myself at once, and stood still, but he had noticed +my movement and was still watching me with the same horrid smile. Then +something happened which I shall never forget. +</p> +<p> +He suddenly dropped a tiny bag, which he was holding in his left +hand; though indeed it was not a bag, but rather a little box, or more +probably some part of a pocket-book, or to be more accurate a little +reticule, rather like an old-fashioned lady’s reticule, though I really +don’t know what it was. I only know that I flew to pick it up. +</p> +<p> +I am convinced that I did not really pick it up, but my first motion +was unmistakable. I could not conceal it, and, like a fool, I turned +crimson. The cunning fellow at once got all that could be got out of the +circumstance. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t trouble, I’ll pick it up,” he pronounced charmingly; that is, +when he was quite sure that I was not going to pick up the reticule, he +picked it up as though forestalling me, nodded once more, and went his +way, leaving me to look like a fool. It was as good as though I had +picked it up myself. For five minutes I considered myself utterly +disgraced forever, but as I reached Stepan Trofimovitch’s house I +suddenly burst out laughing; the meeting struck me as so amusing that I +immediately resolved to entertain Stepan Trofimovitch with an account of +it, and even to act the whole scene to him. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +But this time to my surprise I found an extraordinary change in him. He +pounced on me with a sort of avidity, it is true, as soon as I went in, +and began listening to me, but with such a distracted air that at first +he evidently did not take in my words. But as soon as I pronounced the +name of Karmazinov he suddenly flew into a frenzy. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t speak of him! Don’t pronounce that name!” he exclaimed, almost in +a fury. “Here, look, read it! Read it!” +</p> +<p> +He opened the drawer and threw on the table three small sheets of paper, +covered with a hurried pencil scrawl, all from Varvara Petrovna. The +first letter was dated the day before yesterday, the second had come +yesterday, and the last that day, an hour before. Their contents were +quite trivial, and all referred to Karmazinov and betrayed the vain +and fussy uneasiness of Varvara Petrovna and her apprehension that +Karmazinov might forget to pay her a visit. Here is the first one dating +from two days before. (Probably there had been one also three days +before, and possibly another four days before as well.) +</p> +<p> +“If he deigns to visit you to-day, not a word about me, I beg. Not the +faintest hint. Don’t speak of me, don’t mention me.—V. S.” +</p> +<p> +The letter of the day before: +</p> +<p> +“If he decides to pay you a visit this morning, I think the most +dignified thing would be not to receive him. That’s what I think about +it; I don’t know what you think.—V. S.” +</p> +<p> +To-day’s, the last: +</p> +<p> +“I feel sure that you’re in a regular litter and clouds of tobacco +smoke. I’m sending you Marya and Fomushka. They’ll tidy you up in half +an hour. And don’t hinder them, but go and sit in the kitchen while they +clear up. I’m sending you a Bokhara rug and two china vases. I’ve long +been meaning to make you a present of them, and I’m sending you my +Teniers, too, for a time! You can put the vases in the window and hang +the Teniers on the right under the portrait of Goethe; it will be more +conspicuous there and it’s always light there in the morning. If he does +turn up at last, receive him with the utmost courtesy but try and talk +of trifling matters, of some intellectual subject, and behave as though +you had seen each other lately. Not a word about me. Perhaps I may look +in on you in the evening.—V. S. +</p> +<p> +“P.S.—If he does not come to-day he won’t come at all.” +</p> +<p> +I read and was amazed that he was in such excitement over such trifles. +Looking at him inquiringly, I noticed that he had had time while I was +reading to change the everlasting white tie he always wore, for a red +one. His hat and stick lay on the table. He was pale, and his hands were +positively trembling. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t care a hang about her anxieties,” he cried frantically, in +response to my inquiring look. “<i>Je m’en fiche!</i> She has the face to be +excited about Karmazinov, and she does not answer my letters. Here is +my unopened letter which she sent me back yesterday, here on the table +under the book, under <i>L’Homme qui rit</i>. What is it to me that she’s +wearing herself out over Nikolay! <i>Je m’en fiche, et je proclame ma +liberté! Au diable le Karmazinov! Au diable la Lembke!</i> I’ve hidden the +vases in the entry, and the Teniers in the chest of drawers, and I have +demanded that she is to see me at once. Do you hear. I’ve insisted! +I’ve sent her just such a scrap of paper, a pencil scrawl, unsealed, by +Nastasya, and I’m waiting. I want Darya Pavlovna to speak to me with +her own lips, before the face of Heaven, or at least before you. <i>Vous me +seconderez, n’est-ce pas, comme ami et témoin.</i> I don’t want to have +to blush, to lie, I don’t want secrets, I won’t have secrets in this +matter. Let them confess everything to me openly, frankly, honourably +and then … then perhaps I may surprise the whole generation by my +magnanimity.… Am I a scoundrel or not, my dear sir?” he concluded +suddenly, looking menacingly at me, as though I’d considered him a +scoundrel. +</p> +<p> +I offered him a sip of water; I had never seen him like this before. All +the while he was talking he kept running from one end of the room to +the other, but he suddenly stood still before me in an extraordinary +attitude. +</p> +<p> +“Can you suppose,” he began again with hysterical haughtiness, looking +me up and down, “can you imagine that I, Stepan Verhovensky, cannot find +in myself the moral strength to take my bag—my beggar’s bag—and laying +it on my feeble shoulders to go out at the gate and vanish forever, +when honour and the great principle of independence demand it! It’s +not the first time that Stepan Verhovensky has had to repel despotism by +moral force, even though it be the despotism of a crazy woman, that +is, the most cruel and insulting despotism which can exist on earth, +although you have, I fancy, forgotten yourself so much as to laugh at +my phrase, my dear sir! Oh, you don’t believe that I can find the moral +strength in myself to end my life as a tutor in a merchant’s family, or +to die of hunger in a ditch! Answer me, answer at once; do you believe +it, or don’t you believe it?” +</p> +<p> +But I was purposely silent. I even affected to hesitate to wound him by +answering in the negative, but to be unable to answer affirmatively. In +all this nervous excitement of his there was something which really did +offend me, and not personally, oh, no! But … I will explain later on. +He positively turned pale. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you are bored with me, G——v (this is my surname), and you +would like … not to come and see me at all?” he said in that tone of +pale composure which usually precedes some extraordinary outburst. I +jumped up in alarm. At that moment Nastasya came in, and, without a +word, handed Stepan Trofimovitch a piece of paper, on which something +was written in pencil. He glanced at it and flung it to me. On the +paper, in Varvara Petrovna’s hand three words were written: “Stay at +home.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch snatched up his hat and stick in silence and went +quickly out of the room. Mechanically I followed him. Suddenly voices +and sounds of rapid footsteps were heard in the passage. He stood still, +as though thunder-struck. +</p> +<p> +“It’s Liputin; I am lost!” he whispered, clutching at my arm. +</p> +<p> +At the same instant Liputin walked into the room. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +Why he should be lost owing to Liputin I did not know, and indeed I +did not attach much significance to the words; I put it all down to his +nerves. His terror, however, was remarkable, and I made up my mind to +keep a careful watch on him. +</p> +<p> +The very appearance of Liputin as he came in assured us that he had on +this occasion a special right to come in, in spite of the prohibition. +He brought with him an unknown gentleman, who must have been a new +arrival in the town. In reply to the senseless stare of my petrified +friend, he called out immediately in a loud voice: +</p> +<p> +“I’m bringing you a visitor, a special one! I make bold to intrude on +your solitude. Mr. Kirillov, a very distinguished civil engineer. And +what’s more he knows your son, the much esteemed Pyotr Stepanovitch, +very intimately; and he has a message from him. He’s only just arrived.” +</p> +<p> +“The message is your own addition,” the visitor observed curtly. +“There’s no message at all. But I certainly do know Verhovensky. I left +him in the X. province, ten days ahead of us.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch mechanically offered his hand and motioned him to +sit down. He looked at me, he looked at Liputin, and then as though +suddenly recollecting himself sat down himself, though he still kept his +hat and stick in his hands without being aware of it. +</p> +<p> +“Bah, but you were going out yourself! I was told that you were quite +knocked up with work.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I’m ill, and you see, I meant to go for a walk, I …” Stepan +Trofimovitch checked himself, quickly flung his hat and stick on the +sofa and—turned crimson. +</p> +<p> +Meantime, I was hurriedly examining the visitor. He was a young man, +about twenty-seven, decently dressed, well made, slender and dark, with +a pale, rather muddy-coloured face and black lustreless eyes. He seemed +rather thoughtful and absent-minded, spoke jerkily and ungrammatically, +transposing words in rather a strange way, and getting muddled if he +attempted a sentence of any length. Liputin was perfectly aware of +Stepan Trofimovitch’s alarm, and was obviously pleased at it. He sat +down in a wicker chair which he dragged almost into the middle of the +room, so as to be at an equal distance between his host and the visitor, +who had installed themselves on sofas on opposite sides of the room. His +sharp eyes darted inquisitively from one corner of the room to another. +</p> +<p> +“It’s.… a long while since I’ve seen Petrusha.… You met abroad?” +Stepan Trofimovitch managed to mutter to the visitor. +</p> +<p> +“Both here and abroad.” +</p> +<p> +“Alexey Nilitch has only just returned himself after living four years +abroad,” put in Liputin. “He has been travelling to perfect himself in +his speciality and has come to us because he has good reasons to expect +a job on the building of our railway bridge, and he’s now waiting for an +answer about it. He knows the Drozdovs and Lizaveta Nikolaevna, through +Pyotr Stepanovitch.” +</p> +<p> +The engineer sat, as it were, with a ruffled air, and listened with +awkward impatience. It seemed to me that he was angry about something. +</p> +<p> +“He knows Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch too.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you know Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch?” inquired Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“I know him too.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s … it’s a very long time since I’ve seen Petrusha, and … I feel +I have so little right to call myself a father … <i>c’est le mot;</i> I … how +did you leave him?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, I left him … he comes himself,” replied Mr. Kirillov, in +haste to be rid of the question again. He certainly was angry. +</p> +<p> +“He’s coming! At last I … you see, it’s very long since I’ve seen +Petrusha!” Stepan Trofimovitch could not get away from this phrase. “Now +I expect my poor boy to whom … to whom I have been so much to blame! +That is, I mean to say, when I left him in Petersburg, I … in short, I +looked on him as a nonentity, <i>quelque chose dans ce genre.</i> He was a very +nervous boy, you know, emotional, and … very timid. When he said his +prayers going to bed he used to bow down to the ground, and make the +sign of the cross on his pillow that he might not die in the night.… +<i>Je m’en souviens. Enfin,</i> no artistic feeling whatever, not a sign of +anything higher, of anything fundamental, no embryo of a future +ideal … <i>c’était comme un petit idiot,</i> but I’m afraid I am incoherent; +excuse me … you came upon me …” +</p> +<p> +“You say seriously that he crossed his pillow?” the engineer asked +suddenly with marked curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, he used to …” +</p> +<p> +“All right. I just asked. Go on.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch looked interrogatively at Liputin. +</p> +<p> +“I’m very grateful to you for your visit. But I must confess I’m … +not in a condition … just now … But allow me to ask where you are +lodging.” +</p> +<p> +“At Filipov’s, in Bogoyavlensky Street.” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, that’s where Shatov lives,” I observed involuntarily. +</p> +<p> +“Just so, in the very same house,” cried Liputin, “only Shatov lodges +above, in the attic, while he’s down below, at Captain Lebyadkin’s. He +knows Shatov too, and he knows Shatov’s wife. He was very intimate with +her, abroad.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Comment!</i> Do you really know anything about that unhappy marriage <i>de ce +pauvre ami</i> and that woman,” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, carried away +by sudden feeling. “You are the first man I’ve met who has known her +personally; and if only …” +</p> +<p> +“What nonsense!” the engineer snapped out, flushing all over. “How you +add to things, Liputin! I’ve not seen Shatov’s wife; I’ve only once seen +her in the distance and not at all close.… I know Shatov. Why do you +add things of all sorts?” +</p> +<p> +He turned round sharply on the sofa, clutched his hat, then laid it down +again, and settling himself down once more as before, fixed his angry +black eyes on Stepan Trofimovitch with a sort of defiance. I was at a +loss to understand such strange irritability. +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me,” Stepan Trofimovitch observed impressively. “I understand +that it may be a very delicate subject.…” +</p> +<p> +“No sort of delicate subject in it, and indeed it’s shameful, and I +didn’t shout at you that it’s nonsense, but at Liputin, because he adds +things. Excuse me if you took it to yourself. I know Shatov, but I don’t +know his wife at all … I don’t know her at all!” +</p> +<p> +“I understand. I understand. And if I insisted, it’s only because I’m +very fond of our poor friend, <i>notre irascible ami</i>, and have always +taken an interest in him.… In my opinion that man changed his former, +possibly over-youthful but yet sound ideas, too abruptly. And now he +says all sorts of things about <i>notre Sainte Russie</i> to such a degree that +I’ve long explained this upheaval in his whole constitution, I can only +call it that, to some violent shock in his family life, and, in fact, to +his unsuccessful marriage. I, who know my poor Russia like the fingers +on my hand, and have devoted my whole life to the Russian people, I can +assure you that he does not know the Russian people, and what’s more …” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know the Russian people at all, either, and I haven’t time to +study them,” the engineer snapped out again, and again he turned sharply +on the sofa. Stepan Trofimovitch was pulled up in the middle of his +speech. +</p> +<p> +“He is studying them, he is studying them,” interposed Liputin. “He +has already begun the study of them, and is writing a very interesting +article dealing with the causes of the increase of suicide in Russia, +and, generally speaking, the causes that lead to the increase or +decrease of suicide in society. He has reached amazing results.” +</p> +<p> +The engineer became dreadfully excited. “You have no right at all,” he +muttered wrathfully. “I’m not writing an article. I’m not going to do +silly things. I asked you confidentially, quite by chance. There’s +no article at all. I’m not publishing, and you haven’t the right …” +Liputin was obviously enjoying himself. +</p> +<p> +“I beg your pardon, perhaps I made a mistake in calling your literary +work an article. He is only collecting observations, and the essence of +the question, or, so to say, its moral aspect he is not touching at all. +And, indeed, he rejects morality itself altogether, and holds with the +last new principle of general destruction for the sake of ultimate +good. He demands already more than a hundred million heads for the +establishment of common sense in Europe; many more than they demanded at +the last Peace Congress. Alexey Nilitch goes further than anyone in that +sense.” The engineer listened with a pale and contemptuous smile. For +half a minute every one was silent. +</p> +<p> +“All this is stupid, Liputin,” Mr. Kirillov observed at last, with a +certain dignity. “If I by chance had said some things to you, and you +caught them up again, as you like. But you have no right, for I never +speak to anyone. I scorn to talk.… If one has a conviction then it’s +clear to me.… But you’re doing foolishly. I don’t argue about things +when everything’s settled. I can’t bear arguing. I never want to +argue.…” +</p> +<p> +“And perhaps you are very wise,” Stepan Trofimovitch could not resist +saying. +</p> +<p> +“I apologise to you, but I am not angry with anyone here,” the visitor +went on, speaking hotly and rapidly. “I have seen few people for four +years. For four years I have talked little and have tried to see no one, +for my own objects which do not concern anyone else, for four years. +Liputin found this out and is laughing. I understand and don’t mind. I’m +not ready to take offence, only annoyed at his liberty. And if I don’t +explain my ideas to you,” he concluded unexpectedly, scanning us all +with resolute eyes, “it’s not at all that I’m afraid of your giving +information to the government; that’s not so; please do not imagine +nonsense of that sort.” +</p> +<p> +No one made any reply to these words. We only looked at each other. Even +Liputin forgot to snigger. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, I’m very sorry”—Stepan Trofimovitch got up resolutely from +the sofa—“but I feel ill and upset. Excuse me.” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, that’s for us to go.” Mr. Kirillov started, snatching up his cap. +“It’s a good thing you told us. I’m so forgetful.” +</p> +<p> +He rose, and with a good-natured air went up to Stepan Trofimovitch, +holding out his hand. +</p> +<p> +“I’m sorry you’re not well, and I came.” +</p> +<p> +“I wish you every success among us,” answered Stepan Trofimovitch, +shaking hands with him heartily and without haste. “I understand that, +if as you say you have lived so long abroad, cutting yourself off +from people for objects of your own and forgetting Russia, you must +inevitably look with wonder on us who are Russians to the backbone, and +we must feel the same about you. <i>Mais cela passera.</i> I’m only puzzled at +one thing: you want to build our bridge and at the same time you declare +that you hold with the principle of universal destruction. They won’t +let you build our bridge.” +</p> +<p> +“What! What’s that you said? Ach, I say!” Kirillov cried, much struck, +and he suddenly broke into the most frank and good-humoured laughter. +For a moment his face took a quite childlike expression, which I thought +suited him particularly. Liputin rubbed his hand with delight at Stepan +Trofimovitch’s witty remark. I kept wondering to myself why Stepan +Trofimovitch was so frightened of Liputin, and why he had cried out “I +am lost” when he heard him coming. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +V +</p> +<p> +We were all standing in the doorway. It was the moment when hosts and +guests hurriedly exchange the last and most cordial words, and then +part to their mutual gratification. +</p> +<p> +“The reason he’s so cross to-day,” Liputin dropped all at once, as it +were casually, when he was just going out of the room, “is because he +had a disturbance to-day with Captain Lebyadkin over his sister. Captain +Lebyadkin thrashes that precious sister of his, the mad girl, every day +with a whip, a real Cossack whip, every morning and evening. So Alexey +Nilitch has positively taken the lodge so as not to be present. Well, +good-bye.” +</p> +<p> +“A sister? An invalid? With a whip?” Stepan Trofimovitch cried out, as +though he had suddenly been lashed with a whip himself. “What sister? +What Lebyadkin?” All his former terror came back in an instant. +</p> +<p> +“Lebyadkin! Oh, that’s the retired captain; he used only to call himself +a lieutenant before.…” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, what is his rank to me? What sister? Good heavens!… You say +Lebyadkin? But there used to be a Lebyadkin here.…” +</p> +<p> +“That’s the very man. ‘Our’ Lebyadkin, at Virginsky’s, you remember?” +</p> +<p> +“But he was caught with forged papers?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, now he’s come back. He’s been here almost three weeks and under +the most peculiar circumstances.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, but he’s a scoundrel?” +</p> +<p> +“As though no one could be a scoundrel among us,” Liputin grinned +suddenly, his knavish little eyes seeming to peer into Stepan +Trofimovitch’s soul. +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens! I didn’t mean that at all … though I quite agree with +you about that, with you particularly. But what then, what then? What +did you mean by that? You certainly meant something by that.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, it’s all so trivial.… This captain to all appearances went away +from us at that time; not because of the forged papers, but simply to +look for his sister, who was in hiding from him somewhere, it seems; +well, and now he’s brought her and that’s the whole story. Why do you +seem frightened, Stepan Trofimovitch? I only tell this from his drunken +chatter though, he doesn’t speak of it himself when he’s sober. He’s an +irritable man, and, so to speak, æsthetic in a military style; only he +has bad taste. And this sister is lame as well as mad. She seems to +have been seduced by someone, and Mr. Lebyadkin has, it seems, for many +years received a yearly grant from the seducer by way of compensation +for the wound to his honour, so it would seem at least from his chatter, +though I believe it’s only drunken talk. It’s simply his brag. Besides, +that sort of thing is done much cheaper. But that he has a sum of money +is perfectly certain. Ten days ago he was walking barefoot, and now I’ve +seen hundreds in his hands. His sister has fits of some sort every day, +she shrieks and he ‘keeps her in order’ with the whip. You must inspire +a woman with respect, he says. What I can’t understand is how Shatov +goes on living above him. Alexey Nilitch has only been three days with +them. They were acquainted in Petersburg, and now he’s taken the lodge +to get away from the disturbance.” +</p> +<p> +“Is this all true?” said Stepan Trofimovitch, addressing the engineer. +</p> +<p> +“You do gossip a lot, Liputin,” the latter muttered wrathfully. +</p> +<p> +“Mysteries, secrets! Where have all these mysteries and secrets among us +sprung from?” Stepan Trofimovitch could not refrain from exclaiming. +</p> +<p> +The engineer frowned, flushed red, shrugged his shoulders and went out +of the room. +</p> +<p> +“Alexey Nilitch positively snatched the whip out of his hand, broke it +and threw it out of the window, and they had a violent quarrel,” added +Liputin. +</p> +<p> +“Why are you chattering, Liputin; it’s stupid. What for?” Alexey Nilitch +turned again instantly. +</p> +<p> +“Why be so modest and conceal the generous impulses of one’s soul; that +is, of your soul? I’m not speaking of my own.” +</p> +<p> +“How stupid it is … and quite unnecessary. Lebyadkin’s stupid and quite +worthless—and no use to the cause, and … utterly mischievous. Why do +you keep babbling all sorts of things? I’m going.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, what a pity!” cried Liputin with a candid smile, “or I’d have +amused you with another little story, Stepan Trofimovitch. I came, +indeed, on purpose to tell you, though I dare say you’ve heard it +already. Well, till another time, Alexey Nilitch is in such a hurry. +Good-bye for the present. The story concerns Varvara Petrovna. She +amused me the day before yesterday; she sent for me on purpose. It’s +simply killing. Good-bye.” +</p> +<p> +But at this Stepan Trofimovitch absolutely would not let him go. He +seized him by the shoulders, turned him sharply back into the room, and +sat him down in a chair. Liputin was positively scared. +</p> +<p> +“Why, to be sure,” he began, looking warily at Stepan Trofimovitch from +his chair, “she suddenly sent for me and asked me ‘confidentially’ my +private opinion, whether Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch is mad or in his right +mind. Isn’t that astonishing?” +</p> +<p> +“You’re out of your mind!” muttered Stepan Trofimovitch, and suddenly, +as though he were beside himself: “Liputin, you know perfectly well that +you only came here to tell me something insulting of that sort and … +something worse!” +</p> +<p> +In a flash, I recalled his conjecture that Liputin knew not only more +than we did about our affair, but something else which we should never +know. +</p> +<p> +“Upon my word, Stepan Trofimovitch,” muttered Liputin, seeming greatly +alarmed, “upon my word …” +</p> +<p> +“Hold your tongue and begin! I beg you, Mr. Kirillov, to come back too, +and be present. I earnestly beg you! Sit down, and you, Liputin, begin +directly, simply and without any excuses.” +</p> +<p> +“If I had only known it would upset you so much I wouldn’t have begun at +all. And of course I thought you knew all about it from Varvara Petrovna +herself.” +</p> +<p> +“You didn’t think that at all. Begin, begin, I tell you.” +</p> +<p> +“Only do me the favour to sit down yourself, or how can I sit here +when you are running about before me in such excitement. I can’t speak +coherently.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch restrained himself and sank impressively into an +easy chair. The engineer stared gloomily at the floor. Liputin looked at +them with intense enjoyment, +</p> +<p> +“How am I to begin?… I’m too overwhelmed.…” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VI +</p> +<p> +“The day before yesterday a servant was suddenly sent to me: ‘You are +asked to call at twelve o’clock,’ said he. Can you fancy such a thing? I +threw aside my work, and precisely at midday yesterday I was ringing at +the bell. I was let into the drawing room; I waited a minute—she came +in; she made me sit down and sat down herself, opposite. I sat down, and +I couldn’t believe it; you know how she has always treated me. She +began at once without beating about the bush, you know her way. ‘You +remember,’ she said, ‘that four years ago when Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +was ill he did some strange things which made all the town wonder +till the position was explained. One of those actions concerned you +personally. When Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch recovered he went at my request +to call on you. I know that he talked to you several times before, too. +Tell me openly and candidly what you … (she faltered a little at this +point) what you thought of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch then … what was your +view of him altogether … what idea you were able to form of him at that +time … and still have?’ +</p> +<p> +“Here she was completely confused, so that she paused for a whole +minute, and suddenly flushed. I was alarmed. She began again—touchingly +is not quite the word, it’s not applicable to her—but in a very +impressive tone: +</p> +<p> +“‘I want you,’ she said, ‘to understand me clearly and without mistake. +I’ve sent for you now because I look upon you as a keen-sighted and +quick-witted man, qualified to make accurate observations.’ (What +compliments!) ‘You’ll understand too,’ she said, ‘that I am a mother +appealing to you.… Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch has suffered some +calamities and has passed through many changes of fortune in his life. +All that,’ she said, ‘might well have affected the state of his mind. +I’m not speaking of madness, of course,’ she said, ‘that’s quite out +of the question!’ (This was uttered proudly and resolutely.) ‘But there +might be something strange, something peculiar, some turn of thought, a +tendency to some particular way of looking at things.’ (Those were her +exact words, and I admired, Stepan Trofimovitch, the exactness with +which Varvara Petrovna can put things. She’s a lady of superior +intellect!) ‘I have noticed in him, anyway,’ she said, ‘a perpetual +restlessness and a tendency to peculiar impulses. But I am a mother +and you are an impartial spectator, and therefore qualified with your +intelligence to form a more impartial opinion. I implore you, in fact’ +(yes, that word, ‘implore’ was uttered!), ‘to tell me the whole truth, +without mincing matters. And if you will give me your word never to +forget that I have spoken to you in confidence, you may reckon upon my +always being ready to seize every opportunity in the future to show my +gratitude.’ Well, what do you say to that?” +</p> +<p> +“You have … so amazed me …” faltered Stepan Trofimovitch, “that I +don’t believe you.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, observe, observe,” cried Liputin, as though he had not heard +Stepan Trofimovitch, “observe what must be her agitation and uneasiness +if she stoops from her grandeur to appeal to a man like me, and even +condescends to beg me to keep it secret. What do you call that? +Hasn’t she received some news of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, something +unexpected?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know … of news of any sort … I haven’t seen her for some +days, but … but I must say …” lisped Stepan Trofimovitch, evidently +hardly able to think clearly, “but I must say, Liputin, that if it +was said to you in confidence, and here you’re telling it before every +one …” +</p> +<p> +“Absolutely in confidence! But God strike me dead if I … But as for +telling it here … what does it matter? Are we strangers, even Alexey +Nilitch?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t share that attitude. No doubt we three here will keep the +secret, but I’m afraid of the fourth, you, and wouldn’t trust you in +anything.…” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by that? Why it’s more to my interest than anyone’s, +seeing I was promised eternal gratitude! What I wanted was to point +out in this connection one extremely strange incident, rather to +say, psychological than simply strange. Yesterday evening, under the +influence of my conversation with Varvara Petrovna—you can fancy +yourself what an impression it made on me—I approached Alexey Nilitch +with a discreet question: ‘You knew Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch abroad,’ +said I, ‘and used to know him before in Petersburg too. What do you +think of his mind and his abilities?’ said I. He answered laconically, +as his way is, that he was a man of subtle intellect and sound judgment. +‘And have you never noticed in the course of years,’ said I, ‘any +turn of ideas or peculiar way of looking at things, or any, so to say, +insanity?’ In fact, I repeated Varvara Petrovna’s own question. And +would you believe it, Alexey Nilitch suddenly grew thoughtful, and +scowled, just as he’s doing now. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘I have sometimes +thought there was something strange.’ Take note, too, that if anything +could have seemed strange even to Alexey Nilitch, it must really have +been something, mustn’t it?” +</p> +<p> +“Is that true?” said Stepan Trofimovitch, turning to Alexey Nilitch. +</p> +<p> +“I should prefer not to speak of it,” answered Alexey Nilitch, suddenly +raising his head, and looking at him with flashing eyes. “I wish to +contest your right to do this, Liputin. You’ve no right to drag me into +this. I did not give my whole opinion at all. Though I knew Nikolay +Stavrogin in Petersburg that was long ago, and though I’ve met him since +I know him very little. I beg you to leave me out and … All this is +something like scandal.” +</p> +<p> +Liputin threw up his hands with an air of oppressed innocence. +</p> +<p> +“A scandal-monger! Why not say a spy while you’re about it? It’s all +very well for you, Alexey Nilitch, to criticise when you stand aloof +from everything. But you wouldn’t believe it, Stepan Trofimovitch—take +Captain Lebyadkin, he is stupid enough, one may say … in fact, one’s +ashamed to say how stupid he is; there is a Russian comparison, to +signify the degree of it; and do you know he considers himself injured +by Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, though he is full of admiration for his wit. +‘I’m amazed,’ said he, ‘at that man. He’s a subtle serpent.’ His own +words. And I said to him (still under the influence of my conversation, +and after I had spoken to Alexey Nilitch), ‘What do you think, captain, +is your subtle serpent mad or not?’ Would you believe it, it was just as +if I’d given him a sudden lash from behind. He simply leapt up from his +seat. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘ … yes, only that,’ he said, ‘cannot affect …’ +‘Affect what?’ He didn’t finish. Yes, and then he fell to thinking so +bitterly, thinking so much, that his drunkenness dropped off him. We +were sitting in Filipov’s restaurant. And it wasn’t till half an hour +later that he suddenly struck the table with his fist. ‘Yes,’ said he, +‘maybe he’s mad, but that can’t affect it.…’ Again he didn’t say what +it couldn’t affect. Of course I’m only giving you an extract of the +conversation, but one can understand the sense of it. You may ask whom +you like, they all have the same idea in their heads, though it never +entered anyone’s head before. ‘Yes,’ they say, ‘he’s mad; he’s very +clever, but perhaps he’s mad too.’” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch sat pondering, and thought intently. +</p> +<p> +“And how does Lebyadkin know?” +</p> +<p> +“Do you mind inquiring about that of Alexey Nilitch, who has just called +me a spy? I’m a spy, yet I don’t know, but Alexey Nilitch knows all the +ins and outs of it, and holds his tongue.” +</p> +<p> +“I know nothing about it, or hardly anything,” answered the engineer +with the same irritation. “You make Lebyadkin drunk to find out. You +brought me here to find out and to make me say. And so you must be a +spy.” +</p> +<p> +“I haven’t made him drunk yet, and he’s not worth the money either, with +all his secrets. They are not worth that to me. I don’t know what they +are to you. On the contrary, he is scattering the money, though twelve +days ago he begged fifteen kopecks of me, and it’s he treats me to +champagne, not I him. But you’ve given me an idea, and if there should +be occasion I will make him drunk, just to get to the bottom of it and +maybe I shall find out … all your little secrets,” Liputin snapped back +spitefully. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch looked in bewilderment at the two disputants. Both +were giving themselves away, and what’s more, were not standing on +ceremony. The thought crossed my mind that Liputin had brought this +Alexey Nilitch to us with the simple object of drawing him into a +conversation through a third person for purposes of his own—his +favourite manœuvre. +</p> +<p> +“Alexey Nilitch knows Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch quite well,” he went on, +irritably, “only he conceals it. And as to your question about Captain +Lebyadkin, he made his acquaintance before any of us did, six years ago +in Petersburg, in that obscure, if one may so express it, epoch in the +life of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, before he had dreamed of rejoicing our +hearts by coming here. Our prince, one must conclude, surrounded himself +with rather a queer selection of acquaintances. It was at that time, it +seems, that he made acquaintance with this gentleman here.” +</p> +<p> +“Take care, Liputin. I warn you, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch meant to be +here soon himself, and he knows how to defend himself.” +</p> +<p> +“Why warn me? I am the first to cry out that he is a man of the most +subtle and refined intelligence, and I quite reassured Varvara Petrovna +yesterday on that score. ‘It’s his character,’ I said to her, ‘that I +can’t answer for.’ Lebyadkin said the same thing yesterday: ‘A lot of +harm has come to me from his character,’ he said. Stepan Trofimovitch, +it’s all very well for you to cry out about slander and spying, and at +the very time observe that you wring it all out of me, and with such +immense curiosity too. Now, Varvara Petrovna went straight to the point +yesterday. ‘You have had a personal interest in the business,’ she said, +‘that’s why I appeal to you.’ I should say so! What need to look for +motives when I’ve swallowed a personal insult from his excellency before +the whole society of the place. I should think I have grounds to be +interested, not merely for the sake of gossip. He shakes hands with +you one day, and next day, for no earthly reason, he returns your +hospitality by slapping you on the cheeks in the face of all decent +society, if the fancy takes him, out of sheer wantonness. And what’s +more, the fair sex is everything for them, these butterflies and +mettlesome cocks! Grand gentlemen with little wings like the ancient +cupids, lady-killing Petchorins! It’s all very well for you, Stepan +Trofimovitch, a confirmed bachelor, to talk like that, stick up for his +excellency and call me a slanderer. But if you married a pretty young +wife—as you’re still such a fine fellow—then I dare say you’d bolt +your door against our prince, and throw up barricades in your house! +Why, if only that Mademoiselle Lebyadkin, who is thrashed with a whip, +were not mad and bandy-legged, by Jove, I should fancy she was the +victim of the passions of our general, and that it was from him that +Captain Lebyadkin had suffered ‘in his family dignity,’ as he expresses +it himself. Only perhaps that is inconsistent with his refined taste, +though, indeed, even that’s no hindrance to him. Every berry is worth +picking if only he’s in the mood for it. You talk of slander, but I’m +not crying this aloud though the whole town is ringing with it; I only +listen and assent. That’s not prohibited.” +</p> +<p> +“The town’s ringing with it? What’s the town ringing with?” +</p> +<p> +“That is, Captain Lebyadkin is shouting for all the town to hear, and +isn’t that just the same as the market-place ringing with it? How am I +to blame? I interest myself in it only among friends, for, after all, +I consider myself among friends here.” He looked at us with an innocent +air. “Something’s happened, only consider: they say his excellency has +sent three hundred roubles from Switzerland by a most honourable young +lady, and, so to say, modest orphan, whom I have the honour of knowing, +to be handed over to Captain Lebyadkin. And Lebyadkin, a little later, +was told as an absolute fact also by a very honourable and therefore +trustworthy person, I won’t say whom, that not three hundred but a +thousand roubles had been sent!… And so, Lebyadkin keeps crying out +‘the young lady has grabbed seven hundred roubles belonging to me,’ and +he’s almost ready to call in the police; he threatens to, anyway, and +he’s making an uproar all over the town.” +</p> +<p> +“This is vile, vile of you!” cried the engineer, leaping up suddenly +from his chair. +</p> +<p> +“But I say, you are yourself the honourable person who brought word +to Lebyadkin from Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch that a thousand roubles were +sent, not three hundred. Why, the captain told me so himself when he was +drunk.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s … it’s an unhappy misunderstanding. Some one’s made a mistake and +it’s led to … It’s nonsense, and it’s base of you.” +</p> +<p> +“But I’m ready to believe that it’s nonsense, and I’m distressed at the +story, for, take it as you will, a girl of an honourable reputation +is implicated first over the seven hundred roubles, and secondly in +unmistakable intimacy with Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. For how much does it +mean to his excellency to disgrace a girl of good character, or put to +shame another man’s wife, like that incident with me? If he comes across +a generous-hearted man he’ll force him to cover the sins of others under +the shelter of his honourable name. That’s just what I had to put up +with, I’m speaking of myself.…” +</p> +<p> +“Be careful, Liputin.” Stepan Trofimovitch got up from his easy chair +and turned pale. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t believe it, don’t believe it! Somebody has made a mistake +and Lebyadkin’s drunk …” exclaimed the engineer in indescribable +excitement. “It will all be explained, but I can’t.… And I think it’s +low.… And that’s enough, enough!” +</p> +<p> +He ran out of the room. +</p> +<p> +“What are you about? Why, I’m going with you!” cried Liputin, startled. +He jumped up and ran after Alexey Nilitch. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VII +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch stood a moment reflecting, looked at me as though he +did not see me, took up his hat and stick and walked quietly out of +the room. I followed him again, as before. As we went out of the gate, +noticing that I was accompanying him, he said: +</p> +<p> +“Oh yes, you may serve as a witness … <i>de l’accident. Vous +m’accompagnerez, n’est-ce pas?</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch, surely you’re not going there again? Think what +may come of it!” +</p> +<p> +With a pitiful and distracted smile, a smile of shame and utter despair, +and at the same time of a sort of strange ecstasy, he whispered to me, +standing still for an instant: +</p> +<p> +“I can’t marry to cover ‘another man’s sins’!” +</p> +<p> +These words were just what I was expecting. At last that fatal sentence +that he had kept hidden from me was uttered aloud, after a whole week of +shuffling and pretence. I was positively enraged. +</p> +<p> +“And you, Stepan Verhovensky, with your luminous mind, your kind heart, +can harbour such a dirty, such a low idea … and could before Liputin +came!” +</p> +<p> +He looked at me, made no answer and walked on in the same direction. +I did not want to be left behind. I wanted to give Varvara Petrovna my +version. I could have forgiven him if he had simply with his womanish +faint-heartedness believed Liputin, but now it was clear that he +had thought of it all himself long before, and that Liputin had only +confirmed his suspicions and poured oil on the flames. He had not +hesitated to suspect the girl from the very first day, before he had any +kind of grounds, even Liputin’s words, to go upon. Varvara Petrovna’s +despotic behaviour he had explained to himself as due to her haste +to cover up the aristocratic misdoings of her precious “Nicolas” by +marrying the girl to an honourable man! I longed for him to be punished +for it. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Oh, Dieu, qui est si grand et si bon!</i> Oh, who will comfort me!” he +exclaimed, halting suddenly again, after walking a hundred paces. +</p> +<p> +“Come straight home and I’ll make everything clear to you,” I cried, +turning him by force towards home. +</p> +<p> +“It’s he! Stepan Trofimovitch, it’s you? You?” A fresh, joyous young +voice rang out like music behind us. +</p> +<p> +We had seen nothing, but a lady on horseback suddenly made her +appearance beside us—Lizaveta Nikolaevna with her invariable companion. +She pulled up her horse. +</p> +<p> +“Come here, come here quickly!” she called to us, loudly and merrily. +“It’s twelve years since I’ve seen him, and I know him, while he.… Do +you really not know me?” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch clasped the hand held out to him and kissed it +reverently. He gazed at her as though he were praying and could not +utter a word. +</p> +<p> +“He knows me, and is glad! Mavriky Nikolaevitch, he’s delighted to see +me! Why is it you haven’t been to see us all this fortnight? Auntie +tried to persuade me you were ill and must not be disturbed; but I know +Auntie tells lies. I kept stamping and swearing at you, but I had made +up my mind, quite made up my mind, that you should come to me first, +that was why I didn’t send to you. Heavens, why he hasn’t changed a +bit!” She scrutinised him, bending down from the saddle. “He’s absurdly +unchanged. Oh, yes, he has wrinkles, a lot of wrinkles, round his eyes +and on his cheeks some grey hair, but his eyes are just the same. And +have I changed? Have I changed? Why don’t you say something?” +</p> +<p> +I remembered at that moment the story that she had been almost ill when +she was taken away to Petersburg at eleven years old, and that she had +cried during her illness and asked for Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“You … I …” he faltered now in a voice breaking with joy. “I was just +crying out ‘who will comfort me?’ and I heard your voice. I look on it +as a miracle <i>et je commence à croire</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>En Dieu! En Dieu qui est là-haut et qui est si grand et si bon!</i> You +see, I know all your lectures by heart. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, what faith +he used to preach to me then, <i>en Dieu qui est si grand et si bon!</i> And do +you remember your story of how Columbus discovered America, and they +all cried out, ‘Land! land!’? My nurse Alyona Frolovna says I was +light-headed at night afterwards, and kept crying out ‘land! land!’ +in my sleep. And do you remember how you told me the story of Prince +Hamlet? And do you remember how you described to me how the poor +emigrants were transported from Europe to America? And it was all +untrue; I found out afterwards how they were transited. But what +beautiful fibs he used to tell me then, Mavriky Nikolaevitch! They were +better than the truth. Why do you look at Mavriky Nikolaevitch like +that? He is the best and finest man on the face of the globe and you must +like him just as you do me! <i>Il fait tout ce que je veux.</i> But, dear Stepan +Trofimovitch, you must be unhappy again, since you cry out in the middle +of the street asking who will comfort you. Unhappy, aren’t you? Aren’t +you?” +</p> +<p> +“Now I’m happy.…” +</p> +<p> +“Aunt is horrid to you?” she went on, without listening. “She’s just the +same as ever, cross, unjust, and always our precious aunt! And do +you remember how you threw yourself into my arms in the garden and I +comforted you and cried—don’t be afraid of Mavriky Nikolaevitch; he has +known all about you, everything, for ever so long; you can weep on his +shoulder as long as you like, and he’ll stand there as long as you like! +… Lift up your hat, take it off altogether for a minute, lift up your +head, stand on tiptoe, I want to kiss you on the forehead as I kissed +you for the last time when we parted. Do you see that young lady’s +admiring us out of the window? Come closer, closer! Heavens! How grey he +is!” +</p> +<p> +And bending over in the saddle she kissed him on the forehead. +</p> +<p> +“Come, now to your home! I know where you live. I’ll be with you +directly, in a minute. I’ll make you the first visit, you stubborn man, +and then I must have you for a whole day at home. You can go and make +ready for me.” +</p> +<p> +And she galloped off with her cavalier. We returned. Stepan Trofimovitch +sat down on the sofa and began to cry. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Dieu, Dieu.”</i> he exclaimed, <i>“enfin une minute de bonheur!”</i> +</p> +<p> +Not more than ten minutes afterwards she reappeared according to her +promise, escorted by her Mavriky Nikolaevitch. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Vous et le bonheur, vous arrivez en même temps!”</i> He got up to meet her. +</p> +<p> +“Here’s a nosegay for you; I rode just now to Madame Chevalier’s, she +has flowers all the winter for name-days. Here’s Mavriky Nikolaevitch, +please make friends. I wanted to bring you a cake instead of a nosegay, +but Mavriky Nikolaevitch declares that is not in the Russian spirit.” +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch was an artillery captain, a tall and handsome man +of thirty-three, irreproachably correct in appearance, with an imposing +and at first sight almost stern countenance, in spite of his wonderful +and delicate kindness which no one could fail to perceive almost the +first moment of making his acquaintance. He was taciturn, however, +seemed very self-possessed and made no efforts to gain friends. Many +of us said later that he was by no means clever; but this was not +altogether just. +</p> +<p> +I won’t attempt to describe the beauty of Lizaveta Nikolaevna. The +whole town was talking of it, though some of our ladies and young girls +indignantly differed on the subject. There were some among them who +already detested her, and principally for her pride. The Drozdovs had +scarcely begun to pay calls, which mortified them, though the real +reason for the delay was Praskovya Ivanovna’s invalid state. They +detested her in the second place because she was a relative of +the governor’s wife, and thirdly because she rode out every day on +horseback. We had never had young ladies who rode on horseback before; +it was only natural that the appearance of Lizaveta Nikolaevna on +horseback and her neglect to pay calls was bound to offend local +society. Yet every one knew that riding was prescribed her by the +doctor’s orders, and they talked sarcastically of her illness. She +really was ill. What struck me at first sight in her was her abnormal, +nervous, incessant restlessness. Alas, the poor girl was very unhappy, +and everything was explained later. To-day, recalling the past, I should +not say she was such a beauty as she seemed to me then. Perhaps she was +really not pretty at all. Tall, slim, but strong and supple, she struck +one by the irregularities of the lines of her face. Her eyes were set +somewhat like a Kalmuck’s, slanting; she was pale and thin in the +face with high cheek-bones, but there was something in the face that +conquered and fascinated! There was something powerful in the ardent +glance of her dark eyes. She always made her appearance “like a +conquering heroine, and to spread her conquests.” She seemed proud and +at times even arrogant. I don’t know whether she succeeded in being +kind, but I know that she wanted to, and made terrible efforts to force +herself to be a little kind. There were, no doubt, many fine impulses +and the very best elements in her character, but everything in her +seemed perpetually seeking its balance and unable to find it; everything +was in chaos, in agitation, in uneasiness. Perhaps the demands she made +upon herself were too severe, and she was never able to find in herself +the strength to satisfy them. +</p> +<p> +She sat on the sofa and looked round the room. +</p> +<p> +“Why do I always begin to feel sad at such moments; explain that +mystery, you learned person? I’ve been thinking all my life that +I should be goodness knows how pleased at seeing you and recalling +everything, and here I somehow don’t feel pleased at all, although I do +love you.… Ach, heavens! He has my portrait on the wall! Give it here. +I remember it! I remember it!” +</p> +<p> +An exquisite miniature in water-colour of Liza at twelve years old had +been sent nine years before to Stepan Trofimovitch from Petersburg by +the Drozdovs. He had kept it hanging on his wall ever since. +</p> +<p> +“Was I such a pretty child? Can that really have been my face?” +</p> +<p> +She stood up, and with the portrait in her hand looked in the +looking-glass. +</p> +<p> +“Make haste, take it!” she cried, giving back the portrait. “Don’t hang +it up now, afterwards. I don’t want to look at it.” +</p> +<p> +She sat down on the sofa again. “One life is over and another is begun, +then that one is over—a third begins, and so on, endlessly. All the +ends are snipped off as it were with scissors. See what stale things I’m +telling you. Yet how much truth there is in them!” +</p> +<p> +She looked at me, smiling; she had glanced at me several times already, +but in his excitement Stepan Trofimovitch forgot that he had promised +to introduce me. +</p> +<p> +“And why have you hung my portrait under those daggers? And why have you +got so many daggers and sabres?” +</p> +<p> +He had as a fact hanging on the wall, I don’t know why, two crossed +daggers and above them a genuine Circassian sabre. As she asked this +question she looked so directly at me that I wanted to answer, but +hesitated to speak. Stepan Trofimovitch grasped the position at last and +introduced me. +</p> +<p> +“I know, I know,” she said, “I’m delighted to meet you. Mother has +heard a great deal about you, too. Let me introduce you to Mavriky +Nikolaevitch too, he’s a splendid person. I had formed a funny notion of +you already. You’re Stepan Trofimovitch’s confidant, aren’t you?” +</p> +<p> +I turned rather red. +</p> +<p> +“Ach, forgive me, please. I used quite the wrong word: not funny at all, +but only …” She was confused and blushed. “Why be ashamed though at +your being a splendid person? Well, it’s time we were going, Mavriky +Nikolaevitch! Stepan Trofimovitch, you must be with us in half an hour. +Mercy, what a lot we shall talk! Now I’m your confidante, and about +everything, <i>everything,</i> you understand?” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch was alarmed at once. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Mavriky Nikolaevitch knows everything, don’t mind him!” +</p> +<p> +“What does he know?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, what do you mean?” she cried in astonishment. “Bah, why it’s true +then that they’re hiding it! I wouldn’t believe it! And they’re hiding +Dasha, too. Aunt wouldn’t let me go in to see Dasha to-day. She says +she’s got a headache.” +</p> +<p> +“But … but how did you find out?” +</p> +<p> +“My goodness, like every one else. That needs no cunning!” +</p> +<p> +“But does every one else …?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, of course. Mother, it’s true, heard it first through Alyona +Frolovna, my nurse; your Nastasya ran round to tell her. You told +Nastasya, didn’t you? She says you told her yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“I … I did once speak,” Stepan Trofimovitch faltered, crimsoning all +over, “but … I only hinted … <i>j’étais si nerveux et malade, et +puis</i> …” +</p> +<p> +She laughed. +</p> +<p> +“And your confidant didn’t happen to be at hand, and Nastasya turned up. +Well that was enough! And the whole town’s full of her cronies! Come, it +doesn’t matter, let them know; it’s all the better. Make haste and come +to us, we dine early.… Oh, I forgot,” she added, sitting down again; +“listen, what sort of person is Shatov?” +</p> +<p> +“Shatov? He’s the brother of Darya Pavlovna.” +</p> +<p> +“I know he’s her brother! What a person you are, really,” she +interrupted impatiently. “I want to know what he’s like; what sort of +man he is.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“C’est un pense-creux d’ici. C’est le meilleur et le plus irascible +homme du monde.”</i> +</p> +<p> +“I’ve heard that he’s rather queer. But that wasn’t what I meant. I’ve +heard that he knows three languages, one of them English, and can do +literary work. In that case I’ve a lot of work for him. I want someone +to help me and the sooner the better. Would he take the work or not? +He’s been recommended to me.…” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, most certainly he will. <i>Et vous ferez un bienfait</i>.…” +</p> +<p> +“I’m not doing it as a <i>bienfait</i>. I need someone to help me.” +</p> +<p> +“I know Shatov pretty well,” I said, “and if you will trust me with a +message to him I’ll go to him this minute.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell him to come to me at twelve o’clock to-morrow morning. Capital! +Thank you. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, are you ready?” +</p> +<p> +They went away. I ran at once, of course, to Shatov. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mon ami!”</i> said Stepan Trofimovitch, overtaking me on the steps. “Be +sure to be at my lodging at ten or eleven o’clock when I come back. Oh, +I’ve acted very wrongly in my conduct to you and to every one.” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VIII +</p> +<p> +I did not find Shatov at home. I ran round again, two hours later. He +was still out. At last, at eight o’clock I went to him again, meaning +to leave a note if I did not find him; again I failed to find him. His +lodging was shut up, and he lived alone without a servant of any sort. +I did think of knocking at Captain Lebyadkin’s down below to ask about +Shatov; but it was all shut up below, too, and there was no sound or +light as though the place were empty. I passed by Lebyadkin’s door with +curiosity, remembering the stories I had heard that day. Finally, I made +up my mind to come very early next morning. To tell the truth I did not +put much confidence in the effect of a note. Shatov might take no notice +of it; he was so obstinate and shy. Cursing my want of success, I was +going out of the gate when all at once I stumbled on Mr. Kirillov. +He was going into the house and he recognised me first. As he began +questioning me of himself, I told him how things were, and that I had a +note. +</p> +<p> +“Let us go in,” said he, “I will do everything.” +</p> +<p> +I remembered that Liputin had told us he had taken the wooden lodge in +the yard that morning. In the lodge, which was too large for him, a deaf +old woman who waited upon him was living too. The owner of the house had +moved into a new house in another street, where he kept a restaurant, +and this old woman, a relation of his, I believe, was left behind to +look after everything in the old house. The rooms in the lodge were +fairly clean, though the wall-papers were dirty. In the one we went into +the furniture was of different sorts, picked up here and there, and all +utterly worthless. There were two card-tables, a chest of drawers made +of elder, a big deal table that must have come from some peasant hut +or kitchen, chairs and a sofa with trellis-work back and hard leather +cushions. In one corner there was an old-fashioned ikon, in front of +which the old woman had lighted a lamp before we came in, and on the +walls hung two dingy oil-paintings, one, a portrait of the Tsar Nikolas +I, painted apparently between 1820 and 1830; the other the portrait of +some bishop. Mr. Kirillov lighted a candle and took out of his trunk, +which stood not yet unpacked in a corner, an envelope, sealing-wax, and +a glass seal. +</p> +<p> +“Seal your note and address the envelope.” +</p> +<p> +I would have objected that this was unnecessary, but he insisted. When I +had addressed the envelope I took my cap. +</p> +<p> +“I was thinking you’d have tea,” he said. “I have bought tea. Will you?” +</p> +<p> +I could not refuse. The old woman soon brought in the tea, that is, a +very large tea-pot of boiling water, a little tea-pot full of strong +tea, two large earthenware cups, coarsely decorated, a fancy loaf, and a +whole deep saucer of lump sugar. +</p> +<p> +“I love tea at night,” said he. “I walk much and drink it till daybreak. +Abroad tea at night is inconvenient.” +</p> +<p> +“You go to bed at daybreak?” +</p> +<p> +“Always; for a long while. I eat little; always tea. Liputin’s sly, but +impatient.” +</p> +<p> +I was surprised at his wanting to talk; I made up my mind to take +advantage of the opportunity. “There were unpleasant misunderstandings +this morning,” I observed. +</p> +<p> +He scowled. +</p> +<p> +“That’s foolishness; that’s great nonsense. All this is nonsense because +Lebyadkin is drunk. I did not tell Liputin, but only explained the +nonsense, because he got it all wrong. Liputin has a great deal of +fantasy, he built up a mountain out of nonsense. I trusted Liputin +yesterday.” +</p> +<p> +“And me to-day?” I said, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“But you see, you knew all about it already this morning; Liputin is +weak or impatient, or malicious or … he’s envious.” +</p> +<p> +The last word struck me. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve mentioned so many adjectives, however, that it would be strange +if one didn’t describe him.” +</p> +<p> +“Or all at once.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and that’s what Liputin really is—he’s a chaos. He was lying this +morning when he said you were writing something, wasn’t he? +</p> +<p> +“Why should he?” he said, scowling again and staring at the floor. +</p> +<p> +I apologised, and began assuring him that I was not inquisitive. He +flushed. +</p> +<p> +“He told the truth; I am writing. Only that’s no matter.” +</p> +<p> +We were silent for a minute. He suddenly smiled with the childlike smile +I had noticed that morning. +</p> +<p> +“He invented that about heads himself out of a book, and told me first +himself, and understands badly. But I only seek the causes why men dare +not kill themselves; that’s all. And it’s all no matter.” +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean they don’t dare? Are there so few suicides?” +</p> +<p> +“Very few.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you really think so?” +</p> +<p> +He made no answer, got up, and began walking to and fro lost in thought. +</p> +<p> +“What is it restrains people from suicide, do you think?” I asked. +</p> +<p> +He looked at me absent-mindedly, as though trying to remember what we +were talking about. +</p> +<p> +“I … I don’t know much yet.… Two prejudices restrain them, two +things; only two, one very little, the other very big.” +</p> +<p> +“What is the little thing?” +</p> +<p> +“Pain.” +</p> +<p> +“Pain? Can that be of importance at such a moment?” +</p> +<p> +“Of the greatest. There are two sorts: those who kill themselves either +from great sorrow or from spite, or being mad, or no matter what … +they do it suddenly. They think little about the pain, but kill +themselves suddenly. But some do it from reason—they think a great +deal.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, are there people who do it from reason?” +</p> +<p> +“Very many. If it were not for superstition there would be more, very +many, all.” +</p> +<p> +“What, all?” +</p> +<p> +He did not answer. +</p> +<p> +“But aren’t there means of dying without pain?” +</p> +<p> +“Imagine”—he stopped before me—“imagine a stone as big as a great +house; it hangs and you are under it; if it falls on you, on your head, +will it hurt you?” +</p> +<p> +“A stone as big as a house? Of course it would be fearful.” +</p> +<p> +“I speak not of the fear. Will it hurt?” +</p> +<p> +“A stone as big as a mountain, weighing millions of tons? Of course it +wouldn’t hurt.” +</p> +<p> +“But really stand there and while it hangs you will fear very much that +it will hurt. The most learned man, the greatest doctor, all, all will +be very much frightened. Every one will know that it won’t hurt, and +every one will be afraid that it will hurt.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, and the second cause, the big one?” +</p> +<p> +“The other world!” +</p> +<p> +“You mean punishment?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s no matter. The other world; only the other world.” +</p> +<p> +“Are there no atheists, such as don’t believe in the other world at +all?” +</p> +<p> +Again he did not answer. +</p> +<p> +“You judge from yourself, perhaps.” +</p> +<p> +“Every one cannot judge except from himself,” he said, reddening. “There +will be full freedom when it will be just the same to live or not to +live. That’s the goal for all.” +</p> +<p> +“The goal? But perhaps no one will care to live then?” +</p> +<p> +“No one,” he pronounced with decision. +</p> +<p> +“Man fears death because he loves life. That’s how I understand it,” I +observed, “and that’s determined by nature.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s abject; and that’s where the deception comes in.” His eyes +flashed. “Life is pain, life is terror, and man is unhappy. Now all is +pain and terror. Now man loves life, because he loves pain and terror, +and so they have done according. Life is given now for pain and terror, +and that’s the deception. Now man is not yet what he will be. There will +be a new man, happy and proud. For whom it will be the same to live or +not to live, he will be the new man. He who will conquer pain and terror +will himself be a god. And this God will not be.” +</p> +<p> +“Then this God does exist according to you?” +</p> +<p> +“He does not exist, but He is. In the stone there is no pain, but in the +fear of the stone is the pain. God is the pain of the fear of death. He +who will conquer pain and terror will become himself a god. Then there +will be a new life, a new man; everything will be new … then they will +divide history into two parts: from the gorilla to the annihilation of +God, and from the annihilation of God to …” +</p> +<p> +“To the gorilla?” +</p> +<p> +“… To the transformation of the earth, and of man physically. Man +will be God, and will be transformed physically, and the world will +be transformed and things will be transformed and thoughts and all +feelings. What do you think: will man be changed physically then?” +</p> +<p> +“If it will be just the same living or not living, all will kill +themselves, and perhaps that’s what the change will be?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s no matter. They will kill deception. Every one who wants the +supreme freedom must dare to kill himself. He who dares to kill himself +has found out the secret of the deception. There is no freedom beyond; +that is all, and there is nothing beyond. He who dares kill himself is +God. Now every one can do so that there shall be no God and shall be +nothing. But no one has once done it yet.” +</p> +<p> +“There have been millions of suicides.” +</p> +<p> +“But always not for that; always with terror and not for that object. +Not to kill fear. He who kills himself only to kill fear will become a +god at once.” +</p> +<p> +“He won’t have time, perhaps,” I observed. +</p> +<p> +“That’s no matter,” he answered softly, with calm pride, almost disdain. +“I’m sorry that you seem to be laughing,” he added half a minute later. +</p> +<p> +“It seems strange to me that you were so irritable this morning and are +now so calm, though you speak with warmth.” +</p> +<p> +“This morning? It was funny this morning,” he answered with a smile. “I +don’t like scolding, and I never laugh,” he added mournfully. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, you don’t spend your nights very cheerfully over your tea.” +</p> +<p> +I got up and took my cap. +</p> +<p> +“You think not?” he smiled with some surprise. “Why? No, I … I don’t +know.” He was suddenly confused. “I know not how it is with the others, +and I feel that I cannot do as others. Everybody thinks and then at once +thinks of something else. I can’t think of something else. I think all +my life of one thing. God has tormented me all my life,” he ended up +suddenly with astonishing expansiveness. +</p> +<p> +“And tell me, if I may ask, why is it you speak Russian not quite +correctly? Surely you haven’t forgotten it after five years abroad?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t I speak correctly? I don’t know. No, it’s not because of abroad. +I have talked like that all my life … it’s no matter to me.” +</p> +<p> +“Another question, a more delicate one. I quite believe you that you’re +disinclined to meet people and talk very little. Why have you talked to +me now?” +</p> +<p> +“To you? This morning you sat so nicely and you … but it’s all no +matter … you are like my brother, very much, extremely,” he added, +flushing. “He has been dead seven years. He was older, very, very much.” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose he had a great influence on your way of thinking?” +</p> +<p> +“N-no. He said little; he said nothing. I’ll give your note.” +</p> +<p> +He saw me to the gate with a lantern, to lock it after me. “Of course +he’s mad,” I decided. In the gateway I met with another encounter. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IX +</p> +<p> +I had only just lifted my leg over the high barrier across the bottom of +the gateway, when suddenly a strong hand clutched at my chest. +</p> +<p> +“Who’s this?” roared a voice, “a friend or an enemy? Own up!” +</p> +<p> +“He’s one of us; one of us!” Liputin’s voice squealed near by. “It’s Mr. +G——v, a young man of classical education, in touch with the highest +society.” +</p> +<p> +“I love him if he’s in society, clas-si … that means he’s high-ly +ed-u-cated. The retired Captain Ignat Lebyadkin, at the service of the +world and his friends … if they’re true ones, if they’re true ones, the +scoundrels.” +</p> +<p> +Captain Lebyadkin, a stout, fleshy man over six feet in height, with +curly hair and a red face, was so extremely drunk that he could scarcely +stand up before me, and articulated with difficulty. I had seen him +before, however, in the distance. +</p> +<p> +“And this one!” he roared again, noticing Kirillov, who was still +standing with the lantern; he raised his fist, but let it fall again at +once. +</p> +<p> +“I forgive you for your learning! Ignat Lebyadkin—high-ly +ed-u-cated.… +</p> +<pre> + ‘A bomb of love with stinging smart + Exploded in Ignaty’s heart. + In anguish dire I weep again + The arm that at Sevastopol + I lost in bitter pain!’ +</pre> +<p> +Not that I ever was at Sevastopol, or ever lost my arm, but you know +what rhyme is.” He pushed up to me with his ugly, tipsy face. +</p> +<p> +“He is in a hurry, he is going home!” Liputin tried to persuade him. +“He’ll tell Lizaveta Nikolaevna to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“Lizaveta!” he yelled again. “Stay, don’t go! +A variation: +</p> +<pre> + ‘Among the Amazons a star, + Upon her steed she flashes by, + And smiles upon me from afar, + The child of aris-to-cra-cy!’ + To a Starry Amazon. +</pre> +<p> +You know that’s a hymn. It’s a hymn, if you’re not an ass! The duffers, +they don’t understand! Stay!” +</p> +<p> +He caught hold of my coat, though I pulled myself away with all my +might. +</p> +<p> +“Tell her I’m a knight and the soul of honour, and as for that Dasha … +I’d pick her up and chuck her out.… She’s only a serf, she daren’t …” +</p> +<p> +At this point he fell down, for I pulled myself violently out of his +hands and ran into the street. Liputin clung on to me. +</p> +<p> +“Alexey Nilitch will pick him up. Do you know what I’ve just found out +from him?” he babbled in desperate haste. “Did you hear his verses? He’s +sealed those verses to the ‘Starry Amazon’ in an envelope and is going +to send them to-morrow to Lizaveta Nikolaevna, signed with his name in +full. What a fellow!” +</p> +<p> +“I bet you suggested it to him yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ll lose your bet,” laughed Liputin. “He’s in love, in love like a +cat, and do you know it began with hatred. He hated Lizaveta Nikolaevna +at first so much, for riding on horseback that he almost swore aloud at +her in the street. Yes, he did abuse her! Only the day before yesterday +he swore at her when she rode by—luckily she didn’t hear. And, +suddenly, to-day—poetry! Do you know he means to risk a proposal? +Seriously! Seriously!” +</p> +<p> +“I wonder at you, Liputin; whenever there’s anything nasty going on +you’re always on the spot taking a leading part in it,” I said angrily. +</p> +<p> +“You’re going rather far, Mr. G——v. Isn’t your poor little +heart quaking, perhaps, in terror of a rival?” +</p> +<p> +“Wha-at!” I cried, standing still. +</p> +<p> +“Well, now to punish you I won’t say anything more, and wouldn’t you +like to know though? Take this alone, that that lout is not a simple +captain now but a landowner of our province, and rather an important +one, too, for Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sold him all his estate the other +day, formerly of two hundred serfs; and as God’s above, I’m not lying. +I’ve only just heard it, but it was from a most reliable source. And now +you can ferret it out for yourself; I’ll say nothing more; good-bye.” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +X +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch was awaiting me with hysterical impatience. It +was an hour since he had returned. I found him in a state resembling +intoxication; for the first five minutes at least I thought he was +drunk. Alas, the visit to the Drozdovs had been the finishing-stroke. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Mon ami!</i> I have completely lost the thread … Lise … I love and +respect that angel as before; just as before; but it seems to me they +both asked me simply to find out something from me, that is more simply +to get something out of me, and then to get rid of me.… That’s how it +is.” +</p> +<p> +“You ought to be ashamed!” I couldn’t help exclaiming. +</p> +<p> +“My friend, now I +am utterly alone. <i>Enfin, c’est ridicule.</i> Would you believe it, the place +is positively packed with mysteries there too. They simply flew at me +about those ears and noses, and some mysteries in Petersburg too. You +know they hadn’t heard till they came about the tricks Nicolas played +here four years ago. ‘You were here, you saw it, is it true that he is +mad?’ Where they got the idea I can’t make out. Why is it that Praskovya +is so anxious Nicolas should be mad? The woman will have it so, she +will. <i>Ce Maurice,</i> or what’s his name, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, <i>brave homme +tout de même … </i> but can it be for his sake, and after she wrote herself +from Paris to <i>cette pauvre amie?… Enfin,</i> this Praskovya, as <i>cette +chère amie</i> calls her, is a type. She’s Gogol’s Madame Box, of immortal +memory, only she’s a spiteful Madame Box, a malignant Box, and in an +immensely exaggerated form.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s making her out a regular packing-case if it’s an exaggerated +form.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, perhaps it’s the opposite; it’s all the same, only don’t +interrupt me, for I’m all in a whirl. They are all at loggerheads, +except Lise, she keeps on with her ‘Auntie, auntie!’ but Lise’s sly, and +there’s something behind it too. Secrets. She has quarrelled with the +old lady. <i>Cette pauvre</i> auntie tyrannises over every one it’s true, and +then there’s the governor’s wife, and the rudeness of local society, and +Karmazinov’s ‘rudeness’; and then this idea of madness, <i>ce Lipoutine, +ce que je ne comprends pas</i> … and … and they say she’s been putting +vinegar on her head, and here are we with our complaints and +letters.… Oh, how I have tormented her and at such a time! <i>Je suis un +ingrat!</i> Only imagine, I come back and find a letter from her; read it, +read it! Oh, how ungrateful it was of me!” +</p> +<p> +He gave me a letter he had just received from Varvara Petrovna. She +seemed to have repented of her “stay at home.” The letter was amiable +but decided in tone, and brief. She invited Stepan Trofimovitch to come +to her the day after to-morrow, which was Sunday, at twelve o’clock, and +advised him to bring one of his friends with him. (My name was mentioned +in parenthesis). She promised on her side to invite Shatov, as the +brother of Darya Pavlovna. “You can obtain a final answer from her: will +that be enough for you? Is this the formality you were so anxious for?” +</p> +<p> +“Observe that irritable phrase about formality. Poor thing, poor thing, +the friend of my whole life! I confess the sudden determination of my +whole future almost crushed me.… I confess I still had hopes, but now +<i>tout est dit.</i> I know now that all is over. <i>C’est terrible!</i> Oh, that +that Sunday would never come and everything would go on in the old way. +You would have gone on coming and I’d have gone on here.…” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve been upset by all those nasty things Liputin said, those +slanders.” +</p> +<p> +“My dear, you have touched on another sore spot with your friendly +finger. Such friendly fingers are generally merciless and sometimes +unreasonable; <i>pardon,</i> you may not believe it, but I’d almost forgotten +all that, all that nastiness, not that I forgot it, indeed, but in +my foolishness I tried all the while I was with Lise to be happy and +persuaded myself I was happy. But now … Oh, now I’m thinking of +that generous, humane woman, so long-suffering with my contemptible +failings—not that she’s been altogether long-suffering, but what have +I been with my horrid, worthless character! I’m a capricious child, with +all the egoism of a child and none of the innocence. For the last twenty +years she’s been looking after me like a nurse, <i>cette pauvre</i> auntie, as +Lise so charmingly calls her.… And now, after twenty years, the child +clamours to be married, sending letter after letter, while her head’s +in a vinegar-compress and … now he’s got it—on Sunday I shall be a +married man, that’s no joke.… And why did I keep insisting myself, +what did I write those letters for? Oh, I forgot. Lise idolizes Darya +Pavlovna, she says so anyway; she says of her ‘<i>c’est un ange,</i> only +rather a reserved one.’ They both advised me, even Praskovya. … +Praskovya didn’t advise me though. Oh, what venom lies concealed in +that ‘Box’! And Lise didn’t exactly advise me: ‘What do you want to get +married for,’ she said, ‘your intellectual pleasures ought to be enough +for you.’ She laughed. I forgive her for laughing, for there’s an ache +in her own heart. You can’t get on without a woman though, they said to +me. The infirmities of age are coming upon you, and she will tuck you +up, or whatever it is.… <i>Ma foi,</i> I’ve been thinking myself all this +time I’ve been sitting with you that Providence was sending her to me +in the decline of my stormy years and that she would tuck me up, or +whatever they call it … <i>enfin,</i> she’ll be handy for the housekeeping. +See what a litter there is, look how everything’s lying about. I said it +must be cleared up this morning, and look at the book on the floor! <i>La +pauvre amie</i> was always angry at the untidiness here. … Ah, now I shall +no longer hear her voice! <i>Vingt ans!</i> And it seems they’ve had anonymous +letters. Only fancy, it’s said that Nicolas has sold Lebyadkin his +property. <i>C’est un monstre; et enfin</i> what is Lebyadkin? Lise listens, +and listens, ooh, how she listens! I forgave her laughing. I saw her +face as she listened, and <i>ce Maurice </i>… I shouldn’t care to be in his +shoes now, <i>brave homme tout de même,</i> but rather shy; but never mind +him.…” +</p> +<p> +He paused. He was tired and upset, and sat with drooping head, staring +at the floor with his tired eyes. I took advantage of the interval to +tell him of my visit to Filipov’s house, and curtly and dryly expressed +my opinion that Lebyadkin’s sister (whom I had never seen) really +might have been somehow victimised by Nicolas at some time during that +mysterious period of his life, as Liputin had called it, and that it +was very possible that Lebyadkin received sums of money from Nicolas for +some reason, but that was all. As for the scandal about Darya Pavlovna, +that was all nonsense, all that brute Liputin’s misrepresentations, that +this was anyway what Alexey Nilitch warmly maintained, and we had +no grounds for disbelieving him. Stepan Trofimovitch listened to my +assurances with an absent air, as though they did not concern him. I +mentioned by the way my conversation with Kirillov, and added that he +might be mad. +</p> +<p> +“He’s not mad, but one of those shallow-minded people,” he mumbled +listlessly. “<i>Ces gens-là supposent la nature et la societé humaine +autres que Dieu ne les a faites et qu’elles ne sont réellement.</i> People +try to make up to them, but Stepan Verhovensky does not, anyway. I saw +them that time in Petersburg <i>avec cette chère amie</i> (oh, how I used to +wound her then), and I wasn’t afraid of their abuse or even of their +praise. I’m not afraid now either. <i>Mais parlons d’autre chose.</i>… +I believe I have done dreadful things. Only fancy, I sent a letter +yesterday to Darya Pavlovna and … how I curse myself for it!” +</p> +<p> +“What did you write about?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, my friend, believe me, it was all done in a noble spirit. I let +her know that I had written to Nicolas five days before, also in a noble +spirit.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand now!” I cried with heat. “And what right had you to couple +their names like that?” +</p> +<p> +“But, <i>mon cher,</i> don’t crush me completely, don’t shout at me; as it is +I’m utterly squashed like … a black-beetle. And, after all, I thought +it was all so honourable. Suppose that something really happened … +<i>en Suisse</i> … or was beginning. I was bound to question their hearts +beforehand that I … <i>enfin,</i> that I might not constrain their hearts, +and be a stumbling-block in their paths. I acted simply from honourable +feeling.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, heavens! What a stupid thing you’ve done!” I cried involuntarily. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes,” he assented with positive eagerness. “You have never said +anything more just, <i>c’était bête, mais que faire? Tout est dit.</i> I shall +marry her just the same even if it be to cover ‘another’s sins.’ So +there was no object in writing, was there?” +</p> +<p> +“You’re at that idea again!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you won’t frighten me with your shouts now. You see a different +Stepan Verhovensky before you now. The man I was is buried. <i>Enfin, +tout est dit.</i> And why do you cry out? Simply because you’re not getting +married, and you won’t have to wear a certain decoration on your head. +Does that shock you again? My poor friend, you don’t know woman, while +I have done nothing but study her. ‘If you want to conquer the world, +conquer yourself’—the one good thing that another romantic like you, my +bride’s brother, Shatov, has succeeded in saying. I would gladly borrow +from him his phrase. Well, here I am ready to conquer myself, and I’m +getting married. And what am I conquering by way of the whole world? +Oh, my friend, marriage is the moral death of every proud soul, of all +independence. Married life will corrupt me, it will sap my energy, my +courage in the service of the cause. Children will come, probably not my +own either—certainly not my own: a wise man is not afraid to face the +truth. Liputin proposed this morning putting up barricades to keep out +Nicolas; Liputin’s a fool. A woman would deceive the all-seeing eye +itself. <i>Le bon Dieu</i> knew what He was in for when He was creating woman, +but I’m sure that she meddled in it herself and forced Him to create her +such as she is … and with such attributes: for who would have incurred +so much trouble for nothing? I know Nastasya may be angry with me for +free-thinking, but … <i>enfin, tout est dit.</i>” +</p> +<p> +He wouldn’t have been himself if he could have dispensed with the cheap +gibing free-thought which was in vogue in his day. Now, at any rate, he +comforted himself with a gibe, but not for long. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, if that day after to-morrow, that Sunday, might never come!” he +exclaimed suddenly, this time in utter despair. “Why could not this +one week be without a Sunday—<i>si le miracle existe</i>? What would it be to +Providence to blot out one Sunday from the calendar? If only to prove +His power to the atheists <i>et que tout soit dit!</i> Oh, how I loved her! +Twenty years, these twenty years, and she has never understood me!” +</p> +<p> +“But of whom are you talking? Even I don’t understand you!” I asked, +wondering. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Vingt ans!</i> And she has not once understood me; oh, it’s cruel! And can +she really believe that I am marrying from fear, from poverty? Oh, the +shame of it! Oh, Auntie, Auntie, I do it for you!… Oh, let her know, +that Auntie, that she is the one woman I have adored for twenty years! +She must learn this, it must be so, if not they will need force to drag +me under <i>ce qu’on appelle le</i> wedding-crown.” +</p> +<p> +It was the first time I had heard this confession, and so vigorously +uttered. I won’t conceal the fact that I was terribly tempted to laugh. +I was wrong. +</p> +<p> +“He is the only one left me now, the only one, my one hope!” he cried +suddenly, clasping his hands as though struck by a new idea. “Only he, +my poor boy, can save me now, and, oh, why doesn’t he come! Oh, my son, +oh, my Petrusha.… And though I do not deserve the name of father, +but rather that of tiger, yet … <i>Laissez-moi, mon ami,</i> I’ll lie down a +little, to collect my ideas. I am so tired, so tired. And I think it’s +time you were in bed. <i>Voyez vous,</i> it’s twelve o’clock.…” +</p> +<a id="H2CH0004"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE CRIPPLE +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +SHATOV WAS NOT PERVERSE but acted on my note, and called at midday on +Lizaveta Nikolaevna. We went in almost together; I was also going to +make my first call. They were all, that is Liza, her mother, and Mavriky +Nikolaevitch, sitting in the big drawing-room, arguing. The mother was +asking Liza to play some waltz on the piano, and as soon as Liza began +to play the piece asked for, declared it was not the right one. +Mavriky Nikolaevitch in the simplicity of his heart took Liza’s part, +maintaining that it was the right waltz. The elder lady was so angry +that she began to cry. She was ill and walked with difficulty. Her +legs were swollen, and for the last few days she had been continually +fractious, quarrelling with every one, though she always stood rather +in awe of Liza. They were pleased to see us. Liza flushed with pleasure, +and saying <i>“merci”</i> to me, on Shatov’s account of course, went to meet +him, looking at him with interest. +</p> +<p> +Shatov stopped awkwardly in the doorway. Thanking him for coming she led +him up to her mother. +</p> +<p> +“This is Mr. Shatov, of whom I have told you, and this is Mr. G——v, a +great friend of mine and of Stepan Trofimovitch’s. Mavriky Nikolaevitch +made his acquaintance yesterday, too.” +</p> +<p> +“And which is the professor?” +</p> +<p> +“There’s no professor at all, maman.” +</p> +<p> +“But there is. You said yourself that there’d be a professor. It’s this +one, probably.” She disdainfully indicated Shatov. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t tell you that there’d be a professor. Mr. G——v is +in the service, and Mr. Shatov is a former student.” +</p> +<p> +“A student or professor, they all come from the university just the +same. You only want to argue. But the Swiss one had moustaches and a +beard.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s the son of Stepan Trofimovitch that maman always calls the +professor,” said Liza, and she took Shatov away to the sofa at the other +end of the drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +“When her legs swell, she’s always like this, you understand she’s +ill,” she whispered to Shatov, still with the same marked curiosity, +scrutinising him, especially his shock of hair. +</p> +<p> +“Are you an officer?” the old lady inquired of me. Liza had mercilessly +abandoned me to her. +</p> +<p> +“N-no.—I’m in the service.…” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. G——v is a great friend of Stepan Trofimovitch’s,” Liza chimed in +immediately. +</p> +<p> +“Are you in Stepan Trofimovitch’s service? Yes, and he’s a professor, +too, isn’t he?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, maman, you must dream at night of professors,” cried Liza with +annoyance. +</p> +<p> +“I see too many when I’m awake. But you always will contradict your +mother. Were you here four years ago when Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was in +the neighbourhood?” +</p> +<p> +I answered that I was. +</p> +<p> +“And there was some Englishman with you?” +</p> +<p> +“No, there was not.” +</p> +<p> +Liza laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Well, you see there was no Englishman, so it must have been idle +gossip. And Varvara Petrovna and Stepan Trofimovitch both tell lies. And +they all tell lies.” +</p> +<p> +“Auntie and Stepan Trofimovitch yesterday thought there was a +resemblance between Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch and Prince Harry in +Shakespeare’s <i>Henry IV</i>, and in answer to that maman says that there was +no Englishman here,” Liza explained to us. +</p> +<p> +“If Harry wasn’t here, there was no Englishman. It was no one else but +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch at his tricks.” +</p> +<p> +“I assure you that maman’s doing it on purpose,” Liza thought necessary +to explain to Shatov. “She’s really heard of Shakespeare. I read her the +first act of <i>Othello</i> myself. But she’s in great pain now. Maman, listen, +it’s striking twelve, it’s time you took your medicine.” +</p> +<p> +“The doctor’s come,” a maid-servant announced at the door. +</p> +<p> +The old lady got up and began calling her dog: “Zemirka, Zemirka, you +come with me at least.” +</p> +<p> +Zemirka, a horrid little old dog, instead of obeying, crept under the +sofa where Liza was sitting. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t you want to? Then I don’t want you. Good-bye, my good sir, I +don’t know your name or your father’s,” she said, addressing me. +</p> +<p> +“Anton Lavrentyevitch …” +</p> +<p> +“Well, it doesn’t matter, with me it goes in at one ear and out of the +other. Don’t you come with me, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, it was Zemirka I +called. Thank God I can still walk without help and to-morrow I shall go +for a drive.” +</p> +<p> +She walked angrily out of the drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +“Anton Lavrentyevitch, will you talk meanwhile to Mavriky Nikolaevitch; +I assure you you’ll both be gainers by getting to know one another +better,” said Liza, and she gave a friendly smile to Mavriky +Nikolaevitch, who beamed all over as she looked at him. There was no +help for it, I remained to talk to Mavriky Nikolaevitch. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +Lizaveta Nikolaevna’s business with Shatov turned out, to my surprise, +to be really only concerned with literature. I had imagined, I don’t +know why, that she had asked him to come with some other object. We, +Mavriky Nikolaevitch and I that is, seeing that they were talking aloud +and not trying to hide anything from us, began to listen, and at last +they asked our advice. It turned out that Lizaveta Nikolaevna was +thinking of bringing out a book which she thought would be of use, +but being quite inexperienced she needed someone to help her. The +earnestness with which she began to explain her plan to Shatov quite +surprised me. +</p> +<p> +“She must be one of the new people,” I thought. “She has not been to +Switzerland for nothing.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov listened with attention, his eyes fixed on the ground, showing +not the slightest surprise that a giddy young lady in society should +take up work that seemed so out of keeping with her. +</p> +<p> +Her literary scheme was as follows. Numbers of papers and journals are +published in the capitals and the provinces of Russia, and every day a +number of events are reported in them. The year passes, the newspapers +are everywhere folded up and put away in cupboards, or are torn up +and become litter, or are used for making parcels or wrapping things. +Numbers of these facts make an impression and are remembered by the +public, but in the course of years they are forgotten. Many people would +like to look them up, but it is a labour for them to embark upon this +sea of paper, often knowing nothing of the day or place or even year in +which the incident occurred. Yet if all the facts for a whole year were +brought together into one book, on a definite plan, and with a definite +object, under headings with references, arranged according to months and +days, such a compilation might reflect the characteristics of Russian +life for the whole year, even though the facts published are only a +small fraction of the events that take place. +</p> +<p> +“Instead of a number of newspapers there would be a few fat books, +that’s all,” observed Shatov. +</p> +<p> +But Lizaveta Nikolaevna clung to her idea, in spite of the difficulty +of carrying it out and her inability to describe it. “It ought to be +one book, and not even a very thick one,” she maintained. But even if it +were thick it would be clear, for the great point would be the plan and +the character of the presentation of facts. Of course not all would +be collected and reprinted. The decrees and acts of government, +local regulations, laws—all such facts, however important, might be +altogether omitted from the proposed publication. They could leave out a +great deal and confine themselves to a selection of events more or +less characteristic of the moral life of the people, of the personal +character of the Russian people at the present moment. Of course +everything might be put in: strange incidents, fires, public +subscriptions, anything good or bad, every speech or word, perhaps even +floodings of the rivers, perhaps even some government decrees, but +only such things to be selected as are characteristic of the period; +everything would be put in with a certain view, a special significance +and intention, with an idea which would illuminate the facts looked +at in the aggregate, as a whole. And finally the book ought to be +interesting even for light reading, apart from its value as a work of +reference. It would be, so to say, a presentation of the spiritual, +moral, inner life of Russia for a whole year. +</p> +<p> +“We want every one to buy it, we want it to be a book that will be found +on every table,” Liza declared. “I understand that all lies in the plan, +and that’s why I apply to you,” she concluded. She grew very warm over +it, and although her explanation was obscure and incomplete, Shatov +began to understand. +</p> +<p> +“So it would amount to something with a political tendency, a selection +of facts with a special tendency,” he muttered, still not raising his +head. +</p> +<p> +“Not at all, we must not select with a particular bias, and we ought +not to have any political tendency in it. Nothing but impartiality—that +will be the only tendency.” +</p> +<p> +“But a tendency would be no harm,” said Shatov, with a slight movement, +“and one can hardly avoid it if there is any selection at all. The very +selection of facts will suggest how they are to be understood. Your idea +is not a bad one.” +</p> +<p> +“Then such a book is possible?” cried Liza delightedly. +</p> +<p> +“We must look into it and consider. It’s an immense undertaking. One +can’t work it out on the spur of the moment. We need experience. And +when we do publish the book I doubt whether we shall find out how to +do it. Possibly after many trials; but the thought is alluring. It’s a +useful idea.” +</p> +<p> +He raised his eyes at last, and they were positively sparkling with +pleasure, he was so interested. +</p> +<p> +“Was it your own idea?” he asked Liza, in a friendly and, as it were, +bashful way. +</p> +<p> +“The idea’s no trouble, you know, it’s the plan is the trouble,” Liza +smiled. “I understand very little. I am not very clever, and I only +pursue what is clear to me, myself.…” +</p> +<p> +“Pursue?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps that’s not the right word?” Liza inquired quickly. +</p> +<p> +“The word is all right; I meant nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“I thought while I was abroad that even I might be of some use. I have +money of my own lying idle. Why shouldn’t I—even I—work for the common +cause? Besides, the idea somehow occurred to me all at once of itself. +I didn’t invent it at all, and was delighted with it. But I saw at +once that I couldn’t get on without someone to help, because I am not +competent to do anything of myself. My helper, of course, would be the +co-editor of the book. We would go halves. You would give the plan and +the work. Mine would be the original idea and the means for publishing +it. Would the book pay its expenses, do you think?” +</p> +<p> +“If we hit on a good plan the book will go.” +</p> +<p> +“I warn you that I am not doing it for profit; but I am very anxious +that the book should circulate and should be very proud of making a +profit.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, but how do I come in?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, I invite you to be my fellow-worker, to go halves. You will think +out the plan.” +</p> +<p> +“How do you know that I am capable of thinking out the plan?” +</p> +<p> +“People have talked about you to me, and here I’ve heard +… I know that you are very clever and … are working for the cause … +and think a great deal. Pyotr Stepanovitch Verhovensky spoke about you +in Switzerland,” she added hurriedly. “He’s a very clever man, isn’t +he?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov stole a fleeting, momentary glance at her, but dropped his eyes +again. +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch told me a great deal about you, too.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov suddenly turned red. +</p> +<p> +“But here are the newspapers.” Liza hurriedly picked up from a chair +a bundle of newspapers that lay tied up ready. “I’ve tried to mark +the facts here for selection, to sort them, and I have put the papers +together … you will see.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov took the bundle. +</p> +<p> +“Take them home and look at them. Where do you live?” +</p> +<p> +“In Bogoyavlensky Street, Filipov’s house.” +</p> +<p> +“I know. I think it’s there, too, I’ve been told, a captain lives, +beside you, Mr. Lebyadkin,” said Liza in the same hurried manner. +</p> +<p> +Shatov sat for a full minute with the bundle in his outstretched hand, +making no answer and staring at the floor. +</p> +<p> +“You’d better find someone else for these jobs. I shouldn’t suit you at +all,” he brought out at last, dropping his voice in an awfully strange +way, almost to a whisper. +</p> +<p> +Liza flushed crimson. +</p> +<p> +“What jobs are you speaking of? Mavriky Nikolaevitch,” she cried, +“please bring that letter here.” +</p> +<p> +I too followed Mavriky Nikolaevitch to the table. +</p> +<p> +“Look at this,” she turned suddenly to me, unfolding the letter in great +excitement. “Have you ever seen anything like it. Please read it aloud. +I want Mr. Shatov to hear it too.” +</p> +<p> +With no little astonishment I read aloud the following missive: +</p> +<pre> + “To the Perfection, Miss Tushin. +</pre> +<pre> +“Gracious Lady + “Lizaveta Nikolaevna! + + “Oh, she’s a sweet queen, + Lizaveta Tushin! + When on side-saddle she gallops by, + And in the breeze her fair tresses fly! + Or when with her mother in church she bows low + And on devout faces a red flush doth flow! + Then for the joys of lawful wedlock I aspire, + And follow her and her mother with tears of desire. + +“Composed by an unlearned man in the midst of a discussion. + +“Gracious Lady! + + “I pity myself above all men that I did not lose my arm at Sevastopol, +not having been there at all, but served all the campaign delivering +paltry provisions, which I look on as a degradation. You are a goddess +of antiquity, and I am nothing, but have had a glimpse of infinity. +Look on it as a poem and no more, for, after all, poetry is nonsense and +justifies what would be considered impudence in prose. Can the sun be +angry with the infusoria if the latter composes verses to her from the +drop of water, where there is a multitude of them if you look through +the microscope? Even the club for promoting humanity to the larger +animals in tip-top society in Petersburg, which rightly feels compassion +for dogs and horses, despises the brief infusoria making no reference +to it whatever, because it is not big enough. I’m not big enough either. +The idea of marriage might seem droll, but soon I shall have property +worth two hundred souls through a misanthropist whom you ought to +despise. I can tell a lot and I can undertake to produce documents +that would mean Siberia. Don’t despise my proposal. A letter from an +infusoria is of course in verse. + + “Captain Lebyadkin your most humble friend. + And he has time no end.” +</pre> +<p> +“That was written by a man in a drunken condition, a worthless fellow,” +I cried indignantly. “I know him.” +</p> +<p> +“That letter I received yesterday,” Liza began to explain, flushing +and speaking hurriedly. “I saw myself, at once, that it came from some +foolish creature, and I haven’t yet shown it to maman, for fear of +upsetting her more. But if he is going to keep on like that, I don’t +know how to act. Mavriky Nikolaevitch wants to go out and forbid him to +do it. As I have looked upon you as a colleague,” she turned to Shatov, +“and as you live there, I wanted to question you so as to judge what +more is to be expected of him.” +</p> +<p> +“He’s a drunkard and a worthless fellow,” Shatov muttered with apparent +reluctance. +</p> +<p> +“Is he always so stupid?” +</p> +<p> +“No, he’s not stupid at all when he’s not drunk.” +</p> +<p> +“I used to know a general who wrote verses exactly like that,” I +observed, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“One can see from the letter that he is clever enough for his own +purposes,” Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who had till then been silent, put in +unexpectedly. +</p> +<p> +“He lives with some sister?” Liza queried. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, with his sister.” +</p> +<p> +“They say he tyrannises over her, is that true?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov looked at Liza again, scowled, and muttering, “What business is +it of mine?” moved towards the door. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, stay!” cried Liza, in a flutter. “Where are you going? We have so +much still to talk over.…” +</p> +<p> +“What is there to talk over? I’ll let you know to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, the most important thing of all—the printing-press! Do believe me +that I am not in jest, that I really want to work in good earnest!” Liza +assured him in growing agitation. “If we decide to publish it, where is +it to be printed? You know it’s a most important question, for we shan’t +go to Moscow for it, and the printing-press here is out of the +question for such a publication. I made up my mind long ago to set up +a printing-press of my own, in your name perhaps—and I know maman will +allow it so long as it is in your name.…” +</p> +<p> +“How do you know that I could be a printer?” Shatov asked sullenly. +</p> +<p> +“Why, Pyotr Stepanovitch told me of you in Switzerland, and referred +me to you as one who knows the business and able to set up a +printing-press. He even meant to give me a note to you from himself, but +I forgot it.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov’s face changed, as I recollect now. He stood for a few seconds +longer, then went out of the room. +</p> +<p> +Liza was angry. +</p> +<p> +“Does he always go out like that?” she asked, turning to me. +</p> +<p> +I was just shrugging my shoulders when Shatov suddenly came back, went +straight up to the table and put down the roll of papers he had taken. +</p> +<p> +“I’m not going to be your helper, I haven’t the time.…” +</p> +<p> +“Why? Why? I think you are angry!” Liza asked him in a grieved and +imploring voice. +</p> +<p> +The sound of her voice seemed to strike him; for some moments he looked +at her intently, as though trying to penetrate to her very soul. +</p> +<p> +“No matter,” he muttered, softly, “I don’t want to.…” +</p> +<p> +And he went away altogether. +</p> +<p> +Liza was completely overwhelmed, quite disproportionately in fact, so it +seemed to me. +</p> +<p> +“Wonderfully queer man,” Mavriky Nikolaevitch observed aloud. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +He certainly was queer, but in all this there was a very great deal not +clear to me. There was something underlying it all. I simply did not +believe in this publication; then that stupid letter, in which there +was an offer, only too barefaced, to give information and produce +“documents,” though they were all silent about that, and talked of +something quite different; finally that printing-press and Shatov’s +sudden exit, just because they spoke of a printing-press. All this led +me to imagine that something had happened before I came in of which I +knew nothing; and, consequently, that it was no business of mine and +that I was in the way. And, indeed, it was time to take leave, I had +stayed long enough for the first call. I went up to say good-bye to +Lizaveta Nikolaevna. +</p> +<p> +She seemed to have forgotten that I was in the room, and was still +standing in the same place by the table with her head bowed, plunged in +thought, gazing fixedly at one spot on the carpet. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, you, too, are going, good-bye,” she murmured in an ordinary +friendly tone. “Give my greetings to Stepan Trofimovitch, and persuade +him to come and see me as soon as he can. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, Anton +Lavrentyevitch is going. Excuse maman’s not being able to come out and +say good-bye to you.…” +</p> +<p> +I went out and had reached the bottom of the stairs when a footman +suddenly overtook me at the street door. +</p> +<p> +“My lady begs you to come back.…” +</p> +<p> +“The mistress, or Lizaveta Nikolaevna?” +</p> +<p> +“The young lady.” +</p> +<p> +I found Liza not in the big room where we had been sitting, but in the +reception-room next to it. The door between it and the drawing-room, +where Mavriky Nikolaevitch was left alone, was closed. +</p> +<p> +Liza smiled to me but was pale. She was standing in the middle of the +room in evident indecision, visibly struggling with herself; but she +suddenly took me by the hand, and led me quickly to the window. +</p> +<p> +“I want to see <i>her</i> at once,” she whispered, bending upon me a +burning, passionate, impatient glance, which would not admit a hint of +opposition. “I must see her with my own eyes, and I beg you to help +me.” +</p> +<p> +She was in a perfect frenzy, and—in despair. +</p> +<p> +“Who is it you want to see, Lizaveta Nikolaevna?” I inquired in dismay. +</p> +<p> +“That Lebyadkin’s sister, that lame girl.… Is it true that she’s +lame?” +</p> +<p> +I was astounded. +</p> +<p> +“I have never seen her, but I’ve heard that she’s lame. I heard it +yesterday,” I said with hurried readiness, and also in a whisper. +</p> +<p> +“I must see her, absolutely. Could you arrange it to-day?” +</p> +<p> +I felt dreadfully sorry for her. +</p> +<p> +“That’s utterly impossible, and, besides, I should not know at all how +to set about it,” I began persuading her. “I’ll go to Shatov.…” +</p> +<p> +“If you don’t arrange it by to-morrow I’ll go to her by myself, alone, +for Mavriky Nikolaevitch has refused. I rest all my hopes on you and +I’ve no one else; I spoke stupidly to Shatov.… I’m sure that you are +perfectly honest and perhaps ready to do anything for me, only arrange +it.” +</p> +<p> +I felt a passionate desire to help her in every way. +</p> +<p> +“This is what I’ll do,” I said, after a moment’s thought. “I’ll go +myself to-day and will see her for sure, for sure. I will manage so +as to see her. I give you my word of honour. Only let me confide in +Shatov.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell him that I do desire it, and that I can’t wait any longer, but +that I wasn’t deceiving him just now. He went away perhaps because +he’s very honest and he didn’t like my seeming to deceive him. I +wasn’t deceiving him, I really do want to edit books and found a +printing-press.…” +</p> +<p> +“He is honest, very honest,” I assented warmly. +</p> +<p> +“If it’s not arranged by to-morrow, though, I shall go myself whatever +happens, and even if every one were to know.” +</p> +<p> +“I can’t be with you before three o’clock to-morrow,” I observed, after +a moment’s deliberation. +</p> +<p> +“At three o’clock then. Then it was true what I imagined yesterday at +Stepan Trofimovitch’s, that you—are rather devoted to me?” she said +with a smile, hurriedly pressing my hand to say good-bye, and hurrying +back to the forsaken Mavriky Nikolaevitch. +</p> +<p> +I went out weighed down by my promise, and unable to understand what +had happened. I had seen a woman in real despair, not hesitating to +compromise herself by confiding in a man she hardly knew. Her womanly +smile at a moment so terrible for her and her hint that she had noticed +my feelings the day before sent a pang to my heart; but I felt sorry +for her, very sorry—that was all! Her secrets became at once something +sacred for me, and if anyone had begun to reveal them to me now, I think +I should have covered my ears, and should have refused to hear anything +more. I only had a presentiment of something … yet I was utterly at +a loss to see how I could do anything. What’s more I did not even yet +understand exactly what I had to arrange; an interview, but what sort +of an interview? And how could I bring them together? My only hope was +Shatov, though I could be sure that he wouldn’t help me in any way. But +all the same, I hurried to him. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +I did not find him at home till past seven o’clock that evening. To my +surprise he had visitors with him—Alexey Nilitch, and another gentleman +I hardly knew, one Shigalov, the brother of Virginsky’s wife. +</p> +<p> +This gentleman must, I think, have been staying about two months in +the town; I don’t know where he came from. I had only heard that he +had written some sort of article in a progressive Petersburg magazine. +Virginsky had introduced me casually to him in the street. I had +never in my life seen in a man’s face so much despondency, gloom, and +moroseness. He looked as though he were expecting the destruction of the +world, and not at some indefinite time in accordance with prophecies, +which might never be fulfilled, but quite definitely, as though it were +to be the day after to-morrow at twenty-five minutes past ten. We hardly +said a word to one another on that occasion, but had simply shaken hands +like two conspirators. I was most struck by his ears, which were of +unnatural size, long, broad, and thick, sticking out in a peculiar way. +His gestures were slow and awkward. +</p> +<p> +If Liputin had imagined that a phalanstery might be established in our +province, this gentleman certainly knew the day and the hour when it +would be founded. He made a sinister impression on me. I was the more +surprised at finding him here, as Shatov was not fond of visitors. +</p> +<p> +I could hear from the stairs that they were talking very loud, all three +at once, and I fancy they were disputing; but as soon as I went in, they +all ceased speaking. They were arguing, standing up, but now they all +suddenly sat down, so that I had to sit down too. There was a stupid +silence that was not broken for fully three minutes. Though Shigalov +knew me, he affected not to know me, probably not from hostile feelings, +but for no particular reason. Alexey Nilitch and I bowed to one another +in silence, and for some reason did not shake hands. Shigalov began at +last looking at me sternly and frowningly, with the most naïve assurance +that I should immediately get up and go away. At last Shatov got up from +his chair and the others jumped up at once. They went out without saying +good-bye. Shigalov only said in the doorway to Shatov, who was seeing +him out: +</p> +<p> +“Remember that you are bound to give an explanation.” +</p> +<p> +“Hang your explanation, and who the devil am I bound to?” said Shatov. +He showed them out and fastened the door with the latch. +</p> +<p> +“Snipes!” he said, looking at me, with a sort of wry smile. +</p> +<p> +His face looked angry, and it seemed strange to me that he spoke first. +When I had been to see him before (which was not often) it had usually +happened that he sat scowling in a corner, answered ill-humouredly +and only completely thawed and began to talk with pleasure after a +considerable time. Even so, when he was saying good-bye he always +scowled, and let one out as though he were getting rid of a personal +enemy. +</p> +<p> +“I had tea yesterday with that Alexey Nilitch,” I observed. “I think +he’s mad on atheism.” +</p> +<p> +“Russian atheism has never gone further than making a joke,” growled +Shatov, putting up a new candle in place of an end that had burnt out. +</p> +<p> +“No, this one doesn’t seem to me a joker, I think he doesn’t know how to +talk, let alone trying to make jokes.” +</p> +<p> +“Men made of paper! It all comes from flunkeyism of thought,” Shatov +observed calmly, sitting down on a chair in the corner, and pressing the +palms of both hands on his knees. +</p> +<p> +“There’s hatred in it, too,” he went on, after a minute’s pause. +“They’d be the first to be terribly unhappy if Russia could be suddenly +reformed, even to suit their own ideas, and became extraordinarily +prosperous and happy. They’d have no one to hate then, no one to curse, +nothing to find fault with. There is nothing in it but an immense animal +hatred for Russia which has eaten into their organism.… And it isn’t +a case of tears unseen by the world under cover of a smile! There has +never been a falser word said in Russia than about those unseen tears,” +he cried, almost with fury. +</p> +<p> +“Goodness only knows what you’re saying,” I laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you’re a ‘moderate liberal,’” said Shatov, smiling too. “Do you +know,” he went on suddenly, “I may have been talking nonsense about the +‘flunkeyism of thought.’ You will say to me no doubt directly, ‘it’s you +who are the son of a flunkey, but I’m not a flunkey.’” +</p> +<p> +“I wasn’t dreaming of such a thing.… What are you saying!” +</p> +<p> +“You need not apologise. I’m not afraid of you. Once I was only the +son of a flunkey, but now I’ve become a flunkey myself, like you. Our +Russian liberal is a flunkey before everything, and is only looking for +someone whose boots he can clean.” +</p> +<p> +“What boots? What allegory is this?” +</p> +<p> +“Allegory, indeed! You are laughing, I see.… Stepan Trofimovitch said +truly that I lie under a stone, crushed but not killed, and do nothing +but wriggle. It was a good comparison of his.” +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch declares that you are mad over the Germans,” I +laughed. “We’ve borrowed something from them anyway.” +</p> +<p> +“We took twenty kopecks, but we gave up a hundred roubles of our own.” +</p> +<p> +We were silent a minute. +</p> +<p> +“He got that sore lying in America.” +</p> +<p> +“Who? What sore?” +</p> +<p> +“I mean Kirillov. I spent four months with him lying on the floor of a +hut.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, have you been in America?” I asked, surprised. “You never told me +about it.” +</p> +<p> +“What is there to tell? The year before last we spent our last farthing, +three of us, going to America in an emigrant steamer, to test the +life of the American workman on ourselves, and to verify by personal +experiment the state of a man in the hardest social conditions. That was +our object in going there.” +</p> +<p> +“Good Lord!” I laughed. “You’d much better have gone somewhere in our +province at harvest-time if you wanted to ‘make a personal experiment’ +instead of bolting to America.” +</p> +<p> +“We hired ourselves out as workmen to an exploiter; there were six of +us Russians working for him—students, even landowners coming from their +estates, some officers, too, and all with the same grand object. Well, +so we worked, sweated, wore ourselves out; Kirillov and I were exhausted +at last; fell ill—went away—we couldn’t stand it. Our employer cheated +us when he paid us off; instead of thirty dollars, as he had agreed, he +paid me eight and Kirillov fifteen; he beat us, too, more than once. So +then we were left without work, Kirillov and I, and we spent four months +lying on the floor in that little town. He thought of one thing and I +thought of another.” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t mean to say your employer beat you? In America? How you must +have sworn at him!” +</p> +<p> +“Not a bit of it. On the contrary, Kirillov and I made up our minds +from the first that we Russians were like little children beside the +Americans, and that one must be born in America, or at least live for +many years with Americans to be on a level with them. And do you know, +if we were asked a dollar for a thing worth a farthing, we used to pay +it with pleasure, in fact with enthusiasm. We approved of everything: +spiritualism, lynch-law, revolvers, tramps. Once when we were travelling +a fellow slipped his hand into my pocket, took my brush, and began +brushing his hair with it. Kirillov and I only looked at one another, +and made up our minds that that was the right thing and that we liked it +very much.…” +</p> +<p> +“The strange thing is that with us all this is not only in the brain but +is carried out in practice,” I observed. +</p> +<p> +“Men made of paper,” Shatov repeated. +</p> +<p> +“But to cross the ocean in an emigrant steamer, though, to go to an +unknown country, even to make a personal experiment and all that—by +Jove … there really is a large-hearted staunchness about it.… But +how did you get out of it?” +</p> +<p> +“I wrote to a man in Europe and he sent me a hundred roubles.” +</p> +<p> +As Shatov talked he looked doggedly at the ground as he always did, even +when he was excited. At this point he suddenly raised his head. +</p> +<p> +“Do you want to know the man’s name?” +</p> +<p> +“Who was it?” +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Stavrogin.” +</p> +<p> +He got up suddenly, turned to his limewood writing-table and +began searching for something on it. There was a vague, though +well-authenticated rumour among us that Shatov’s wife had at one time +had a liaison with Nikolay Stavrogin, in Paris, and just about two years +ago, that is when Shatov was in America. It is true that this was long +after his wife had left him in Geneva. +</p> +<p> +“If so, what possesses him now to bring his name forward and to lay +stress on it?” I thought. +</p> +<p> +“I haven’t paid him back yet,” he said, turning suddenly to me again, +and looking at me intently he sat down in the same place as before in +the corner, and asked abruptly, in quite a different voice: +</p> +<p> +“You have come no doubt with some object. What do you want?” +</p> +<p> +I told him everything immediately, in its exact historical order, and +added that though I had time to think it over coolly after the first +excitement was over, I was more puzzled than ever. I saw that it meant +something very important to Lizaveta Nikolaevna. I was extremely anxious +to help her, but the trouble was that I didn’t know how to keep the +promise I had made her, and didn’t even quite understand now what I had +promised her. Then I assured him impressively once more that she had not +meant to deceive him, and had had no thought of doing so; that there had +been some misunderstanding, and that she had been very much hurt by the +extraordinary way in which he had gone off that morning. +</p> +<p> +He listened very attentively. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps I was stupid this morning, as I usually am.… Well, if she +didn’t understand why I went away like that … so much the better for +her.” +</p> +<p> +He got up, went to the door, opened it, and began listening on the +stairs. +</p> +<p> +“Do you want to see that person yourself?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s just what I wanted, but how is it to be done?” I cried, +delighted. +</p> +<p> +“Let’s simply go down while she’s alone. When he comes in he’ll beat +her horribly if he finds out we’ve been there. I often go in on the sly. +I went for him this morning when he began beating her again.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“I dragged him off her by the hair. He tried to beat me, but I +frightened him, and so it ended. I’m afraid he’ll come back drunk, and +won’t forget it—he’ll give her a bad beating because of it.” +</p> +<p> +We went downstairs at once. +</p> +<p> +The Lebyadkins’ door was shut but not locked, and we were able to go in. +Their lodging consisted of two nasty little rooms, with smoke-begrimed +walls on which the filthy wall-paper literally hung in tatters. It +had been used for some years as an eating-house, until Filipov, the +tavern-keeper, moved to another house. The other rooms below what had +been the eating-house were now shut up, and these two were all the +Lebyadkins had. The furniture consisted of plain benches and deal +tables, except for an old arm-chair that had lost its arms. In the +second room there was the bedstead that belonged to Mlle. Lebyadkin +standing in the corner, covered with a chintz quilt; the captain himself +went to bed anywhere on the floor, often without undressing. Everything +was in disorder, wet and filthy; a huge soaking rag lay in the middle +of the floor in the first room, and a battered old shoe lay beside it +in the wet. It was evident that no one looked after anything here. The +stove was not heated, food was not cooked; they had not even a samovar +as Shatov told me. The captain had come to the town with his sister +utterly destitute, and had, as Liputin said, at first actually gone from +house to house begging. But having unexpectedly received some money, he +had taken to drinking at once, and had become so besotted that he was +incapable of looking after things. +</p> +<p> +Mlle. Lebyadkin, whom I was so anxious to see, was sitting quietly at +a deal kitchen table on a bench in the corner of the inner room, not +making a sound. When we opened the door she did not call out to us or +even move from her place. Shatov said that the door into the passage +would not lock and it had once stood wide open all night. By the dim +light of a thin candle in an iron candlestick, I made out a woman of +about thirty, perhaps, sickly and emaciated, wearing an old dress of +dark cotton material, with her long neck uncovered, her scanty dark hair +twisted into a knot on the nape of her neck, no larger than the fist of +a two-year-old child. She looked at us rather cheerfully. Besides the +candlestick, she had on the table in front of her a little peasant +looking-glass, an old pack of cards, a tattered book of songs, and a +white roll of German bread from which one or two bites had been taken. +It was noticeable that Mlle. Lebyadkin used powder and rouge, and +painted her lips. She also blackened her eyebrows, which were fine, +long, and black enough without that. Three long wrinkles stood sharply +conspicuous across her high, narrow forehead in spite of the powder on +it. I already knew that she was lame, but on this occasion she did not +attempt to get up or walk. At some time, perhaps in early youth, that +wasted face may have been pretty; but her soft, gentle grey eyes were +remarkable even now. There was something dreamy and sincere in her +gentle, almost joyful, expression. This gentle serene joy, which was +reflected also in her smile, astonished me after all I had heard of the +Cossack whip and her brother’s violence. Strange to say, instead of the +oppressive repulsion and almost dread one usually feels in the presence +of these creatures afflicted by God, I felt it almost pleasant to look +at her from the first moment, and my heart was filled afterwards with +pity in which there was no trace of aversion. +</p> +<p> +“This is how she sits literally for days together, utterly alone, +without moving; she tries her fortune with the cards, or looks in the +looking-glass,” said Shatov, pointing her out to me from the doorway. +“He doesn’t feed her, you know. The old woman in the lodge brings her +something sometimes out of charity; how can they leave her all alone +like this with a candle!” +</p> +<p> +To my surprise Shatov spoke aloud, just as though she were not in the +room. +</p> +<p> +“Good day, Shatushka!” Mlle. Lebyadkin said genially. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve brought you a visitor, Marya Timofyevna,” said Shatov. +</p> +<p> +“The visitor is very welcome. I don’t know who it is you’ve brought, I +don’t seem to remember him.” She scrutinised me intently from behind the +candle, and turned again at once to Shatov (and she took no more notice +of me for the rest of the conversation, as though I had not been near +her). +</p> +<p> +“Are you tired of walking up and down alone in your garret?” she +laughed, displaying two rows of magnificent teeth. +</p> +<p> +“I was tired of it, and I wanted to come and see you.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov moved a bench up to the table, sat down on it and made me sit +beside him. +</p> +<p> +“I’m always glad to have a talk, though you’re a funny person, +Shatushka, just like a monk. When did you comb your hair last? Let me +do it for you.” And she pulled a little comb out of her pocket. “I don’t +believe you’ve touched it since I combed it last.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I haven’t got a comb,” said Shatov, laughing too. +</p> +<p> +“Really? Then I’ll give you mine; only remind me, not this one but +another.” +</p> +<p> +With a most serious expression she set to work to comb his hair. She +even parted it on one side; drew back a little, looked to see whether it +was right and put the comb back in her pocket. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know what, Shatushka?” She shook her head. “You may be a very +sensible man but you’re dull. It’s strange for me to look at all of you. +I don’t understand how it is people are dull. Sadness is not dullness. +I’m happy.” +</p> +<p> +“And are you happy when your brother’s here?” +</p> +<p> +“You mean Lebyadkin? He’s my footman. And I don’t care whether he’s +here or not. I call to him: ‘Lebyadkin, bring the water!’ or ‘Lebyadkin, +bring my shoes!’ and he runs. Sometimes one does wrong and can’t help +laughing at him.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s just how it is,” said Shatov, addressing me aloud without +ceremony. “She treats him just like a footman. I’ve heard her myself +calling to him, ‘Lebyadkin, give me some water!’ And she laughed as +she said it. The only difference is that he doesn’t fetch the water but +beats her for it; but she isn’t a bit afraid of him. She has some sort +of nervous fits, almost every day, and they are destroying her memory +so that afterwards she forgets everything that’s just happened, and is +always in a muddle over time. You imagine she remembers how you came in; +perhaps she does remember, but no doubt she has changed everything to +please herself, and she takes us now for different people from what we +are, though she knows I’m ‘Shatushka.’ It doesn’t matter my speaking +aloud, she soon leaves off listening to people who talk to her, and +plunges into dreams. Yes, plunges. She’s an extraordinary person for +dreaming; she’ll sit for eight hours, for whole days together in the +same place. You see there’s a roll lying there, perhaps she’s only taken +one bite at it since the morning, and she’ll finish it to-morrow. Now +she’s begun trying her fortune on cards.…” +</p> +<p> +“I keep trying my fortune, Shatushka, but it doesn’t come out right,” +Marya Timofyevna put in suddenly, catching the last word, and without +looking at it she put out her left hand for the roll (she had heard +something about the roll too very likely). She got hold of the roll +at last and after keeping it for some time in her left hand, while her +attention was distracted by the conversation which sprang up again, she +put it back again on the table unconsciously without having taken a bite +of it. +</p> +<p> +“It always comes out the same, a journey, a wicked man, somebody’s +treachery, a death-bed, a letter, unexpected news. I think it’s all +nonsense. Shatushka, what do you think? If people can tell lies why +shouldn’t a card?” She suddenly threw the cards together again. “I said +the same thing to Mother Praskovya, she’s a very venerable woman, she +used to run to my cell to tell her fortune on the cards, without letting +the Mother Superior know. Yes, and she wasn’t the only one who came to +me. They sigh, and shake their heads at me, they talk it over while I +laugh. ‘Where are you going to get a letter from, Mother Praskovya,’ I +say, ‘when you haven’t had one for twelve years?’ Her daughter had been +taken away to Turkey by her husband, and for twelve years there had been +no sight nor sound of her. Only I was sitting the next evening at tea +with the Mother Superior (she was a princess by birth), there was some +lady there too, a visitor, a great dreamer, and a little monk from Athos +was sitting there too, a rather absurd man to my thinking. What do you +think, Shatushka, that monk from Athos had brought Mother Praskovya a +letter from her daughter in Turkey, that morning—so much for the knave +of diamonds—unexpected news! We were drinking our tea, and the monk +from Athos said to the Mother Superior, ‘Blessed Mother Superior, God +has blessed your convent above all things in that you preserve so great +a treasure in its precincts,’ said he. ‘What treasure is that?’ asked +the Mother Superior. ‘The Mother Lizaveta, the Blessed.’ This Lizaveta +the Blessed was enshrined in the nunnery wall, in a cage seven feet long +and five feet high, and she had been sitting there for seventeen years +in nothing but a hempen shift, summer and winter, and she always kept +pecking at the hempen cloth with a straw or a twig of some sort, and she +never said a word, and never combed her hair, or washed, for seventeen +years. In the winter they used to put a sheepskin in for her, and every +day a piece of bread and a jug of water. The pilgrims gaze at her, sigh +and exclaim, and make offerings of money. ‘A treasure you’ve pitched +on,’ answered the Mother Superior—(she was angry, she disliked Lizaveta +dreadfully)—‘Lizaveta only sits there out of spite, out of pure +obstinacy, it is nothing but hypocrisy.’ I didn’t like this; I was +thinking at the time of shutting myself up too. ‘I think,’ said I, ‘that +God and nature are just the same thing.’ They all cried out with +one voice at me, ‘Well, now!’ The Mother Superior laughed, whispered +something to the lady and called me up, petted me, and the lady gave me +a pink ribbon. Would you like me to show it to you? And the monk began +to admonish me. But he talked so kindly, so humbly, and so wisely, I +suppose. I sat and listened. ‘Do you understand?’ he asked. ‘No,’ I +said, ‘I don’t understand a word, but leave me quite alone.’ Ever since +then they’ve left me in peace, Shatushka. And at that time an old woman +who was living in the convent doing penance for prophesying the future, +whispered to me as she was coming out of church, ‘What is the mother of +God? What do you think?’ ‘The great mother,’ I answer, ‘the hope of +the human race.’ ‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘the mother of God is the great +mother—the damp earth, and therein lies great joy for men. And every +earthly woe and every earthly tear is a joy for us; and when you water +the earth with your tears a foot deep, you will rejoice at everything at +once, and your sorrow will be no more, such is the prophecy.’ That word +sank into my heart at the time. Since then when I bow down to the ground +at my prayers, I’ve taken to kissing the earth. I kiss it and weep. And +let me tell you, Shatushka, there’s no harm in those tears; and even +if one has no grief, one’s tears flow from joy. The tears flow of +themselves, that’s the truth. I used to go out to the shores of the +lake; on one side was our convent and on the other the pointed mountain, +they called it the Peak. I used to go up that mountain, facing the east, +fall down to the ground, and weep and weep, and I don’t know how long +I wept, and I don’t remember or know anything about it. I would get up, +and turn back when the sun was setting, it was so big, and splendid and +glorious—do you like looking at the sun, Shatushka? It’s beautiful but +sad. I would turn to the east again, and the shadow, the shadow of our +mountain was flying like an arrow over our lake, long, long and narrow, +stretching a mile beyond, right up to the island on the lake and cutting +that rocky island right in two, and as it cut it in two, the sun would +set altogether and suddenly all would be darkness. And then I used to be +quite miserable, suddenly I used to remember, I’m afraid of the dark, +Shatushka. And what I wept for most was my baby.…” +</p> +<p> +“Why, had you one?” And Shatov, who had been listening attentively all +the time, nudged me with his elbow. +</p> +<p> +“Why, of course. A little rosy baby with tiny little nails, and my only +grief is I can’t remember whether it was a boy or a girl. Sometimes +I remember it was a boy, and sometimes it was a girl. And when he was +born, I wrapped him in cambric and lace, and put pink ribbons on him, +strewed him with flowers, got him ready, said prayers over him. I took +him away un-christened and carried him through the forest, and I was +afraid of the forest, and I was frightened, and what I weep for most is +that I had a baby and I never had a husband.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you had one?” Shatov queried cautiously. +</p> +<p> +“You’re absurd, Shatushka, with your reflections. I had, perhaps I had, +but what’s the use of my having had one, if it’s just the same as though +I hadn’t. There’s an easy riddle for you. Guess it!” she laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Where did you take your baby?” +</p> +<p> +“I took it to the pond,” she said with a sigh. +</p> +<p> +Shatov nudged me again. +</p> +<p> +“And what if you never had a baby and all this is only a wild dream?” +</p> +<p> +“You ask me a hard question, Shatushka,” she answered dreamily, without +a trace of surprise at such a question. “I can’t tell you anything about +that, perhaps I hadn’t; I think that’s only your curiosity. I shan’t +leave off crying for him anyway, I couldn’t have dreamt it.” And big +tears glittered in her eyes. “Shatushka, Shatushka, is it true that your +wife ran away from you?” +</p> +<p> +She suddenly put both hands on his shoulders, and looked at him +pityingly. “Don’t be angry, I feel sick myself. Do you know, Shatushka, +I’ve had a dream: he came to me again, he beckoned me, called me. ‘My +little puss,’ he cried to me, ‘little puss, come to me!’ And I was more +delighted at that ‘little puss’ than anything; he loves me, I thought.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps he will come in reality,” Shatov muttered in an undertone. +</p> +<p> +“No, Shatushka, that’s a dream.… He can’t come in reality. You know +the song: +</p> +<pre> + ‘A new fine house I do not crave, + This tiny cell’s enough for me; + There will I dwell my soul to save + And ever pray to God for thee.’ +</pre> +<p> +Ach, Shatushka, Shatushka, my dear, why do you never ask me about +anything?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, you won’t tell. That’s why I don’t ask.” +</p> +<p> +“I won’t tell, I won’t tell,” she answered quickly. “You may kill me, I +won’t tell. You may burn me, I won’t tell. And whatever I had to bear +I’d never tell, people won’t find out!” +</p> +<p> +“There, you see. Every one has something of their own,” Shatov said, +still more softly, his head drooping lower and lower. +</p> +<p> +“But if you were to ask perhaps I should tell, perhaps I should!” +she repeated ecstatically. “Why don’t you ask? Ask, ask me nicely, +Shatushka, perhaps I shall tell you. Entreat me, Shatushka, so that I +shall consent of myself. Shatushka, Shatushka!” +</p> +<p> +But Shatushka was silent. There was complete silence lasting a minute. +Tears slowly trickled down her painted cheeks. She sat forgetting her +two hands on Shatov’s shoulders, but no longer looking at him. +</p> +<p> +“Ach, what is it to do with me, and it’s a sin.” Shatov suddenly got up +from the bench. +</p> +<p> +“Get up!” He angrily pulled the bench from under me and put it back +where it stood before. +</p> +<p> +“He’ll be coming, so we must mind he doesn’t guess. It’s time we were +off.” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, you’re talking of my footman,” Marya Timofyevna laughed suddenly. +“You’re afraid of him. Well, good-bye, dear visitors, but listen for one +minute, I’ve something to tell you. That Nilitch came here with Filipov, +the landlord, a red beard, and my fellow had flown at me just then, so +the landlord caught hold of him and pulled him about the room while he +shouted ‘It’s not my fault, I’m suffering for another man’s sin!’ So +would you believe it, we all burst out laughing.…” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, Timofyevna, why it was I, not the red beard, it was I pulled +him away from you by his hair, this morning; the landlord came the day +before yesterday to make a row; you’ve mixed it up.” +</p> +<p> +“Stay, I really have mixed it up. Perhaps it was you. Why dispute about +trifles? What does it matter to him who it is gives him a beating?” She +laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Come along!” Shatov pulled me. “The gate’s creaking, he’ll find us and +beat her.” +</p> +<p> +And before we had time to run out on to the stairs we heard a drunken +shout and a shower of oaths at the gate. +</p> +<p> +Shatov let me into his room and locked the door. +</p> +<p> +“You’ll have to stay a minute if you don’t want a scene. He’s squealing +like a little pig, he must have stumbled over the gate again. He falls +flat every time.” +</p> +<p> +We didn’t get off without a scene, however. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VI +</p> +<p> +Shatov stood at the closed door of his room and listened; suddenly he +sprang back. +</p> +<p> +“He’s coming here, I knew he would,” he whispered furiously. “Now +there’ll be no getting rid of him till midnight.” +</p> +<p> +Several violent thumps of a fist on the door followed. +</p> +<p> +“Shatov, Shatov, open!” yelled the captain. “Shatov, friend! +</p> +<pre> + ‘I have come, to thee to tell thee + That the sun doth r-r-rise apace, + That the forest glows and tr-r-rembles + In … the fire of … his … embrace. + Tell thee I have waked, God damn thee, + Wakened under the birch-twigs.…’ +</pre> +<p> + (“As it might be under the birch-rods, ha ha!”) +</p> + <pre> + ‘Every little bird … is … thirsty, + Says I’m going to … have a drink, + But I don’t … know what to drink.…’ +</pre> +<p> +“Damn his stupid curiosity! Shatov, do you understand how good it is to +be alive!” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t answer!” Shatov whispered to me again. +</p> +<p> +“Open the door! Do you understand that there’s something higher than +brawling … in mankind; there are moments of an hon-hon-honourable +man.… Shatov, I’m good; I’ll forgive you.… Shatov, damn the +manifestoes, eh?” +</p> +<p> +Silence. +</p> +<p> +“Do you understand, you ass, that I’m in love, that I’ve bought a +dress-coat, look, the garb of love, fifteen roubles; a captain’s love +calls for the niceties of style.… Open the door!” he roared savagely +all of a sudden, and he began furiously banging with his fists again. +</p> +<p> +“Go to hell!” Shatov roared suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“S-s-slave! Bond-slave, and your sister’s a slave, a bondswoman … a +th … th … ief!” +</p> +<p> +“And you sold your sister.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a lie! I put up with the libel though. I could with one word … +do you understand what she is?” +</p> +<p> +“What?” Shatov at once drew near the door inquisitively. +</p> +<p> +“But will you understand?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I shall understand, tell me what?” +</p> +<p> +“I’m not afraid to say! I’m never afraid to say anything in public!…” +</p> +<p> +“You not afraid? A likely story,” said Shatov, taunting him, and nodding +to me to listen. +</p> +<p> +“Me afraid?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I think you are.” +</p> +<p> +“Me afraid?” +</p> +<p> +“Well then, tell away if you’re not afraid of your master’s whip.… +You’re a coward, though you are a captain!” +</p> +<p> +“I … I … she’s … she’s …” faltered Lebyadkin in a voice shaking with +excitement. +</p> +<p> +“Well?” Shatov put his ear to the door. +</p> +<p> +A silence followed, lasting at least half a minute. +</p> +<p> +“Sc-ou-oundrel!” came from the other side of the door at last, and the +captain hurriedly beat a retreat downstairs, puffing like a samovar, +stumbling on every step. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, he’s a sly one, and won’t give himself away even when he’s drunk.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov moved away from the door. +</p> +<p> +“What’s it all about?” I asked. +</p> +<p> +Shatov waved aside the question, opened the door and began listening +on the stairs again. He listened a long while, and even stealthily +descended a few steps. At last he came back. +</p> +<p> +“There’s nothing to be heard; he isn’t beating her; he must have flopped +down at once to go to sleep. It’s time for you to go.” +</p> +<p> +“Listen, Shatov, what am I to gather from all this?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, gather what you like!” he answered in a weary and disgusted voice, +and he sat down to his writing-table. +</p> +<p> +I went away. An improbable idea was growing stronger and stronger in my +mind. I thought of the next day with distress.… +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VII +</p> +<p> +This “next day,” the very Sunday which was to decide Stepan +Trofimovitch’s fate irrevocably, was one of the most memorable days in +my chronicle. It was a day of surprises, a day that solved past riddles +and suggested new ones, a day of startling revelations, and still more +hopeless perplexity. In the morning, as the reader is already aware, I +had by Varvara Petrovna’s particular request to accompany my friend on +his visit to her, and at three o’clock in the afternoon I had to be with +Lizaveta Nikolaevna in order to tell her—I did not know what—and to +assist her—I did not know how. And meanwhile it all ended as no one +could have expected. In a word, it was a day of wonderful coincidences. +</p> +<p> +To begin with, when Stepan Trofimovitch and I arrived at Varvara +Petrovna’s at twelve o’clock punctually, the time she had fixed, we did +not find her at home; she had not yet come back from church. My poor +friend was so disposed, or, more accurately speaking, so indisposed that +this circumstance crushed him at once; he sank almost helpless into +an arm-chair in the drawing-room. I suggested a glass of water; but in +spite of his pallor and the trembling of his hands, he refused it +with dignity. His get-up for the occasion was, by the way, extremely +recherché: a shirt of batiste and embroidered, almost fit for a ball, a +white tie, a new hat in his hand, new straw-coloured gloves, and even a +suspicion of scent. We had hardly sat down when Shatov was shown in by +the butler, obviously also by official invitation. Stepan Trofimovitch +was rising to shake hands with him, but Shatov, after looking +attentively at us both, turned away into a corner, and sat down there +without even nodding to us. Stepan Trofimovitch looked at me in dismay +again. +</p> +<p> +We sat like this for some minutes longer in complete silence. Stepan +Trofimovitch suddenly began whispering something to me very quickly, +but I could not catch it; and indeed, he was so agitated himself that he +broke off without finishing. The butler came in once more, ostensibly to +set something straight on the table, more probably to take a look at us. +</p> +<p> +Shatov suddenly addressed him with a loud question: +</p> +<p> +“Alexey Yegorytch, do you know whether Darya Pavlovna has gone with +her?” +</p> +<p> +“Varvara Petrovna was pleased to drive to the cathedral alone, and Darya +Pavlovna was pleased to remain in her room upstairs, being indisposed,” +Alexey Yegorytch announced formally and reprovingly. +</p> +<p> +My poor friend again stole a hurried and agitated glance at me, so +that at last I turned away from him. Suddenly a carriage rumbled at the +entrance, and some commotion at a distance in the house made us aware +of the lady’s return. We all leapt up from our easy chairs, but again +a surprise awaited us; we heard the noise of many footsteps, so our +hostess must have returned not alone, and this certainly was rather +strange, since she had fixed that time herself. Finally, we heard some +one come in with strange rapidity as though running, in a way that +Varvara Petrovna could not have come in. And, all at once she almost +flew into the room, panting and extremely agitated. After her a little +later and much more quickly Lizaveta Nikolaevna came in, and with her, +hand in hand, Marya Timofyevna Lebyadkin! If I had seen this in my +dreams, even then I should not have believed it. +</p> +<p> +To explain their utterly unexpected appearance, I must go back an +hour and describe more in detail an extraordinary adventure which had +befallen Varvara Petrovna in church. +</p> +<p> +In the first place almost the whole town, that is, of course, all of the +upper stratum of society, were assembled in the cathedral. It was known +that the governor’s wife was to make her appearance there for the +first time since her arrival amongst us. I must mention that there were +already rumours that she was a free-thinker, and a follower of “the new +principles.” All the ladies were also aware that she would be dressed +with magnificence and extraordinary elegance. And so the costumes of our +ladies were elaborate and gorgeous for the occasion. +</p> +<p> +Only Varvara Petrovna was modestly dressed in black as she always was, +and had been for the last four years. She had taken her usual place in +church in the first row on the left, and a footman in livery had put +down a velvet cushion for her to kneel on; everything in fact, had been +as usual. But it was noticed, too, that all through the service she +prayed with extreme fervour. It was even asserted afterwards when people +recalled it, that she had had tears in her eyes. The service was over at +last, and our chief priest, Father Pavel, came out to deliver a solemn +sermon. We liked his sermons and thought very highly of them. We used +even to try to persuade him to print them, but he never could make up +his mind to. On this occasion the sermon was a particularly long one. +</p> +<p> +And behold, during the sermon a lady drove up to the church in an old +fashioned hired droshky, that is, one in which the lady could only sit +sideways, holding on to the driver’s sash, shaking at every jolt like a +blade of grass in the breeze. Such droshkys are still to be seen in our +town. Stopping at the corner of the cathedral—for there were a number +of carriages, and mounted police too, at the gates—the lady sprang out +of the droshky and handed the driver four kopecks in silver. +</p> +<p> +“Isn’t it enough, Vanya?” she cried, seeing his grimace. “It’s all I’ve +got,” she added plaintively. +</p> +<p> +“Well, there, bless you. I took you without fixing the price,” said the +driver with a hopeless gesture, and looking at her he added as though +reflecting: +</p> +<p> +“And it would be a sin to take advantage of you too.” +</p> +<p> +Then, thrusting his leather purse into his bosom, he touched up his +horse and drove off, followed by the jeers of the drivers standing near. +Jeers, and wonder too, followed the lady as she made her way to the +cathedral gates, between the carriages and the footmen waiting for +their masters to come out. And indeed, there certainly was something +extraordinary and surprising to every one in such a person’s suddenly +appearing in the street among people. She was painfully thin and she +limped, she was heavily powdered and rouged; her long neck was quite +bare, she had neither kerchief nor pelisse; she had nothing on but an +old dark dress in spite of the cold and windy, though bright, September +day. She was bareheaded, and her hair was twisted up into a tiny knot, +and on the right side of it was stuck an artificial rose, such as are +used to dedicate cherubs sold in Palm week. I had noticed just such a +one with a wreath of paper roses in a corner under the ikons when I was +at Marya Timofyevna’s the day before. To put a finishing-touch to it, +though the lady walked with modestly downcast eyes there was a sly and +merry smile on her face. If she had lingered a moment longer, she would +perhaps not have been allowed to enter the cathedral. But she succeeded +in slipping by, and entering the building, gradually pressed forward. +</p> +<p> +Though it was half-way through the sermon, and the dense crowd that +filled the cathedral was listening to it with absorbed and silent +attention, yet several pairs of eyes glanced with curiosity and +amazement at the new-comer. She sank on to the floor, bowed her painted +face down to it, lay there a long time, unmistakably weeping; but +raising her head again and getting up from her knees, she soon +recovered, and was diverted. Gaily and with evident and intense +enjoyment she let her eyes rove over the faces, and over the walls +of the cathedral. She looked with particular curiosity at some of the +ladies, even standing on tip-toe to look at them, and even laughed once +or twice, giggling strangely. But the sermon was over, and they brought +out the cross. The governor’s wife was the first to go up to the cross, +but she stopped short two steps from it, evidently wishing to make way +for Varvara Petrovna, who, on her side, moved towards it quite directly +as though she noticed no one in front of her. There was an obvious and, +in its way, clever malice implied in this extraordinary act of deference +on the part of the governor’s wife; every one felt this; Varvara +Petrovna must have felt it too; but she went on as before, apparently +noticing no one, and with the same unfaltering air of dignity kissed the +cross, and at once turned to leave the cathedral. A footman in livery +cleared the way for her, though every one stepped back spontaneously to +let her pass. But just as she was going out, in the porch the closely +packed mass of people blocked the way for a moment. Varvara Petrovna +stood still, and suddenly a strange, extraordinary creature, the woman +with the paper rose on her head, squeezed through the people, and +fell on her knees before her. Varvara Petrovna, who was not easily +disconcerted, especially in public, looked at her sternly and with +dignity. +</p> +<p> +I hasten to observe here, as briefly as possible, that though Varvara +Petrovna had become, it was said, excessively careful and even stingy, +yet sometimes she was not sparing of money, especially for benevolent +objects. She was a member of a charitable society in the capital. In +the last famine year she had sent five hundred roubles to the chief +committee for the relief of the sufferers, and people talked of it in +the town. Moreover, just before the appointment of the new governor, she +had been on the very point of founding a local committee of ladies to +assist the poorest mothers in the town and in the province. She +was severely censured among us for ambition; but Varvara Petrovna’s +well-known strenuousness and, at the same time, her persistence nearly +triumphed over all obstacles. The society was almost formed, and the +original idea embraced a wider and wider scope in the enthusiastic mind +of the foundress. She was already dreaming of founding a similar society +in Moscow, and the gradual expansion of its influence over all the +provinces of Russia. And now, with the sudden change of governor, +everything was at a standstill; and the new governor’s wife had, it was +said, already uttered in society some biting, and, what was worse, apt +and sensible remarks about the impracticability of the fundamental idea +of such a committee, which was, with additions of course, repeated to +Varvara Petrovna. God alone knows the secrets of men’s hearts; but I +imagine that Varvara Petrovna stood still now at the very cathedral +gates positively with a certain pleasure, knowing that the governor’s +wife and, after her, all the congregation, would have to pass by +immediately, and “let her see for herself how little I care what +she thinks, and what pointed things she says about the vanity of my +benevolence. So much for all of you!” +</p> +<p> +“What is it my dear? What are you asking?” said Varvara Petrovna, +looking more attentively at the kneeling woman before her, who gazed at +her with a fearfully panic-stricken, shame-faced, but almost reverent +expression, and suddenly broke into the same strange giggle. +</p> +<p> +“What does she want? Who is she?” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna bent an imperious and inquiring gaze on all around her. +Every one was silent. +</p> +<p> +“You are unhappy? You are in need of help?” +</p> +<p> +“I am in need.… I have come …” faltered the “unhappy” creature, in a +voice broken with emotion. “I have come only to kiss your hand.…” +</p> +<p> +Again she giggled. With the childish look with which little children +caress someone, begging for a favour, she stretched forward to seize +Varvara Petrovna’s hand, but, as though panic-stricken, drew her hands +back. +</p> +<p> +“Is that all you have come for?” said Varvara Petrovna, with a +compassionate smile; but at once she drew her mother-of-pearl purse out +of her pocket, took out a ten-rouble note and gave it to the unknown. +The latter took it. Varvara Petrovna was much interested and evidently +did not look upon her as an ordinary low-class beggar. +</p> +<p> +“I say, she gave her ten roubles!” someone said in the crowd. +</p> +<p> +“Let me kiss your hand,” faltered the unknown, holding tight in the +fingers of her left hand the corner of the ten-rouble note, which +fluttered in the draught. Varvara Petrovna frowned slightly, and with +a serious, almost severe, face held out her hand. The cripple kissed it +with reverence. Her grateful eyes shone with positive ecstasy. At that +moment the governor’s wife came up, and a whole crowd of ladies and high +officials flocked after her. The governor’s wife was forced to stand +still for a moment in the crush; many people stopped. +</p> +<p> +“You are trembling. Are you cold?” Varvara Petrovna observed suddenly, +and flinging off her pelisse which a footman caught in mid-air, she took +from her own shoulders a very expensive black shawl, and with her own +hands wrapped it round the bare neck of the still kneeling woman. +</p> +<p> +“But get up, get up from your knees I beg you!” +</p> +<p> +The woman got up. +</p> +<p> +“Where do you live? Is it possible no one knows where she lives?” +Varvara Petrovna glanced round impatiently again. But the crowd was +different now: she saw only the faces of acquaintances, people in +society, surveying the scene, some with severe astonishment, others with +sly curiosity and at the same time guileless eagerness for a sensation, +while others positively laughed. +</p> +<p> +“I believe her name’s Lebyadkin,” a good-natured person volunteered at +last in answer to Varvara Petrovna. It was our respectable and respected +merchant Andreev, a man in spectacles with a grey beard, wearing Russian +dress and holding a high round hat in his hands. “They live in the +Filipovs’ house in Bogoyavlensky Street.” +</p> +<p> +“Lebyadkin? Filipovs’ house? I have heard something.… Thank you, Nikon +Semyonitch. But who is this Lebyadkin?” +</p> +<p> +“He calls himself a captain, a man, it must be said, not over careful +in his behaviour. And no doubt this is his sister. She must have escaped +from under control,” Nikon Semyonitch went on, dropping his voice, and +glancing significantly at Varvara Petrovna. +</p> +<p> +“I understand. Thank you, Nikon Semyonitch. Your name is Mlle. +Lebyadkin?” +</p> +<p> +“No, my name’s not Lebyadkin.” +</p> +<p> +“Then perhaps your brother’s name is Lebyadkin?” +</p> +<p> +“My brother’s name is Lebyadkin.” +</p> +<p> +“This is what I’ll do, I’ll take you with me now, my dear, and you shall +be driven from me to your family. Would you like to go with me?” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, I should!” cried Mlle. Lebyadkin, clasping her hands. +</p> +<p> +“Auntie, auntie, take me with you too!” the voice of Lizaveta Nikolaevna +cried suddenly. +</p> +<p> +I must observe that Lizaveta Nikolaevna had come to the cathedral with +the governor’s wife, while Praskovya Ivanovna had by the doctor’s +orders gone for a drive in her carriage, taking Mavriky Nikolaevitch +to entertain her. Liza suddenly left the governor’s wife and ran up to +Varvara Petrovna. +</p> +<p> +“My dear, you know I’m always glad to have you, but what will your +mother say?” Varvara Petrovna began majestically, but she became +suddenly confused, noticing Liza’s extraordinary agitation. +</p> +<p> +“Auntie, auntie, I must come with you!” Liza implored, kissing Varvara +Petrovna. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mais qu’avez vous donc, Lise?”</i> the governor’s wife asked with +expressive wonder. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, forgive me, darling, <i>chère cousine,</i> I’m going to auntie’s.” +</p> +<p> +Liza turned in passing to her unpleasantly surprised <i>chère cousine</i>, and +kissed her twice. +</p> +<p> +“And tell maman to follow me to auntie’s directly; maman meant, fully +meant to come and see you, she said so this morning herself, I forgot to +tell you,” Liza pattered on. “I beg your pardon, don’t be angry, <i>Julie, +chère … cousine.</i>… Auntie, I’m ready!” +</p> +<p> +“If you don’t take me with you, auntie, I’ll run after your carriage, +screaming,” she whispered rapidly and despairingly in Varvara Petrovna’s +ear; it was lucky that no one heard. Varvara Petrovna positively +staggered back, and bent her penetrating gaze on the mad girl. That gaze +settled everything. She made up her mind to take Liza with her. +</p> +<p> +“We must put an end to this!” broke from her lips. “Very well, I’ll +take you with pleasure, Liza,” she added aloud, “if Yulia Mihailovna +is willing to let you come, of course.” With a candid air and +straightforward dignity she addressed the governor’s wife directly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, certainly, I don’t want to deprive her of such a pleasure +especially as I am myself …” Yulia Mihailovna lisped with amazing +affability—“I myself … know well what a fantastic, wilful little head +it is!” Yulia Mihailovna gave a charming smile. +</p> +<p> +“I thank you extremely,” said Varvara Petrovna, with a courteous and +dignified bow. +</p> +<p> +“And I am the more gratified,” Yulia Mihailovna went on, lisping almost +rapturously, flushing all over with agreeable excitement, “that, apart +from the pleasure of being with you Liza should be carried away by such +an excellent, I may say lofty, feeling … of compassion …” (she +glanced at the “unhappy creature”) “and … and at the very portal of the +temple.…” +</p> +<p> +“Such a feeling does you honour,” Varvara Petrovna approved +magnificently. Yulia Mihailovna impulsively held out her hand and +Varvara Petrovna with perfect readiness touched it with her fingers. The +general effect was excellent, the faces of some of those present beamed +with pleasure, some bland and insinuating smiles were to be seen. +</p> +<p> +In short it was made manifest to every one in the town that it was not +Yulia Mihailovna who had up till now neglected Varvara Petrovna in not +calling upon her, but on the contrary that Varvara Petrovna had “kept +Yulia Mihailovna within bounds at a distance, while the latter would +have hastened to pay her a visit, going on foot perhaps if necessary, +had she been fully assured that Varvara Petrovna would not turn her +away.” And Varvara Petrovna’s prestige was enormously increased. +</p> +<p> +“Get in, my dear.” Varvara Petrovna motioned Mlle. Lebyadkin towards the +carriage which had driven up. +</p> +<p> +The “unhappy creature” hurried gleefully to the carriage door, and there +the footman lifted her in. +</p> +<p> +“What! You’re lame!” cried Varvara Petrovna, seeming quite alarmed, +and she turned pale. (Every one noticed it at the time, but did not +understand it.) +</p> +<p> +The carriage rolled away. Varvara Petrovna’s house was very near +the cathedral. Liza told me afterwards that Miss Lebyadkin laughed +hysterically for the three minutes that the drive lasted, while Varvara +Petrovna sat “as though in a mesmeric sleep.” Liza’s own expression. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0005"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER V. THE SUBTLE SERPENT +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +VARVARA PETROVNA rang the bell and threw herself into an easy chair by +the window. +</p> +<p> +“Sit here, my dear.” She motioned Marya Timofyevna to a seat in the +middle of the room, by a large round table. “Stepan Trofimovitch, +what is the meaning of this? See, see, look at this woman, what is the +meaning of it?” +</p> +<p> +“I … I …” faltered Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +But a footman came in. +</p> +<p> +“A cup of coffee at once, we must have it as quickly as possible! Keep +the horses!” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mais, chère et excellente amie, dans quelle inquiétude …”</i> Stepan +Trofimovitch exclaimed in a dying voice. +</p> +<p> +“Ach! French! French! I can see at once that it’s the highest society,” +cried Marya Timofyevna, clapping her hands, ecstatically preparing +herself to listen to a conversation in French. Varvara Petrovna stared +at her almost in dismay. +</p> +<p> +We all sat in silence, waiting to see how it would end. Shatov did not +lift up his head, and Stepan Trofimovitch was overwhelmed with confusion +as though it were all his fault; the perspiration stood out on his +temples. I glanced at Liza (she was sitting in the corner almost beside +Shatov). Her eyes darted keenly from Varvara Petrovna to the cripple and +back again; her lips were drawn into a smile, but not a pleasant +one. Varvara Petrovna saw that smile. Meanwhile Marya Timofyevna was +absolutely transported. With evident enjoyment and without a trace +of embarrassment she stared at Varvara Petrovna’s beautiful +drawing-room—the furniture, the carpets, the pictures on the walls, the +old-fashioned painted ceiling, the great bronze crucifix in the corner, +the china lamp, the albums, the objects on the table. +</p> +<p> +“And you’re here, too, Shatushka!” she cried suddenly. “Only fancy, I +saw you a long time ago, but I thought it couldn’t be you! How could you +come here!” And she laughed gaily. +</p> +<p> +“You know this woman?” said Varvara Petrovna, turning to him at once. +</p> +<p> +“I know her,” muttered Shatov. He seemed about to move from his chair, +but remained sitting. +</p> +<p> +“What do you know of her? Make haste, please!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, well …” he stammered with an incongruous smile. “You see for +yourself.…” +</p> +<p> +“What do I see? Come now, say something!” +</p> +<p> +“She lives in the same house as I do … with her brother … an officer.” +</p> +<p> +“Well?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov stammered again. +</p> +<p> +“It’s not worth talking about …” he muttered, and relapsed into +determined silence. He positively flushed with determination. +</p> +<p> +“Of course one can expect nothing else from you,” said Varvara Petrovna +indignantly. It was clear to her now that they all knew something and, +at the same time, that they were all scared, that they were evading her +questions, and anxious to keep something from her. +</p> +<p> +The footman came in and brought her, on a little silver tray, the cup of +coffee she had so specially ordered, but at a sign from her moved with +it at once towards Marya Timofyevna. +</p> +<p> +“You were very cold just now, my dear; make haste and drink it and get +warm.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Merci.”</i> +</p> +<p> +Marya Timofyevna took the cup and at once went off into a giggle +at having said <i>merci</i> to the footman. But meeting Varvara Petrovna’s +reproving eyes, she was overcome with shyness and put the cup on the +table. +</p> +<p> +“Auntie, surely you’re not angry?” she faltered with a sort of flippant +playfulness. +</p> +<p> +“Wh-a-a-t?” Varvara Petrovna started, and drew herself up in her chair. +“I’m not your aunt. What are you thinking of?” +</p> +<p> +Marya Timofyevna, not expecting such an angry outburst, began trembling +all over in little convulsive shudders, as though she were in a fit, and +sank back in her chair. +</p> +<p> +“I … I … thought that was the proper way,” she faltered, gazing +open-eyed at Varvara Petrovna. “Liza called you that.” +</p> +<p> +“What Liza?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, this young lady here,” said Marya Timofyevna, pointing with her +finger. +</p> +<p> +“So she’s Liza already?” +</p> +<p> +“You called her that yourself just now,” said Marya Timofyevna growing +a little bolder. “And I dreamed of a beauty like that,” she added, +laughing, as it were accidentally. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna reflected, and grew calmer, she even smiled faintly at +Marya Timofyevna’s last words; the latter, catching her smile, got up +from her chair, and limping, went timidly towards her. +</p> +<p> +“Take it. I forgot to give it back. Don’t be angry with my rudeness.” +</p> +<p> +She took from her shoulders the black shawl that Varvara Petrovna had +wrapped round her. +</p> +<p> +“Put it on again at once, and you can keep it always. Go and sit down, +drink your coffee, and please don’t be afraid of me, my dear, don’t +worry yourself. I am beginning to understand you.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Chère amie …”</i> Stepan Trofimovitch ventured again. +</p> +<p> +“Ach, Stepan Trofimovitch, it’s bewildering enough without you. You +might at least spare me.… Please ring that bell there, near you, to +the maid’s room.” +</p> +<p> +A silence followed. Her eyes strayed irritably and suspiciously over all +our faces. Agasha, her favourite maid, came in. +</p> +<p> +“Bring me my check shawl, the one I bought in Geneva. What’s Darya +Pavlovna doing?” +</p> +<p> +“She’s not very well, madam.” +</p> +<p> +“Go and ask her to come here. Say that I want her particularly, even if +she’s not well.” +</p> +<p> +At that instant there was again, as before, an unusual noise of steps +and voices in the next room, and suddenly Praskovya Ivanovna, panting +and “distracted,” appeared in the doorway. She was leaning on the arm of +Mavriky Nikolaevitch. +</p> +<p> +“Ach, heavens, I could scarcely drag myself here. Liza, you mad girl, +how you treat your mother!” she squeaked, concentrating in that squeak, +as weak and irritable people are wont to do, all her accumulated +irritability. “Varvara Petrovna, I’ve come for my daughter!” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna looked at her from under her brows, half rose to meet +her, and scarcely concealing her vexation brought out: “Good morning, +Praskovya Ivanovna, please be seated, I knew you would come!” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +There could be nothing surprising to Praskovya Ivanovna in such a +reception. Varvara Petrovna had from childhood upwards treated her +old school friend tyrannically, and under a show of friendship almost +contemptuously. And this was an exceptional occasion too. During the +last few days there had almost been a complete rupture between the two +households, as I have mentioned incidentally already. The reason of this +rupture was still a mystery to Varvara Petrovna, which made it all +the more offensive; but the chief cause of offence was that Praskovya +Ivanovna had succeeded in taking up an extraordinarily supercilious +attitude towards Varvara Petrovna. Varvara Petrovna was wounded of +course, and meanwhile some strange rumours had reached her which also +irritated her extremely, especially by their vagueness. Varvara Petrovna +was of a direct and proudly frank character, somewhat slap-dash in her +methods, indeed, if the expression is permissible. There was nothing +she detested so much as secret and mysterious insinuations, she always +preferred war in the open. Anyway, the two ladies had not met for five +days. The last visit had been paid by Varvara Petrovna, who had come +back from “that Drozdov woman” offended and perplexed. I can say with +certainty that Praskovya Ivanovna had come on this occasion with the +naïve conviction that Varvara Petrovna would, for some reason, be sure +to stand in awe of her. This was evident from the very expression of her +face. Evidently too, Varvara Petrovna was always possessed by a demon of +haughty pride whenever she had the least ground for suspecting that she +was for some reason supposed to be humiliated. Like many weak people, +who for a long time allow themselves to be insulted without resenting +it, Praskovya Ivanovna showed an extraordinary violence in her attack at +the first favourable opportunity. It is true that she was not well, and +always became more irritable in illness. I must add finally, that our +presence in the drawing-room could hardly be much check to the two +ladies who had been friends from childhood, if a quarrel had broken out +between them. We were looked upon as friends of the family, and almost +as their subjects. I made that reflection with some alarm at the time. +Stepan Trofimovitch, who had not sat down since the entrance of Varvara +Petrovna, sank helplessly into an arm-chair on hearing Praskovya +Ivanovna’s squeal, and tried to catch my eye with a look of despair. +Shatov turned sharply in his chair, and growled something to himself. +I believe he meant to get up and go away. Liza rose from her chair but +sank back again at once without even paying befitting attention to her +mother’s squeal—not from “waywardness,” but obviously because she +was entirely absorbed by some other overwhelming impression. She was +looking absent-mindedly into the air, no longer noticing even Marya +Timofyevna. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +“Ach, here!” Praskovya Ivanovna indicated an easy chair near the table +and sank heavily into it with the assistance of Mavriky Nikolaevitch. +“I wouldn’t have sat down in your house, my lady, if it weren’t for my +legs,” she added in a breaking voice. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna raised her head a little, and with an expression of +suffering pressed the fingers of her right hand to her right temple, +evidently in acute pain <i>(tic douloureux)</i>. +</p> +<p> +“Why so, Praskovya Ivanovna; why wouldn’t you sit down in my house? I +possessed your late husband’s sincere friendship all his life; and you +and I used to play with our dolls at school together as girls.” +</p> +<p> +Praskovya Ivanovna waved her hands. +</p> +<p> +“I knew that was coming! You always begin about the school when you want +to reproach me—that’s your way. But to my thinking that’s only fine +talk. I can’t stand the school you’re always talking about.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve come in rather a bad temper, I’m afraid; how are your legs? Here +they’re bringing you some coffee, please have some, drink it and don’t +be cross.” +</p> +<p> +“Varvara Petrovna, you treat me as though I were a child. I won’t have +any coffee, so there!” +</p> +<p> +And she pettishly waved away the footman who was bringing her coffee. +(All the others refused coffee too except Mavriky Nikolaevitch and me. +Stepan Trofimovitch took it, but put it aside on the table. Though Marya +Timofyevna was very eager to have another cup and even put out her hand +to take it, on second thoughts she refused it ceremoniously, and was +obviously pleased with herself for doing so.) +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna gave a wry smile. +</p> +<p> +“I’ll tell you what it is, Praskovya Ivanovna, my friend, you must +have taken some fancy into your head again, and that’s why you’ve come. +You’ve simply lived on fancies all your life. You flew into a fury at +the mere mention of our school; but do you remember how you came and +persuaded all the class that a hussar called Shablykin had proposed to +you, and how Mme. Lefebure proved on the spot you were lying. Yet you +weren’t lying, you were simply imagining it all to amuse yourself. Come, +tell me, what is it now? What are you fancying now; what is it vexes +you?” +</p> +<p> +“And you fell in love with the priest who used to teach us scripture at +school—so much for you, since you’ve such a spiteful memory. Ha ha ha!” +</p> +<p> +She laughed viciously and went off into a fit of coughing. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, you’ve not forgotten the priest then …” said Varvara Petrovna, +looking at her vindictively. +</p> +<p> +Her face turned green. Praskovya Ivanovna suddenly assumed a dignified +air. +</p> +<p> +“I’m in no laughing mood now, madam. Why have you drawn my daughter +into your scandals in the face of the whole town? That’s what I’ve come +about.” +</p> +<p> +“My scandals?” Varvara Petrovna drew herself up menacingly. +</p> +<p> +“Maman, I entreat you too, to restrain yourself,” Lizaveta Nikolaevna +brought out suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“What’s that you say?” The maman was on the point of breaking into a +squeal again, but catching her daughter’s flashing eye, she subsided +suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“How could you talk about scandal, maman?” cried Liza, flushing red. +“I came of my own accord with Yulia Mihailovna’s permission, because I +wanted to learn this unhappy woman’s story and to be of use to her.” +</p> +<p> +“This unhappy woman’s story!” Praskovya Ivanovna drawled with a spiteful +laugh. “Is it your place to mix yourself up with such ‘stories.’ Ach, +enough of your tyrannising!” She turned furiously to Varvara Petrovna. +“I don’t know whether it’s true or not, they say you keep the whole town +in order, but it seems your turn has come at last.” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna sat straight as an arrow ready to fly from the bow. For +ten seconds she looked sternly and immovably at Praskovya Ivanovna. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Praskovya, you must thank God that all here present are our +friends,” she said at last with ominous composure. “You’ve said a great +deal better unsaid.” +</p> +<p> +“But I’m not so much afraid of what the world will say, my lady, as +some people. It’s you who, under a show of pride, are trembling at what +people will say. And as for all here being your friends, it’s better for +you than if strangers had been listening.” +</p> +<p> +“Have you grown wiser during this last week?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s not that I’ve grown wiser, but simply that the truth has come out +this week.” +</p> +<p> +“What truth has come out this week? Listen, Praskovya Ivanovna, don’t +irritate me. Explain to me this minute, I beg you as a favour, what +truth has come out and what do you mean by that?” +</p> +<p> +“Why there it is, sitting before you!” and Praskovya Ivanovna suddenly +pointed at Marya Timofyevna with that desperate determination which +takes no heed of consequences, if only it can make an impression at +the moment. Marya Timofyevna, who had watched her all the time with +light-hearted curiosity, laughed exultingly at the sight of the wrathful +guest’s finger pointed impetuously at her, and wriggled gleefully in her +easy chair. +</p> +<p> +“God Almighty have mercy on us, they’ve all gone crazy!” exclaimed +Varvara Petrovna, and turning pale she sank back in her chair. +</p> +<p> +She turned so pale that it caused some commotion. Stepan Trofimovitch +was the first to rush up to her. I drew near also; even Liza got up from +her seat, though she did not come forward. But the most alarmed of all +was Praskovya Ivanovna herself. She uttered a scream, got up as far as +she could and almost wailed in a lachrymose voice: +</p> +<p> +“Varvara Petrovna, dear, forgive me for my wicked foolishness! Give her +some water, somebody.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t whimper, please, Praskovya Ivanovna, and leave me alone, +gentlemen, please, I don’t want any water!” Varvara Petrovna pronounced +in a firm though low voice, with blanched lips. +</p> +<p> +“Varvara Petrovna, my dear,” Praskovya Ivanovna went on, a little +reassured, “though I am to blame for my reckless words, what’s upset me +more than anything are these anonymous letters that some low creatures +keep bombarding me with; they might write to you, since it concerns you, +but I’ve a daughter!” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna looked at her in silence, with wide-open eyes, +listening with wonder. At that moment a side-door in the corner opened +noiselessly, and Darya Pavlovna made her appearance. She stood still and +looked round. She was struck by our perturbation. Probably she did not +at first distinguish Marya Timofyevna, of whose presence she had not +been informed. Stepan Trofimovitch was the first to notice her; he made +a rapid movement, turned red, and for some reason proclaimed in a loud +voice: “Darya Pavlovna!” so that all eyes turned on the new-comer. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, is this your Darya Pavlovna!” cried Marya Timofyevna. “Well, +Shatushka, your sister’s not like you. How can my fellow call such a +charmer the serf-wench Dasha?” +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile Darya Pavlovna had gone up to Varvara Petrovna, but struck +by Marya Timofyevna’s exclamation she turned quickly and stopped just +before her chair, looking at the imbecile with a long fixed gaze. +</p> +<p> +“Sit down, Dasha,” Varvara Petrovna brought out with terrifying +composure. “Nearer, that’s right. You can see this woman, sitting down. +Do you know her?” +</p> +<p> +“I have never seen her,” Dasha answered quietly, and after a pause she +added at once: +</p> +<p> +“She must be the invalid sister of Captain Lebyadkin.” +</p> +<p> +“And it’s the first time I’ve set eyes on you, my love, though I’ve been +interested and wanted to know you a long time, for I see how +well-bred you are in every movement you make,” Marya Timofyevna cried +enthusiastically. “And though my footman swears at you, can such a +well-educated charming person as you really have stolen money from +him? For you are sweet, sweet, sweet, I tell you that from myself!” she +concluded, enthusiastically waving her hand. +</p> +<p> +“Can you make anything of it?” Varvara Petrovna asked with proud +dignity. +</p> +<p> +“I understand it.…” +</p> +<p> +“Have you heard about the money?” +</p> +<p> +“No doubt it’s the money that I undertook at Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s +request to hand over to her brother, Captain Lebyadkin.” +</p> +<p> +A silence followed. +</p> +<p> +“Did Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch himself ask you to do so?” +</p> +<p> +“He was very anxious to send that money, three hundred roubles, to Mr. +Lebyadkin. And as he didn’t know his address, but only knew that he +was to be in our town, he charged me to give it to Mr. Lebyadkin if he +came.” +</p> +<p> +“What is the money … lost? What was this woman speaking about just +now?” +</p> +<p> +“That I don’t know. I’ve heard before that Mr. Lebyadkin says I didn’t +give him all the money, but I don’t understand his words. There were +three hundred roubles and I sent him three hundred roubles.” +</p> +<p> +Darya Pavlovna had almost completely regained her composure. And it was +difficult, I may mention, as a rule, to astonish the girl or ruffle her +calm for long—whatever she might be feeling. She brought out all her +answers now without haste, replied immediately to every question with +accuracy, quietly, smoothly, and without a trace of the sudden emotion +she had shown at first, or the slightest embarrassment which might +have suggested a consciousness of guilt. Varvara Petrovna’s eyes were +fastened upon her all the time she was speaking. Varvara Petrovna +thought for a minute: +</p> +<p> +“If,” she pronounced at last firmly, evidently addressing all present, +though she only looked at Dasha, “if Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch did not +appeal even to me but asked you to do this for him, he must have had his +reasons for doing so. I don’t consider I have any right to inquire into +them, if they are kept secret from me. But the very fact of your having +taken part in the matter reassures me on that score, be sure of that, +Darya, in any case. But you see, my dear, you may, through ignorance of +the world, have quite innocently done something imprudent; and you did +so when you undertook to have dealings with a low character. The rumours +spread by this rascal show what a mistake you made. But I will find +out about him, and as it is my task to protect you, I shall know how to +defend you. But now all this must be put a stop to.” +</p> +<p> +“The best thing to do,” said Marya Timofyevna, popping up from her +chair, “is to send him to the footmen’s room when he comes. Let him +sit on the benches there and play cards with them while we sit here and +drink coffee. We might send him a cup of coffee too, but I have a great +contempt for him.” +</p> +<p> +And she wagged her head expressively. +</p> +<p> +“We must put a stop to this,” Varvara Petrovna repeated, listening +attentively to Marya Timofyevna. “Ring, Stepan Trofimovitch, I beg you.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch rang, and suddenly stepped forward, all excitement. +</p> +<p> +“If … if …” he faltered feverishly, flushing, breaking off and +stuttering, “if I too have heard the most revolting story, or rather +slander, it was with utter indignation … <i>enfin c’est un homme perdu, et +quelque chose comme un forçat evadé</i>.…” +</p> +<p> +He broke down and could not go on. Varvara Petrovna, screwing up her +eyes, looked him up and down. +</p> +<p> +The ceremonious butler Alexey Yegorytch came in. +</p> +<p> +“The carriage,” Varvara Petrovna ordered. “And you, Alexey Yegorytch, +get ready to escort Miss Lebyadkin home; she will give you the address +herself.” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Lebyadkin has been waiting for her for some time downstairs, and +has been begging me to announce him.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s impossible, Varvara Petrovna!” and Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who had +sat all the time in unbroken silence, suddenly came forward in alarm. +“If I may speak, he is not a man who can be admitted into society. +He … he … he’s an impossible person, Varvara Petrovna!” +</p> +<p> +“Wait a moment,” said Varvara Petrovna to Alexey Yegorytch, and he +disappeared at once. +</p> +<p> +<i>“C’est un homme malhonnête et je crois même que c’est un forçat evadé +ou quelque chose dans ce genre,”</i> Stepan Trofimovitch muttered again, and +again he flushed red and broke off. +</p> +<p> +“Liza, it’s time we were going,” announced Praskovya Ivanovna +disdainfully, getting up from her seat. She seemed sorry that in her +alarm she had called herself a fool. While Darya Pavlovna was speaking, +she listened, pressing her lips superciliously. But what struck me most +was the expression of Lizaveta Nikolaevna from the moment Darya Pavlovna +had come in. There was a gleam of hatred and hardly disguised contempt +in her eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Wait one minute, Praskovya Ivanovna, I beg you.” Varvara Petrovna +detained her, still with the same exaggerated composure. “Kindly sit +down. I intend to speak out, and your legs are bad. That’s right, thank +you. I lost my temper just now and uttered some impatient words. Be so +good as to forgive me. I behaved foolishly and I’m the first to regret +it, because I like fairness in everything. Losing your temper too, +of course, you spoke of certain anonymous letters. Every anonymous +communication is deserving of contempt, just because it’s not signed. If +you think differently I’m sorry for you. In any case, if I were in your +place, I would not pry into such dirty corners, I would not soil my +hands with it. But you have soiled yours. However, since you have +begun on the subject yourself, I must tell you that six days ago I too +received a clownish anonymous letter. In it some rascal informs me that +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch has gone out of his mind, and that I have reason +to fear some lame woman, who ‘is destined to play a great part in +my life.’ I remember the expression. Reflecting and being aware that +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch has very numerous enemies, I promptly sent for a +man living here, one of his secret enemies, and the most vindictive and +contemptible of them, and from my conversation with him I gathered what +was the despicable source of the anonymous letter. If you too, my poor +Praskovya Ivanovna, have been worried by similar letters on my account, +and as you say ‘bombarded’ with them, I am, of course, the first to +regret having been the innocent cause of it. That’s all I wanted to tell +you by way of explanation. I’m very sorry to see that you are so +tired and so upset. Besides, I have quite made up my mind to see that +suspicious personage of whom Mavriky Nikolaevitch said just now, a +little inappropriately, that it was impossible to receive him. Liza in +particular need have nothing to do with it. Come to me, Liza, my dear, +let me kiss you again.” +</p> +<p> +Liza crossed the room and stood in silence before Varvara Petrovna. The +latter kissed her, took her hands, and, holding her at arm’s-length, +looked at her with feeling, then made the sign of the cross over her and +kissed her again. +</p> +<p> +“Well, good-bye, Liza” (there was almost the sound of tears in Varvara +Petrovna’s voice), “believe that I shall never cease to love you +whatever fate has in store for you. God be with you. I have always +blessed His Holy Will.…” +</p> +<p> +She would have added something more, but restrained herself and broke +off. Liza was walking back to her place, still in the same silence, as +it were plunged in thought, but she suddenly stopped before her mother. +</p> +<p> +“I am not going yet, mother. I’ll stay a little longer at auntie’s,” she +brought out in a low voice, but there was a note of iron determination +in those quiet words. +</p> +<p> +“My goodness! What now?” wailed Praskovya Ivanovna, clasping her hands +helplessly. But Liza did not answer, and seemed indeed not to hear her; +she sat down in the same corner and fell to gazing into space again as +before. +</p> +<p> +There was a look of pride and triumph in Varvara Petrovna’s face. +</p> +<p> +“Mavriky Nikolaevitch, I have a great favour to ask of you. Be so kind +as to go and take a look at that person downstairs, and if there is any +possibility of admitting him, bring him up here.” +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch bowed and went out. A moment later he brought in +Mr. Lebyadkin. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +I have said something of this gentleman’s outward appearance. He was a +tall, curly-haired, thick-set fellow about forty with a purplish, rather +bloated and flabby face, with cheeks that quivered at every movement of +his head, with little bloodshot eyes that were sometimes rather crafty, +with moustaches and side-whiskers, and with an incipient double chin, +fleshy and rather unpleasant-looking. But what was most striking about +him was the fact that he appeared now wearing a dress-coat and clean +linen. +</p> +<p> +“There are people on whom clean linen is almost unseemly,” as Liputin +had once said when Stepan Trofimovitch reproached him in jest for being +untidy. The captain had perfectly new black gloves too, of which he +held the right one in his hand, while the left, tightly stretched and +unbuttoned, covered part of the huge fleshy fist in which he held a +brand-new, glossy round hat, probably worn for the first time that day. +It appeared therefore that “the garb of love,” of which he had shouted +to Shatov the day before, really did exist. All this, that is, the +dress-coat and clean linen, had been procured by Liputin’s advice with +some mysterious object in view (as I found out later). There was no +doubt that his coming now (in a hired carriage) was at the instigation +and with the assistance of someone else; it would never have dawned on +him, nor could he by himself have succeeded in dressing, getting ready +and making up his mind in three-quarters of an hour, even if the scene +in the porch of the cathedral had reached his ears at once. He was not +drunk, but was in the dull, heavy, dazed condition of a man suddenly +awakened after many days of drinking. It seemed as though he would be +drunk again if one were to put one’s hands on his shoulders and rock +him to and fro once or twice. He was hurrying into the drawing-room but +stumbled over a rug near the doorway. Marya Timofyevna was helpless with +laughter. He looked savagely at her and suddenly took a few rapid steps +towards Varvara Petrovna. +</p> +<p> +“I have come, madam …” he blared out like a trumpet-blast. +</p> +<p> +“Be so good, sir, as to take a seat there, on that chair,” said Varvara +Petrovna, drawing herself up. “I shall hear you as well from there, and +it will be more convenient for me to look at you from here.” +</p> +<p> +The captain stopped short, looking blankly before him. He turned, +however, and sat down on the seat indicated close to the door. An +extreme lack of self-confidence and at the same time insolence, and a +sort of incessant irritability, were apparent in the expression of his +face. He was horribly scared, that was evident, but his self-conceit +was wounded, and it might be surmised that his mortified vanity might on +occasion lead him to any effrontery, in spite of his cowardice. He was +evidently uneasy at every movement of his clumsy person. We all know +that when such gentlemen are brought by some marvellous chance into +society, they find their worst ordeal in their own hands, and the +impossibility of disposing them becomingly, of which they are conscious +at every moment. The captain sat rigid in his chair, with his hat and +gloves in his hands and his eyes fixed with a senseless stare on the +stern face of Varvara Petrovna. He would have liked, perhaps, to have +looked about more freely, but he could not bring himself to do so yet. +Marya Timofyevna, apparently thinking his appearance very funny, laughed +again, but he did not stir. Varvara Petrovna ruthlessly kept him in this +position for a long time, a whole minute, staring at him without mercy. +</p> +<p> +“In the first place allow me to learn your name from yourself,” Varvara +Petrovna pronounced in measured and impressive tones. +</p> +<p> +“Captain Lebyadkin,” thundered the captain. “I have come, madam …” He +made a movement again. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me!” Varvara Petrovna checked him again. “Is this unfortunate +person who interests me so much really your sister?” +</p> +<p> +“My sister, madam, who has escaped from control, for she is in a certain +condition.…” +</p> +<p> +He suddenly faltered and turned crimson. “Don’t misunderstand me, +madam,” he said, terribly confused. “Her own brother’s not going to +throw mud at her … in a certain condition doesn’t mean in such a +condition … in the sense of an injured reputation … in the last +stage …” he suddenly broke off. +</p> +<p> +“Sir!” said Varvara Petrovna, raising her head. +</p> +<p> +“In this condition!” he concluded suddenly, tapping the middle of his +forehead with his finger. +</p> +<p> +A pause followed. +</p> +<p> +“And has she suffered in this way for long?” asked Varvara Petrovna, +with a slight drawl. +</p> +<p> +“Madam, I have come to thank you for the generosity you showed in the +porch, in a Russian, brotherly way.” +</p> +<p> +“Brotherly?” +</p> +<p> +“I mean, not brotherly, but simply in the sense that I am my sister’s +brother; and believe me, madam,” he went on more hurriedly, turning +crimson again, “I am not so uneducated as I may appear at first sight in +your drawing-room. My sister and I are nothing, madam, compared with the +luxury we observe here. Having enemies who slander us, besides. But on +the question of reputation Lebyadkin is proud, madam … and … and … +and I’ve come to repay with thanks.… Here is money, madam!” +</p> +<p> +At this point he pulled out a pocket-book, drew out of it a bundle of +notes, and began turning them over with trembling fingers in a perfect +fury of impatience. It was evident that he was in haste to explain +something, and indeed it was quite necessary to do so. But probably +feeling himself that his fluster with the money made him look even more +foolish, he lost the last traces of self-possession. The money refused +to be counted. His fingers fumbled helplessly, and to complete his shame +a green note escaped from the pocket-book, and fluttered in zigzags on +to the carpet. +</p> +<p> +“Twenty roubles, madam.” He leapt up suddenly with the roll of notes in +his hand, his face perspiring with discomfort. Noticing the note which +had dropped on the floor, he was bending down to pick it up, but for +some reason overcome by shame, he dismissed it with a wave. +</p> +<p> +“For your servants, madam; for the footman who picks it up. Let them +remember my sister!” +</p> +<p> +“I cannot allow that,” Varvara Petrovna brought out hurriedly, even with +some alarm. +</p> +<p> +“In that case …” +</p> +<p> +He bent down, picked it up, flushing crimson, and suddenly going up to +Varvara Petrovna held out the notes he had counted. +</p> +<p> +“What’s this?” she cried, really alarmed at last, and positively +shrinking back in her chair. +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch, Stepan Trofimovitch, and I all stepped forward. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be alarmed, don’t be alarmed; I’m not mad, by God, I’m not mad,” +the captain kept asseverating excitedly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, you’re out of your senses.” +</p> +<p> +“Madam, she’s not at all as you suppose. I am an insignificant link. +Oh, madam, wealthy are your mansions, but poor is the dwelling of Marya +Anonyma, my sister, whose maiden name was Lebyadkin, but whom we’ll call +Anonyma for the time, only for <i>the time,</i> madam, for God Himself will +not suffer it forever. Madam, you gave her ten roubles and she took it, +because it was from <i>you,</i> madam! Do you hear, madam? From no one else +in the world would this Marya Anonyma take it, or her grandfather, the +officer killed in the Caucasus before the very eyes of Yermolov, would +turn in his grave. But from you, madam, from you she will take anything. +But with one hand she takes it, and with the other she holds out to +you twenty roubles by way of subscription to one of the benevolent +committees in Petersburg and Moscow, of which you are a member … for +you published yourself, madam, in the <i>Moscow News,</i> that you are ready to +receive subscriptions in our town, and that any one may subscribe.…” +</p> +<p> +The captain suddenly broke off; he breathed hard as though after some +difficult achievement. All he said about the benevolent society had +probably been prepared beforehand, perhaps under Liputin’s supervision. +He perspired more than ever; drops literally trickled down his temples. +Varvara Petrovna looked searchingly at him. +</p> +<p> +“The subscription list,” she said severely, “is always downstairs in +charge of my porter. There you can enter your subscriptions if you wish +to. And so I beg you to put your notes away and not to wave them in the +air. That’s right. I beg you also to go back to your seat. That’s right. +I am very sorry, sir, that I made a mistake about your sister, and gave +her something as though she were poor when she is so rich. There’s only +one thing I don’t understand, why she can only take from me, and no one +else. You so insisted upon that that I should like a full explanation.” +</p> +<p> +“Madam, that is a secret that may be buried only in the grave!” answered +the captain. +</p> +<p> +“Why?” Varvara Petrovna asked, not quite so firmly. +</p> +<p> +“Madam, madam …” +</p> +<p> +He relapsed into gloomy silence, looking on the floor, laying his right +hand on his heart. Varvara Petrovna waited, not taking her eyes off him. +</p> +<p> +“Madam!” he roared suddenly. “Will you allow me to ask you one question? +Only one, but frankly, directly, like a Russian, from the heart?” +</p> +<p> +“Kindly do so.” +</p> +<p> +“Have you ever suffered madam, in your life?” +</p> +<p> +“You simply mean to say that you have been or are being ill-treated by +someone.” +</p> +<p> +“Madam, madam!” He jumped up again, probably unconscious of doing +so, and struck himself on the breast. “Here in this bosom so much has +accumulated, so much that God Himself will be amazed when it is revealed +at the Day of Judgment.” +</p> +<p> +“H’m! A strong expression!” +</p> +<p> +“Madam, I speak perhaps irritably.…” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be uneasy. I know myself when to stop you.” +</p> +<p> +“May I ask you another question, madam?” +</p> +<p> +“Ask another question.” +</p> +<p> +“Can one die simply from the generosity of one’s feelings?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know, as I’ve never asked myself such a question.” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t know! You’ve never asked yourself such a question,” he said +with pathetic irony. “Well, if that’s it, if that’s it … +</p> +<p> +<i>“Be still, despairing heart!”</i> +</p> +<p> +And he struck himself furiously on the chest. He was by now walking +about the room again. +</p> +<p> +It is typical of such people to be utterly incapable of keeping their +desires to themselves; they have, on the contrary, an irresistible +impulse to display them in all their unseemliness as soon as they arise. +When such a gentleman gets into a circle in which he is not at home +he usually begins timidly,—but you have only to give him an inch and he +will at once rush into impertinence. The captain was already excited. +He walked about waving his arms and not listening to questions, talked +about himself very, very quickly, so that sometimes his tongue would not +obey him, and without finishing one phrase he passed to another. It is +true he was probably not quite sober. Moreover, Lizaveta Nikolaevna +was sitting there too, and though he did not once glance at her, her +presence seemed to over-excite him terribly; that, however, is only my +supposition. There must have been some reason which led Varvara Petrovna +to resolve to listen to such a man in spite of her repugnance. Praskovya +Ivanovna was simply shaking with terror, though, I believe she really +did not quite understand what it was about. Stepan Trofimovitch was +trembling too, but that was, on the contrary, because he was disposed to +understand everything, and exaggerate it. Mavriky Nikolaevitch stood in +the attitude of one ready to defend all present; Liza was pale, and she +gazed fixedly with wide-open eyes at the wild captain. Shatov sat in +the same position as before, but, what was strangest of all, Marya +Timofyevna had not only ceased laughing, but had become terribly sad. +She leaned her right elbow on the table, and with a prolonged, mournful +gaze watched her brother declaiming. Darya Pavlovna alone seemed to me +calm. +</p> +<p> +“All that is nonsensical allegory,” said Varvara Petrovna, getting angry +at last. “You haven’t answered my question, why? I insist on an answer.” +</p> +<p> +“I haven’t answered, why? You insist on an answer, why?” repeated +the captain, winking. “That little word ‘why’ has run through all the +universe from the first day of creation, and all nature cries every +minute to it’s Creator, ‘why?’ And for seven thousand years it has had +no answer, and must Captain Lebyadkin alone answer? And is that justice, +madam?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s all nonsense and not to the point!” cried Varvara Petrovna, +getting angry and losing patience. “That’s allegory; besides, you +express yourself too sensationally, sir, which I consider impertinence.” +</p> +<p> +“Madam,” the captain went on, not hearing, “I should have liked perhaps +to be called Ernest, yet I am forced to bear the vulgar name Ignat—why +is that do you suppose? I should have liked to be called Prince de +Monbart, yet I am only Lebyadkin, derived from a swan.* Why is that? +I am a poet, madam, a poet in soul, and might be getting a thousand +roubles at a time from a publisher, yet I am forced to live in a pig +pail. Why? Why, madam? To my mind Russia is a freak of nature and +nothing else.” +</p> + +<pre> * From lebyed, a swan.</pre> + +<p> +“Can you really say nothing more definite?” +</p> +<p> +“I can read you the poem, ‘The Cockroach,’ madam.” +</p> +<p> +“Wha-a-t?” +</p> +<p> +“Madam, I’m not mad yet! I shall be mad, no doubt I shall be, but I’m +not so yet. Madam, a friend of mine—a most honourable man—has written +a Krylov’s fable, called ‘The Cockroach.’ May I read it?” +</p> +<p> +“You want to read some fable of Krylov’s?” +</p> +<p> +“No, it’s not a fable of Krylov’s I want to read. It’s my fable, my own +composition. Believe me, madam, without offence I’m not so uneducated +and depraved as not to understand that Russia can boast of a great +fable-writer, Krylov, to whom the Minister of Education has raised a +monument in the Summer Gardens for the diversion of the young. Here, +madam, you ask me why? The answer is at the end of this fable, in +letters of fire.” +</p> +<p> +“Read your fable.” +</p> +<pre> + “Lived a cockroach in the world + Such was his condition, + In a glass he chanced to fall + Full of fly-perdition.” +</pre> +<p> +“Heavens! What does it mean?” cried Varvara Petrovna.</p> + +<p>“That’s when flies +get into a glass in the summer-time,” the captain explained hurriedly +with the irritable impatience of an author interrupted in reading. “Then +it is perdition to the flies, any fool can understand. Don’t interrupt, +don’t interrupt. You’ll see, you’ll see.…” He kept waving his arms. +</p> +<pre> + “But he squeezed against the flies, + They woke up and cursed him, + Raised to Jove their angry cries; + ‘The glass is full to bursting!’ + In the middle of the din + Came along Nikifor, + Fine old man, and looking in … +</pre> +<p> +I haven’t quite finished it. But no matter, I’ll tell it in words,” +the captain rattled on. “Nikifor takes the glass, and in spite of their +outcry empties away the whole stew, flies, and beetles and all, into the +pig pail, which ought to have been done long ago. But observe, madam, +observe, the cockroach doesn’t complain. That’s the answer to your +question, why?” he cried triumphantly. “‘The cockroach does not +complain.’ As for Nikifor he typifies nature,” he added, speaking +rapidly and walking complacently about the room. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna was terribly angry. +</p> +<p> +“And allow me to ask you about that money said to have been received +from Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, and not to have been given to you, about +which you dared to accuse a person belonging to my household.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s a slander!” roared Lebyadkin, flinging up his right hand +tragically. +</p> +<p> +“No, it’s not a slander.” +</p> +<p> +“Madam, there are circumstances that force one to endure family disgrace +rather than proclaim the truth aloud. Lebyadkin will not blab, madam!” +</p> +<p> +He seemed dazed; he was carried away; he felt his importance; he +certainly had some fancy in his mind. By now he wanted to insult some +one, to do something nasty to show his power. +</p> +<p> +“Ring, please, Stepan Trofimovitch,” Varvara Petrovna asked him. +</p> +<p> +“Lebyadkin’s cunning, madam,” he said, winking with his evil smile; +“he’s cunning, but he too has a weak spot, he too at times is in the +portals of passions, and these portals are the old military hussars’ +bottle, celebrated by Denis Davydov. So when he is in those portals, +madam, he may happen to send a letter in verse, a most magnificent +letter—but which afterwards he would have wished to take back, with the +tears of all his life; for the feeling of the beautiful is destroyed. +But the bird has flown, you won’t catch it by the tail. In those portals +now, madam, Lebyadkin may have spoken about an honourable young lady, +in the honourable indignation of a soul revolted by wrongs, and his +slanderers have taken advantage of it. But Lebyadkin is cunning, madam! +And in vain a malignant wolf sits over him every minute, filling his +glass and waiting for the end. Lebyadkin won’t blab. And at the bottom +of the bottle he always finds instead Lebyadkin’s cunning. But enough, +oh, enough, madam! Your splendid halls might belong to the noblest in +the land, but the cockroach will not complain. Observe that, observe +that he does not complain, and recognise his noble spirit!” +</p> +<p> +At that instant a bell rang downstairs from the porter’s room, and +almost at the same moment Alexey Yegorytch appeared in response to +Stepan Trofimovitch’s ring, which he had somewhat delayed answering. The +correct old servant was unusually excited. +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch has graciously arrived this moment and is +coming here,” he pronounced, in reply to Varvara Petrovna’s questioning +glance. I particularly remember her at that moment; at first she turned +pale, but suddenly her eyes flashed. She drew herself up in her chair +with an air of extraordinary determination. Every one was astounded +indeed. The utterly unexpected arrival of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, +who was not expected for another month, was not only strange from its +unexpectedness but from its fateful coincidence with the present moment. +Even the captain remained standing like a post in the middle of the room +with his mouth wide open, staring at the door with a fearfully stupid +expression. +</p> +<p> +And, behold, from the next room—a very large and long apartment—came +the sound of swiftly approaching footsteps, little, exceedingly rapid +steps; someone seemed to be running, and that someone suddenly flew +into the drawing-room, not Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but a young man who +was a complete stranger to all. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +V +</p> +<p> +I will permit myself to halt here to sketch in a few hurried strokes +this person who had so suddenly arrived on the scene. +</p> +<p> +He was a young man of twenty-seven or thereabouts, a little above the +medium height, with rather long, lank, flaxen hair, and with faintly +defined, irregular moustache and beard. He was dressed neatly, and in +the fashion, though not like a dandy. At the first glance he looked +round-shouldered and awkward, but yet he was not round-shouldered, and +his manner was easy. He seemed a queer fish, and yet later on we all +thought his manners good, and his conversation always to the point. +</p> +<p> +No one would have said that he was ugly, and yet no one would have liked +his face. His head was elongated at the back, and looked flattened at +the sides, so that his face seemed pointed, his forehead was high and +narrow, but his features were small; his eyes were keen, his nose was +small and sharp, his lips were long and thin. The expression of his face +suggested ill-health, but this was misleading. He had a wrinkle on each +cheek which gave him the look of a man who had just recovered from a +serious illness. Yet he was perfectly well and strong, and had never +been ill. +</p> +<p> +He walked and moved very hurriedly, yet never seemed in a hurry to +be off. It seemed as though nothing could disconcert him; in every +circumstance and in every sort of society he remained the same. He had a +great deal of conceit, but was utterly unaware of it himself. +</p> +<p> +He talked quickly, hurriedly, but at the same time with assurance, and +was never at a loss for a word. In spite of his hurried manner his ideas +were in perfect order, distinct and definite—and this was particularly +striking. His articulation was wonderfully clear. His words pattered out +like smooth, big grains, always well chosen, and at your service. +At first this attracted one, but afterwards it became repulsive, just +because of this over-distinct articulation, this string of ever-ready +words. One somehow began to imagine that he must have a tongue of +special shape, somehow exceptionally long and thin, extremely red with a +very sharp everlastingly active little tip. +</p> +<p> +Well, this was the young man who darted now into the drawing-room, and +really, I believe to this day, that he began to talk in the next room, +and came in speaking. He was standing before Varvara Petrovna in a +trice. +</p> +<p> +“… Only fancy, Varvara Petrovna,” he pattered on, “I came in expecting +to find he’d been here for the last quarter of an hour; he arrived an +hour and a half ago; we met at Kirillov’s: he set off half an hour ago +meaning to come straight here, and told me to come here too, a quarter +of an hour later.…” +</p> +<p> +“But who? Who told you to come here?” Varvara Petrovna inquired. +</p> +<p> +“Why, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch! Surely this isn’t the first you’ve heard +of it! But his luggage must have been here a long while, anyway. How +is it you weren’t told? Then I’m the first to bring the news. One might +send out to look for him; he’s sure to be here himself directly +though. And I fancy, at the moment that just fits in with some of +his expectations, and is far as I can judge, at least, some of his +calculations.” +</p> +<p> +At this point he turned his eyes about the room and fixed them with +special attention on the captain. +</p> +<p> +“Ach, Lizaveta Nikolaevna, how glad I am to meet you at the very first +step, delighted to shake hands with you.” He flew up to Liza, who +was smiling gaily, to take her proffered hand, “and I observe that my +honoured friend Praskovya Ivanovna has not forgotten her ‘professor,’ +and actually isn’t cross with him, as she always used to be in +Switzerland. But how are your legs, here, Praskovya Ivanovna, and were +the Swiss doctors right when at the consultation they prescribed your +native air? What? Fomentations? That ought to do good. But how sorry I +was, Varvara Petrovna” (he turned rapidly to her) “that I didn’t arrive +in time to meet you abroad, and offer my respects to you in person; I +had so much to tell you too. I did send word to my old man here, but I +fancy that he did as he always does …” +</p> +<p> +“Petrusha!” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, instantly roused from his +stupefaction. He clasped his hands and flew to his son. “<i>Pierre, mon +enfant!</i> Why, I didn’t know you!” He pressed him in his arms and the +tears rolled down his cheeks. +</p> +<p> +“Come, be quiet, be quiet, no flourishes, that’s enough, that’s enough, +please,” Petrusha muttered hurriedly, trying to extricate himself from +his embrace. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve always sinned against you, always!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s enough. We can talk of that later. I knew you’d carry on. +Come, be a little more sober, please.” +</p> +<p> +“But it’s ten years since I’ve seen you.” +</p> +<p> +“The less reason for demonstrations.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mon enfant!…”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Come, I believe in your affection, I believe in it, take your arms +away. You see, you’re disturbing other people.… Ah, here’s Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch; keep quiet, please.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was already in the room; he came in very quietly +and stood still for an instant in the doorway, quietly scrutinising the +company. +</p> +<p> +I was struck by the first sight of him just as I had been four years +before, when I saw him for the first time. I had not forgotten him in +the least. But I think there are some countenances which always seem to +exhibit something new which one has not noticed before, every time +one meets them, though one may have seen them a hundred times already. +Apparently he was exactly the same as he had been four years before. He +was as elegant, as dignified, he moved with the same air of consequence +as before, indeed he looked almost as young. His faint smile had just +the same official graciousness and complacency. His eyes had the same +stern, thoughtful and, as it were, preoccupied look. In fact, it seemed +as though we had only parted the day before. But one thing struck me. In +old days, though he had been considered handsome, his face was “like a +mask,” as some of our sharp-tongued ladies had expressed it. Now—now, +I don’t know why he impressed me at once as absolutely, incontestably +beautiful, so that no one could have said that his face was like a mask. +Wasn’t it perhaps that he was a little paler and seemed rather thinner +than before? Or was there, perhaps, the light of some new idea in his +eyes? +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch!” cried Varvara Petrovna, drawing herself up +but not rising from her chair. “Stop a minute!” She checked his advance +with a peremptory gesture. +</p> +<p> +But to explain the awful question which immediately followed that +gesture and exclamation—a question which I should have imagined to be +impossible even in Varvara Petrovna, I must ask the reader to remember +what that lady’s temperament had always been, and the extraordinary +impulsiveness she showed at some critical moments. I beg him to consider +also, that in spite of the exceptional strength of her spirit and +the very considerable amount of common sense and practical, so to say +business, tact she possessed, there were moments in her life in which +she abandoned herself altogether, entirely and, if it’s permissible +to say so, absolutely without restraint. I beg him to take into +consideration also that the present moment might really be for her one +of those in which all the essence of life, of all the past and all the +present, perhaps, too, all the future, is concentrated, as it were, +focused. I must briefly recall, too, the anonymous letter of which she +had spoken to Praskovya Ivanovna with so much irritation, though I think +she said nothing of the latter part of it. Yet it perhaps contained the +explanation of the possibility of the terrible question with which she +suddenly addressed her son. +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch,” she repeated, rapping out her words in a +resolute voice in which there was a ring of menacing challenge, “I beg +you to tell me at once, without moving from that place; is it true that +this unhappy cripple—here she is, here, look at her—is it true that +she is … your lawful wife?” +</p> +<p> +I remember that moment only too well; he did not wink an eyelash but +looked intently at his mother. Not the faintest change in his face +followed. At last he smiled, a sort of indulgent smile, and without +answering a word went quietly up to his mother, took her hand, raised it +respectfully to his lips and kissed it. And so great was his invariable +and irresistible ascendancy over his mother that even now she could not +bring herself to pull away her hand. She only gazed at him, her whole +figure one concentrated question, seeming to betray that she could not +bear the suspense another moment. +</p> +<p> +But he was still silent. When he had kissed her hand, he scanned the +whole room once more, and moving, as before, without haste went towards +Marya Timofyevna. It is very difficult to describe people’s countenances +at certain moments. I remember, for instance, that Marya Timofyevna, +breathless with fear, rose to her feet to meet him and clasped her hands +before her, as though beseeching him. And at the same time I remember +the frantic ecstasy which almost distorted her face—an ecstasy almost +too great for any human being to bear. Perhaps both were there, both the +terror and the ecstasy. But I remember moving quickly towards her (I was +standing not far off), for I fancied she was going to faint. +</p> +<p> +“You should not be here,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch said to her in +a caressing and melodious voice; and there was the light of an +extraordinary tenderness in his eyes. He stood before her in the most +respectful attitude, and every gesture showed sincere respect for her. +The poor girl faltered impulsively in a half-whisper. +</p> +<p> +“But may I … kneel down … to you now?” +</p> +<p> +“No, you can’t do that.” +</p> +<p> +He smiled at her magnificently, so that she too laughed joyfully at +once. In the same melodious voice, coaxing her tenderly as though she +were a child, he went on gravely. +</p> +<p> +“Only think that you are a girl, and that though I’m your devoted friend +I’m an outsider, not your husband, nor your father, nor your betrothed. +Give me your arm and let us go; I will take you to the carriage, and if +you will let me I will see you all the way home.” +</p> +<p> +She listened, and bent her head as though meditating. +</p> +<p> +“Let’s go,” she said with a sigh, giving him her hand. +</p> +<p> +But at that point a slight mischance befell her. She must have turned +carelessly, resting on her lame leg, which was shorter than the other. +She fell sideways into the chair, and if the chair had not been there +would have fallen on to the floor. He instantly seized and supported +her, and holding her arm firmly in his, led her carefully and +sympathetically to the door. She was evidently mortified at having +fallen; she was overwhelmed, blushed, and was terribly abashed. Looking +dumbly on the ground, limping painfully, she hobbled after him, almost +hanging on his arm. So they went out. Liza, I saw, suddenly jumped up +from her chair for some reason as they were going out, and she followed +them with intent eyes till they reached the door. Then she sat down +again in silence, but there was a nervous twitching in her face, as +though she had touched a viper. +</p> +<p> +While this scene was taking place between Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch and +Marya Timofyevna every one was speechless with amazement; one could have +heard a fly; but as soon as they had gone out, every one began suddenly +talking. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VI +</p> +<p> +It was very little of it talk, however; it was mostly exclamation. I’ve +forgotten a little the order in which things happened, for a scene of +confusion followed. Stepan Trofimovitch uttered some exclamation in +French, clasping his hands, but Varvara Petrovna had no thought for him. +Even Mavriky Nikolaevitch muttered some rapid, jerky comment. But Pyotr +Stepanovitch was the most excited of all. He was trying desperately with +bold gesticulations to persuade Varvara Petrovna of something, but it +was a long time before I could make out what it was. He appealed +to Praskovya Ivanovna, and Lizaveta Nikolaevna too, even, in his +excitement, addressed a passing shout to his father—in fact he seemed +all over the room at once. Varvara Petrovna, flushing all over, sprang +up from her seat and cried to Praskovya Ivanovna: +</p> +<p> +“Did you hear what he said to her here just now, did you hear it?” +</p> +<p> +But the latter was incapable of replying. She could only mutter +something and wave her hand. The poor woman had troubles of her own to +think about. She kept turning her head towards Liza and was watching her +with unaccountable terror, but she didn’t even dare to think of getting +up and going away until her daughter should get up. In the meantime the +captain wanted to slip away. That I noticed. There was no doubt that he +had been in a great panic from the instant that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +had made his appearance; but Pyotr Stepanovitch took him by the arm and +would not let him go. +</p> +<p> +“It is necessary, quite necessary,” he pattered on to Varvara Petrovna, +still trying to persuade her. He stood facing her, as she was sitting +down again in her easy chair, and, I remember, was listening to him +eagerly; he had succeeded in securing her attention. +</p> +<p> +“It is necessary. You can see for yourself, Varvara Petrovna, that there +is a misunderstanding here, and much that is strange on the surface, +and yet the thing’s as clear as daylight, and as simple as my finger. I +quite understand that no one has authorised me to tell the story, and +I dare say I look ridiculous putting myself forward. But in the first +place, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch attaches no sort of significance to +the matter himself, and, besides, there are incidents of which it is +difficult for a man to make up his mind to give an explanation himself. +And so it’s absolutely necessary that it should be undertaken by a third +person, for whom it’s easier to put some delicate points into words. +Believe me, Varvara Petrovna, that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch is not at +all to blame for not immediately answering your question just now with +a full explanation, it’s all a trivial affair. I’ve known him since his +Petersburg days. Besides, the whole story only does honour to Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, if one must make use of that vague word ‘honour.’” +</p> +<p> +“You mean to say that you were a witness of some incident which gave +rise … to this misunderstanding?” asked Varvara Petrovna. +</p> +<p> +“I witnessed it, and took part in it,” Pyotr Stepanovitch hastened to +declare. +</p> +<p> +“If you’ll give me your word that this will not wound Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch’s delicacy in regard to his feeling for me, from whom +he ne-e-ver conceals anything … and if you are convinced also that your +doing this will be agreeable to him …” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly it will be agreeable, and for that reason I consider it a +particularly agreeable duty. I am convinced that he would beg me to do +it himself.” +</p> +<p> +The intrusive desire of this gentleman, who seemed to have dropped on +us from heaven to tell stories about other people’s affairs, was rather +strange and inconsistent with ordinary usage. +</p> +<p> +But he had caught Varvara Petrovna by touching on too painful a spot. +I did not know the man’s character at that time, and still less his +designs. +</p> +<p> +“I am listening,” Varvara Petrovna announced with a reserved and +cautious manner. She was rather painfully aware of her condescension. +</p> +<p> +“It’s a short story; in fact if you like it’s not a story at all,” he +rattled on, “though a novelist might work it up into a novel in an idle +hour. It’s rather an interesting little incident, Praskovya Ivanovna, +and I am sure that Lizaveta Nikolaevna will be interested to hear +it, because there are a great many things in it that are odd if not +wonderful. Five years ago, in Petersburg, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +made the acquaintance of this gentleman, this very Mr. Lebyadkin who’s +standing here with his mouth open, anxious, I think, to slip away at +once. Excuse me, Varvara Petrovna. I don’t advise you to make your +escape though, you discharged clerk in the former commissariat +department; you see, I remember you very well. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +and I know very well what you’ve been up to here, and, don’t forget, +you’ll have to answer for it. I ask your pardon once more, Varvara +Petrovna. In those days Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch used to call this +gentleman his Falstaff; that must be,” he explained suddenly, “some old +burlesque character, at whom every one laughs, and who is willing to +let every one laugh at him, if only they’ll pay him for it. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch was leading at that time in Petersburg a life, so to +say, of mockery. I can’t find another word to describe it, because he +is not a man who falls into disillusionment, and he disdained to be +occupied with work at that time. I’m only speaking of that period, +Varvara Petrovna. Lebyadkin had a sister, the woman who was sitting here +just now. The brother and sister hadn’t a corner* of their own, but +were always quartering themselves on different people. He used to hang +about the arcades in the Gostiny Dvor, always wearing his old uniform, +and would stop the more respectable-looking passers-by, and everything +he got from them he’d spend in drink. His sister lived like the birds +of heaven. She’d help people in their ‘corners,’ and do jobs for them +on occasion. It was a regular Bedlam. I’ll pass over the description +of this life in ‘corners,’ a life to which Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had +taken,” +</p> +<pre> + * In the poorer quarters of Russian towns a single room is often + let out to several families, each of which occupies a “corner.” +</pre> +<p> +“at that time, from eccentricity. I’m only talking of that period, +Varvara Petrovna; as for ‘eccentricity,’ that’s his own expression. He +does not conceal much from me. Mlle. Lebyadkin, who was thrown in the +way of meeting Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch very often, at one time, was +fascinated by his appearance. He was, so to say, a diamond set in the +dirty background of her life. I am a poor hand at describing feelings, +so I’ll pass them over; but some of that dirty lot took to jeering at +her once, and it made her sad. They always had laughed at her, but she +did not seem to notice it before. She wasn’t quite right in her head +even then, but very different from what she is now. There’s reason to +believe that in her childhood she received something like an education +through the kindness of a benevolent lady. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +had never taken the slightest notice of her. He used to spend his time +chiefly in playing preference with a greasy old pack of cards for +stakes of a quarter-farthing with clerks. But once, when she was being +ill-treated, he went up (without inquiring into the cause) and seized +one of the clerks by the collar and flung him out of a second-floor +window. It was not a case of chivalrous indignation at the sight of +injured innocence; the whole operation took place in the midst of roars +of laughter, and the one who laughed loudest was Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +himself. As it all ended without harm, they were reconciled and began +drinking punch. But the injured innocent herself did not forget it. Of +course it ended in her becoming completely crazy. I repeat I’m a poor +hand at describing feelings. But a delusion was the chief feature in +this case. And Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch aggravated that delusion as +though he did it on purpose. Instead of laughing at her he began all +at once treating Mlle. Lebyadkin with sudden respect. Kirillov, who was +there (a very original man, Varvara Petrovna, and very abrupt, you’ll +see him perhaps one day, for he’s here now), well, this Kirillov who, +as a rule, is perfectly silent, suddenly got hot, and said to Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, I remember, that he treated the girl as though she were +a marquise, and that that was doing for her altogether. I must add that +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had rather a respect for this Kirillov. What do +you suppose was the answer he gave him: ‘You imagine, Mr. Kirillov, that +I am laughing at her. Get rid of that idea, I really do respect her, +for she’s better than any of us.’ And, do you know, he said it in such a +serious tone. Meanwhile, he hadn’t really said a word to her for two or +three months, except ‘good morning’ and ‘good-bye.’ I remember, for I +was there, that she came at last to the point of looking on him almost +as her betrothed who dared not ‘elope with her,’ simply because he had +many enemies and family difficulties, or something of the sort. +There was a great deal of laughter about it. It ended in Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch’s making provision for her when he had to come here, and +I believe he arranged to pay a considerable sum, three hundred roubles a +year, if not more, as a pension for her. In short it was all a caprice, +a fancy of a man prematurely weary on his side, perhaps—it may even +have been, as Kirillov says, a new experiment of a blasé man, with +the object of finding out what you can bring a crazy cripple to.” (You +picked out on purpose, he said, the lowest creature, a cripple, forever +covered with disgrace and blows, knowing, too, that this creature was +dying of comic love for you, and set to work to mystify her completely +on purpose, simply to see what would come of it.) “Though, how is a man +so particularly to blame for the fancies of a crazy woman, to whom +he had hardly uttered two sentences the whole time. There are things, +Varvara Petrovna, of which it is not only impossible to speak sensibly, +but it’s even nonsensical to begin speaking of them at all. Well, +eccentricity then, let it stand at that. Anyway, there’s nothing worse +to be said than that; and yet now they’ve made this scandal out of +it.… I am to some extent aware, Varvara Petrovna, of what is happening +here.” +</p> +<p> +The speaker suddenly broke off and was turning to Lebyadkin. But Varvara +Petrovna checked him. She was in a state of extreme exaltation. +</p> +<p> +“Have you finished?” she asked. +</p> +<p> +“Not yet; to complete my story I should have to ask this gentleman one +or two questions if you’ll allow me … you’ll see the point in a minute, +Varvara Petrovna.” +</p> +<p> +“Enough, afterwards, leave it for the moment I beg you. Oh, I was quite +right to let you speak!” +</p> +<p> +“And note this, Varvara Petrovna,” Pyotr Stepanovitch said hastily. +“Could Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch have explained all this just now in +answer to your question, which was perhaps too peremptory?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, it was.” +</p> +<p> +“And wasn’t I right in saying that in some cases it’s much easier for a +third person to explain things than for the person interested?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes … but in one thing you were mistaken, and, I see with regret, +are still mistaken.” +</p> +<p> +“Really, what’s that?” +</p> +<p> +“You see.… But won’t you sit down, Pyotr Stepanovitch?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, as you please. I am tired indeed. Thank you.” He instantly moved up +an easy chair and turned it so that he had Varvara Petrovna on one +side and Praskovya Ivanovna at the table on the other, while he faced +Lebyadkin, from whom he did not take his eyes for one minute. +</p> +<p> +“You are mistaken in calling this eccentricity.…” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, if it’s only that.…” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, no, wait a little,” said Varvara Petrovna, who was obviously +about to say a good deal and to speak with enthusiasm. As soon as Pyotr +Stepanovitch noticed it, he was all attention. +</p> +<p> +“No, it was something higher than eccentricity, and I assure you, +something sacred even! A proud man who has suffered humiliation early +in life and reached the stage of ‘mockery’ as you so subtly called +it—Prince Harry, in fact, to use the capital nickname Stepan +Trofimovitch gave him then, which would have been perfectly correct if +it were not that he is more like Hamlet, to my thinking at least.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Et vous avez raison,”</i> Stepan Trofimovitch pronounced, impressively and +with feeling. +</p> +<p> +“Thank you, Stepan Trofimovitch. I thank you particularly too for your +unvarying faith in Nicolas, in the loftiness of his soul and of his +destiny. That faith you have even strengthened in me when I was losing +heart.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Chère, chère.”</i> Stepan Trofimovitch was stepping forward, when he +checked himself, reflecting that it was dangerous to interrupt. +</p> +<p> +“And if Nicolas had always had at his side” (Varvara Petrovna almost +shouted) “a gentle Horatio, great in his humility—another excellent +expression of yours, Stepan Trofimovitch—he might long ago have been +saved from the sad and ‘sudden demon of irony,’ which has tormented him +all his life. (‘The demon of irony’ was a wonderful expression of yours +again, Stepan Trofimovitch.) But Nicolas has never had an Horatio or an +Ophelia. He had no one but his mother, and what can a mother do alone, +and in such circumstances? Do you know, Pyotr Stepanovitch, it’s +perfectly comprehensible to me now that a being like Nicolas could be +found even in such filthy haunts as you have described. I can so clearly +picture now that ‘mockery’ of life. (A wonderfully subtle expression +of yours!) That insatiable thirst of contrast, that gloomy background +against which he stands out like a diamond, to use your comparison +again, Pyotr Stepanovitch. And then he meets there a creature +ill-treated by every one, crippled, half insane, and at the same time +perhaps filled with noble feelings.” +</p> +<p> +“H’m.… Yes, perhaps.” +</p> +<p> +“And after that you don’t understand that he’s not laughing at her like +every one. Oh, you people! You can’t understand his defending her from +insult, treating her with respect ‘like a marquise’ (this Kirillov +must have an exceptionally deep understanding of men, though he didn’t +understand Nicolas). It was just this contrast, if you like, that led to +the trouble. If the unhappy creature had been in different surroundings, +perhaps she would never have been brought to entertain such a frantic +delusion. Only a woman can understand it, Pyotr Stepanovitch, only a +woman. How sorry I am that you … not that you’re not a woman, but that +you can’t be one just for the moment so as to understand.” +</p> +<p> +“You mean in the sense that the worse things are the better it is. I +understand, I understand, Varvara Petrovna. It’s rather as it is in +religion; the harder life is for a man or the more crushed and poor the +people are, the more obstinately they dream of compensation in heaven; +and if a hundred thousand priests are at work at it too, inflaming +their delusion, and speculating on it, then … I understand you, Varvara +Petrovna, I assure you.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s not quite it; but tell me, ought Nicolas to have laughed at her +and have treated her as the other clerks, in order to extinguish the +delusion in this unhappy organism.” (Why Varvara Petrovna used the word +organism I couldn’t understand.) “Can you really refuse to recognise +the lofty compassion, the noble tremor of the whole organism with which +Nicolas answered Kirillov: ‘I do not laugh at her.’ A noble, sacred +answer!” +</p> +<p> +“Sublime,” muttered Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“And observe, too, that he is by no means so rich as you suppose. The +money is mine and not his, and he would take next to nothing from me +then.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand, I understand all that, Varvara Petrovna,” said Pyotr +Stepanovitch, with a movement of some impatience. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, it’s my character! I recognise myself in Nicolas. I recognise that +youthfulness, that liability to violent, tempestuous impulses. And if +we ever come to be friends, Pyotr Stepanovitch, and, for my part, I +sincerely hope we may, especially as I am so deeply indebted to you, +then, perhaps you’ll understand.…” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I assure you, I hope for it too,” Pyotr Stepanovitch muttered +jerkily. +</p> +<p> +“You’ll understand then the impulse which leads one in the blindness +of generous feeling to take up a man who is unworthy of one in every +respect, a man who utterly fails to understand one, who is ready to +torture one at every opportunity and, in contradiction to everything, to +exalt such a man into a sort of ideal, into a dream. To concentrate in +him all one’s hopes, to bow down before him; to love him all one’s life, +absolutely without knowing why—perhaps just because he was unworthy of +it.… Oh, how I’ve suffered all my life, Pyotr Stepanovitch!” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch, with a look of suffering on his face, began trying +to catch my eye, but I turned away in time. +</p> +<p> +“… And only lately, only lately—oh, how unjust I’ve been to Nicolas! +… You would not believe how they have been worrying me on all sides, +all, all, enemies, and rascals, and friends, friends perhaps more than +enemies. When the first contemptible anonymous letter was sent to me, +Pyotr Stepanovitch, you’ll hardly believe it, but I had not strength +enough to treat all this wickedness with contempt.… I shall never, +never forgive myself for my weakness.” +</p> +<p> +“I had heard something of anonymous letters here already,” said Pyotr +Stepanovitch, growing suddenly more lively, “and I’ll find out the +writers of them, you may be sure.” +</p> +<p> +“But you can’t imagine the intrigues that have been got up here. They +have even been pestering our poor Praskovya Ivanovna, and what reason +can they have for worrying her? I was quite unfair to you to-day +perhaps, my dear Praskovya Ivanovna,” she added in a generous impulse of +kindliness, though not without a certain triumphant irony. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t say any more, my dear,” the other lady muttered reluctantly. +“To my thinking we’d better make an end of all this; too much has been +said.” +</p> +<p> +And again she looked timidly towards Liza, but the latter was looking at +Pyotr Stepanovitch. +</p> +<p> +“And I intend now to adopt this poor unhappy creature, this insane +woman who has lost everything and kept only her heart,” Varvara Petrovna +exclaimed suddenly. “It’s a sacred duty I intend to carry out. I take +her under my protection from this day.” +</p> +<p> +“And that will be a very good thing in one way,” Pyotr Stepanovitch +cried, growing quite eager again. “Excuse me, I did not finish just now. +It’s just the care of her I want to speak of. Would you believe it, that +as soon as Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had gone (I’m beginning from where +I left off, Varvara Petrovna), this gentleman here, this Mr. Lebyadkin, +instantly imagined he had the right to dispose of the whole pension +that was provided for his sister. And he did dispose of it. I don’t +know exactly how it had been arranged by Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch at that +time. But a year later, when he learned from abroad what had happened, +he was obliged to make other arrangements. Again, I don’t know the +details; he’ll tell you them himself. I only know that the interesting +young person was placed somewhere in a remote nunnery, in very +comfortable surroundings, but under friendly superintendence—you +understand? But what do you think Mr. Lebyadkin made up his mind to do? +He exerted himself to the utmost, to begin with, to find where +his source of income, that is his sister, was hidden. Only lately he +attained his object, took her from the nunnery, asserting some claim to +her, and brought her straight here. Here he doesn’t feed her properly, +beats her, and bullies her. As soon as by some means he gets a +considerable sum from Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, he does nothing but +get drunk, and instead of gratitude ends by impudently defying Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, making senseless demands, threatening him with +proceedings if the pension is not paid straight into his hands. So +he takes what is a voluntary gift from Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch as a +tax—can you imagine it? Mr. Lebyadkin, is that all true that I have +said just now?” +</p> +<p> +The captain, who had till that moment stood in silence looking down, +took two rapid steps forward and turned crimson. +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch, you’ve treated me cruelly,” he brought out +abruptly. +</p> +<p> +“Why cruelly? How? But allow us to discuss the question of cruelty or +gentleness later on. Now answer my first question; is it true all that I +have said or not? If you consider it’s false you are at liberty to give +your own version at once.” +</p> +<p> +“I … you know yourself, Pyotr Stepanovitch,” the captain muttered, but +he could not go on and relapsed into silence. It must be observed that +Pyotr Stepanovitch was sitting in an easy chair with one leg crossed +over the other, while the captain stood before him in the most +respectful attitude. +</p> +<p> +Lebyadkin’s hesitation seemed to annoy Pyotr Stepanovitch; a spasm of +anger distorted his face. +</p> +<p> +“Then you have a statement you want to make?” he said, looking subtly at +the captain. “Kindly speak. We’re waiting for you.” +</p> +<p> +“You know yourself Pyotr Stepanovitch, that I can’t say anything.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I don’t know it. It’s the first time I’ve heard it. Why can’t you +speak?” +</p> +<p> +The captain was silent, with his eyes on the ground. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me to go, Pyotr Stepanovitch,” he brought out resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“No, not till you answer my question: is it all true that I’ve said?” +</p> +<p> +“It is true,” Lebyadkin brought out in a hollow voice, looking at his +tormentor. Drops of perspiration stood out on his forehead. +</p> +<p> +“Is it <i>all</i> true?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s all true.” +</p> +<p> +“Have you nothing to add or to observe? If you think that we’ve been +unjust, say so; protest, state your grievance aloud.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I think nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“Did you threaten Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch lately?” +</p> +<p> +“It was … it was more drink than anything, Pyotr Stepanovitch.” He +suddenly raised his head. “If family honour and undeserved disgrace +cry out among men then—then is a man to blame?” he roared suddenly, +forgetting himself as before. +</p> +<p> +“Are you sober now, Mr. Lebyadkin?” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch looked at him penetratingly. +</p> +<p> +“I am … sober.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by family honour and undeserved disgrace?” +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t mean anybody, anybody at all. I meant myself,” the captain +said, collapsing again. +</p> +<p> +“You seem to be very much offended by what I’ve said about you and your +conduct? You are very irritable, Mr. Lebyadkin. But let me tell you I’ve +hardly begun yet what I’ve got to say about your conduct, in its real +sense. I’ll begin to discuss your conduct in its real sense. I shall +begin, that may very well happen, but so far I’ve not begun, in a real +sense.” +</p> +<p> +Lebyadkin started and stared wildly at Pyotr Stepanovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch, I am just beginning to wake up.” +</p> +<p> +“H’m! And it’s I who have waked you up?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, it’s you who have waked me, Pyotr Stepanovitch; and I’ve been +asleep for the last four years with a storm-cloud hanging over me. May I +withdraw at last, Pyotr Stepanovitch?” +</p> +<p> +“Now you may, unless Varvara Petrovna thinks it necessary …” +</p> +<p> +But the latter dismissed him with a wave of her hand. +</p> +<p> +The captain bowed, took two steps towards the door, stopped suddenly, +laid his hand on his heart, tried to say something, did not say it, and +was moving quickly away. But in the doorway he came face to face with +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch; the latter stood aside. The captain shrank into +himself, as it were, before him, and stood as though frozen to the spot, +his eyes fixed upon him like a rabbit before a boa-constrictor. After +a little pause Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch waved him aside with a slight +motion of his hand, and walked into the drawing-room. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VII +</p> +<p> +He was cheerful and serene. Perhaps something very pleasant had happened +to him, of which we knew nothing as yet; but he seemed particularly +contented. +</p> +<p> +“Do you forgive me, Nicolas?” Varvara Petrovna hastened to say, and got +up suddenly to meet him. +</p> +<p> +But Nicolas positively laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Just as I thought,” he said, good-humouredly and jestingly. “I see you +know all about it already. When I had gone from here I reflected in the +carriage that I ought at least to have told you the story instead of +going off like that. But when I remembered that Pyotr Stepanovitch was +still here, I thought no more of it.” +</p> +<p> +As he spoke he took a cursory look round. +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch told us an old Petersburg episode in the life of a +queer fellow,” Varvara Petrovna rejoined enthusiastically—“a mad +and capricious fellow, though always lofty in his feelings, always +chivalrous and noble.…” +</p> +<p> +“Chivalrous? You don’t mean to say it’s come to that,” laughed Nicolas. +“However, I’m very grateful to Pyotr Stepanovitch for being in such a +hurry this time.” He exchanged a rapid glance with the latter. “You must +know, maman, that Pyotr Stepanovitch is the universal peacemaker; that’s +his part in life, his weakness, his hobby, and I particularly recommend +him to you from that point of view. I can guess what a yarn he’s +been spinning. He’s a great hand at spinning them; he has a perfect +record-office in his head. He’s such a realist, you know, that he can’t +tell a lie, and prefers truthfulness to effect … except, of course, +in special cases when effect is more important than truth.” (As he said +this he was still looking about him.) “So, you see clearly, maman, that +it’s not for you to ask my forgiveness, and if there’s any craziness +about this affair it’s my fault, and it proves that, when all’s said and +done, I really am mad.… I must keep up my character here.…” +</p> +<p> +Then he tenderly embraced his mother. +</p> +<p> +“In any case the subject has been fully discussed and is done with,” +he added, and there was a rather dry and resolute note in his voice. +Varvara Petrovna understood that note, but her exaltation was not +damped, quite the contrary. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t expect you for another month, Nicolas!” +</p> +<p> +“I will explain everything to you, maman, of course, but now …” +</p> +<p> +And he went towards Praskovya Ivanovna. +</p> +<p> +But she scarcely turned her head towards him, though she had been +completely overwhelmed by his first appearance. Now she had fresh +anxieties to think of; at the moment the captain had stumbled upon +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch as he was going out, Liza had suddenly begun +laughing—at first quietly and intermittently, but her laughter grew +more and more violent, louder and more conspicuous. She flushed crimson, +in striking contrast with her gloomy expression just before. +</p> +<p> +While Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was talking to Varvara Petrovna, she had +twice beckoned to Mavriky Nikolaevitch as though she wanted to whisper +something to him; but as soon as the young man bent down to her, she +instantly burst into laughter; so that it seemed as though it was at +poor Mavriky Nikolaevitch that she was laughing. She evidently tried to +control herself, however, and put her handkerchief to her lips. +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch turned to greet her with a most innocent and +open-hearted air. +</p> +<p> +“Please excuse me,” she responded, speaking quickly. “You … you’ve seen +Mavriky Nikolaevitch of course.… My goodness, how inexcusably tall you +are, Mavriky Nikolaevitch!” +</p> +<p> +And laughter again, Mavriky Nikolaevitch was tall, but by no means +inexcusably so. +</p> +<p> +“Have … you been here long?” she muttered, restraining herself again, +genuinely embarrassed though her eyes were shining. +</p> +<p> +“More than two hours,” answered Nicolas, looking at her intently. I may +remark that he was exceptionally reserved and courteous, but that apart +from his courtesy his expression was utterly indifferent, even listless. +</p> +<p> +“And where are you going to stay?” +</p> +<p> +“Here.” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna, too, was watching Liza, but she was suddenly struck by +an idea. +</p> +<p> +“Where have you been all this time, Nicolas, more than two hours?” she +said, going up to him. “The train comes in at ten o’clock.” +</p> +<p> +“I first took Pyotr Stepanovitch to Kirillov’s. I came across Pyotr +Stepanovitch at Matveyev (three stations away), and we travelled +together.” +</p> +<p> +“I had been waiting at Matveyev since sunrise,” put in Pyotr +Stepanovitch. “The last carriages of our train ran off the rails in the +night, and we nearly had our legs broken.” +</p> +<p> +“Your legs broken!” cried Liza. “Maman, maman, you and I meant to go to +Matveyev last week, we should have broken our legs too!” +</p> +<p> +“Heaven have mercy on us!” cried Praskovya Ivanovna, crossing herself. +</p> +<p> +“Maman, maman, dear maman, you mustn’t be frightened if I break both my +legs. It may so easily happen to me; you say yourself that I ride so +recklessly every day. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, will you go about with me +when I’m lame?” She began giggling again. “If it does happen I won’t let +anyone take me about but you, you can reckon on that.… Well, suppose I +break only one leg. Come, be polite, say you’ll think it a pleasure.” +</p> +<p> +“A pleasure to be crippled?” said Mavriky Nikolaevitch, frowning +gravely. +</p> +<p> +“But then you’ll lead me about, only you and no one else.” +</p> +<p> +“Even then it’ll be you leading me about, Lizaveta Nikolaevna,” +murmured Mavriky Nikolaevitch, even more gravely. +</p> +<p> +“Why, he’s trying to make a joke!” cried Liza, almost in dismay. +“Mavriky Nikolaevitch, don’t you ever dare take to that! But what an +egoist you are! I am certain that, to your credit, you’re slandering +yourself. It will be quite the contrary; from morning till night you’ll +assure me that I have become more charming for having lost my leg. +There’s one insurmountable difficulty—you’re so fearfully tall, and +when I’ve lost my leg I shall be so very tiny. How will you be able to +take me on your arm; we shall look a strange couple!” +</p> +<p> +And she laughed hysterically. Her jests and insinuations were feeble, +but she was not capable of considering the effect she was producing. +</p> +<p> +“Hysterics!” Pyotr Stepanovitch whispered to me. “A glass of water, make +haste!” +</p> +<p> +He was right. A minute later every one was fussing about, water was +brought. Liza embraced her mother, kissed her warmly, wept on her +shoulder, then drawing back and looking her in the face she fell to +laughing again. The mother too began whimpering. Varvara Petrovna made +haste to carry them both off to her own rooms, going out by the same +door by which Darya Pavlovna had come to us. But they were not away +long, not more than four minutes. +</p> +<p> +I am trying to remember now every detail of these last moments of that +memorable morning. I remember that when we were left without the ladies +(except Darya Pavlovna, who had not moved from her seat), Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch made the round, greeting us all except Shatov, who still +sat in his corner, his head more bowed than ever. Stepan Trofimovitch +was beginning something very witty to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but the +latter turned away hurriedly to Darya Pavlovna. But before he reached +her, Pyotr Stepanovitch caught him and drew him away, almost violently, +towards the window, where he whispered something quickly to him, +apparently something very important to judge by the expression of +his face and the gestures that accompanied the whisper. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch listened inattentively and listlessly with his official +smile, and at last even impatiently, and seemed all the time on the +point of breaking away. He moved away from the window just as the ladies +came back. Varvara Petrovna made Liza sit down in the same seat as +before, declaring that she must wait and rest another ten minutes; and +that the fresh air would perhaps be too much for her nerves at once. +She was looking after Liza with great devotion, and sat down beside +her. Pyotr Stepanovitch, now disengaged, skipped up to them at once, +and broke into a rapid and lively flow of conversation. At that point +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch at last went up to Darya Pavlovna with his +leisurely step. Dasha began stirring uneasily at his approach, and +jumped up quickly in evident embarrassment, flushing all over her face. +</p> +<p> +“I believe one may congratulate you … or is it too soon?” he brought +out with a peculiar line in his face. +</p> +<p> +Dasha made him some answer, but it was difficult to catch it. +</p> +<p> +“Forgive my indiscretion,” he added, raising his voice, “but you know I +was expressly informed. Did you know about it?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I know that you were expressly informed.” +</p> +<p> +“But I hope I have not done any harm by my congratulations,” he laughed. +“And if Stepan Trofimovitch …” +</p> +<p> +“What, what’s the congratulation about?” Pyotr Stepanovitch suddenly +skipped up to them. “What are you being congratulated about, Darya +Pavlovna? Bah! Surely that’s not it? Your blush proves I’ve guessed +right. And indeed, what else does one congratulate our charming and +virtuous young ladies on? And what congratulations make them blush most +readily? Well, accept mine too, then, if I’ve guessed right! And pay +up. Do you remember when we were in Switzerland you bet you’d never be +married.… Oh, yes, apropos of Switzerland—what am I thinking about? +Only fancy, that’s half what I came about, and I was almost forgetting +it. Tell me,” he turned quickly to Stepan Trofimovitch, “when are you +going to Switzerland?” +</p> +<p> +“I … to Switzerland?” Stepan Trofimovitch replied, wondering and +confused. +</p> +<p> +“What? Aren’t you going? Why you’re getting married, too, you wrote?” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Pierre!”</i> cried Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Well, why Pierre?… You see, if that’ll please you, I’ve flown here to +announce that I’m not at all against it, since you were set on having +my opinion as quickly as possible; and if, indeed,” he pattered on, “you +want to ‘be saved,’ as you wrote, beseeching my help in the same letter, +I am at your service again. Is it true that he is going to be married, +Varvara Petrovna?” He turned quickly to her. “I hope I’m not being +indiscreet; he writes himself that the whole town knows it and every +one’s congratulating him, so that, to avoid it he only goes out at +night. I’ve got his letters in my pocket. But would you believe it, +Varvara Petrovna, I can’t make head or tail of it? Just tell me one +thing, Stepan Trofimovitch, are you to be congratulated or are you to +be ‘saved’? You wouldn’t believe it; in one line he’s despairing and in +the next he’s most joyful. To begin with he begs my forgiveness; well, +of course, that’s their way … though it must be said; fancy, the man’s +only seen me twice in his life and then by accident. And suddenly now, +when he’s going to be married for the third time, he imagines that +this is a breach of some sort of parental duty to me, and entreats me a +thousand miles away not to be angry and to allow him to. Please don’t +be hurt, Stepan Trofimovitch. It’s characteristic of your generation, +I take a broad view of it, and don’t blame you. And let’s admit it does +you honour and all the rest. But the point is again that I don’t see the +point of it. There’s something about some sort of ‘sins in Switzerland.’ +‘I’m getting married,’ he says, ‘for my sins or on account of the ‘sins’ +of another,’ or whatever it is—‘sins’ anyway. ‘The girl,’ says he, ‘is +a pearl and a diamond,’ and, well, of course, he’s ‘unworthy of her’; +it’s their way of talking; but on account of some sins or circumstances +‘he is obliged to lead her to the altar, and go to Switzerland, and +therefore abandon everything and fly to save me.’ Do you understand +anything of all that? However … however, I notice from the expression +of your faces”—(he turned about with the letter in his hand looking +with an innocent smile into the faces of the company)—“that, as usual, +I seem to have put my foot in it through my stupid way of being open, +or, as Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch says, ‘being in a hurry.’ I thought, of +course, that we were all friends here, that is, your friends, Stepan +Trofimovitch, your friends. I am really a stranger, and I see … and I +see that you all know something, and that just that something I don’t +know.” He still went on looking about him. +</p> +<p> +“So Stepan Trofimovitch wrote to you that he was getting married for +the ‘sins of another committed in Switzerland,’ and that you were to +fly here ‘to save him,’ in those very words?” said Varvara Petrovna, +addressing him suddenly. Her face was yellow and distorted, and her lips +were twitching. +</p> +<p> +“Well, you see, if there’s anything I’ve not understood,” said Pyotr +Stepanovitch, as though in alarm, talking more quickly than ever, “it’s +his fault, of course, for writing like that. Here’s the letter. You +know, Varvara Petrovna, his letters are endless and incessant, and, +you know, for the last two or three months there has been letter upon +letter, till, I must own, at last I sometimes didn’t read them through. +Forgive me, Stepan Trofimovitch, for my foolish confession, but you must +admit, please, that, though you addressed them to me, you wrote them +more for posterity, so that you really can’t mind.… Come, come, don’t +be offended; we’re friends, anyway. But this letter, Varvara Petrovna, +this letter, I did read through. These ‘sins’—these ‘sins of +another’—are probably some little sins of our own, and I don’t mind +betting very innocent ones, though they have suddenly made us take a +fancy to work up a terrible story, with a glamour of the heroic about +it; and it’s just for the sake of that glamour we’ve got it up. You +see there’s something a little lame about our accounts—it must be +confessed, in the end. We’ve a great weakness for cards, you know.… +But this is unnecessary, quite unnecessary, I’m sorry, I chatter too +much. But upon my word, Varvara Petrovna, he gave me a fright, and I +really was half prepared to save him. He really made me feel ashamed. +Did he expect me to hold a knife to his throat, or what? Am I such a +merciless creditor? He writes something here of a dowry.… But are you +really going to get married, Stepan Trofimovitch? That would be just +like you, to say a lot for the sake of talking. Ach, Varvara Petrovna, +I’m sure you must be blaming me now, and just for my way of talking +too.…” +</p> +<p> +“On the contrary, on the contrary, I see that you are driven out of +all patience, and, no doubt you have had good reason,” Varvara Petrovna +answered spitefully. She had listened with spiteful enjoyment to all the +“candid outbursts” of Pyotr Stepanovitch, who was obviously playing +a part (what part I did not know then, but it was unmistakable, and +over-acted indeed). +</p> +<p> +“On the contrary,” she went on, “I’m only too grateful to you for +speaking; but for you I might not have known of it. My eyes are opened +for the first time for twenty years. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, you +said just now that you had been expressly informed; surely Stepan +Trofimovitch hasn’t written to you in the same style?” +</p> +<p> +“I did get a very harmless and … and … very generous letter from +him.…” +</p> +<p> +“You hesitate, you pick out your words. That’s enough! Stepan +Trofimovitch, I request a great favour from you.” She suddenly turned to +him with flashing eyes. “Kindly leave us at once, and never set foot in +my house again.” +</p> +<p> +I must beg the reader to remember her recent “exaltation,” which had not +yet passed. It’s true that Stepan Trofimovitch was terribly to blame! +But what was a complete surprise to me then was the wonderful dignity of +his bearing under his son’s “accusation,” which he had never thought of +interrupting, and before Varvara Petrovna’s “denunciation.” How did he +come by such spirit? I only found out one thing, that he had certainly +been deeply wounded at his first meeting with Petrusha, by the way he +had embraced him. It was a deep and genuine grief; at least in his eyes +and to his heart. He had another grief at the same time, that is the +poignant consciousness of having acted contemptibly. He admitted this +to me afterwards with perfect openness. And you know real genuine sorrow +will sometimes make even a phenomenally frivolous, unstable man solid +and stoical; for a short time at any rate; what’s more, even fools are +by genuine sorrow turned into wise men, also only for a short time of +course; it is characteristic of sorrow. And if so, what might not +happen with a man like Stepan Trofimovitch? It worked a complete +transformation—though also only for a time, of course. +</p> +<p> +He bowed with dignity to Varvara Petrovna without uttering a word (there +was nothing else left for him to do, indeed). He was on the point of +going out without a word, but could not refrain from approaching Darya +Pavlovna. She seemed to foresee that he would do so, for she began +speaking of her own accord herself, in utter dismay, as though in haste +to anticipate him. +</p> +<p> +“Please, Stepan Trofimovitch, for God’s sake, don’t say anything,” she +began, speaking with haste and excitement, with a look of pain in her +face, hurriedly stretching out her hands to him. “Be sure that I still +respect you as much … and think just as highly of you, and … think +well of me too, Stepan Trofimovitch, that will mean a great deal to me, +a great deal.…” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch made her a very, very low bow. +</p> +<p> +“It’s for you to decide, Darya Pavlovna; you know that you are perfectly +free in the whole matter! You have been, and you are now, and you always +will be,” Varvara Petrovna concluded impressively. +</p> +<p> +“Bah! Now I understand it all!” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, slapping +himself on the forehead. “But … but what a position I am put in by +all this! Darya Pavlovna, please forgive me!… What do you call your +treatment of me, eh?” he said, addressing his father. +</p> +<p> +“Pierre, you might speak to me differently, mightn’t you, my boy,” +Stepan Trofimovitch observed quite quietly. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t cry out, please,” said Pierre, with a wave of his hand. “Believe +me, it’s all your sick old nerves, and crying out will do no good at +all. You’d better tell me instead, why didn’t you warn me since you +might have supposed I should speak out at the first chance?” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch looked searchingly at him. +</p> +<p> +“Pierre, you who know so much of what goes on here, can you really have +known nothing of this business and have heard nothing about it?” +</p> +<p> +“What? What a set! So it’s not enough to be a child in your old age, +you must be a spiteful child too! Varvara Petrovna, did you hear what he +said?” +</p> +<p> +There was a general outcry; but then suddenly an incident took place +which no one could have anticipated. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VIII +</p> +<p> +First of all I must mention that, for the last two or three minutes +Lizaveta Nikolaevna had seemed to be possessed by a new impulse; she +was whispering something hurriedly to her mother, and to Mavriky +Nikolaevitch, who bent down to listen. Her face was agitated, but at the +same time it had a look of resolution. At last she got up from her +seat in evident haste to go away, and hurried her mother whom Mavriky +Nikolaevitch began helping up from her low chair. But it seemed they +were not destined to get away without seeing everything to the end. +</p> +<p> +Shatov, who had been forgotten by every one in his corner (not far from +Lizaveta Nikolaevna), and who did not seem to know himself why he went +on sitting there, got up from his chair, and walked, without haste, with +resolute steps right across the room to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, looking +him straight in the face. The latter noticed him approaching at some +distance, and faintly smiled, but when Shatov was close to him he left +off smiling. +</p> +<p> +When Shatov stood still facing him with his eyes fixed on him, and +without uttering a word, every one suddenly noticed it and there was a +general hush; Pyotr Stepanovitch was the last to cease speaking. Liza +and her mother were standing in the middle of the room. So passed five +seconds; the look of haughty astonishment was followed by one of anger +on Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s face; he scowled.… +</p> +<p> +And suddenly Shatov swung his long, heavy arm, and with all his might +struck him a blow in the face. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch staggered +violently. +</p> +<p> +Shatov struck the blow in a peculiar way, not at all after the +conventional fashion (if one may use such an expression). It was not a +slap with the palm of his hand, but a blow with the whole fist, and it +was a big, heavy, bony fist covered with red hairs and freckles. If the +blow had struck the nose, it would have broken it. But it hit him on the +cheek, and struck the left corner of the lip and the upper teeth, from +which blood streamed at once. +</p> +<p> +I believe there was a sudden scream, perhaps Varvara Petrovna +screamed—that I don’t remember, because there was a dead hush again; +the whole scene did not last more than ten seconds, however. +</p> +<p> +Yet a very great deal happened in those seconds. +</p> +<p> +I must remind the reader again that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s was one +of those natures that know nothing of fear. At a duel he could face the +pistol of his opponent with indifference, and could take aim and kill +with brutal coolness. If anyone had slapped him in the face, I should +have expected him not to challenge his assailant to a duel, but to +murder him on the spot. He was just one of those characters, and would +have killed the man, knowing very well what he was doing, and without +losing his self-control. I fancy, indeed, that he never was liable to +those fits of blind rage which deprive a man of all power of reflection. +Even when overcome with intense anger, as he sometimes was, he was +always able to retain complete self-control, and therefore to realise +that he would certainly be sent to penal servitude for murdering a man +not in a duel; nevertheless, he’d have killed any one who insulted him, +and without the faintest hesitation. +</p> +<p> +I have been studying Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch of late, and through +special circumstances I know a great many facts about him now, at the +time I write. I should compare him, perhaps, with some gentlemen of the +past of whom legendary traditions are still perceived among us. We are +told, for instance, about the Decabrist L—n, that he was always seeking +for danger, that he revelled in the sensation, and that it had become +a craving of his nature; that in his youth he had rushed into duels for +nothing; that in Siberia he used to go to kill bears with nothing but +a knife; that in the Siberian forests he liked to meet with runaway +convicts, who are, I may observe in passing, more formidable than bears. +There is no doubt that these legendary gentlemen were capable of a +feeling of fear, and even to an extreme degree, perhaps, or they would +have been a great deal quieter, and a sense of danger would never have +become a physical craving with them. But the conquest of fear was +what fascinated them. The continual ecstasy of vanquishing and the +consciousness that no one could vanquish them was what attracted them. +The same L—n struggled with hunger for some time before he was sent +into exile, and toiled to earn his daily bread simply because he did not +care to comply with the requests of his rich father, which he considered +unjust. So his conception of struggle was many-sided, and he did not +prize stoicism and strength of character only in duels and bear-fights. +</p> +<p> +But many years have passed since those times, and the nervous, +exhausted, complex character of the men of to-day is incompatible with +the craving for those direct and unmixed sensations which were so sought +after by some restlessly active gentlemen of the good old days. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch would, perhaps, have looked down on L—n, and have +called him a boastful cock-a-hoop coward; it’s true he wouldn’t have +expressed himself aloud. Stavrogin would have shot his opponent in a +duel, and would have faced a bear if necessary, and would have defended +himself from a brigand in the forest as successfully and as fearlessly +as L—n, but it would be without the slightest thrill of enjoyment, +languidly, listlessly, even with ennui and entirely from unpleasant +necessity. In anger, of course, there has been a progress compared with +L—n, even compared with Lermontov. There was perhaps more malignant +anger in Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch than in both put together, but it was a +calm, cold, if one may so say, <i>reasonable</i> anger, and therefore the most +revolting and most terrible possible. I repeat again, I considered him +then, and I still consider him (now that everything is over), a man who, +if he received a slap in the face, or any equivalent insult, would be +certain to kill his assailant at once, on the spot, without challenging +him. +</p> +<p> +Yet, in the present case, what happened was something different and +amazing. +</p> +<p> +He had scarcely regained his balance after being almost knocked over in +this humiliating way, and the horrible, as it were, sodden, thud of +the blow in the face had scarcely died away in the room when he seized +Shatov by the shoulders with both hands, but at once, almost at the same +instant, pulled both hands away and clasped them behind his back. He did +not speak, but looked at Shatov, and turned as white as his shirt. But, +strange to say, the light in his eyes seemed to die out. Ten seconds +later his eyes looked cold, and I’m sure I’m not lying—calm. Only he +was terribly pale. Of course I don’t know what was passing within the +man, I saw only his exterior. It seems to me that if a man should snatch +up a bar of red-hot iron and hold it tight in his hand to test his +fortitude, and after struggling for ten seconds with insufferable pain +end by overcoming it, such a man would, I fancy, go through something +like what Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was enduring during those ten seconds. +</p> +<p> +Shatov was the first to drop his eyes, and evidently because he was +unable to go on facing him; then he turned slowly and walked out of the +room, but with a very different step. He withdrew quietly, with peculiar +awkwardness, with his shoulders hunched, his head hanging as though +he were inwardly pondering something. I believe he was whispering +something. He made his way to the door carefully, without stumbling +against anything or knocking anything over; he opened the door a very +little way, and squeezed through almost sideways. As he went out his +shock of hair standing on end at the back of his head was particularly +noticeable. +</p> +<p> +Then first of all one fearful scream was heard. I saw Lizaveta +Nikolaevna seize her mother by the shoulder and Mavriky Nikolaevitch by +the arm and make two or three violent efforts to draw them out of the +room. But she suddenly uttered a shriek, and fell full length on the +floor, fainting. I can hear the thud of her head on the carpet to this +day. +</p> +<a id="H2_PART2"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + PART II +</h2> +<a id="H2CH0006"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER I. NIGHT +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +EIGHT DAYS HAD PASSED. Now that it is all over and I am writing a record +of it, we know all about it; but at the time we knew nothing, and it was +natural that many things should seem strange to us: Stepan Trofimovitch +and I, anyway, shut ourselves up for the first part of the time, and +looked on with dismay from a distance. I did, indeed, go about here and +there, and, as before, brought him various items of news, without which +he could not exist. +</p> +<p> +I need hardly say that there were rumours of the most varied kind +going about the town in regard to the blow that Stavrogin had received, +Lizaveta Nikolaevna’s fainting fit, and all that happened on that +Sunday. But what we wondered was, through whom the story had got about +so quickly and so accurately. Not one of the persons present had any +need to give away the secret of what had happened, or interest to serve +by doing so. +</p> +<p> +The servants had not been present. Lebyadkin was the only one who might +have chattered, not so much from spite, for he had gone out in great +alarm (and fear of an enemy destroys spite against him), but simply from +incontinence of speech. But Lebyadkin and his sister had disappeared next +day, and nothing could be heard of them. There was no trace of them at +Filipov’s house, they had moved, no one knew where, and seemed to have +vanished. Shatov, of whom I wanted to inquire about Marya Timofyevna, +would not open his door, and I believe sat locked up in his room for the +whole of those eight days, even discontinuing his work in the town. He +would not see me. I went to see him on Tuesday and knocked at his door. +I got no answer, but being convinced by unmistakable evidence that he +was at home, I knocked a second time. Then, jumping up, apparently from +his bed, he strode to the door and shouted at the top of his voice: +</p> +<p> +“Shatov is not at home!” +</p> +<p> +With that I went away. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch and I, not without dismay at the boldness of the +supposition, though we tried to encourage one another, reached at last +a conclusion: we made up our mind that the only person who could be +responsible for spreading these rumours was Pyotr Stepanovitch, though +he himself not long after assured his father that he had found the story +on every one’s lips, especially at the club, and that the governor +and his wife were familiar with every detail of it. What is even more +remarkable is that the next day, Monday evening, I met Liputin, and +he knew every word that had been passed, so that he must have heard it +first-hand. Many of the ladies (and some of the leading ones) were +very inquisitive about the “mysterious cripple,” as they called Marya +Timofyevna. There were some, indeed, who were anxious to see her and +make her acquaintance, so the intervention of the persons who had +been in such haste to conceal the Lebyadkins was timely. But Lizaveta +Nikolaevna’s fainting certainly took the foremost place in the story, +and “all society” was interested, if only because it directly concerned +Yulia Mihailovna, as the kinswoman and patroness of the young lady. +And what was there they didn’t say! What increased the gossip was the +mysterious position of affairs; both houses were obstinately closed; +Lizaveta Nikolaevna, so they said, was in bed with brain fever. The +same thing was asserted of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, with the revolting +addition of a tooth knocked out and a swollen face. It was even +whispered in corners that there would soon be murder among us, that +Stavrogin was not the man to put up with such an insult, and that he +would kill Shatov, but with the secrecy of a Corsican vendetta. People +liked this idea, but the majority of our young people listened with +contempt, and with an air of the most nonchalant indifference, which +was, of course, assumed. The old hostility to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +in the town was in general strikingly manifest. Even sober-minded people +were eager to throw blame on him though they could not have said +for what. It was whispered that he had ruined Lizaveta Nikolaevna’s +reputation, and that there had been an intrigue between them in +Switzerland. Cautious people, of course, restrained themselves, but +all listened with relish. There were other things said, though not +in public, but in private, on rare occasions and almost in secret, +extremely strange things, to which I only refer to warn my readers of +them with a view to the later events of my story. Some people, with +knitted brows, said, God knows on what foundation, that Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch had some special business in our province, that he +had, through Count K., been brought into touch with exalted circles in +Petersburg, that he was even, perhaps, in government service, and might +almost be said to have been furnished with some sort of commission from +someone. When very sober-minded and sensible people smiled at this +rumour, observing very reasonably that a man always mixed up with +scandals, and who was beginning his career among us with a swollen face +did not look like a government official, they were told in a whisper +that he was employed not in the official, but, so to say, the +confidential service, and that in such cases it was essential to be as +little like an official as possible. This remark produced a sensation; +we knew that the Zemstvo of our province was the object of marked +attention in the capital. I repeat, these were only flitting rumours +that disappeared for a time when Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch first came +among us. But I may observe that many of the rumours were partly due to +a few brief but malicious words, vaguely and disconnectedly dropped at +the club by a gentleman who had lately returned from Petersburg. This +was a retired captain in the guards, Artemy Pavlovitch Gaganov. He was +a very large landowner in our province and district, a man used to the +society of Petersburg, and a son of the late Pavel Pavlovitch Gaganov, +the venerable old man with whom Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had, over four +years before, had the extraordinarily coarse and sudden encounter which +I have described already in the beginning of my story. +</p> +<p> +It immediately became known to every one that Yulia Mihailovna had +made a special call on Varvara Petrovna, and had been informed at the +entrance: “Her honour was too unwell to see visitors.” It was known, +too, that Yulia Mihailovna sent a message two days later to inquire +after Varvara Petrovna’s health. At last she began “defending” Varvara +Petrovna everywhere, of course only in the loftiest sense, that is, in +the vaguest possible way. She listened coldly and sternly to the hurried +remarks made at first about the scene on Sunday, so that during the +later days they were not renewed in her presence. So that the belief +gained ground everywhere that Yulia Mihailovna knew not only the whole +of the mysterious story but all its secret significance to the smallest +detail, and not as an outsider, but as one taking part in it. I may +observe, by the way, that she was already gradually beginning to gain +that exalted influence among us for which she was so eager and which +she was certainly struggling to win, and was already beginning to see +herself “surrounded by a circle.” A section of society recognised her +practical sense and tact … but of that later. Her patronage partly +explained Pyotr Stepanovitch’s rapid success in our society—a success +with which Stepan Trofimovitch was particularly impressed at the time. +</p> +<p> +We possibly exaggerated it. To begin with, Pyotr Stepanovitch seemed to +make acquaintance almost instantly with the whole town within the first +four days of his arrival. He only arrived on Sunday; and on Tuesday +I saw him in a carriage with Artemy Pavlovitch Gaganov, a man who was +proud, irritable, and supercilious, in spite of his good breeding, +and who was not easy to get on with. At the governor’s, too, Pyotr +Stepanovitch met with a warm welcome, so much so that he was at once +on an intimate footing, like a young friend, treated, so to say, +affectionately. He dined with Yulia Mihailovna almost every day. He had +made her acquaintance in Switzerland, but there was certainly something +curious about the rapidity of his success in the governor’s house. In +any case he was reputed, whether truly or not, to have been at one +time a revolutionist abroad, he had had something to do with some +publications and some congresses abroad, “which one can prove from the +newspapers,” to quote the malicious remark of Alyosha Telyatnikov, who +had also been once a young friend affectionately treated in the house of +the late governor, but was now, alas, a clerk on the retired list. But +the fact was unmistakable: the former revolutionist, far from being +hindered from returning to his beloved Fatherland, seemed almost to have +been encouraged to do so, so perhaps there was nothing in it. Liputin +whispered to me once that there were rumours that Pyotr Stepanovitch had +once professed himself penitent, and on his return had been pardoned on +mentioning certain names and so, perhaps, had succeeded in expiating his +offence, by promising to be of use to the government in the future. I +repeated these malignant phrases to Stepan Trofimovitch, and although +the latter was in such a state that he was hardly capable of reflection, +he pondered profoundly. It turned out later that Pyotr Stepanovitch had +come to us with a very influential letter of recommendation, that +he had, at any rate, brought one to the governor’s wife from a very +important old lady in Petersburg, whose husband was one of the most +distinguished old dignitaries in the capital. This old lady, who was +Yulia Mihailovna’s godmother, mentioned in her letter that Count K. knew +Pyotr Stepanovitch very well through Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, made much +of him, and thought him “a very excellent young man in spite of his +former errors.” Yulia Mihailovna set the greatest value on her +relations with the “higher spheres,” which were few and maintained with +difficulty, and was, no doubt, pleased to get the old lady’s letter, but +still there was something peculiar about it. She even forced her husband +upon a familiar footing with Pyotr Stepanovitch, so much so that Mr. von +Lembke complained of it … but of that, too, later. I may mention, +too, that the great author was also favourably disposed to Pyotr +Stepanovitch, and at once invited him to go and see him. Such alacrity +on the part of a man so puffed up with conceit stung Stepan Trofimovitch +more painfully than anything; but I put a different interpretation on +it. In inviting a nihilist to see him, Mr. Karmazinov, no doubt, had in +view his relations with the progressives of the younger generation +in both capitals. The great author trembled nervously before the +revolutionary youth of Russia, and imagining, in his ignorance, that the +future lay in their hands, fawned upon them in a despicable way, chiefly +because they paid no attention to him whatever. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch ran round to see his father twice, but unfortunately +I was absent on both occasions. He visited him for the first time +only on Wednesday, that is, not till the fourth day after their first +meeting, and then only on business. Their difficulties over the property +were settled, by the way, without fuss or publicity. Varvara Petrovna +took it all on herself, and paid all that was owing, taking over the +land, of course, and only informed Stepan Trofimovitch that it was all +settled and her butler, Alexey Yegorytch, was, by her authorisation, +bringing him something to sign. This Stepan Trofimovitch did, in +silence, with extreme dignity. Apropos of his dignity, I may mention +that I hardly recognised my old friend during those days. He behaved +as he had never done before; became amazingly taciturn and had not even +written one letter to Varvara Petrovna since Sunday, which seemed to me +almost a miracle. What’s more, he had become quite calm. He had fastened +upon a final and decisive idea which gave him tranquillity. That was +evident. He had hit upon this idea, and sat still, expecting something. +At first, however, he was ill, especially on Monday. He had an attack +of his summer cholera. He could not remain all that time without news +either; but as soon as I departed from the statement of facts, and began +discussing the case in itself, and formulated any theory, he at once +gesticulated to me to stop. But both his interviews with his son had a +distressing effect on him, though they did not shake his determination. +After each interview he spent the whole day lying on the sofa with a +handkerchief soaked in vinegar on his head. But he continued to remain +calm in the deepest sense. +</p> +<p> +Sometimes, however, he did not hinder my speaking. Sometimes, too, it +seemed to me that the mysterious determination he had taken seemed to +be failing him and he appeared to be struggling with a new, seductive +stream of ideas. That was only at moments, but I made a note of it. I +suspected that he was longing to assert himself again, to come forth +from his seclusion, to show fight, to struggle to the last. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Cher,</i> I could crush them!” broke from him on Thursday evening after his +second interview with Pyotr Stepanovitch, when he lay stretched on the +sofa with his head wrapped in a towel. +</p> +<p> +Till that moment he had not uttered one word all day. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Fils, fils, cher,”</i> and so on, “I agree all those expressions are +nonsense, kitchen talk, and so be it. I see it for myself. I never gave +him food or drink, I sent him a tiny baby from Berlin to X province by +post, and all that, I admit it.… ‘You gave me neither food nor drink, +and sent me by post,’ he says, ‘and what’s more you’ve robbed me here.’” +</p> +<p> +“‘But you unhappy boy,’ I cried to him, ‘my heart has been aching for +you all my life; though I did send you by post.’ <i>Il rit.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“But I admit it. I admit it, granted it was by post,” he concluded, +almost in delirium. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Passons,”</i> he began again, five minutes later. “I don’t understand +Turgenev. That Bazarov of his is a fictitious figure, it does not exist +anywhere. The fellows themselves were the first to disown him as unlike +anyone. That Bazarov is a sort of indistinct mixture of Nozdryov and +Byron, <i>c’est le mot.</i> Look at them attentively: they caper about and +squeal with joy like puppies in the sun. They are happy, they are +victorious! What is there of Byron in them!… and with that, such +ordinariness! What a low-bred, irritable vanity! What an abject craving +to <i>faire du bruit autour de son nom,</i> without noticing that <i>son +nom.</i>… Oh, it’s a caricature! ‘Surely,’ I cried to him, ‘you don’t want +to offer yourself just as you are as a substitute for Christ?’ <i>Il rit. +Il rit beaucoup. Il rit trop.</i> He has a strange smile. His mother had not +a smile like that. <i>Il rit toujours.</i>” +</p> +<p> +Silence followed again. +</p> +<p> +“They are cunning; they were acting in collusion on Sunday,” he blurted +out suddenly.… +</p> +<p> +“Oh, not a doubt of it,” I cried, pricking up my ears. “It was a got-up +thing and it was too transparent, and so badly acted.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t mean that. Do you know that it was all too transparent +on purpose, that those … who had to, might understand it. Do you +understand that?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t understand.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Tant mieux; passons.</i> I am very irritable to-day.” +</p> +<p> +“But why have you been arguing with him, Stepan Trofimovitch?” I asked +him reproachfully. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Je voulais convertir</i>—you’ll laugh of course—<i>cette pauvre</i> auntie, +<i>elle entendra de belles choses!</i> Oh, my dear boy, would you believe it. +I felt like a patriot. I always recognised that I was a Russian, +however … a genuine Russian must be like you and me. <i>Il y a là dedans +quelque chose d’aveugle et de louche.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Not a doubt of it,” I assented. +</p> +<p> +“My dear, the real truth always sounds improbable, do you know that? To +make truth sound probable you must always mix in some falsehood with it. +Men have always done so. Perhaps there’s something in it that passes our +understanding. What do you think: is there something we don’t understand +in that triumphant squeal? I should like to think there was. I should +like to think so.” +</p> +<p> +I did not speak. He, too, was silent for a long time. “They say that +French cleverness …” he babbled suddenly, as though in a fever … +“that’s false, it always has been. Why libel French cleverness? It’s +simply Russian indolence, our degrading impotence to produce ideas, our +revolting parasitism in the rank of nations. <i>Ils sont tout simplement +des paresseux,</i> and not French cleverness. Oh, the Russians ought to be +extirpated for the good of humanity, like noxious parasites! We’ve been +striving for something utterly, utterly different. I can make nothing of +it. I have given up understanding. ‘Do you understand,’ I cried to him, +‘that if you have the guillotine in the foreground of your programme and +are so enthusiastic about it too, it’s simply because nothing’s easier +than cutting off heads, and nothing’s harder than to have an idea. <i>Vous +êtes des paresseux! Votre drapeau est un guenille, une impuissance.</i> It’s +those carts, or, what was it?… the rumble of the carts carrying bread +to humanity being more important than the Sistine Madonna, or, what’s +the saying?… <i>une bêtise dans ce genre.</i> Don’t you understand, don’t you +understand,’ I said to him, ‘that unhappiness is just as necessary to +man as happiness.’ <i>Il rit.</i> ‘All you do is to make a <i>bon mot,</i>’ he +said, ‘with your limbs snug on a velvet sofa.’ … (He used a coarser +expression.) And this habit of addressing a father so familiarly is very +nice when father and son are on good terms, but what do you think of it +when they are abusing one another?” +</p> +<p> +We were silent again for a minute. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Cher,”</i> he concluded at last, getting up quickly, “do you know this is +bound to end in something?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course,” said I. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Vous ne comprenez pas. Passons.</i> But … usually in our world things come +to nothing, but this will end in something; it’s bound to, it’s bound +to!” +</p> +<p> +He got up, and walked across the room in violent emotion, and coming +back to the sofa sank on to it exhausted. +</p> +<p> +On Friday morning, Pyotr Stepanovitch went off somewhere in the +neighbourhood, and remained away till Monday. I heard of his departure +from Liputin, and in the course of conversation I learned that the +Lebyadkins, brother and sister, had moved to the riverside quarter. +“I moved them,” he added, and, dropping the Lebyadkins, he suddenly +announced to me that Lizaveta Nikolaevna was going to marry Mavriky +Nikolaevitch, that, although it had not been announced, the engagement +was a settled thing. Next day I met Lizaveta Nikolaevna out riding with +Mavriky Nikolaevitch; she was out for the first time after her illness. +She beamed at me from the distance, laughed, and nodded in a very +friendly way. I told all this to Stepan Trofimovitch; he paid no +attention, except to the news about the Lebyadkins. +</p> +<p> +And now, having described our enigmatic position throughout those eight +days during which we knew nothing, I will pass on to the description of +the succeeding incidents of my chronicle, writing, so to say, with full +knowledge, and describing things as they became known afterwards, and +are clearly seen to-day. I will begin with the eighth day after that +Sunday, that is, the Monday evening—for in reality a “new scandal” +began with that evening. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +It was seven o’clock in the evening. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was sitting +alone in his study—the room he had been fond of in old days. It was +lofty, carpeted with rugs, and contained somewhat heavy old-fashioned +furniture. He was sitting on the sofa in the corner, dressed as though +to go out, though he did not seem to be intending to do so. On the table +before him stood a lamp with a shade. The sides and corners of the big +room were left in shadow. His eyes looked dreamy and concentrated, +not altogether tranquil; his face looked tired and had grown a little +thinner. He really was ill with a swollen face; but the story of a tooth +having been knocked out was an exaggeration. One had been loosened, but +it had grown into its place again: he had had a cut on the inner side of +the upper lip, but that, too, had healed. The swelling on his face had +lasted all the week simply because the invalid would not have a doctor, +and instead of having the swelling lanced had waited for it to go down. +He would not hear of a doctor, and would scarcely allow even his mother +to come near him, and then only for a moment, once a day, and only at +dusk, after it was dark and before lights had been brought in. He did +not receive Pyotr Stepanovitch either, though the latter ran round to +Varvara Petrovna’s two or three times a day so long as he remained in +the town. And now, at last, returning on the Monday morning after his +three days’ absence, Pyotr Stepanovitch made a circuit of the town, +and, after dining at Yulia Mihailovna’s, came at last in the evening to +Varvara Petrovna, who was impatiently expecting him. The interdict had +been removed, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was “at home.” Varvara Petrovna +herself led the visitor to the door of the study; she had long looked +forward to their meeting, and Pyotr Stepanovitch had promised to run +to her and repeat what passed. She knocked timidly at Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch’s door, and getting no answer ventured to open the door +a couple of inches. +</p> +<p> +“Nicolas, may I bring Pyotr Stepanovitch in to see you?” she asked, in a +soft and restrained voice, trying to make out her son’s face behind the +lamp. +</p> +<p> +“You can—you can, of course you can,” Pyotr Stepanovitch himself cried +out, loudly and gaily. He opened the door with his hand and went in. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had not heard the knock at the door, and only +caught his mother’s timid question, and had not had time to answer it. +Before him, at that moment, there lay a letter he had just read over, +which he was pondering deeply. He started, hearing Pyotr Stepanovitch’s +sudden outburst, and hurriedly put the letter under a paper-weight, +but did not quite succeed; a corner of the letter and almost the whole +envelope showed. +</p> +<p> +“I called out on purpose that you might be prepared,” Pyotr Stepanovitch +said hurriedly, with surprising naïveté, running up to the table, and +instantly staring at the corner of the letter, which peeped out from +beneath the paper-weight. +</p> +<p> +“And no doubt you had time to see how I hid the letter I had just +received, under the paper-weight,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch calmly, +without moving from his place. +</p> +<p> +“A letter? Bless you and your letters, what are they to do with me?” +cried the visitor. “But … what does matter …” he whispered again, +turning to the door, which was by now closed, and nodding his head in +that direction. +</p> +<p> +“She never listens,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch observed coldly. +</p> +<p> +“What if she did overhear?” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, raising his voice +cheerfully, and settling down in an arm-chair. “I’ve nothing against +that, only I’ve come here now to speak to you alone. Well, at last I’ve +succeeded in getting at you. First of all, how are you? I see you’re +getting on splendidly. To-morrow you’ll show yourself again—eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps.” +</p> +<p> +“Set their minds at rest. Set mine at rest at last.” He gesticulated +violently with a jocose and amiable air. “If only you knew what nonsense +I’ve had to talk to them. You know, though.” He laughed. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know everything. I only heard from my mother that you’ve +been … very active.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, well, I’ve said nothing definite,” Pyotr Stepanovitch flared up +at once, as though defending himself from an awful attack. “I simply +trotted out Shatov’s wife; you know, that is, the rumours of your +liaison in Paris, which accounted, of course, for what happened on +Sunday. You’re not angry?” +</p> +<p> +“I’m sure you’ve done your best.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, that’s just what I was afraid of. Though what does that mean, ‘done +your best’? That’s a reproach, isn’t it? You always go straight for +things, though.… What I was most afraid of, as I came here, was that +you wouldn’t go straight for the point.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want to go straight for anything,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +with some irritation. But he laughed at once. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t mean that, I didn’t mean that, don’t make a mistake,” cried +Pyotr Stepanovitch, waving his hands, rattling his words out like peas, +and at once relieved at his companion’s irritability. “I’m not going to +worry you with <i>our</i> business, especially in your present position. I’ve +only come about Sunday’s affair, and only to arrange the most necessary +steps, because, you see, it’s impossible. I’ve come with the frankest +explanations which I stand in more need of than you—so much for your +vanity, but at the same time it’s true. I’ve come to be open with you +from this time forward.” +</p> +<p> +“Then you have not been open with me before?” +</p> +<p> +“You know that yourself. I’ve been cunning with you many times … you +smile; I’m very glad of that smile as a prelude to our explanation. I +provoked that smile on purpose by using the word ‘cunning,’ so that you +might get cross directly at my daring to think I could be cunning, so +that I might have a chance of explaining myself at once. You see, you +see how open I have become now! Well, do you care to listen?” +</p> +<p> +In the expression of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s face, which was +contemptuously composed, and even ironical, in spite of his visitor’s +obvious desire to irritate him by the insolence of his premeditated +and intentionally coarse naïvetés, there was, at last, a look of rather +uneasy curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“Listen,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, wriggling more than ever, “when I set +off to come here, I mean here in the large sense, to this town, ten days +ago, I made up my mind, of course, to assume a character. It would +have been best to have done without anything, to have kept one’s +own character, wouldn’t it? There is no better dodge than one’s own +character, because no one believes in it. I meant, I must own, to assume +the part of a fool, because it is easier to be a fool than to act +one’s own character; but as a fool is after all something extreme, +and anything extreme excites curiosity, I ended by sticking to my own +character. And what is my own character? The golden mean: neither wise +nor foolish, rather stupid, and dropped from the moon, as sensible +people say here, isn’t that it?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps it is,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, with a faint smile. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, you agree—I’m very glad; I knew beforehand that it was your own +opinion.… You needn’t trouble, I am not annoyed, and I didn’t describe +myself in that way to get a flattering contradiction from you—no, +you’re not stupid, you’re clever.… Ah! you’re smiling again!… I’ve +blundered once more. You would not have said ‘you’re clever,’ granted; +I’ll let it pass anyway. <i>Passons,</i> as papa says, and, in parenthesis, +don’t be vexed with my verbosity. By the way, I always say a lot, that +is, use a great many words and talk very fast, and I never speak well. +And why do I use so many words, and why do I never speak well? Because +I don’t know how to speak. People who can speak well, speak briefly. So +that I am stupid, am I not? But as this gift of stupidity is natural +to me, why shouldn’t I make skilful use of it? And I do make use of it. +It’s true that as I came here, I did think, at first, of being silent. +But you know silence is a great talent, and therefore incongruous for +me, and secondly silence would be risky, anyway. So I made up my mind +finally that it would be best to talk, but to talk stupidly—that is, to +talk and talk and talk—to be in a tremendous hurry to explain things, +and in the end to get muddled in my own explanations, so that my +listener would walk away without hearing the end, with a shrug, or, +better still, with a curse. You succeed straight off in persuading them +of your simplicity, in boring them and in being incomprehensible—three +advantages all at once! Do you suppose anybody will suspect you of +mysterious designs after that? Why, every one of them would take it as +a personal affront if anyone were to say I had secret designs. And I +sometimes amuse them too, and that’s priceless. Why, they’re ready to +forgive me everything now, just because the clever fellow who used +to publish manifestoes out there turns out to be stupider than +themselves—that’s so, isn’t it? From your smile I see you approve.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was not smiling at all, however. +</p> +<p> +On the contrary, he was listening with a frown and some impatience. +</p> +<p> +“Eh? What? I believe you said ‘no matter.’” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch rattled on. (Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had said nothing +at all.) “Of course, of course. I assure you I’m not here to compromise +you by my company, by claiming you as my comrade. But do you know you’re +horribly captious to-day; I ran in to you with a light and open heart, +and you seem to be laying up every word I say against me. I assure you +I’m not going to begin about anything shocking to-day, I give you my +word, and I agree beforehand to all your conditions.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was obstinately silent. +</p> +<p> +“Eh? What? Did you say something? I see, I see that I’ve made a blunder +again, it seems; you’ve not suggested conditions and you’re not going +to; I believe you, I believe you; well, you can set your mind at rest; +I know, of course, that it’s not worth while for me to suggest them, is +it? I’ll answer for you beforehand, and—just from stupidity, of course; +stupidity again.… You’re laughing? Eh? What?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch laughed at last. “I just remembered +that I really did call you stupid, but you weren’t there then, so they +must have repeated it.… I would ask you to make haste and come to the +point.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, but I am at the point! I am talking about Sunday,” babbled Pyotr +Stepanovitch. “Why, what was I on Sunday? What would you call it? Just +fussy, mediocre stupidity, and in the stupidest way I took possession of +the conversation by force. But they forgave me everything, first because +I dropped from the moon, that seems to be settled here, now, by every +one; and, secondly, because I told them a pretty little story, and got +you all out of a scrape, didn’t they, didn’t they?” +</p> +<p> +“That is, you told your story so as to leave them in doubt and suggest +some compact and collusion between us, when there was no collusion and +I’d not asked you to do anything.” +</p> +<p> +“Just so, just so!” Pyotr Stepanovitch caught him up, apparently +delighted. “That’s just what I did do, for I wanted you to see that I +implied it; I exerted myself chiefly for your sake, for I caught you and +wanted to compromise you, above all I wanted to find out how far you’re +afraid.” +</p> +<p> +“It would be interesting to know why you are so open now?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be angry, don’t be angry, don’t glare at me.… You’re not, +though. You wonder why I am so open? Why, just because it’s all changed +now; of course, it’s over, buried under the sand. I’ve suddenly changed +my ideas about you. The old way is closed; now I shall never compromise +you in the old way, it will be in a new way now.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve changed your tactics?” +</p> +<p> +“There are no tactics. Now it’s for you to decide in everything, that +is, if you want to, say yes, and if you want to, say no. There you have +my new tactics. And I won’t say a word about our cause till you bid me +yourself. You laugh? Laugh away. I’m laughing myself. But I’m in earnest +now, in earnest, in earnest, though a man who is in such a hurry is +stupid, isn’t he? Never mind, I may be stupid, but I’m in earnest, in +earnest.” +</p> +<p> +He really was speaking in earnest in quite a different tone, and with a +peculiar excitement, so that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked at him with +curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“You say you’ve changed your ideas about me?” he asked. +</p> +<p> +“I changed my ideas about you at the moment when you drew your hands +back after Shatov’s attack, and, that’s enough, that’s enough, no +questions, please, I’ll say nothing more now.” +</p> +<p> +He jumped up, waving his hands as though waving off questions. But as +there were no questions, and he had no reason to go away, he sank into +an arm-chair again, somewhat reassured. +</p> +<p> +“By the way, in parenthesis,” he rattled on at once, “some people here +are babbling that you’ll kill him, and taking bets about it, so that +Lembke positively thought of setting the police on, but Yulia Mihailovna +forbade it.… But enough about that, quite enough, I only spoke of it +to let you know. By the way, I moved the Lebyadkins the same day, you +know; did you get my note with their address?” +</p> +<p> +“I received it at the time.” +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t do that by way of ‘stupidity.’ I did it genuinely, to serve +you. If it was stupid, anyway, it was done in good faith.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, all right, perhaps it was necessary.…” said Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch dreamily, “only don’t write any more letters to me, I +beg you.” +</p> +<p> +“Impossible to avoid it. It was only one.” +</p> +<p> +“So Liputin knows?” +</p> +<p> +“Impossible to help it: but Liputin, you know yourself, dare not … By +the way, you ought to meet our fellows, that is, <i>the</i> fellows not <i>our</i> +fellows, or you’ll be finding fault again. Don’t disturb yourself, +not just now, but sometime. Just now it’s raining. I’ll let them know, +they’ll meet together, and we’ll go in the evening. They’re waiting, +with their mouths open like young crows in a nest, to see what present +we’ve brought them. They’re a hot-headed lot. They’ve brought out +leaflets, they’re on the point of quarrelling. Virginsky is a universal +humanity man, Liputin is a Fourierist with a marked inclination for +police work; a man, I assure you, who is precious from one point of +view, though he requires strict supervision in all others; and, last of +all, that fellow with the long ears, he’ll read an account of his own +system. And do you know, they’re offended at my treating them casually, +and throwing cold water over them, but we certainly must meet.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve made me out some sort of chief?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch dropped +as carelessly as possible. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch looked quickly at him. +</p> +<p> +“By the way,” he interposed, in haste to change the subject, as though +he had not heard. “I’ve been here two or three times, you know, to see +her excellency, Varvara Petrovna, and I have been obliged to say a great +deal too.” +</p> +<p> +“So I imagine.” +</p> +<p> +“No, don’t imagine, I’ve simply told her that you won’t kill him, well, +and other sweet things. And only fancy; the very next day she knew I’d +moved Marya Timofyevna beyond the river. Was it you told her?” +</p> +<p> +“I never dreamed of it!” +</p> +<p> +“I knew it wasn’t you. Who else could it be? It’s interesting.” +</p> +<p> +“Liputin, of course.” +</p> +<p> +“N-no, not Liputin,” muttered Pyotr Stepanovitch, frowning; “I’ll find +out who. It’s more like Shatov.… That’s nonsense though. Let’s leave +that! Though it’s awfully important.… By the way, I kept expecting +that your mother would suddenly burst out with the great question.… +Ach! yes, she was horribly glum at first, but suddenly, when I came +to-day, she was beaming all over, what does that mean?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s because I promised her to-day that within five days I’ll be +engaged to Lizaveta Nikolaevna,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch said with +surprising openness. +</p> +<p> +“Oh!… Yes, of course,” faltered Pyotr Stepanovitch, seeming +disconcerted. “There are rumours of her engagement, you know. It’s true, +too. But you’re right, she’d run from under the wedding crown, you’ve +only to call to her. You’re not angry at my saying so?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I’m not angry.” +</p> +<p> +“I notice it’s awfully hard to make you angry to-day, and I begin to be +afraid of you. I’m awfully curious to know how you’ll appear to-morrow. +I expect you’ve got a lot of things ready. You’re not angry at my saying +so?” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch made no answer at all, which completed Pyotr +Stepanovitch’s irritation. +</p> +<p> +“By the way, did you say that in earnest to your mother, about Lizaveta +Nikolaevna?” he asked. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked coldly at him. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I understand, it was only to soothe her, of course.” +</p> +<p> +“And if it were in earnest?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked firmly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, God bless you then, as they say in such cases. It won’t hinder the +cause (you see, I don’t say ‘our,’ you don’t like the word ‘our’) and I +… well, I … am at your service, as you know.” +</p> +<p> +“You think so?” +</p> +<p> +“I think nothing—nothing,” Pyotr Stepanovitch hurriedly declared, +laughing, “because I know you consider what you’re about beforehand for +yourself, and everything with you has been thought out. I only mean that +I am seriously at your service, always and everywhere, and in every sort +of circumstance, every sort really, do you understand that?” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch yawned. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve bored you,” Pyotr Stepanovitch cried, jumping up suddenly, and +snatching his perfectly new round hat as though he were going away. He +remained and went on talking, however, though he stood up, sometimes +pacing about the room and tapping himself on the knee with his hat at +exciting parts of the conversation. +</p> +<p> +“I meant to amuse you with stories of the Lembkes, too,” he cried gaily. +</p> +<p> +“Afterwards, perhaps, not now. But how is Yulia Mihailovna?” +</p> +<p> +“What conventional manners all of you have! Her health is no more to +you than the health of the grey cat, yet you ask after it. I approve +of that. She’s quite well, and her respect for you amounts to a +superstition, her immense anticipations of you amount to a superstition. +She does not say a word about what happened on Sunday, and is convinced +that you will overcome everything yourself by merely making your +appearance. Upon my word! She fancies you can do anything. You’re an +enigmatic and romantic figure now, more than ever you were—extremely +advantageous position. It is incredible how eager every one is to see +you. They were pretty hot when I went away, but now it is more so than +ever. Thanks again for your letter. They are all afraid of Count K. Do +you know they look upon you as a spy? I keep that up, you’re not angry?” +</p> +<p> +“It does not matter.” +</p> +<p> +“It does not matter; it’s essential in the long run. They have their +ways of doing things here. I encourage it, of course; Yulia Mihailovna, +in the first place, Gaganov too.… You laugh? But you know I have my +policy; I babble away and suddenly I say something clever just as they +are on the look-out for it. They crowd round me and I humbug away again. +They’ve all given me up in despair by now: ‘he’s got brains but he’s +dropped from the moon.’ Lembke invites me to enter the service so that +I may be reformed. You know I treat him mockingly, that is, I compromise +him and he simply stares. Yulia Mihailovna encourages it. Oh, by the +way, Gaganov is in an awful rage with you. He said the nastiest things +about you yesterday at Duhovo. I told him the whole truth on the spot, +that is, of course, not the whole truth. I spent the whole day at +Duhovo. It’s a splendid estate, a fine house.” +</p> +<p> +“Then is he at Duhovo now?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch broke in suddenly, +making a sudden start forward and almost leaping up from his seat. +</p> +<p> +“No, he drove me here this morning, we returned together,” said Pyotr +Stepanovitch, appearing not to notice Stavrogin’s momentary excitement. +“What’s this? I dropped a book.” He bent down to pick up the “keepsake” +he had knocked down. “‘The Women of Balzac,’ with illustrations.” He +opened it suddenly. “I haven’t read it. Lembke writes novels too.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes?” queried Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, as though beginning to be +interested. +</p> +<p> +“In Russian, on the sly, of course, Yulia Mihailovna knows and allows +it. He’s henpecked, but with good manners; it’s their system. Such +strict form—such self-restraint! Something of the sort would be the +thing for us.” +</p> +<p> +“You approve of government methods?” +</p> +<p> +“I should rather think so! It’s the one thing that’s natural and +practicable in Russia.… I won’t … I won’t,” he cried out suddenly, +“I’m not referring to that—not a word on delicate subjects. Good-bye, +though, you look rather green.” +</p> +<p> +“I’m feverish.” +</p> +<p> +“I can well believe it; you should go to bed. By the way, there are +Skoptsi here in the neighbourhood—they’re curious people … of that +later, though. Ah, here’s another anecdote. There’s an infantry regiment +here in the district. I was drinking last Friday evening with the +officers. We’ve three friends among them, <i>vous comprenez?</i> They were +discussing atheism and I need hardly say they made short work of God. +They were squealing with delight. By the way, Shatov declares that if +there’s to be a rising in Russia we must begin with atheism. Maybe it’s +true. One grizzled old stager of a captain sat mum, not saying a word. +All at once he stands up in the middle of the room and says aloud, as +though speaking to himself: ‘If there’s no God, how can I be a captain +then?’ He took up his cap and went out, flinging up his hands.” +</p> +<p> +“He expressed a rather sensible idea,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, +yawning for the third time. +</p> +<p> +“Yes? I didn’t understand it; I meant to ask you about it. Well what +else have I to tell you? The Shpigulin factory’s interesting; as you +know, there are five hundred workmen in it, it’s a hotbed of cholera, +it’s not been cleaned for fifteen years and the factory hands are +swindled. The owners are millionaires. I assure you that some among +the hands have an idea of the <i>Internationale.</i> What, you smile? You’ll +see—only give me ever so little time! I’ve asked you to fix the time +already and now I ask you again and then.… But I beg your pardon, +I won’t, I won’t speak of that, don’t frown. There!” He turned back +suddenly. “I quite forgot the chief thing. I was told just now that our +box had come from Petersburg.” +</p> +<p> +“You mean …” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked at him, not understanding. +</p> +<p> +“Your box, your things, coats, trousers, and linen have come. Is it +true?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes … they said something about it this morning.” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, then can’t I open it at once!…” +</p> +<p> +“Ask Alexey.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, to-morrow, then, will to-morrow do? You see my new jacket, +dress-coat and three pairs of trousers are with your things, from +Sharmer’s, by your recommendation, do you remember?” +</p> +<p> +“I hear you’re going in for being a gentleman here,” said Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch with a smile. “Is it true you’re going to take lessons +at the riding school?” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch smiled a wry smile. “I say,” he said suddenly, with +excessive haste in a voice that quivered and faltered, “I say, Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, let’s drop personalities once for all. Of course, you +can despise me as much as you like if it amuses you—but we’d better +dispense with personalities for a time, hadn’t we?” +</p> +<p> +“All right,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch assented. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch grinned, tapped his knee with his hat, shifted from +one leg to the other, and recovered his former expression. +</p> +<p> +“Some people here positively look upon me as your rival with Lizaveta +Nikolaevna, so I must think of my appearance, mustn’t I,” he laughed. +“Who was it told you that though? H’m. It’s just eight o’clock; well I +must be off. I promised to look in on Varvara Petrovna, but I shall +make my escape. And you go to bed and you’ll be stronger to-morrow. It’s +raining and dark, but I’ve a cab, it’s not over safe in the streets here +at night.… Ach, by the way, there’s a run-away convict from Siberia, +Fedka, wandering about the town and the neighbourhood. Only fancy, he +used to be a serf of mine, and my papa sent him for a soldier fifteen +years ago and took the money for him. He’s a very remarkable person.” +</p> +<p> +“You have been talking to him?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch scanned him. +</p> +<p> +“I have. He lets me know where he is. He’s ready for anything, anything, +for money of course, but he has convictions, too, of a sort, of course. +Oh yes, by the way, again, if you meant anything of that plan, you +remember, about Lizaveta Nikolaevna, I tell you once again, I too am a +fellow ready for anything of any kind you like, and absolutely at +your service.… Hullo! are you reaching for your stick. Oh no … only +fancy … I thought you were looking for your stick.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was looking for nothing and said nothing. +</p> +<p> +But he had risen to his feet very suddenly with a strange look in his +face. +</p> +<p> +“If you want any help about Mr. Gaganov either,” Pyotr Stepanovitch +blurted out suddenly, this time looking straight at the paper-weight, +“of course I can arrange it all, and I’m certain you won’t be able to +manage without me.” +</p> +<p> +He went out suddenly without waiting for an answer, but thrust his +head in at the door once more. “I mention that,” he gabbled hurriedly, +“because Shatov had no right either, you know, to risk his life last +Sunday when he attacked you, had he? I should be glad if you would make +a note of that.” He disappeared again without waiting for an answer. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +Perhaps he imagined, as he made his exit, that as soon as he was left +alone, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch would begin beating on the wall with his +fists, and no doubt he would have been glad to see this, if that +had been possible. But, if so, he was greatly mistaken. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch was still calm. He remained standing for two minutes in +the same position by the table, apparently plunged in thought, but soon +a cold and listless smile came on to his lips. He slowly sat down again +in the same place in the corner of the sofa, and shut his eyes as though +from weariness. The corner of the letter was still peeping from under +the paperweight, but he didn’t even move to cover it. +</p> +<p> +He soon sank into complete forgetfulness. +</p> +<p> +When Pyotr Stepanovitch went out without coming to see her, as he had +promised, Varvara Petrovna, who had been worn out by anxiety during +these days, could not control herself, and ventured to visit her son +herself, though it was not her regular time. She was still haunted by +the idea that he would tell her something conclusive. She knocked at +the door gently as before, and again receiving no answer, she opened +the door. Seeing that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was sitting strangely +motionless, she cautiously advanced to the sofa with a throbbing heart. +She seemed struck by the fact that he could fall asleep so quickly and +that he could sleep sitting like that, so erect and motionless, so +that his breathing even was scarcely perceptible. His face was pale and +forbidding, but it looked, as it were, numb and rigid. His brows were +somewhat contracted and frowning. He positively had the look of a +lifeless wax figure. She stood over him for about three minutes, +almost holding her breath, and suddenly she was seized with terror. She +withdrew on tiptoe, stopped at the door, hurriedly made the sign of the +cross over him, and retreated unobserved, with a new oppression and a +new anguish at her heart. +</p> +<p> +He slept a long while, more than an hour, and still in the same rigid +pose: not a muscle of his face twitched, there was not the faintest +movement in his whole body, and his brows were still contracted in the +same forbidding frown. If Varvara Petrovna had remained another three +minutes she could not have endured the stifling sensation that this +motionless lethargy roused in her, and would have waked him. But he +suddenly opened his eyes, and sat for ten minutes as immovable as +before, staring persistently and curiously, as though at some object +in the corner which had struck him, although there was nothing new or +striking in the room. +</p> +<p> +Suddenly there rang out the low deep note of the clock on the wall. +</p> +<p> +With some uneasiness he turned to look at it, but almost at the same +moment the other door opened, and the butler, Alexey Yegorytch came in. +He had in one hand a greatcoat, a scarf, and a hat, and in the other a +silver tray with a note on it. +</p> +<p> +“Half-past nine,” he announced softly, and laying the other things on a +chair, he held out the tray with the note—a scrap of paper unsealed and +scribbled in pencil. Glancing through it, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch took +a pencil from the table, added a few words, and put the note back on the +tray. +</p> +<p> +“Take it back as soon as I have gone out, and now dress me,” he said, +getting up from the sofa. +</p> +<p> +Noticing that he had on a light velvet jacket, he thought a minute, +and told the man to bring him a cloth coat, which he wore on more +ceremonious occasions. At last, when he was dressed and had put on his +hat, he locked the door by which his mother had come into the room, took +the letter from under the paperweight, and without saying a word went +out into the corridor, followed by Alexey Yegorytch. From the corridor +they went down the narrow stone steps of the back stairs to a passage +which opened straight into the garden. In the corner stood a lantern and +a big umbrella. +</p> +<p> +“Owing to the excessive rain the mud in the streets is beyond anything,” +Alexey Yegorytch announced, making a final effort to deter his master +from the expedition. But opening his umbrella the latter went without +a word into the damp and sodden garden, which was dark as a cellar. The +wind was roaring and tossing the bare tree-tops. The little sandy +paths were wet and slippery. Alexey Yegorytch walked along as he was, +bareheaded, in his swallow-tail coat, lighting up the path for about +three steps before them with the lantern. +</p> +<p> +“Won’t it be noticed?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“Not from the windows. Besides I have seen to all that already,” the old +servant answered in quiet and measured tones. +</p> +<p> +“Has my mother retired?” +</p> +<p> +“Her excellency locked herself in at nine o’clock as she has done the +last few days, and there is no possibility of her knowing anything. At +what hour am I to expect your honour?” +</p> +<p> +“At one or half-past, not later than two.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> +<p> +Crossing the garden by the winding paths that they both knew by heart, +they reached the stone wall, and there in the farthest corner found +a little door, which led out into a narrow and deserted lane, and was +always kept locked. It appeared that Alexey Yegorytch had the key in his +hand. +</p> +<p> +“Won’t the door creak?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch inquired again. +</p> +<p> +But Alexey Yegorytch informed him that it had been oiled yesterday “as +well as to-day.” He was by now wet through. Unlocking the door he gave +the key to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. +</p> +<p> +“If it should be your pleasure to be taking a distant walk, I would warn +your honour that I am not confident of the folk here, especially in +the back lanes, and especially beyond the river,” he could not resist +warning him again. He was an old servant, who had been like a nurse to +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, and at one time used to dandle him in his arms; +he was a grave and severe man who was fond of listening to religious +discourse and reading books of devotion. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be uneasy, Alexey Yegorytch.” +</p> +<p> +“May God’s blessing rest on you, sir, but only in your righteous +undertakings.” +</p> +<p> +“What?” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, stopping short in the lane. +</p> +<p> +Alexey Yegorytch resolutely repeated his words. He had never before +ventured to express himself in such language in his master’s presence. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch locked the door, put the key in his pocket, and +crossed the lane, sinking five or six inches into the mud at every step. +He came out at last into a long deserted street. He knew the town like +the five fingers of his hand, but Bogoyavlensky Street was a long way +off. It was past ten when he stopped at last before the locked gates of +the dark old house that belonged to Filipov. The ground floor had stood +empty since the Lebyadkins had left it, and the windows were boarded up, +but there was a light burning in Shatov’s room on the second floor. As +there was no bell he began banging on the gate with his hand. A window +was opened and Shatov peeped out into the street. It was terribly dark, +and difficult to make out anything. Shatov was peering out for some +time, about a minute. +</p> +<p> +“Is that you?” he asked suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” replied the uninvited guest. +</p> +<p> +Shatov slammed the window, went downstairs and opened the gate. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch stepped over the high sill, and without a word passed by +him straight into Kirillov’s lodge. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +V +</p> +<p> +There everything was unlocked and all the doors stood open. The passage +and the first two rooms were dark, but there was a light shining in the +last, in which Kirillov lived and drank tea, and laughter and strange +cries came from it. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went towards the light, but +stood still in the doorway without going in. There was tea on the table. +In the middle of the room stood the old woman who was a relation of the +landlord. She was bareheaded and was dressed in a petticoat and a +hare-skin jacket, and her stockingless feet were thrust into slippers. +In her arms she had an eighteen-months-old baby, with nothing on but its +little shirt; with bare legs, flushed cheeks, and ruffled white hair. It +had only just been taken out of the cradle. It seemed to have just been +crying; there were still tears in its eyes. But at that instant it was +stretching out its little arms, clapping its hands, and laughing with a +sob as little children do. Kirillov was bouncing a big red india-rubber +ball on the floor before it. The ball bounced up to the ceiling, and back +to the floor, the baby shrieked “Baw! baw!” Kirillov caught the “baw”, +and gave it to it. The baby threw it itself with its awkward little hands, +and Kirillov ran to pick it up again. +</p> +<p> +At last the “baw” rolled under the cupboard. “Baw! baw!” cried the +child. Kirillov lay down on the floor, trying to reach the ball with his +hand under the cupboard. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went into the room. The +baby caught sight of him, nestled against the old woman, and went off +into a prolonged infantile wail. The woman immediately carried it out of +the room. +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin?” said Kirillov, beginning to get up from the floor with the +ball in his hand, and showing no surprise at the unexpected visit. “Will +you have tea?” +</p> +<p> +He rose to his feet. +</p> +<p> +“I should be very glad of it, if it’s hot,” said Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch; “I’m wet through.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s hot, nearly boiling in fact,” Kirillov declared delighted. “Sit +down. You’re muddy, but that’s nothing; I’ll mop up the floor later.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sat down and emptied the cup he handed him +almost at a gulp. +</p> +<p> +“Some more?” asked Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“No, thank you.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov, who had not sat down till then, seated himself facing him, and +inquired: +</p> +<p> +“Why have you come?” +</p> +<p> +“On business. Here, read this letter from Gaganov; do you remember, I +talked to you about him in Petersburg.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov took the letter, read it, laid it on the table and looked at +him expectantly. +</p> +<p> +“As you know, I met this Gaganov for the first time in my life a month +ago, in Petersburg,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch began to explain. “We +came across each other two or three times in company with other people. +Without making my acquaintance and without addressing me, he managed to +be very insolent to me. I told you so at the time; but now for something +you don’t know. As he was leaving Petersburg before I did, he sent me +a letter, not like this one, yet impertinent in the highest degree, and +what was queer about it was that it contained no sort of explanation of +why it was written. I answered him at once, also by letter, and said, +quite frankly, that he was probably angry with me on account of the +incident with his father four years ago in the club here, and that I for +my part was prepared to make him every possible apology, seeing that my +action was unintentional and was the result of illness. I begged him to +consider and accept my apologies. He went away without answering, and +now here I find him in a regular fury. Several things he has said about +me in public have been repeated to me, absolutely abusive, and making +astounding charges against me. Finally, to-day, I get this letter, a +letter such as no one has ever had before, I should think, containing +such expressions as ‘the punch you got in your ugly face.’ I came in the +hope that you would not refuse to be my second.” +</p> +<p> +“You said no one has ever had such a letter,” observed Kirillov, “they +may be sent in a rage. Such letters have been written more than once. +Pushkin wrote to Hekern. All right, I’ll come. Tell me how.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch explained that he wanted it to be to-morrow, and +that he must begin by renewing his offers of apology, and even with the +promise of another letter of apology, but on condition that Gaganov, +on his side, should promise to send no more letters. The letter he had +received he would regard as unwritten. +</p> +<p> +“Too much concession; he won’t agree,” said Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve come first of all to find out whether you would consent to be the +bearer of such terms.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll take them. It’s your affair. But he won’t agree.” +</p> +<p> +“I know he won’t agree.” +</p> +<p> +“He wants to fight. Say how you’ll fight.” +</p> +<p> +“The point is that I want the thing settled to-morrow. By nine o’clock +in the morning you must be at his house. He’ll listen, and won’t agree, +but will put you in communication with his second—let us say about +eleven. You will arrange things with him, and let us all be on the +spot by one or two o’clock. Please try to arrange that. The weapons, of +course, will be pistols. And I particularly beg you to arrange to fix +the barriers at ten paces apart; then you put each of us ten paces from +the barrier, and at a given signal we approach. Each must go right up to +his barrier, but you may fire before, on the way. I believe that’s all.” +</p> +<p> +“Ten paces between the barriers is very near,” observed Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“Well, twelve then, but not more. You understand that he wants to fight +in earnest. Do you know how to load a pistol?” +</p> +<p> +“I do. I’ve got pistols. I’ll give my word that you’ve never fired +them. His second will give his word about his. There’ll be two pairs of +pistols, and we’ll toss up, his or ours?” +</p> +<p> +“Excellent.” +</p> +<p> +“Would you like to look at the pistols?” +</p> +<p> +“Very well.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov squatted on his heels before the trunk in the corner, which +he had never yet unpacked, though things had been pulled out of it as +required. He pulled out from the bottom a palm-wood box lined with red +velvet, and from it took out a pair of smart and very expensive pistols. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve got everything, powder, bullets, cartridges. I’ve a revolver +besides, wait.” +</p> +<p> +He stooped down to the trunk again and took out a six-chambered American +revolver. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve got weapons enough, and very good ones.” +</p> +<p> +“Very, extremely.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov, who was poor, almost destitute, though he never noticed his +poverty, was evidently proud of showing precious weapons, which he had +certainly obtained with great sacrifice. +</p> +<p> +“You still have the same intentions?” Stavrogin asked after a moment’s +silence, and with a certain wariness. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” answered Kirillov shortly, guessing at once from his voice what +he was asking about, and he began taking the weapons from the table. +</p> +<p> +“When?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch inquired still more cautiously, after a +pause. +</p> +<p> +In the meantime Kirillov had put both the boxes back in his trunk, and +sat down in his place again. +</p> +<p> +“That doesn’t depend on me, as you know—when they tell me,” he +muttered, as though disliking the question; but at the same time with +evident readiness to answer any other question. He kept his black, +lustreless eyes fixed continually on Stavrogin with a calm but warm and +kindly expression in them. +</p> +<p> +“I understand shooting oneself, of course,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +began suddenly, frowning a little, after a dreamy silence that lasted +three minutes. “I sometimes have thought of it myself, and then there +always came a new idea: if one did something wicked, or, worse still, +something shameful, that is, disgraceful, only very shameful and … +ridiculous, such as people would remember for a thousand years and hold +in scorn for a thousand years, and suddenly the thought comes: ‘one blow +in the temple and there would be nothing more.’ One wouldn’t care then +for men and that they would hold one in scorn for a thousand years, +would one?” +</p> +<p> +“You call that a new idea?” said Kirillov, after a moment’s thought. +</p> +<p> +“I … didn’t call it so, but when I thought it I felt it as a new idea.” +</p> +<p> +“You ‘felt the idea’?” observed Kirillov. “That’s good. There are lots +of ideas that are always there and yet suddenly become new. That’s true. +I see a great deal now as though it were for the first time.” +</p> +<p> +“Suppose you had lived in the moon,” Stavrogin interrupted, not +listening, but pursuing his own thought, “and suppose there you had done +all these nasty and ridiculous things.… You know from here for certain +that they will laugh at you and hold you in scorn for a thousand years +as long as the moon lasts. But now you are here, and looking at the moon +from here. You don’t care here for anything you’ve done there, and that +the people there will hold you in scorn for a thousand years, do you?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know,” answered Kirillov. “I’ve not been in the moon,” he +added, without any irony, simply to state the fact. +</p> +<p> +“Whose baby was that just now?” +</p> +<p> +“The old woman’s mother-in-law was here—no, daughter-in-law, it’s all +the same. Three days. She’s lying ill with the baby, it cries a lot at +night, it’s the stomach. The mother sleeps, but the old woman picks it +up; I play ball with it. The ball’s from Hamburg. I bought it in Hamburg +to throw it and catch it, it strengthens the spine. It’s a girl.” +</p> +<p> +“Are you fond of children?” +</p> +<p> +“I am,” answered Kirillov, though rather indifferently. +</p> +<p> +“Then you’re fond of life?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I’m fond of life! What of it?” +</p> +<p> +“Though you’ve made up your mind to shoot yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“What of it? Why connect it? Life’s one thing and that’s another. Life +exists, but death doesn’t at all.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve begun to believe in a future eternal life?” +</p> +<p> +“No, not in a future eternal life, but in eternal life here. There are +moments, you reach moments, and time suddenly stands still, and it will +become eternal.” +</p> +<p> +“You hope to reach such a moment?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“That’ll scarcely be possible in our time,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +responded slowly and, as it were, dreamily; the two spoke without the +slightest irony. “In the Apocalypse the angel swears that there will be +no more time.” +</p> +<p> +“I know. That’s very true; distinct and exact. When all mankind attains +happiness then there will be no more time, for there’ll be no need of +it, a very true thought.” +</p> +<p> +“Where will they put it?” +</p> +<p> +“Nowhere. Time’s not an object but an idea. It will be extinguished in +the mind.” +</p> +<p> +“The old commonplaces of philosophy, the same from the beginning of +time,” Stavrogin muttered with a kind of disdainful compassion. +</p> +<p> +“Always the same, always the same, from the beginning of time and never +any other,” Kirillov said with sparkling eyes, as though there were +almost a triumph in that idea. +</p> +<p> +“You seem to be very happy, Kirillov.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, very happy,” he answered, as though making the most ordinary +reply. +</p> +<p> +“But you were distressed so lately, angry with Liputin.” +</p> +<p> +“H’m … I’m not scolding now. I didn’t know then that I was happy. Have +you seen a leaf, a leaf from a tree?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“I saw a yellow one lately, a little green. It was decayed at the edges. +It was blown by the wind. When I was ten years old I used to shut my +eyes in the winter on purpose and fancy a green leaf, bright, with veins +on it, and the sun shining. I used to open my eyes and not believe them, +because it was very nice, and I used to shut them again.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s that? An allegory?” +</p> +<p> +“N-no … why? I’m not speaking of an allegory, but of a leaf, only a +leaf. The leaf is good. Everything’s good.” +</p> +<p> +“Everything?” +</p> +<p> +“Everything. Man is unhappy because he doesn’t know he’s happy. It’s +only that. That’s all, that’s all! If anyone finds out he’ll become +happy at once, that minute. That mother-in-law will die; but the baby +will remain. It’s all good. I discovered it all of a sudden.” +</p> +<p> +“And if anyone dies of hunger, and if anyone insults and outrages the +little girl, is that good?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes! And if anyone blows his brains out for the baby, that’s good too. +And if anyone doesn’t, that’s good too. It’s all good, all. It’s good +for all those who know that it’s all good. If they knew that it was good +for them, it would be good for them, but as long as they don’t know it’s +good for them, it will be bad for them. That’s the whole idea, the whole +of it.” +</p> +<p> +“When did you find out you were so happy?” +</p> +<p> +“Last week, on Tuesday, no, Wednesday, for it was Wednesday by that +time, in the night.” +</p> +<p> +“By what reasoning?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t remember; I was walking about the room; never mind. I stopped +my clock. It was thirty-seven minutes past two.” +</p> +<p> +“As an emblem of the fact that there will be no more time?” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov was silent. +</p> +<p> +“They’re bad because they don’t know they’re good. When they find out, +they won’t outrage a little girl. They’ll find out that they’re good and +they’ll all become good, every one of them.” +</p> +<p> +“Here you’ve found it out, so have you become good then?” +</p> +<p> +“I am good.” +</p> +<p> +“That I agree with, though,” Stavrogin muttered, frowning. +</p> +<p> +“He who teaches that all are good will end the world.” +</p> +<p> +“He who taught it was crucified.” +</p> +<p> +“He will come, and his name will be the man-god.” +</p> +<p> +“The god-man?” +</p> +<p> +“The man-god. That’s the difference.” +</p> +<p> +“Surely it wasn’t you lighted the lamp under the ikon?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, it was I lighted it.” +</p> +<p> +“Did you do it believing?” +</p> +<p> +“The old woman likes to have the lamp and she hadn’t time to do it +to-day,” muttered Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“You don’t say prayers yourself?” +</p> +<p> +“I pray to everything. You see the spider crawling on the wall, I look +at it and thank it for crawling.” +</p> +<p> +His eyes glowed again. He kept looking straight at Stavrogin with +firm and unflinching expression. Stavrogin frowned and watched him +disdainfully, but there was no mockery in his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“I’ll bet that when I come next time you’ll be believing in God too,” +he said, getting up and taking his hat. +</p> +<p> +“Why?” said Kirillov, getting up too. +</p> +<p> +“If you were to find out that you believe in God, then you’d believe in +Him; but since you don’t know that you believe in Him, then you don’t +believe in Him,” laughed Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. +</p> +<p> +“That’s not right,” Kirillov pondered, “you’ve distorted the idea. It’s +a flippant joke. Remember what you have meant in my life, Stavrogin.” +</p> +<p> +“Good-bye, Kirillov.” +</p> +<p> +“Come at night; when will you?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, haven’t you forgotten about to-morrow?” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, I’d forgotten. Don’t be uneasy. I won’t oversleep. At nine +o’clock. I know how to wake up when I want to. I go to bed saying ‘seven +o’clock,’ and I wake up at seven o’clock, ‘ten o’clock,’ and I wake up +at ten o’clock.” +</p> +<p> +“You have remarkable powers,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, looking at +his pale face. +</p> +<p> +“I’ll come and open the gate.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t trouble, Shatov will open it for me.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Shatov. Very well, good-bye.” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VI +</p> +<p> +The door of the empty house in which Shatov was lodging was not closed; +but, making his way into the passage, Stavrogin found himself in utter +darkness, and began feeling with his hand for the stairs to the upper +story. Suddenly a door opened upstairs and a light appeared. Shatov +did not come out himself, but simply opened his door. When Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch was standing in the doorway of the room, he saw Shatov +standing at the table in the corner, waiting expectantly. +</p> +<p> +“Will you receive me on business?” he queried from the doorway. +</p> +<p> +“Come in and sit down,” answered Shatov. “Shut the door; stay, I’ll shut +it.” +</p> +<p> +He locked the door, returned to the table, and sat down, facing Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch. He had grown thinner during that week, and now he +seemed in a fever. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve been worrying me to death,” he said, looking down, in a soft +half-whisper. “Why didn’t you come?” +</p> +<p> +“You were so sure I should come then?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, stay, I have been delirious … perhaps I’m delirious now.… Stay +a moment.” +</p> +<p> +He got up and seized something that was lying on the uppermost of his +three bookshelves. It was a revolver. +</p> +<p> +“One night, in delirium, I fancied that you were coming to kill me, and +early next morning I spent my last farthing on buying a revolver from +that good-for-nothing fellow Lyamshin; I did not mean to let you do it. +Then I came to myself again … I’ve neither powder nor shot; it has been +lying there on the shelf till now; wait a minute.…” +</p> +<p> +He got up and was opening the casement. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t throw it away, why should you?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch checked +him. “It’s worth something. Besides, tomorrow people will begin saying +that there are revolvers lying about under Shatov’s window. Put it back, +that’s right; sit down. Tell me, why do you seem to be penitent for +having thought I should come to kill you? I have not come now to be +reconciled, but to talk of something necessary. Enlighten me to begin +with. You didn’t give me that blow because of my connection with your +wife?” +</p> +<p> +“You know I didn’t, yourself,” said Shatov, looking down again. +</p> +<p> +“And not because you believed the stupid gossip about Darya Pavlovna?” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, of course not! It’s nonsense! My sister told me from the very +first …” Shatov said, harshly and impatiently, and even with a slight +stamp of his foot. +</p> +<p> +“Then I guessed right and you too guessed right,” Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch went on in a tranquil voice. “You are right. Marya +Timofyevna Lebyadkin is my lawful wife, married to me four and a half +years ago in Petersburg. I suppose the blow was on her account?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov, utterly astounded, listened in silence. +</p> +<p> +“I guessed, but did not believe it,” he muttered at last, looking +strangely at Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“And you struck me?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov flushed and muttered almost incoherently: +</p> +<p> +“Because of your fall … your lie. I didn’t go up to you to punish +you … I didn’t know when I went up to you that I should strike you … I +did it because you meant so much to me in my life … I …” +</p> +<p> +“I understand, I understand, spare your words. I am sorry you are +feverish. I’ve come about a most urgent matter.” +</p> +<p> +“I have been expecting you too long.” Shatov seemed to be quivering all +over, and he got up from his seat. “Say what you have to say … I’ll +speak too … later.” +</p> +<p> +He sat down. +</p> +<p> +“What I have come about is nothing of that kind,” began Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, scrutinising him with curiosity. “Owing to certain +circumstances I was forced this very day to choose such an hour to come +and tell you that they may murder you.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov looked wildly at him. +</p> +<p> +“I know that I may be in some danger,” he said in measured tones, “but +how can you have come to know of it?” +</p> +<p> +“Because I belong to them as you do, and am a member of their society, +just as you are.” +</p> +<p> +“You … you are a member of the society?” +</p> +<p> +“I see from your eyes that you were prepared for anything from me rather +than that,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, with a faint smile. “But, +excuse me, you knew then that there would be an attempt on your life?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing of the sort. And I don’t think so now, in spite of your words, +though … though there’s no being sure of anything with these fools!” +he cried suddenly in a fury, striking the table with his fist. “I’m not +afraid of them! I’ve broken with them. That fellow’s run here four times +to tell me it was possible … but”—he looked at Stavrogin—“what do +you know about it, exactly?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be uneasy; I am not deceiving you,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went +on, rather coldly, with the air of a man who is only fulfilling a duty. +“You question me as to what I know. I know that you entered that society +abroad, two years ago, at the time of the old organisation, just before +you went to America, and I believe, just after our last conversation, +about which you wrote so much to me in your letter from America. By +the way, I must apologise for not having answered you by letter, but +confined myself to …” +</p> +<p> +“To sending the money; wait a bit,” Shatov interrupted, hurriedly +pulling out a drawer in the table and taking from under some papers a +rainbow-coloured note. “Here, take it, the hundred roubles you sent me; +but for you I should have perished out there. I should have been a long +time paying it back if it had not been for your mother. She made me a +present of that note nine months ago, because I was so badly off after +my illness. But, go on, please.…” +</p> +<p> +He was breathless. +</p> +<p> +“In America you changed your views, and when you came back you wanted to +resign. They gave you no answer, but charged you to take over a printing +press here in Russia from someone, and to keep it till you handed +it over to someone who would come from them for it. I don’t know +the details exactly, but I fancy that’s the position in outline. You +undertook it in the hope, or on the condition, that it would be the last +task they would require of you, and that then they would release you +altogether. Whether that is so or not, I learnt it, not from them, but +quite by chance. But now for what I fancy you don’t know; these gentry +have no intention of parting with you.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s absurd!” cried Shatov. “I’ve told them honestly that I’ve cut +myself off from them in everything. That is my right, the right to +freedom of conscience and of thought.… I won’t put up with it! There’s +no power which could …” +</p> +<p> +“I say, don’t shout,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch said earnestly, checking +him. “That Verhovensky is such a fellow that he may be listening to us +now in your passage, perhaps, with his own ears or someone else’s. Even +that drunkard, Lebyadkin, was probably bound to keep an eye on you, +and you on him, too, I dare say? You’d better tell me, has Verhovensky +accepted your arguments now, or not?” +</p> +<p> +“He has. He has said that it can be done and that I have the right.…” +</p> +<p> +“Well then, he’s deceiving you. I know that even Kirillov, who scarcely +belongs to them at all, has given them information about you. And they +have lots of agents, even people who don’t know that they’re serving +the society. They’ve always kept a watch on you. One of the things Pyotr +Verhovensky came here for was to settle your business once for all, and +he is fully authorised to do so, that is at the first good opportunity, +to get rid of you, as a man who knows too much and might give them away. +I repeat that this is certain, and allow me to add that they are, for +some reason, convinced that you are a spy, and that if you haven’t +informed against them yet, you will. Is that true?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov made a wry face at hearing such a question asked in such a +matter-of fact tone. +</p> +<p> +“If I were a spy, whom could I inform?” he said angrily, not giving a +direct answer. “No, leave me alone, let me go to the devil!” he cried +suddenly, catching again at his original idea, which agitated him +violently. Apparently it affected him more deeply than the news of his +own danger. “You, you, Stavrogin, how could you mix yourself up with +such shameful, stupid, second-hand absurdity? You a member of the +society? What an exploit for Stavrogin!” he cried suddenly, in despair. +</p> +<p> +He clasped his hands, as though nothing could be a bitterer and more +inconsolable grief to him than such a discovery. +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, extremely surprised, “but you +seem to look upon me as a sort of sun, and on yourself as an insect in +comparison. I noticed that even from your letter in America.” +</p> +<p> +“You … you know.… Oh, let us drop me altogether,” Shatov broke off +suddenly, “and if you can explain anything about yourself explain it.… +Answer my question!” he repeated feverishly. +</p> +<p> +“With pleasure. You ask how I could get into such a den? After what +I have told you, I’m bound to be frank with you to some extent on the +subject. You see, strictly speaking, I don’t belong to the society at +all, and I never have belonged to it, and I’ve much more right than +you to leave them, because I never joined them. In fact, from the very +beginning I told them that I was not one of them, and that if I’ve +happened to help them it has simply been by accident as a man of +leisure. I took some part in reorganising the society, on the new plan, +but that was all. But now they’ve changed their views, and have made up +their minds that it would be dangerous to let me go, and I believe I’m +sentenced to death too.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, they do nothing but sentence to death, and all by means of sealed +documents, signed by three men and a half. And you think they’ve any +power!” +</p> +<p> +“You’re partly right there and partly not,” Stavrogin answered with the +same indifference, almost listlessness. “There’s no doubt that there’s a +great deal that’s fanciful about it, as there always is in such cases: a +handful magnifies its size and significance. To my thinking, if you will +have it, the only one is Pyotr Verhovensky, and it’s simply good-nature +on his part to consider himself only an agent of the society. But +the fundamental idea is no stupider than others of the sort. They are +connected with the <i>Internationale.</i> They have succeeded in establishing +agents in Russia, they have even hit on a rather original method, though +it’s only theoretical, of course. As for their intentions here, the +movements of our Russian organisation are something so obscure and +almost always unexpected that really they might try anything among us. +Note that Verhovensky is an obstinate man.” +</p> +<p> +“He’s a bug, an ignoramus, a buffoon, who understands nothing in +Russia!” cried Shatov spitefully. +</p> +<p> +“You know him very little. It’s quite true that none of them understand +much about Russia, but not much less than you and I do. Besides, +Verhovensky is an enthusiast.” +</p> +<p> +“Verhovensky an enthusiast?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes. There is a point when he ceases to be a buffoon and becomes +a madman. I beg you to remember your own expression: ‘Do you know how +powerful a single man may be?’ Please don’t laugh about it, he’s quite +capable of pulling a trigger. They are convinced that I am a spy too. +As they don’t know how to do things themselves, they’re awfully fond of +accusing people of being spies.” +</p> +<p> +“But you’re not afraid, are you?” +</p> +<p> +“N—no. I’m not very much afraid.… But your case is quite different. I +warned you that you might anyway keep it in mind. To my thinking there’s +no reason to be offended in being threatened with danger by fools; their +brains don’t affect the question. They’ve raised their hand against +better men than you or me. It’s a quarter past eleven, though.” He +looked at his watch and got up from his chair. “I wanted to ask you one +quite irrelevant question.” +</p> +<p> +“For God’s sake!” cried Shatov, rising impulsively from his seat. +</p> +<p> +“I beg your pardon?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked at him inquiringly. +</p> +<p> +“Ask it, ask your question for God’s sake,” Shatov repeated in +indescribable excitement, “but on condition that I ask you a question +too. I beseech you to allow me … I can’t … ask your question!” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin waited a moment and then began. “I’ve heard that you have some +influence on Marya Timofyevna, and that she was fond of seeing you and +hearing you talk. Is that so?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes … she used to listen …” said Shatov, confused. +</p> +<p> +“Within a day or two I intend to make a public announcement of our +marriage here in the town.” +</p> +<p> +“Is that possible?” Shatov whispered, almost with horror. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t quite understand you. There’s no sort of difficulty about it, +witnesses to the marriage are here. Everything took place in Petersburg, +perfectly legally and smoothly, and if it has not been made known till +now, it is simply because the witnesses, Kirillov, Pyotr Verhovensky, +and Lebyadkin (whom I now have the pleasure of claiming as a +brother-in-law) promised to hold their tongues.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t mean that … You speak so calmly … but good! Listen! You +weren’t forced into that marriage, were you?” +</p> +<p> +“No, no one forced me into it.” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch smiled at +Shatov’s importunate haste. +</p> +<p> +“And what’s that talk she keeps up about her baby?” Shatov interposed +disconnectedly, with feverish haste. +</p> +<p> +“She talks about her baby? Bah! I didn’t know. It’s the first time +I’ve heard of it. She never had a baby and couldn’t have had: Marya +Timofyevna is a virgin.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! That’s just what I thought! Listen!” +</p> +<p> +“What’s the matter with you, Shatov?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov hid his face in his hands, turned away, but suddenly clutched +Stavrogin by the shoulders. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know why, do you know why, anyway,” he shouted, “why you did all +this, and why you are resolved on such a punishment now!” +</p> +<p> +“Your question is clever and malignant, but I mean to surprise you too; +I fancy I do know why I got married then, and why I am resolved on such +a punishment now, as you express it.” +</p> +<p> +“Let’s leave that … of that later. Put it off. Let’s talk of the chief +thing, the chief thing. I’ve been waiting two years for you.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve waited too long for you. I’ve been thinking of you incessantly. +You are the only man who could move … I wrote to you about it from +America.” +</p> +<p> +“I remember your long letter very well.” +</p> +<p> +“Too long to be read? No doubt; six sheets of notepaper. Don’t speak! +Don’t speak! Tell me, can you spare me another ten minutes?… But now, +this minute … I have waited for you too long.” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly, half an hour if you like, but not more, if that will suit +you.” +</p> +<p> +“And on condition, too,” Shatov put in wrathfully, “that you take a +different tone. Do you hear? I demand when I ought to entreat. Do you +understand what it means to demand when one ought to entreat?” +</p> +<p> +“I understand that in that way you lift yourself above all +ordinary considerations for the sake of loftier aims,” said Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch with a faint smile. “I see with regret, too, that you’re +feverish.” +</p> +<p> +“I beg you to treat me with respect, I insist on it!” shouted Shatov, +“not my personality—I don’t care a hang for that, but something else, +just for this once. While I am talking … we are two beings, and have +come together in infinity … for the last time in the world. Drop your +tone, and speak like a human being! Speak, if only for once in your life +with the voice of a man. I say it not for my sake but for yours. Do you +understand that you ought to forgive me that blow in the face if only +because I gave you the opportunity of realising your immense +power.… Again you smile your disdainful, worldly smile! Oh, when will you +understand me! Have done with being a snob! Understand that I insist +on that. I insist on it, else I won’t speak, I’m not going to for +anything!” +</p> +<p> +His excitement was approaching frenzy. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch frowned +and seemed to become more on his guard. +</p> +<p> +“Since I have remained another half-hour with you when time is so +precious,” he pronounced earnestly and impressively, “you may rest +assured that I mean to listen to you at least with interest … and I am +convinced that I shall hear from you much that is new.” +</p> +<p> +He sat down on a chair. +</p> +<p> +“Sit down!” cried Shatov, and he sat down himself. +</p> +<p> +“Please remember,” Stavrogin interposed once more, “that I was about +to ask a real favour of you concerning Marya Timofyevna, of great +importance for her, anyway.…” +</p> +<p> +“What?” Shatov frowned suddenly with the air of a man who has just been +interrupted at the most important moment, and who gazes at you unable to +grasp the question. +</p> +<p> +“And you did not let me finish,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went on with a +smile. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, nonsense, afterwards!” Shatov waved his hand disdainfully, +grasping, at last, what he wanted, and passed at once to his principal +theme. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VII +</p> +<p> +“Do you know,” he began, with flashing eyes, almost menacingly, bending +right forward in his chair, raising the forefinger of his right hand +above him (obviously unaware that he was doing so), “do you know who are +the only ‘god-bearing’ people on earth, destined to regenerate and save +the world in the name of a new God, and to whom are given the keys of +life and of the new world … Do you know which is that people and what +is its name?” +</p> +<p> +“From your manner I am forced to conclude, and I think I may as well do +so at once, that it is the Russian people.” +</p> +<p> +“And you can laugh, oh, what a race!” Shatov burst out. +</p> +<p> +“Calm yourself, I beg of you; on the contrary, I was expecting something +of the sort from you.” +</p> +<p> +“You expected something of the sort? And don’t you know those words +yourself?” +</p> +<p> +“I know them very well. I see only too well what you’re driving at. All +your phrases, even the expression ‘god-bearing people’ is only a sequel +to our talk two years ago, abroad, not long before you went to America.… At +least, as far as I can recall it now.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s your phrase altogether, not mine. Your own, not simply the sequel +of our conversation. ‘Our’ conversation it was not at all. It was a +teacher uttering weighty words, and a pupil who was raised from the +dead. I was that pupil and you were the teacher.” +</p> +<p> +“But, if you remember, it was just after my words you joined their +society, and only afterwards went away to America.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and I wrote to you from America about that. I wrote to you about +everything. Yes, I could not at once tear my bleeding heart from what +I had grown into from childhood, on which had been lavished all the +raptures of my hopes and all the tears of my hatred.… It is difficult +to change gods. I did not believe you then, because I did not want to +believe, I plunged for the last time into that sewer.… But the seed +remained and grew up. Seriously, tell me seriously, didn’t you read all +my letter from America, perhaps you didn’t read it at all?” +</p> +<p> +“I read three pages of it. The two first and the last. And I glanced +through the middle as well. But I was always meaning …” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, never mind, drop it! Damn it!” cried Shatov, waving his hand. “If +you’ve renounced those words about the people now, how could you have +uttered them then?… That’s what crushes me now.” +</p> +<p> +“I wasn’t joking with you then; in persuading you I was perhaps +more concerned with myself than with you,” Stavrogin pronounced +enigmatically. +</p> +<p> +“You weren’t joking! In America I was lying for three months on straw +beside a hapless creature, and I learnt from him that at the very time +when you were sowing the seed of God and the Fatherland in my heart, at +that very time, perhaps during those very days, you were infecting the +heart of that hapless creature, that maniac Kirillov, with poison … you +confirmed false malignant ideas in him, and brought him to the verge of +insanity.… Go, look at him now, he is your creation … you’ve seen him +though.” +</p> +<p> +“In the first place, I must observe that Kirillov himself told me that +he is happy and that he’s good. Your supposition that all this was going +on at the same time is almost correct. But what of it? I repeat, I was +not deceiving either of you.” +</p> +<p> +“Are you an atheist? An atheist now?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“And then?” +</p> +<p> +“Just as I was then.” +</p> +<p> +“I wasn’t asking you to treat me with respect when I began the +conversation. With your intellect you might have understood that,” +Shatov muttered indignantly. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t get up at your first word, I didn’t close the conversation, +I didn’t go away from you, but have been sitting here ever since +submissively answering your questions and … cries, so it seems I have +not been lacking in respect to you yet.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov interrupted, waving his hand. +</p> +<p> +“Do you remember your expression that ‘an atheist can’t be a Russian,’ +that ‘an atheist at once ceases to be a Russian’? Do you remember saying +that?” +</p> +<p> +“Did I?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch questioned him back. +</p> +<p> +“You ask? You’ve forgotten? And yet that was one of the truest statements +of the leading peculiarity of the Russian soul, which you divined. You +can’t have forgotten it! I will remind you of something else: you said +then that ‘a man who was not orthodox could not be Russian.’” +</p> +<p> +“I imagine that’s a Slavophil idea.” +</p> +<p> +“The Slavophils of to-day disown it. Nowadays, people have grown +cleverer. But you went further: you believed that Roman Catholicism was +not Christianity; you asserted that Rome proclaimed Christ subject to +the third temptation of the devil. Announcing to all the world that +Christ without an earthly kingdom cannot hold his ground upon earth, +Catholicism by so doing proclaimed Antichrist and ruined the whole +Western world. You pointed out that if France is in agonies now it’s +simply the fault of Catholicism, for she has rejected the iniquitous God +of Rome and has not found a new one. That’s what you could say then! I +remember our conversations.” +</p> +<p> +“If I believed, no doubt I should repeat it even now. I wasn’t lying +when I spoke as though I had faith,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch pronounced +very earnestly. “But I must tell you, this repetition of my ideas in the +past makes a very disagreeable impression on me. Can’t you leave off?” +</p> +<p> +“If you believe it?” repeated Shatov, paying not the slightest attention +to this request. “But didn’t you tell me that if it were mathematically +proved to you that the truth excludes Christ, you’d prefer to stick to +Christ rather than to the truth? Did you say that? Did you?” +</p> +<p> +“But allow me too at last to ask a question,” said Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, raising his voice. “What is the object of this +irritable and … malicious cross-examination?” +</p> +<p> +“This examination will be over for all eternity, and you will never hear +it mentioned again.” +</p> +<p> +“You keep insisting that we are outside the limits of time and space.” +</p> +<p> +“Hold your tongue!” Shatov cried suddenly. “I am stupid and awkward, but +let my name perish in ignominy! Let me repeat your leading idea.… Oh, +only a dozen lines, only the conclusion.” +</p> +<p> +“Repeat it, if it’s only the conclusion.…” Stavrogin made a movement +to look at his watch, but restrained himself and did not look. +</p> +<p> +Shatov bent forward in his chair again and again held up his finger for +a moment. +</p> +<p> +“Not a single nation,” he went on, as though reading it line by line, +still gazing menacingly at Stavrogin, “not a single nation has ever +been founded on principles of science or reason. There has never been +an example of it, except for a brief moment, through folly. Socialism +is from its very nature bound to be atheism, seeing that it has from the +very first proclaimed that it is an atheistic organisation of society, +and that it intends to establish itself exclusively on the elements of +science and reason. Science and reason have, from the beginning of time, +played a secondary and subordinate part in the life of nations; so it +will be till the end of time. Nations are built up and moved by another +force which sways and dominates them, the origin of which is unknown and +inexplicable: that force is the force of an insatiable desire to go on +to the end, though at the same time it denies that end. It is the force +of the persistent assertion of one’s own existence, and a denial of +death. It’s the spirit of life, as the Scriptures call it, ‘the river of +living water,’ the drying up of which is threatened in the Apocalypse. +It’s the æsthetic principle, as the philosophers call it, the ethical +principle with which they identify it, ‘the seeking for God,’ as I call +it more simply. The object of every national movement, in every people +and at every period of its existence is only the seeking for its god, +who must be its own god, and the faith in Him as the only true one. +God is the synthetic personality of the whole people, taken from its +beginning to its end. It has never happened that all, or even many, +peoples have had one common god, but each has always had its own. It’s +a sign of the decay of nations when they begin to have gods in common. +When gods begin to be common to several nations the gods are dying and +the faith in them, together with the nations themselves. The stronger +a people the more individual their God. There never has been a nation +without a religion, that is, without an idea of good and evil. Every +people has its own conception of good and evil, and its own good and +evil. When the same conceptions of good and evil become prevalent +in several nations, then these nations are dying, and then the very +distinction between good and evil is beginning to disappear. Reason +has never had the power to define good and evil, or even to distinguish +between good and evil, even approximately; on the contrary, it has +always mixed them up in a disgraceful and pitiful way; science has even +given the solution by the fist. This is particularly characteristic +of the half-truths of science, the most terrible scourge of humanity, +unknown till this century, and worse than plague, famine, or war. A +half-truth is a despot … such as has never been in the world before. +A despot that has its priests and its slaves, a despot to whom all do +homage with love and superstition hitherto inconceivable, before which +science itself trembles and cringes in a shameful way. These are your +own words, Stavrogin, all except that about the half-truth; that’s my +own because I am myself a case of half-knowledge, and that’s why I hate +it particularly. I haven’t altered anything of your ideas or even of +your words, not a syllable.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t agree that you’ve not altered anything,” Stavrogin observed +cautiously. “You accepted them with ardour, and in your ardour have +transformed them unconsciously. The very fact that you reduce God to a +simple attribute of nationality …” +</p> +<p> +He suddenly began watching Shatov with intense and peculiar attention, +not so much his words as himself. +</p> +<p> +“I reduce God to the attribute of nationality?” cried Shatov. “On the +contrary, I raise the people to God. And has it ever been otherwise? The +people is the body of God. Every people is only a people so long as it +has its own god and excludes all other gods on earth irreconcilably; so +long as it believes that by its god it will conquer and drive out of +the world all other gods. Such, from the beginning of time, has been +the belief of all great nations, all, anyway, who have been specially +remarkable, all who have been leaders of humanity. There is no going +against facts. The Jews lived only to await the coming of the true +God and left the world the true God. The Greeks deified nature and +bequeathed the world their religion, that is, philosophy and art. Rome +deified the people in the State, and bequeathed the idea of the State to +the nations. France throughout her long history was only the incarnation +and development of the Roman god, and if they have at last flung their +Roman god into the abyss and plunged into atheism, which, for the time +being, they call socialism, it is solely because socialism is, anyway, +healthier than Roman Catholicism. If a great people does not believe +that the truth is only to be found in itself alone (in itself alone +and in it exclusively); if it does not believe that it alone is fit and +destined to raise up and save all the rest by its truth, it would at +once sink into being ethnographical material, and not a great people. A +really great people can never accept a secondary part in the history +of Humanity, nor even one of the first, but will have the first part. A +nation which loses this belief ceases to be a nation. But there is only +one truth, and therefore only a single one out of the nations can have +the true God, even though other nations may have great gods of their +own. Only one nation is ‘god-bearing,’ that’s the Russian people, +and … and … and can you think me such a fool, Stavrogin,” he yelled +frantically all at once, “that I can’t distinguish whether my words at +this moment are the rotten old commonplaces that have been ground out in +all the Slavophil mills in Moscow, or a perfectly new saying, the last +word, the sole word of renewal and resurrection, and … and what do I +care for your laughter at this minute! What do I care that you utterly, +utterly fail to understand me, not a word, not a sound! Oh, how I +despise your haughty laughter and your look at this minute!” +</p> +<p> +He jumped up from his seat; there was positively foam on his lips. +</p> +<p> +“On the contrary Shatov, on the contrary,” Stavrogin began with +extraordinary earnestness and self-control, still keeping his seat, “on +the contrary, your fervent words have revived many extremely powerful +recollections in me. In your words I recognise my own mood two years +ago, and now I will not tell you, as I did just now, that you have +exaggerated my ideas. I believe, indeed, that they were even more +exceptional, even more independent, and I assure you for the third time +that I should be very glad to confirm all that you’ve said just now, +every syllable of it, but …” +</p> +<p> +“But you want a hare?” +</p> +<p> +“Wh-a-t?” +</p> +<p> +“Your own nasty expression,” Shatov laughed spitefully, sitting down +again. “To cook your hare you must first catch it, to believe in God +you must first have a god. You used to say that in Petersburg, I’m told, +like Nozdryov, who tried to catch a hare by his hind legs.” +</p> +<p> +“No, what he did was to boast he’d caught him. By the way, allow me to +trouble you with a question though, for indeed I think I have the right +to one now. Tell me, have you caught your hare?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t dare to ask me in such words! Ask differently, quite +differently.” Shatov suddenly began trembling all over. +</p> +<p> +“Certainly I’ll ask differently.” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked coldly +at him. “I only wanted to know, do you believe in God, yourself?” +</p> +<p> +“I believe in Russia.… I believe in her orthodoxy.… I believe in +the body of Christ.… I believe that the new advent will take place in +Russia.… I believe …” Shatov muttered frantically. +</p> +<p> +“And in God? In God?” +</p> +<p> +“I … I will believe in God.” +</p> +<p> +Not one muscle moved in Stavrogin’s face. Shatov looked passionately and +defiantly at him, as though he would have scorched him with his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“I haven’t told you that I don’t believe,” he cried at last. “I will +only have you know that I am a luckless, tedious book, and nothing more +so far, so far.… But confound me! We’re discussing you not me.… I’m +a man of no talent, and can only give my blood, nothing more, like every +man without talent; never mind my blood either! I’m talking about you. +I’ve been waiting here two years for you.… Here I’ve been dancing +about in my nakedness before you for the last half-hour. You, only you +can raise that flag!…” +</p> +<p> +He broke off, and sat as though in despair, with his elbows on the table +and his head in his hands. +</p> +<p> +“I merely mention it as something queer,” Stavrogin interrupted +suddenly. “Every one for some inexplicable reason keeps foisting a flag +upon me. Pyotr Verhovensky, too, is convinced that I might ‘raise his +flag,’ that’s how his words were repeated to me, anyway. He has taken it +into his head that I’m capable of playing the part of Stenka Razin for +them, ‘from my extraordinary aptitude for crime,’ his saying too.” +</p> +<p> +“What?” cried Shatov, “‘from your extraordinary aptitude for crime’?” +</p> +<p> +“Just so.” +</p> +<p> +“H’m! And is it true?” he asked, with an angry smile. “Is it true +that when you were in Petersburg you belonged to a secret society for +practising beastly sensuality? Is it true that you could give lessons to +the Marquis de Sade? Is it true that you decoyed and corrupted children? +Speak, don’t dare to lie,” he cried, beside himself. “Nikolay Stavrogin +cannot lie to Shatov, who struck him in the face. Tell me everything, +and if it’s true I’ll kill you, here, on the spot!” +</p> +<p> +“I did talk like that, but it was not I who outraged children,” +Stavrogin brought out, after a silence that lasted too long. He turned +pale and his eyes gleamed. +</p> +<p> +“But you talked like that,” Shatov went on imperiously, keeping his +flashing eyes fastened upon him. “Is it true that you declared that you +saw no distinction in beauty between some brutal obscene action and any +great exploit, even the sacrifice of life for the good of humanity? Is +it true that you have found identical beauty, equal enjoyment, in both +extremes?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s impossible to answer like this.… I won’t answer,” muttered +Stavrogin, who might well have got up and gone away, but who did not get +up and go away. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know either why evil is hateful and good is beautiful, but I +know why the sense of that distinction is effaced and lost in people +like the Stavrogins,” Shatov persisted, trembling all over. “Do you know +why you made that base and shameful marriage? Simply because the shame +and senselessness of it reached the pitch of genius! Oh, you are not +one of those who linger on the brink. You fly head foremost. You married +from a passion for martyrdom, from a craving for remorse, through moral +sensuality. It was a laceration of the nerves … Defiance of common +sense was too tempting. Stavrogin and a wretched, half-witted, crippled +beggar! When you bit the governor’s ear did you feel sensual pleasure? +Did you? You idle, loafing, little snob. Did you?” +</p> +<p> +“You’re a psychologist,” said Stavrogin, turning paler and paler, +“though you’re partly mistaken as to the reasons of my marriage. But +who can have given you all this information?” he asked, smiling, with an +effort. “Was it Kirillov? But he had nothing to do with it.” +</p> +<p> +“You turn pale.” +</p> +<p> +“But what is it you want?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked, raising +his voice at last. “I’ve been sitting under your lash for the last +half-hour, and you might at least let me go civilly. Unless you really +have some reasonable object in treating me like this.” +</p> +<p> +“Reasonable object?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, you’re in duty bound, anyway, to let me know your object. +I’ve been expecting you to do so all the time, but you’ve shown me +nothing so far but frenzied spite. I beg you to open the gate for me.” +</p> +<p> +He got up from the chair. Shatov rushed frantically after him. “Kiss +the earth, water it with your tears, pray for forgiveness,” he cried, +clutching him by the shoulder. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t kill you … that morning, though … I drew back my +hands …” Stavrogin brought out almost with anguish, keeping his eyes +on the ground. +</p> +<p> +“Speak out! Speak out! You came to warn me of danger. You have let me +speak. You mean to-morrow to announce your marriage publicly.… Do +you suppose I don’t see from your face that some new menacing idea +is dominating you?… Stavrogin, why am I condemned to believe in you +through all eternity? Could I speak like this to anyone else? I have +modesty, but I am not ashamed of my nakedness because it’s Stavrogin +I am speaking to. I was not afraid of caricaturing a grand idea by +handling it because Stavrogin was listening to me.… Shan’t I kiss your +footprints when you’ve gone? I can’t tear you out of my heart, Nikolay +Stavrogin!” +</p> +<p> +“I’m sorry I can’t feel affection for you, Shatov,” Stavrogin replied +coldly. +</p> +<p> +“I know you can’t, and I know you are not lying. Listen. I can set it +all right. I can ‘catch your hare’ for you.” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“You’re an atheist because you’re a snob, a snob of the snobs. You’ve +lost the distinction between good and evil because you’ve lost touch +with your own people. A new generation is coming, straight from the +heart of the people, and you will know nothing of it, neither you nor +the Verhovenskys, father or son; nor I, for I’m a snob too—I, the son +of your serf and lackey, Pashka.… Listen. Attain to God by work; it +all lies in that; or disappear like rotten mildew. Attain to Him by +work.” +</p> +<p> +“God by work? What sort of work?” +</p> +<p> +“Peasants’ work. Go, give up all your wealth.… Ah! you laugh, you’re +afraid of some trick?” +</p> +<p> +But Stavrogin was not laughing. +</p> +<p> +“You suppose that one may attain to God by work, and by peasants’ work,” +he repeated, reflecting as though he had really come across something +new and serious which was worth considering. “By the way,” he passed +suddenly to a new idea, “you reminded me just now. Do you know that +I’m not rich at all, that I’ve nothing to give up? I’m scarcely in +a position even to provide for Marya Timofyevna’s future.… Another +thing: I came to ask you if it would be possible for you to remain near +Marya Timofyevna in the future, as you are the only person who has +some influence over her poor brain. I say this so as to be prepared for +anything.” +</p> +<p> +“All right, all right. You’re speaking of Marya Timofyevna,” said +Shatov, waving one hand, while he held a candle in the other. “All +right. Afterwards, of course.… Listen. Go to Tikhon.” +</p> +<p> +“To whom?” +</p> +<p> +“To Tikhon, who used to be a bishop. He lives retired now, on account of +illness, here in the town, in the Bogorodsky monastery.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing. People go and see him. You go. What is it to you? What is it +to you?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s the first time I’ve heard of him, and … I’ve never seen anything +of that sort of people. Thank you, I’ll go.” +</p> +<p> +“This way.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov lighted him down the stairs. “Go along.” He flung open the gate +into the street. +</p> +<p> +“I shan’t come to you any more, Shatov,” said Stavrogin quietly as he +stepped through the gateway. +</p> +<p> +The darkness and the rain continued as before. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0007"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER II. NIGHT (continued) +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +HE WALKED THE LENGTH of Bogoyavlensky Street. At last the road began +to go downhill; his feet slipped in the mud and suddenly there lay +open before him a wide, misty, as it were empty expanse—the river. The +houses were replaced by hovels; the street was lost in a multitude of +irregular little alleys. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was a long while making his way between +the fences, keeping close to the river bank, but finding his way +confidently, and scarcely giving it a thought indeed. He was absorbed in +something quite different, and looked round with surprise when suddenly, +waking up from a profound reverie, he found himself almost in the middle +of one long, wet, floating bridge. +</p> +<p> +There was not a soul to be seen, so that it seemed strange to him when +suddenly, almost at his elbow, he heard a deferentially familiar, but +rather pleasant, voice, with a suave intonation, such as is affected by +our over-refined tradespeople or befrizzled young shop assistants. +</p> +<p> +“Will you kindly allow me, sir, to share your umbrella?” +</p> +<p> +There actually was a figure that crept under his umbrella, or tried to +appear to do so. The tramp was walking beside him, almost “feeling +his elbow,” as the soldiers say. Slackening his pace, Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch bent down to look more closely, as far as he could, in +the darkness. It was a short man, and seemed like an artisan who had +been drinking; he was shabbily and scantily dressed; a cloth cap, soaked +by the rain and with the brim half torn off, perched on his shaggy, +curly head. He looked a thin, vigorous, swarthy man with dark hair; +his eyes were large and must have been black, with a hard glitter and a +yellow tinge in them, like a gipsy’s; that could be divined even in the +darkness. He was about forty, and was not drunk. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know me?” asked Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. “Mr. Stavrogin, Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch. You were pointed out to me at the station, when the +train stopped last Sunday, though I had heard enough of you beforehand.” +</p> +<p> +“From Pyotr Stepanovitch? Are you … Fedka the convict?” +</p> +<p> +“I was christened Fyodor Fyodorovitch. My mother is living to this day +in these parts; she’s an old woman, and grows more and more bent every +day. She prays to God for me, day and night, so that she doesn’t waste +her old age lying on the stove.” +</p> +<p> +“You escaped from prison?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve had a change of luck. I gave up books and bells and church-going +because I’d a life sentence, so that I had a very long time to finish my +term.” +</p> +<p> +“What are you doing here?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I do what I can. My uncle, too, died last week in prison here. He +was there for false coin, so I threw two dozen stones at the dogs by +way of memorial. That’s all I’ve been doing so far. Moreover Pyotr +Stepanovitch gives me hopes of a passport, and a merchant’s one, too, to +go all over Russia, so I’m waiting on his kindness. ‘Because,’ says he, +‘my papa lost you at cards at the English club, and I,’ says he, ‘find +that inhumanity unjust.’ You might have the kindness to give me three +roubles, sir, for a glass to warm myself.” +</p> +<p> +“So you’ve been spying on me. I don’t like that. By whose orders?” +</p> +<p> +“As to orders, it’s nothing of the sort; it’s simply that I knew of your +benevolence, which is known to all the world. All we get, as you know, +is an armful of hay, or a prod with a fork. Last Friday I filled myself +as full of pie as Martin did of soap; since then I didn’t eat one day, +and the day after I fasted, and on the third I’d nothing again. I’ve had +my fill of water from the river. I’m breeding fish in my belly.… So +won’t your honour give me something? I’ve a sweetheart expecting me not +far from here, but I daren’t show myself to her without money.” +</p> +<p> +“What did Pyotr Stepanovitch promise you from me?” +</p> +<p> +“He didn’t exactly promise anything, but only said that I might be of +use to your honour if my luck turns out good, but how exactly he didn’t +explain; for Pyotr Stepanovitch wants to see if I have the patience of a +Cossack, and feels no sort of confidence in me.” +</p> +<p> +“Why?” +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch is an astronomer, and has learnt all God’s planets, +but even he may be criticised. I stand before you, sir, as before God, +because I have heard so much about you. Pyotr Stepanovitch is one thing, +but you, sir, maybe, are something else. When he’s said of a man he’s a +scoundrel, he knows nothing more about him except that he’s a scoundrel. +Or if he’s said he’s a fool, then that man has no calling with him +except that of fool. But I may be a fool Tuesday and Wednesday, and on +Thursday wiser than he. Here now he knows about me that I’m awfully +sick to get a passport, for there’s no getting on in Russia without +papers—so he thinks that he’s snared my soul. I tell you, sir, life’s +a very easy business for Pyotr Stepanovitch, for he fancies a man to be +this and that, and goes on as though he really was. And, what’s more, +he’s beastly stingy. It’s his notion that, apart from him, I daren’t +trouble you, but I stand before you, sir, as before God. This is the +fourth night I’ve been waiting for your honour on this bridge, to show +that I can find my own way on the quiet, without him. I’d better bow to +a boot, thinks I, than to a peasant’s shoe.” +</p> +<p> +“And who told you that I was going to cross the bridge at night?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that, I’ll own, came out by chance, most through Captain +Lebyadkin’s foolishness, because he can’t keep anything to himself.… +So that three roubles from your honour would pay me for the weary time +I’ve had these three days and nights. And the clothes I’ve had soaked, I +feel that too much to speak of it.” +</p> +<p> +“I’m going to the left; you’ll go to the right. Here’s the end of the +bridge. Listen, Fyodor; I like people to understand what I say, once for +all. I won’t give you a farthing. Don’t meet me in future on the bridge +or anywhere. I’ve no need of you, and never shall have, and if you don’t +obey, I’ll tie you and take you to the police. March!” +</p> +<p> +“Eh-heh! Fling me something for my company, anyhow. I’ve cheered you on +your way.” +</p> +<p> +“Be off!” +</p> +<p> +“But do you know the way here? There are all sorts of turnings.… I +could guide you; for this town is for all the world as though the devil +carried it in his basket and dropped it in bits here and there.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll tie you up!” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, turning upon him +menacingly. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you’ll change your mind, sir; it’s easy to ill-treat the +helpless.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I see you can rely on yourself!” +</p> +<p> +“I rely upon you, sir, and not very much on myself.…” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve no need of you at all. I’ve told you so already.” +</p> +<p> +“But I have need, that’s how it is! I shall wait for you on the way +back. There’s nothing for it.” +</p> +<p> +“I give you my word of honour if I meet you I’ll tie you up.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I’ll get a belt ready for you to tie me with. A lucky journey to +you, sir. You kept the helpless snug under your umbrella. For that +alone I’ll be grateful to you to my dying day.” He fell behind. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch walked on to his destination, feeling disturbed. This +man who had dropped from the sky was absolutely convinced that he was +indispensable to him, Stavrogin, and was in insolent haste to tell him +so. He was being treated unceremoniously all round. But it was possible, +too, that the tramp had not been altogether lying, and had tried +to force his services upon him on his own initiative, without Pyotr +Stepanovitch’s knowledge, and that would be more curious still. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +The house which Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had reached stood alone in a +deserted lane between fences, beyond which market gardens stretched, at +the very end of the town. It was a very solitary little wooden house, +which was only just built and not yet weather-boarded. In one of the +little windows the shutters were not yet closed, and there was a candle +standing on the window-ledge, evidently as a signal to the late guest +who was expected that night. Thirty paces away Stavrogin made out on the +doorstep the figure of a tall man, evidently the master of the house, +who had come out to stare impatiently up the road. He heard his voice, +too, impatient and, as it were, timid. +</p> +<p> +“Is that you? You?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” responded Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but not till he had mounted +the steps and was folding up his umbrella. +</p> +<p> +“At last, sir.” Captain Lebyadkin, for it was he, ran fussily to and +fro. “Let me take your umbrella, please. It’s very wet; I’ll open it on +the floor here, in the corner. Please walk in. Please walk in.” +</p> +<p> +The door was open from the passage into a room that was lighted by two +candles. +</p> +<p> +“If it had not been for your promise that you would certainly come, I +should have given up expecting you.” +</p> +<p> +“A quarter to one,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, looking at his watch, +as he went into the room. +</p> +<p> +“And in this rain; and such an interesting distance. I’ve no clock … +and there are nothing but market-gardens round me … so that you fall +behind the times. Not that I murmur exactly; for I dare not, I dare not, +but only because I’ve been devoured with impatience all the week … to +have things settled at last.” +</p> +<p> +“How so?” +</p> +<p> +“To hear my fate, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. Please sit down.” +</p> +<p> +He bowed, pointing to a seat by the table, before the sofa. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked round. The room was tiny and low-pitched. +The furniture consisted only of the most essential articles, plain +wooden chairs and a sofa, also newly made without covering or cushions. +There were two tables of limewood; one by the sofa, and the other in +the corner was covered with a table-cloth, laid with things over which +a clean table-napkin had been thrown. And, indeed, the whole room was +obviously kept extremely clean. +</p> +<p> +Captain Lebyadkin had not been drunk for eight days. His face looked +bloated and yellow. His eyes looked uneasy, inquisitive, and obviously +bewildered. It was only too evident that he did not know what tone he +could adopt, and what line it would be most advantageous for him to +take. +</p> +<p> +“Here,” he indicated his surroundings, “I live like Zossima. Sobriety, +solitude, and poverty—the vow of the knights of old.” +</p> +<p> +“You imagine that the knights of old took such vows?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps I’m mistaken. Alas! I have no culture. I’ve ruined all. Believe +me, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, here first I have recovered from shameful +propensities—not a glass nor a drop! I have a home, and for six days +past I have experienced a conscience at ease. Even the walls smell of +resin and remind me of nature. And what have I been; what was I? +</p> +<pre> + ‘At night without a bed I wander + And my tongue put out by day …’ +</pre> +<p> +to use the words of a poet of genius. But you’re wet through.… +Wouldn’t you like some tea?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t trouble.” +</p> +<p> +“The samovar has been boiling since eight o’clock, but it went out at +last like everything in this world. The sun, too, they say, will go +out in its turn. But if you like I’ll get up the samovar. Agafya is not +asleep.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me, Marya Timofyevna …” +</p> +<p> +“She’s here, here,” Lebyadkin replied at once, in a whisper. “Would you +like to have a look at her?” He pointed to the closed door to the next +room. +</p> +<p> +“She’s not asleep?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no, no. How could she be? On the contrary, she’s been expecting +you all the evening, and as soon as she heard you were coming she began +making her toilet.” +</p> +<p> +He was just twisting his mouth into a jocose smile, but he instantly +checked himself. +</p> +<p> +“How is she, on the whole?” asked Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, frowning. +</p> +<p> +“On the whole? You know that yourself, sir.” He shrugged his shoulders +commiseratingly. “But just now … just now she’s telling her fortune +with cards.…” +</p> +<p> +“Very good. Later on. First of all I must finish with you.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch settled himself in a chair. The captain did not +venture to sit down on the sofa, but at once moved up another chair for +himself, and bent forward to listen, in a tremor of expectation. +</p> +<p> +“What have you got there under the table-cloth?” asked Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, suddenly noticing it. +</p> +<p> +“That?” said Lebyadkin, turning towards it also. “That’s from your +generosity, by way of house-warming, so to say; considering also +the length of the walk, and your natural fatigue,” he sniggered +ingratiatingly. Then he got up on tiptoe, and respectfully and carefully +lifted the table-cloth from the table in the corner. Under it was seen a +slight meal: ham, veal, sardines, cheese, a little green decanter, and a +long bottle of Bordeaux. Everything had been laid neatly, expertly, and +almost daintily. +</p> +<p> +“Was that your effort?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir. Ever since yesterday I’ve done my best, and all to do you +honour.… Marya Timofyevna doesn’t trouble herself, as you know, on +that score. And what’s more its all from your liberality, your own +providing, as you’re the master of the house and not I, and I’m only, so +to say, your agent. All the same, all the same, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, +all the same, in spirit, I’m independent! Don’t take away from me this +last possession!” he finished up pathetically. +</p> +<p> +“H’m! You might sit down again.” +</p> +<p> +“Gra-a-teful, grateful, and independent.” He sat down. “Ah, Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, so much has been fermenting in this heart that I have +not known how to wait for your coming. Now you will decide my fate, +and … that unhappy creature’s, and then … shall I pour out all I feel +to you as I used to in old days, four years ago? You deigned to listen +to me then, you read my verses.… They might call me your Falstaff from +Shakespeare in those days, but you meant so much in my life! I have +great terrors now, and it’s only to you I look for counsel and light. +Pyotr Stepanovitch is treating me abominably!” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch listened with interest, and looked at him +attentively. It was evident that though Captain Lebyadkin had left off +drinking he was far from being in a harmonious state of mind. +Drunkards of many years’ standing, like Lebyadkin, often show traces of +incoherence, of mental cloudiness, of something, as it were, damaged, +and crazy, though they may deceive, cheat, and swindle, almost as well +as anybody if occasion arises. +</p> +<p> +“I see that you haven’t changed a bit in these four years and more, +captain,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, somewhat more amiably. “It +seems, in fact, as though the second half of a man’s life is usually +made up of nothing but the habits he has accumulated during the first +half.” +</p> +<p> +“Grand words! You solve the riddle of life!” said the captain, half +cunningly, half in genuine and unfeigned admiration, for he was a +great lover of words. “Of all your sayings, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, I +remember one thing above all; you were in Petersburg when you said it: +‘One must really be a great man to be able to make a stand even against +common sense.’ That was it.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and a fool as well.” +</p> +<p> +“A fool as well, maybe. But you’ve been scattering clever sayings all +your life, while they.… Imagine Liputin, imagine Pyotr Stepanovitch +saying anything like that! Oh, how cruelly Pyotr Stepanovitch has +treated me!” +</p> +<p> +“But how about yourself, captain? What can you say of your behaviour?” +</p> +<p> +“Drunkenness, and the multitude of my enemies. But now that’s all over, +all over, and I have a new skin, like a snake. Do you know, Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, I am making my will; in fact, I’ve made it already?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s interesting. What are you leaving, and to whom?” +</p> +<p> +“To my fatherland, to humanity, and to the students. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, I read in the paper the biography of an American. He +left all his vast fortune to factories and to the exact sciences, and +his skeleton to the students of the academy there, and his skin to be +made into a drum, so that the American national hymn might be beaten +upon it day and night. Alas! we are pigmies in mind compared with the +soaring thought of the States of North America. Russia is the play of +nature but not of mind. If I were to try leaving my skin for a drum, for +instance, to the Akmolinsky infantry regiment, in which I had the honour +of beginning my service, on condition of beating the Russian national +hymn upon it every day, in face of the regiment, they’d take it for +liberalism and prohibit my skin … and so I confine myself to the +students. I want to leave my skeleton to the academy, but on the +condition though, on the condition that a label should be stuck on the +forehead forever and ever, with the words: ‘A repentant free-thinker.’ +There now!” +</p> +<p> +The captain spoke excitedly, and genuinely believed, of course, that +there was something fine in the American will, but he was cunning too, +and very anxious to entertain Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, with whom he had +played the part of a buffoon for a long time in the past. But the latter +did not even smile, on the contrary, he asked, as it were, suspiciously: +</p> +<p> +“So you intend to publish your will in your lifetime and get rewarded +for it?” +</p> +<p> +“And what if I do, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch? What if I do?” said +Lebyadkin, watching him carefully. “What sort of luck have I had? I’ve +given up writing poetry, and at one time even you were amused by my +verses, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. Do you remember our reading them over a +bottle? But it’s all over with my pen. I’ve written only one poem, like +Gogol’s ‘The Last Story.’ Do you remember he proclaimed to Russia that +it broke spontaneously from his bosom? It’s the same with me; I’ve sung +my last and it’s over.” +</p> +<p> +“What sort of poem?” +</p> +<p> +“‘In case she were to break her leg.’” +</p> +<p> +“Wha-a-t?” +</p> +<p> +That was all the captain was waiting for. He had an unbounded admiration +for his own poems, but, through a certain cunning duplicity, he was +pleased, too, that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch always made merry over his +poems, and sometimes laughed at them immoderately. In this way he killed +two birds with one stone, satisfying at once his poetical aspirations +and his desire to be of service; but now he had a third special and very +ticklish object in view. Bringing his verses on the scene, the captain +thought to exculpate himself on one point about which, for some reason, +he always felt himself most apprehensive, and most guilty. +</p> +<p> +“‘In case of her breaking her leg.’ That is, of her riding on +horseback. It’s a fantasy, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, a wild fancy, +but the fancy of a poet. One day I was struck by meeting a lady on +horseback, and asked myself the vital question, ‘What would happen +then?’ That is, in case of accident. All her followers turn away, all +her suitors are gone. A pretty kettle of fish. Only the poet +remains faithful, with his heart shattered in his breast, Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch. Even a louse may be in love, and is not forbidden by +law. And yet the lady was offended by the letter and the verses. I’m +told that even you were angry. Were you? I wouldn’t believe in anything +so grievous. Whom could I harm simply by imagination? Besides, I swear +on my honour, Liputin kept saying, ‘Send it, send it,’ every man, +however humble, has a right to send a letter! And so I sent it.” +</p> +<p> +“You offered yourself as a suitor, I understand.” +</p> +<p> +“Enemies, enemies, enemies!” +</p> +<p> +“Repeat the verses,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sternly. +</p> +<p> +“Ravings, ravings, more than anything.” +</p> +<p> +However, he drew himself up, stretched out his hand, and began: +</p> +<pre> + “With broken limbs my beauteous queen + Is twice as charming as before, + And, deep in love as I have been, + To-day I love her even more.” +</pre> +<p> +“Come, that’s enough,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, +with a wave of his hand. +</p> +<p> +“I dream of Petersburg,” cried Lebyadkin, passing quickly to another +subject, as though there had been no mention of verses. “I dream of +regeneration.… Benefactor! May I reckon that you won’t refuse the means +for the journey? I’ve been waiting for you all the week as my sunshine.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll do nothing of the sort. I’ve scarcely any money left. And why +should I give you money?” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch seemed suddenly angry. Dryly and briefly he +recapitulated all the captain’s misdeeds; his drunkenness, his lying, +his squandering of the money meant for Marya Timofyevna, his having +taken her from the nunnery, his insolent letters threatening to publish +the secret, the way he had behaved about Darya Pavlovna, and so on, and +so on. The captain heaved, gesticulated, began to reply, but every time +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch stopped him peremptorily. +</p> +<p> +“And listen,” he observed at last, “you keep writing about ‘family +disgrace.’ What disgrace is it to you that your sister is the lawful +wife of a Stavrogin?” +</p> +<p> +“But marriage in secret, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch—a fatal secret. I +receive money from you, and I’m suddenly asked the question, ‘What’s +that money for?’ My hands are tied; I cannot answer to the detriment of +my sister, to the detriment of the family honour.” +</p> +<p> +The captain raised his voice. He liked that subject and reckoned boldly +upon it. Alas! he did not realise what a blow was in store for him. +</p> +<p> +Calmly and exactly, as though he were speaking of the most everyday +arrangement, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch informed him that in a few days, +perhaps even to-morrow or the day after, he intended to make his +marriage known everywhere, “to the police as well as to local society.” +And so the question of family honour would be settled once for all, and +with it the question of subsidy. The captain’s eyes were ready to +drop out of his head; he positively could not take it in. It had to be +explained to him. +</p> +<p> +“But she is … crazy.” +</p> +<p> +“I shall make suitable arrangements.” +</p> +<p> +“But … how about your mother?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, she must do as she likes.” +</p> +<p> +“But will you take your wife to your house?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps so. But that is absolutely nothing to do with you and no +concern of yours.” +</p> +<p> +“No concern of mine!” cried the captain. “What about me then?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, certainly you won’t come into my house.” +</p> +<p> +“But, you know, I’m a relation.” +</p> +<p> +“One does one’s best to escape from such relations. Why should I go on +giving you money then? Judge for yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, this is impossible. +You will think better of it, perhaps? You don’t want to lay hands +upon.… What will people think? What will the world say?” +</p> +<p> +“Much I care for your world. I married your sister when the fancy took +me, after a drunken dinner, for a bet, and now I’ll make it public … +since that amuses me now.” +</p> +<p> +He said this with a peculiar irritability, so that Lebyadkin began with +horror to believe him. +</p> +<p> +“But me, me? What about me? I’m what matters most!… Perhaps you’re +joking, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I’m not joking.” +</p> +<p> +“As you will, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but I don’t believe you.… Then +I’ll take proceedings.” +</p> +<p> +“You’re fearfully stupid, captain.” +</p> +<p> +“Maybe, but this is all that’s left me,” said the captain, losing his +head completely. “In old days we used to get free quarters, anyway, for +the work she did in the ‘corners.’ But what will happen now if you throw +me over altogether?” +</p> +<p> +“But you want to go to Petersburg to try a new career. By the way, is it +true what I hear, that you mean to go and give information, in the hope +of obtaining a pardon, by betraying all the others?” +</p> +<p> +The captain stood gaping with wide-open eyes, and made no answer. +</p> +<p> +“Listen, captain,” Stavrogin began suddenly, with great earnestness, +bending down to the table. Until then he had been talking, as it were, +ambiguously, so that Lebyadkin, who had wide experience in playing the +part of buffoon, was up to the last moment a trifle uncertain whether +his patron were really angry or simply putting it on; whether he really +had the wild intention of making his marriage public, or whether he +were only playing. Now Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s stern expression was so +convincing that a shiver ran down the captain’s back. +</p> +<p> +“Listen, and tell the truth, Lebyadkin. Have you betrayed anything yet, +or not? Have you succeeded in doing anything really? Have you sent a +letter to somebody in your foolishness?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I haven’t … and I haven’t thought of doing it,” said the captain, +looking fixedly at him. +</p> +<p> +“That’s a lie, that you haven’t thought of doing it. That’s what you’re +asking to go to Petersburg for. If you haven’t written, have you blabbed +to anybody here? Speak the truth. I’ve heard something.” +</p> +<p> +“When I was drunk, to Liputin. Liputin’s a traitor. I opened my heart to +him,” whispered the poor captain. +</p> +<p> +“That’s all very well, but there’s no need to be an ass. If you had an +idea you should have kept it to yourself. Sensible people hold their +tongues nowadays; they don’t go chattering.” +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch!” said the captain, quaking. “You’ve had +nothing to do with it yourself; it’s not you I’ve …” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. You wouldn’t have ventured to kill the goose that laid your golden +eggs.” +</p> +<p> +“Judge for yourself, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, judge for yourself,” and, +in despair, with tears, the captain began hurriedly relating the story +of his life for the last four years. It was the most stupid story of +a fool, drawn into matters that did not concern him, and in his +drunkenness and debauchery unable, till the last minute, to grasp their +importance. He said that before he left Petersburg ‘he had been drawn +in, at first simply through friendship, like a regular student, although +he wasn’t a student,’ and knowing nothing about it, ‘without being +guilty of anything,’ he had scattered various papers on staircases, left +them by dozens at doors, on bell-handles, had thrust them in as though +they were newspapers, taken them to the theatre, put them in people’s +hats, and slipped them into pockets. Afterwards he had taken money from +them, ‘for what means had I?’ He had distributed all sorts of rubbish +through the districts of two provinces. “Oh, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch!” +he exclaimed, “what revolted me most was that this was utterly opposed +to civic, and still more to patriotic laws. They suddenly printed that +men were to go out with pitchforks, and to remember that those who went +out poor in the morning might go home rich at night. Only think of it! +It made me shudder, and yet I distributed it. Or suddenly five or six +lines addressed to the whole of Russia, apropos of nothing, ‘Make haste +and lock up the churches, abolish God, do away with marriage, destroy +the right of inheritance, take up your knives,’ that’s all, and God +knows what it means. I tell you, I almost got caught with this five-line +leaflet. The officers in the regiment gave me a thrashing, but, bless +them for it, let me go. And last year I was almost caught when I passed +off French counterfeit notes for fifty roubles on Korovayev, but, thank +God, Korovayev fell into the pond when he was drunk, and was drowned +in the nick of time, and they didn’t succeed in tracking me. Here, at +Virginsky’s, I proclaimed the freedom of the communistic life. In June +I was distributing manifestoes again in X district. They say they +will make me do it again.… Pyotr Stepanovitch suddenly gave me to +understand that I must obey; he’s been threatening me a long time. How +he treated me that Sunday! Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, I am a slave, I am +a worm, but not a God, which is where I differ from Derzhavin.* But I’ve +no income, no income!” +</p> + +<pre> + * The reference is to a poem of Derzhavin’s. +</pre> + +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch heard it all with curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“A great deal of that I had heard nothing of,” he said. “Of course, +anything may have happened to you.… Listen,” he said, after a minute’s +thought. “If you like, you can tell them, you know whom, that Liputin +was lying, and that you were only pretending to give information to +frighten me, supposing that I, too, was compromised, and that you might +get more money out of me that way.… Do you understand?” +</p> +<p> +“Dear Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, is it possible that there’s such a danger +hanging over me? I’ve been longing for you to come, to ask you.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch laughed. +</p> +<p> +“They certainly wouldn’t let you go to Petersburg, even if I were to +give you money for the journey.… But it’s time for me to see Marya +Timofyevna.” And he got up from his chair. +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but how about Marya Timofyevna?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, as I told you.” +</p> +<p> +“Can it be true?” +</p> +<p> +“You still don’t believe it?” +</p> +<p> +“Will you really cast me off like an old worn-out shoe?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll see,” laughed Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. “Come, let me go.” +</p> +<p> +“Wouldn’t you like me to stand on the steps … for fear I might by +chance overhear something … for the rooms are small?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s as well. Stand on the steps. Take my umbrella.” +</p> +<p> +“Your umbrella.… Am I worth it?” said the captain over-sweetly. +</p> +<p> +“Anyone is worthy of an umbrella.” +</p> +<p> +“At one stroke you define the minimum of human rights.…” +</p> +<p> +But he was by now muttering mechanically. He was too much crushed by +what he had learned, and was completely thrown out of his reckoning. And +yet almost as soon as he had gone out on to the steps and had put up +the umbrella, there his shallow and cunning brain caught again the +ever-present, comforting idea that he was being cheated and deceived, +and if so they were afraid of him, and there was no need for him to be +afraid. +</p> +<p> +“If they’re lying and deceiving me, what’s at the bottom of it?” was the +thought that gnawed at his mind. The public announcement of the marriage +seemed to him absurd. “It’s true that with such a wonder-worker anything +may come to pass; he lives to do harm. But what if he’s afraid himself, +since the insult of Sunday, and afraid as he’s never been before? And +so he’s in a hurry to declare that he’ll announce it himself, from fear +that I should announce it. Eh, don’t blunder, Lebyadkin! And why does he +come on the sly, at night, if he means to make it public himself? And +if he’s afraid, it means that he’s afraid now, at this moment, for these +few days.… Eh, don’t make a mistake, Lebyadkin! +</p> +<p> +“He scares me with Pyotr Stepanovitch. Oy, I’m frightened, I’m +frightened! Yes, this is what’s so frightening! And what induced me to +blab to Liputin. Goodness knows what these devils are up to. I never can +make head or tail of it. Now they are all astir again as they were five +years ago. To whom could I give information, indeed? ‘Haven’t I written +to anyone in my foolishness?’ H’m! So then I might write as though +through foolishness? Isn’t he giving me a hint? ‘You’re going to +Petersburg on purpose.’ The sly rogue. I’ve scarcely dreamed of it, and +he guesses my dreams. As though he were putting me up to going himself. +It’s one or the other of two games he’s up to. Either he’s afraid +because he’s been up to some pranks himself … or he’s not afraid for +himself, but is simply egging me on to give them all away! Ach, it’s +terrible, Lebyadkin! Ach, you must not make a blunder!” +</p> +<p> +He was so absorbed in thought that he forgot to listen. It was not easy +to hear either. The door was a solid one, and they were talking in a +very low voice. Nothing reached the captain but indistinct sounds. He +positively spat in disgust, and went out again, lost in thought, to +whistle on the steps. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +Marya Timofyevna’s room was twice as large as the one occupied by the +captain, and furnished in the same rough style; but the table in front +of the sofa was covered with a gay-coloured table-cloth, and on it a +lamp was burning. There was a handsome carpet on the floor. The bed was +screened off by a green curtain, which ran the length of the room, and +besides the sofa there stood by the table a large, soft easy chair, in +which Marya Timofyevna never sat, however. In the corner there was an +ikon as there had been in her old room, and a little lamp was burning +before it, and on the table were all her indispensable properties. The +pack of cards, the little looking-glass, the song-book, even a milk +loaf. Besides these there were two books with coloured pictures—one, +extracts from a popular book of travels, published for juvenile reading, +the other a collection of very light, edifying tales, for the most part +about the days of chivalry, intended for Christmas presents or school +reading. She had, too, an album of photographs of various sorts. +</p> +<p> +Marya Timofyevna was, of course, expecting the visitor, as the captain +had announced. But when Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went in, she was asleep, +half reclining on the sofa, propped on a woolwork cushion. Her visitor +closed the door after him noiselessly, and, standing still, scrutinised +the sleeping figure. +</p> +<p> +The captain had been romancing when he told Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch she +had been dressing herself up. She was wearing the same dark dress as on +Sunday at Varvara Petrovna’s. Her hair was done up in the same little +close knot at the back of her head; her long thin neck was exposed +in the same way. The black shawl Varvara Petrovna had given her lay +carefully folded on the sofa. She was coarsely rouged and powdered as +before. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch did not stand there more than a minute. +She suddenly waked up, as though she were conscious of his eyes +fixed upon her; she opened her eyes, and quickly drew herself up. +But something strange must have happened to her visitor: he remained +standing at the same place by the door. With a fixed and searching +glance he looked mutely and persistently into her face. Perhaps that +look was too grim, perhaps there was an expression of aversion in it, +even a malignant enjoyment of her fright—if it were not a fancy left by +her dreams; but suddenly, after almost a moment of expectation, the poor +woman’s face wore a look of absolute terror; it twitched convulsively; +she lifted her trembling hands and suddenly burst into tears, exactly +like a frightened child; in another moment she would have screamed. But +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch pulled himself together; his face changed in one +instant, and he went up to the table with the most cordial and amiable +smile. +</p> +<p> +“I’m sorry, Marya Timofyevna, I frightened you coming in suddenly when +you were asleep,” he said, holding out his hand to her. +</p> +<p> +The sound of his caressing words produced their effect. Her fear +vanished, although she still looked at him with dismay, evidently trying +to understand something. She held out her hands timorously also. At last +a shy smile rose to her lips. +</p> +<p> +“How do you do, prince?” she whispered, looking at him strangely. +</p> +<p> +“You must have had a bad dream,” he went on, with a still more friendly +and cordial smile. +</p> +<p> +“But how do you know that I was dreaming about that?” And again she +began trembling, and started back, putting up her hand as though to +protect herself, on the point of crying again. “Calm yourself. That’s +enough. What are you afraid of? Surely you know me?” said Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, trying to soothe her; but it was long before he +could succeed. She gazed at him dumbly with the same look of agonising +perplexity, with a painful idea in her poor brain, and she still seemed +to be trying to reach some conclusion. At one moment she dropped her +eyes, then suddenly scrutinised him in a rapid comprehensive glance. At +last, though not reassured, she seemed to come to a conclusion. +</p> +<p> +“Sit down beside me, please, that I may look at you thoroughly later +on,” she brought out with more firmness, evidently with a new object. +“But don’t be uneasy, I won’t look at you now. I’ll look down. Don’t you +look at me either till I ask you to. Sit down,” she added, with positive +impatience. +</p> +<p> +A new sensation was obviously growing stronger and stronger in her. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sat down and waited. Rather a long silence +followed. +</p> +<p> +“H’m! It all seems so strange to me,” she suddenly muttered almost +disdainfully. “Of course I was depressed by bad dreams, but why have I +dreamt of you looking like that?” +</p> +<p> +“Come, let’s have done with dreams,” he said impatiently, turning to her +in spite of her prohibition, and perhaps the same expression gleamed for +a moment in his eyes again. He saw that she several times wanted, very +much in fact, to look at him again, but that she obstinately controlled +herself and kept her eyes cast down. +</p> +<p> +“Listen, prince,” she raised her voice suddenly, “listen prince.…” +</p> +<p> +“Why do you turn away? Why don’t you look at me? What’s the object of +this farce?” he cried, losing patience. +</p> +<p> +But she seemed not to hear him. +</p> +<p> +“Listen, prince,” she repeated for the third time in a resolute voice, +with a disagreeable, fussy expression. “When you told me in the carriage +that our marriage was going to be made public, I was alarmed at there +being an end to the mystery. Now I don’t know. I’ve been thinking it all +over, and I see clearly that I’m not fit for it at all. I know how to +dress, and I could receive guests, perhaps. There’s nothing much in +asking people to have a cup of tea, especially when there are footmen. +But what will people say though? I saw a great deal that Sunday morning +in that house. That pretty young lady looked at me all the time, +especially after you came in. It was you came in, wasn’t it? Her +mother’s simply an absurd worldly old woman. My Lebyadkin distinguished +himself too. I kept looking at the ceiling to keep from laughing; the +ceiling there is finely painted. His mother ought to be an abbess. I’m +afraid of her, though she did give me a black shawl. Of course, they +must all have come to strange conclusions about me. I wasn’t vexed, +but I sat there, thinking what relation am I to them? Of course, from +a countess one doesn’t expect any but spiritual qualities; for the +domestic ones she’s got plenty of footmen; and also a little worldly +coquetry, so as to be able to entertain foreign travellers. But yet that +Sunday they did look upon me as hopeless. Only Dasha’s an angel. I’m +awfully afraid they may wound <i>him</i> by some careless allusion to me.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be afraid, and don’t be uneasy,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, +making a wry face. +</p> +<p> +“However, that doesn’t matter to me, if he is a little ashamed of me, +for there will always be more pity than shame, though it differs with +people, of course. He knows, to be sure, that I ought rather to pity +them than they me.” +</p> +<p> +“You seem to be very much offended with them, Marya Timofyevna?” +</p> +<p> +“I? Oh, no,” she smiled with simple-hearted mirth. “Not at all. I looked +at you all, then. You were all angry, you were all quarrelling. They +meet together, and they don’t know how to laugh from their hearts. So +much wealth and so little gaiety. It all disgusts me. Though I feel for +no one now except myself.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve heard that you’ve had a hard life with your brother without me?” +</p> +<p> +“Who told you that? It’s nonsense. It’s much worse now. Now my dreams +are not good, and my dreams are bad, because you’ve come. What have you +come for, I’d like to know. Tell me please?” +</p> +<p> +“Wouldn’t you like to go back into the nunnery?” +</p> +<p> +“I knew they’d suggest the nunnery again. Your nunnery is a fine marvel +for me! And why should I go to it? What should I go for now? I’m all +alone in the world now. It’s too late for me to begin a third life.” +</p> +<p> +“You seem very angry about something. Surely you’re not afraid that I’ve +left off loving you?” +</p> +<p> +“I’m not troubling about you at all. I’m afraid that I may leave off +loving somebody.” +</p> +<p> +She laughed contemptuously. +</p> +<p> +“I must have done him some great wrong,” she added suddenly, as it were +to herself, “only I don’t know what I’ve done wrong; that’s always what +troubles me. Always, always, for the last five years. I’ve been afraid +day and night that I’ve done him some wrong. I’ve prayed and prayed and +always thought of the great wrong I’d done him. And now it turns out it +was true.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s turned out?” +</p> +<p> +“I’m only afraid whether there’s something on <i>his</i> side,” she went on, +not answering his question, not hearing it in fact. “And then, again, he +couldn’t get on with such horrid people. The countess would have liked +to eat me, though she did make me sit in the carriage beside her. +They’re all in the plot. Surely he’s not betrayed me?” (Her chin and +lips were twitching.) “Tell me, have you read about Grishka Otrepyev, +how he was cursed in seven cathedrals?” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“But I’ll turn round now and look at you.” She seemed to decide +suddenly. “You turn to me, too, and look at me, but more attentively. I +want to make sure for the last time.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve been looking at you for a long time.” +</p> +<p> +“H’m!” said Marya Timofyevna, looking at him intently. “You’ve grown +much fatter.” +</p> +<p> +She wanted to say something more, but suddenly, for the third time, +the same terror instantly distorted her face, and again she drew back, +putting her hand up before her. +</p> +<p> +“What’s the matter with you?” cried Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, almost +enraged. +</p> +<p> +But her panic lasted only one instant, her face worked with a sort of +strange smile, suspicious and unpleasant. +</p> +<p> +“I beg you, prince, get up and come in,” she brought out suddenly, in a +firm, emphatic voice. +</p> +<p> +“Come in? Where am I to come in?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve been fancying for five years how <i>he</i> would come in. Get up and +go out of the door into the other room. I’ll sit as though I weren’t +expecting anything, and I’ll take up a book, and suddenly you’ll come in +after five years’ travelling. I want to see what it will be like.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch ground his teeth, and muttered something to +himself. +</p> +<p> +“Enough,” he said, striking the table with his open hand. “I beg you to +listen to me, Marya Timofyevna. Do me the favour to concentrate all your +attention if you can. You’re not altogether mad, you know!” he broke out +impatiently. “Tomorrow I shall make our marriage public. You never will +live in a palace, get that out of your head. Do you want to live with +me for the rest of your life, only very far away from here? In the +mountains in Switzerland, there’s a place there.… Don’t be afraid. +I’ll never abandon you or put you in a madhouse. I shall have money +enough to live without asking anyone’s help. You shall have a servant, +you shall do no work at all. Everything you want that’s possible shall +be got for you. You shall pray, go where you like, and do what you like. +I won’t touch you. I won’t go away from the place myself at all. If you +like, I won’t speak to you all my life, or if you like, you can tell +me your stories every evening as you used to do in Petersburg in the +corners. I’ll read aloud to you if you like. But it must be all your +life in the same place, and that place is a gloomy one. Will you? Are +you ready? You won’t regret it, torment me with tears and curses, will +you?” +</p> +<p> +She listened with extreme curiosity, and for a long time she was silent, +thinking. +</p> +<p> +“It all seems incredible to me,” she said at last, ironically and +disdainfully. “I might live for forty years in those mountains,” she +laughed. +</p> +<p> +“What of it? Let’s live forty years then …” said Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, scowling. +</p> +<p> +“H’m! I won’t come for anything.” +</p> +<p> +“Not even with me?” +</p> +<p> +“And what are you that I should go with you? I’m to sit on a mountain +beside him for forty years on end—a pretty story! And upon my word, +how long-suffering people have become nowadays! No, it cannot be that a +falcon has become an owl. My prince is not like that!” she said, raising +her head proudly and triumphantly. +</p> +<p> +Light seemed to dawn upon him. +</p> +<p> +“What makes you call me a prince, and … for whom do you take me?” he +asked quickly. +</p> +<p> +“Why, aren’t you the prince?” +</p> +<p> +“I never have been one.” +</p> +<p> +“So yourself, yourself, you tell me straight to my face that you’re not +the prince?” +</p> +<p> +“I tell you I never have been.” +</p> +<p> +“Good Lord!” she cried, clasping her hands. “I was ready to expect +anything from <i>his</i> enemies, but such insolence, never! Is he alive?” she +shrieked in a frenzy, turning upon Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. “Have you +killed him? Confess!” +</p> +<p> +“Whom do you take me for?” he cried, jumping up from his chair with +a distorted face; but it was not easy now to frighten her. She was +triumphant. +</p> +<p> +“Who can tell who you are and where you’ve sprung from? Only my heart, +my heart had misgivings all these five years, of all the intrigues. And +I’ve been sitting here wondering what blind owl was making up to me? No, +my dear, you’re a poor actor, worse than Lebyadkin even. Give my humble +greetings to the countess and tell her to send someone better than you. +Has she hired you, tell me? Have they given you a place in her kitchen +out of charity? I see through your deception. I understand you all, +every one of you.” +</p> +<p> +He seized her firmly above the elbow; she laughed in his face. +</p> +<p> +“You’re like him, very like, perhaps you’re a relation—you’re a sly +lot! Only mine is a bright falcon and a prince, and you’re an owl, and +a shopman! Mine will bow down to God if it pleases him, and won’t if it +doesn’t. And Shatushka (he’s my dear, my darling!) slapped you on the +cheeks, my Lebyadkin told me. And what were you afraid of then, when you +came in? Who had frightened you then? When I saw your mean face after +I’d fallen down and you picked me up—it was like a worm crawling into +my heart. It’s not he, I thought, not <i>he!</i> My falcon would never have +been ashamed of me before a fashionable young lady. Oh heavens! That +alone kept me happy for those five years that my falcon was living +somewhere beyond the mountains, soaring, gazing at the sun.… Tell +me, you impostor, have you got much by it? Did you need a big bribe to +consent? I wouldn’t have given you a farthing. Ha ha ha! Ha ha!…” +</p> +<p> +“Ugh, idiot!” snarled Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, still holding her tight +by the arm. +</p> +<p> +“Go away, impostor!” she shouted peremptorily. “I’m the wife of my +prince; I’m not afraid of your knife!” +</p> +<p> +“Knife!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, knife, you’ve a knife in your pocket. You thought I was asleep but +I saw it. When you came in just now you took out your knife!” +</p> +<p> +“What are you saying, unhappy creature? What dreams you have!” he +exclaimed, pushing her away from him with all his might, so that her +head and shoulders fell painfully against the sofa. He was rushing away; +but she at once flew to overtake him, limping and hopping, and though +Lebyadkin, panic-stricken, held her back with all his might, she +succeeded in shouting after him into the darkness, shrieking and +laughing: +</p> +<p> +“A curse on you, Grishka Otrepyev!” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +“A knife, a knife,” he repeated with uncontrollable anger, striding +along through the mud and puddles, without picking his way. It is true +that at moments he had a terrible desire to laugh aloud frantically; but +for some reason he controlled himself and restrained his laughter. He +recovered himself only on the bridge, on the spot where Fedka had met +him that evening. He found the man lying in wait for him again. Seeing +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch he took off his cap, grinned gaily, and +began babbling briskly and merrily about something. At first Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch walked on without stopping, and for some time did not +even listen to the tramp who was pestering him again. He was suddenly +struck by the thought that he had entirely forgotten him, and had +forgotten him at the very moment when he himself was repeating, “A +knife, a knife.” He seized the tramp by the collar and gave vent to +his pent-up rage by flinging him violently against the bridge. For one +instant the man thought of fighting, but almost at once realising that +compared with his adversary, who had fallen upon him unawares, he was +no better than a wisp of straw, he subsided and was silent, without +offering any resistance. Crouching on the ground with his elbows crooked +behind his back, the wily tramp calmly waited for what would happen +next, apparently quite incredulous of danger. He was right in his +reckoning. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had already with his left hand taken +off his thick scarf to tie his prisoner’s arms, but suddenly, for some +reason, he abandoned him, and shoved him away. The man instantly sprang +on to his feet, turned round, and a short, broad boot-knife suddenly +gleamed in his hand. +</p> +<p> +“Away with that knife; put it away, at once!” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +commanded with an impatient gesture, and the knife vanished as +instantaneously as it had appeared. +</p> +<p> +Without speaking again or turning round, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went on +his way. But the persistent vagabond did not leave him even now, though +now, it is true, he did not chatter, and even respectfully kept his +distance, a full step behind. +</p> +<p> +They crossed the bridge like this and came out on to the river bank, +turning this time to the left, again into a long deserted back street, +which led to the centre of the town by a shorter way than going through +Bogoyavlensky Street. +</p> +<p> +“Is it true, as they say, that you robbed a church in the district the +other day?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“I went in to say my prayers in the first place,” the tramp answered, +sedately and respectfully as though nothing had happened; more than +sedately, in fact, almost with dignity. There was no trace of his +former “friendly” familiarity. All that was to be seen was a serious, +business-like man, who had indeed been gratuitously insulted, but who +was capable of overlooking an insult. +</p> +<p> +“But when the Lord led me there,” he went on, “ech, I thought what a +heavenly abundance! It was all owing to my helpless state, as in our +way of life there’s no doing without assistance. And, now, God be my +witness, sir, it was my own loss. The Lord punished me for my sins, and +what with the censer and the deacon’s halter, I only got twelve roubles +altogether. The chin setting of St. Nikolay of pure silver went for next +to nothing. They said it was plated.” +</p> +<p> +“You killed the watchman?” +</p> +<p> +“That is, I cleared the place out together with that watchman, but +afterwards, next morning, by the river, we fell to quarrelling which +should carry the sack. I sinned, I did lighten his load for him.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, you can rob and murder again.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s the very advice Pyotr Stepanovitch gives me, in the very +same words, for he’s uncommonly mean and hard-hearted about helping a +fellow-creature. And what’s more, he hasn’t a ha’p’orth of belief in the +Heavenly Creator, who made us out of earthly clay; but he says it’s all +the work of nature even to the last beast. He doesn’t understand either +that with our way of life it’s impossible for us to get along without +friendly assistance. If you begin to talk to him he looks like a +sheep at the water; it makes one wonder. Would you believe, at Captain +Lebyadkin’s, out yonder, whom your honour’s just been visiting, when he +was living at Filipov’s, before you came, the door stood open all night +long. He’d be drunk and sleeping like the dead, and his money dropping +out of his pockets all over the floor. I’ve chanced to see it with +my own eyes, for in our way of life it’s impossible to live without +assistance.…” +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean with your own eyes? Did you go in at night then?” +</p> +<p> +“Maybe I did go in, but no one knows of it.” +</p> +<p> +“Why didn’t you kill him?” +</p> +<p> +“Reckoning it out, I steadied myself. For once having learned for sure +that I can always get one hundred and fifty roubles, why should I go so +far when I can get fifteen hundred roubles, if I only bide my time. For +Captain Lebyadkin (I’ve heard him with my own ears) had great hopes of +you when he was drunk; and there isn’t a tavern here—not the lowest +pot-house—where he hasn’t talked about it when he was in that state. +So that hearing it from many lips, I began, too, to rest all my hopes +on your excellency. I speak to you, sir, as to my father, or my own +brother; for Pyotr Stepanovitch will never learn that from me, and not +a soul in the world. So won’t your excellency spare me three roubles in +your kindness? You might set my mind at rest, so that I might know the +real truth; for we can’t get on without assistance.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch laughed aloud, and taking out his purse, in +which he had as much as fifty roubles, in small notes, threw him one +note out of the bundle, then a second, a third, a fourth. Fedka flew to +catch them in the air. The notes dropped into the mud, and he snatched +them up crying, “Ech! ech!” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch finished by flinging +the whole bundle at him, and, still laughing, went on down the street, +this time alone. The tramp remained crawling on his knees in the mud, +looking for the notes which were blown about by the wind and soaking in +the puddles, and for an hour after his spasmodic cries of “Ech! ech!” +were still to be heard in the darkness. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0008"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER III. THE DUEL +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +THE NEXT DAY, at two o’clock in the afternoon, the duel took place as +arranged. Things were hastened forward by Gaganov’s obstinate desire to +fight at all costs. He did not understand his adversary’s conduct, +and was in a fury. For a whole month he had been insulting him with +impunity, and had so far been unable to make him lose patience. What he +wanted was a challenge on the part of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, as he had +not himself any direct pretext for challenging him. His secret motive +for it, that is, his almost morbid hatred of Stavrogin for the insult to +his family four years before, he was for some reason ashamed to confess. +And indeed he regarded this himself as an impossible pretext for a +challenge, especially in view of the humble apology offered by Nikolay +Stavrogin twice already. He privately made up his mind that Stavrogin +was a shameless coward; and could not understand how he could have +accepted Shatov’s blow. So he made up his mind at last to send him +the extraordinarily rude letter that had finally roused Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch himself to propose a meeting. Having dispatched this +letter the day before, he awaited a challenge with feverish impatience, +and while morbidly reckoning the chances at one moment with hope and +at the next with despair, he got ready for any emergency by securing a +second, to wit, Mavriky Nikolaevitch Drozdov, who was a friend of his, +an old schoolfellow, a man for whom he had a great respect. So when +Kirillov came next morning at nine o’clock with his message he found +things in readiness. All the apologies and unheard-of condescension of +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch were at once, at the first word, rejected with +extraordinary exasperation. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who had only been made +acquainted with the position of affairs the evening before, opened his +mouth with surprise at such incredible concessions, and would have urged +a reconciliation, but seeing that Gaganov, guessing his intention, was +almost trembling in his chair, refrained, and said nothing. If it had +not been for the promise given to his old schoolfellow he would have +retired immediately; he only remained in the hope of being some help on +the scene of action. Kirillov repeated the challenge. All the conditions +of the encounter made by Stavrogin were accepted on the spot, without +the faintest objection. Only one addition was made, and that a ferocious +one. If the first shots had no decisive effect, they were to fire again, +and if the second encounter were inconclusive, it was to be followed by +a third. Kirillov frowned, objected to the third encounter, but gaining +nothing by his efforts agreed on the condition, however, that three +should be the limit, and that “a fourth encounter was out of the +question.” This was conceded. Accordingly at two o’clock in the +afternoon the meeting took place at Brykov, that is, in a little +copse in the outskirts of the town, lying between Skvoreshniki and the +Shpigulin factory. The rain of the previous night was over, but it was +damp, grey, and windy. Low, ragged, dingy clouds moved rapidly across +the cold sky. The tree-tops roared with a deep droning sound, and +creaked on their roots; it was a melancholy morning. +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch and Gaganov arrived on the spot in a smart +char-à-banc with a pair of horses driven by the latter. They were +accompanied by a groom. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch and Kirillov arrived +almost at the same instant. They were not driving, they were on +horseback, and were also followed by a mounted servant. Kirillov, who +had never mounted a horse before, sat up boldly, erect in the saddle, +grasping in his right hand the heavy box of pistols which he would not +entrust to the servant. In his inexperience he was continually with his +left hand tugging at the reins, which made the horse toss his head and +show an inclination to rear. This, however, seemed to cause his rider no +uneasiness. Gaganov, who was morbidly suspicious and always ready to be +deeply offended, considered their coming on horseback as a fresh insult +to himself, inasmuch as it showed that his opponents were too confident +of success, since they had not even thought it necessary to have a +carriage in case of being wounded and disabled. He got out of his +char-à-banc, yellow with anger, and felt that his hands were trembling, +as he told Mavriky Nikolaevitch. He made no response at all to Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch’s bow, and turned away. The seconds cast lots. The lot +fell on Kirillov’s pistols. They measured out the barrier and placed the +combatants. The servants with the carriage and horses were moved +back three hundred paces. The weapons were loaded and handed to the +combatants. +</p> +<p> +I’m sorry that I have to tell my story more quickly and have no time +for descriptions. But I can’t refrain from some comments. Mavriky +Nikolaevitch was melancholy and preoccupied. Kirillov, on the other +hand, was perfectly calm and unconcerned, very exact over the details +of the duties he had undertaken, but without the slightest fussiness or +even curiosity as to the issue of the fateful contest that was so near +at hand. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was paler than usual. He was rather +lightly dressed in an overcoat and a white beaver hat. He seemed very +tired, he frowned from time to time, and seemed to feel it superfluous +to conceal his ill-humour. But Gaganov was at this moment more worthy +of mention than anyone, so that it is quite impossible not to say a few +words about him in particular. +</p> +<p class="centered">II</p> +<p> +I have hitherto not had occasion to describe his appearance. He was a +tall man of thirty-three, and well fed, as the common folk express it, +almost fat, with lank flaxen hair, and with features which might be +called handsome. He had retired from the service with the rank of +colonel, and if he had served till he reached the rank of general he +would have been even more impressive in that position, and would very +likely have become an excellent fighting general. +</p> +<p> +I must add, as characteristic of the man, that the chief cause of +his leaving the army was the thought of the family disgrace which had +haunted him so painfully since the insult paid to his father by Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch four years before at the club. He conscientiously +considered it dishonourable to remain in the service, and was inwardly +persuaded that he was contaminating the regiment and his companions, +although they knew nothing of the incident. It’s true that he had once +before been disposed to leave the army long before the insult to his +father, and on quite other grounds, but he had hesitated. Strange as it +is to write, the original design, or rather desire, to leave the army +was due to the proclamation of the 19th of February of the emancipation +of the serfs. Gaganov, who was one of the richest landowners in the +province, and who had not lost very much by the emancipation, and was, +moreover, quite capable of understanding the humanity of the reform and +its economic advantages, suddenly felt himself personally insulted by +the proclamation. It was something unconscious, a feeling; but was +all the stronger for being unrecognised. He could not bring himself, +however, to take any decisive step till his father’s death. But he began +to be well known for his “gentlemanly” ideas to many persons of high +position in Petersburg, with whom he strenuously kept up connections. He +was secretive and self-contained. Another characteristic: he belonged to +that strange section of the nobility, still surviving in Russia, who +set an extreme value on their pure and ancient lineage, and take it too +seriously. At the same time he could not endure Russian history, and, +indeed, looked upon Russian customs in general as more or less piggish. +Even in his childhood, in the special military school for the sons of +particularly wealthy and distinguished families in which he had the +privilege of being educated, from first to last certain poetic notions +were deeply rooted in his mind. He loved castles, chivalry; all the +theatrical part of it. He was ready to cry with shame that in the days +of the Moscow Tsars the sovereign had the right to inflict corporal +punishment on the Russian boyars, and blushed at the contrast. This +stiff and extremely severe man, who had a remarkable knowledge of +military science and performed his duties admirably, was at heart a +dreamer. It was said that he could speak at meetings and had the gift of +language, but at no time during the thirty-three years of his life had +he spoken. Even in the distinguished circles in Petersburg, in which +he had moved of late, he behaved with extraordinary haughtiness. +His meeting in Petersburg with Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, who had just +returned from abroad, almost sent him out of his mind. At the present +moment, standing at the barrier, he was terribly uneasy. He kept +imagining that the duel would somehow not come off; the least delay +threw him into a tremor. There was an expression of anguish in his face +when Kirillov, instead of giving the signal for them to fire, began +suddenly speaking, only for form, indeed, as he himself explained aloud. +</p> +<p> +“Simply as a formality, now that you have the pistols in your hands, +and I must give the signal, I ask you for the last time, will you not be +reconciled? It’s the duty of a second.” +</p> +<p> +As though to spite him, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who had till then kept +silence, although he had been reproaching himself all day for his +compliance and acquiescence, suddenly caught up Kirillov’s thought and +began to speak: +</p> +<p> +“I entirely agree with Mr. Kirillov’s words.… This idea that +reconciliation is impossible at the barrier is a prejudice, only +suitable for Frenchmen. Besides, with your leave, I don’t understand +what the offence is. I’ve been wanting to say so for a long time … +because every apology is offered, isn’t it?” +</p> +<p> +He flushed all over. He had rarely spoken so much, and with such +excitement. +</p> +<p> +“I repeat again my offer to make every possible apology,” Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch interposed hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“This is impossible,” shouted Gaganov furiously, addressing Mavriky +Nikolaevitch, and stamping with rage. “Explain to this man,” he pointed +with his pistol at Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, “if you’re my second and not +my enemy, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, that such overtures only aggravate the +insult. He feels it impossible to be insulted by me!… He feels it no +disgrace to walk away from me at the barrier! What does he take me for, +after that, do you think?… And you, you, my second, too! You’re simply +irritating me that I may miss.” +</p> +<p> +He stamped again. There were flecks of foam on his lips. +</p> +<p> +“Negotiations are over. I beg you to listen to the signal!” Kirillov +shouted at the top of his voice. “One! Two! Three!” +</p> +<p> +At the word “Three” the combatants took aim at one another. Gaganov at +once raised his pistol, and at the fifth or sixth step he fired. For a +second he stood still, and, making sure that he had missed, advanced to +the barrier. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch advanced too, raising his pistol, +but somehow holding it very high, and fired, almost without taking aim. +Then he took out his handkerchief and bound it round the little finger +of his right hand. Only then they saw that Gaganov had not missed him +completely, but the bullet had only grazed the fleshy part of his finger +without touching the bone; it was only a slight scratch. Kirillov at +once announced that the duel would go on, unless the combatants were +satisfied. +</p> +<p> +“I declare,” said Gaganov hoarsely (his throat felt parched), again +addressing Mavriky Nikolaevitch, “that this man,” again he pointed +in Stavrogin’s direction, “fired in the air on purpose … +intentionally.… This is an insult again.… He wants to make the +duel impossible!” +</p> +<p> +“I have the right to fire as I like so long as I keep the rules,” +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asserted resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“No, he hasn’t! Explain it to him! Explain it!” cried Gaganov. +</p> +<p> +“I’m in complete agreement with Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch,” proclaimed +Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“Why does he spare me?” Gaganov raged, not hearing him. “I despise his +mercy.… I spit on it.… I …” +</p> +<p> +“I give you my word that I did not intend to insult you,” cried Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch impatiently. “I shot high because I don’t want to kill +anyone else, either you or anyone else. It’s nothing to do with you +personally. It’s true that I don’t consider myself insulted, and I’m +sorry that angers you. But I don’t allow any one to interfere with my +rights.” +</p> +<p> +“If he’s so afraid of bloodshed, ask him why he challenged me,” yelled +Gaganov, still addressing Mavriky Nikolaevitch. +</p> +<p> +“How could he help challenging you?” said Kirillov, intervening. “You +wouldn’t listen to anything. How was one to get rid of you?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll only mention one thing,” observed Mavriky Nikolaevitch, pondering +the matter with painful effort. “If a combatant declares beforehand that +he will fire in the air the duel certainly cannot go on … for obvious +and … delicate reasons.” +</p> +<p> +“I haven’t declared that I’ll fire in the air every time,” cried +Stavrogin, losing all patience. “You don’t know what’s in my mind or how +I intend to fire again.… I’m not restricting the duel at all.” +</p> +<p> +“In that case the encounter can go on,” said Mavriky Nikolaevitch to +Gaganov. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, take your places,” Kirillov commanded. Again they advanced, +again Gaganov missed and Stavrogin fired into the air. There might have +been a dispute as to his firing into the air. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +might have flatly declared that he’d fired properly, if he had not +admitted that he had missed intentionally. He did not aim straight at +the sky or at the trees, but seemed to aim at his adversary, though as +he pointed the pistol the bullet flew a yard above his hat. The second +time the shot was even lower, even less like an intentional miss. +Nothing would have convinced Gaganov now. +</p> +<p> +“Again!” he muttered, grinding his teeth. “No matter! I’ve been +challenged and I’ll make use of my rights. I’ll fire a third time … +whatever happens.” +</p> +<p> +“You have full right to do so,” Kirillov rapped out. Mavriky +Nikolaevitch said nothing. The opponents were placed a third time, the +signal was given. This time Gaganov went right up to the barrier, and +began from there taking aim, at a distance of twelve paces. His hand +was trembling too much to take good aim. Stavrogin stood with his pistol +lowered and awaited his shot without moving. +</p> +<p> +“Too long; you’ve been aiming too long!” Kirillov shouted impetuously. +“Fire! Fire!” +</p> +<p> +But the shot rang out, and this time Stavrogin’s white beaver hat flew +off. The aim had been fairly correct. The crown of the hat was pierced +very low down; a quarter of an inch lower and all would have been over. +Kirillov picked up the hat and handed it to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Fire; don’t detain your adversary!” cried Mavriky Nikolaevitch in +extreme agitation, seeing that Stavrogin seemed to have forgotten to +fire, and was examining the hat with Kirillov. Stavrogin started, looked +at Gaganov, turned round and this time, without the slightest regard for +punctilio, fired to one side, into the copse. The duel was over. Gaganov +stood as though overwhelmed. Mavriky Nikolaevitch went up and began +saying something to him, but he did not seem to understand. Kirillov +took off his hat as he went away, and nodded to Mavriky Nikolaevitch. +But Stavrogin forgot his former politeness. When he had shot into the +copse he did not even turn towards the barrier. He handed his pistol to +Kirillov and hastened towards the horses. His face looked angry; he did +not speak. Kirillov, too, was silent. They got on their horses and set +off at a gallop. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +“Why don’t you speak?” he called impatiently to Kirillov, when they were +not far from home. +</p> +<p> +“What do you want?” replied the latter, almost slipping off his horse, +which was rearing. +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin restrained himself. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t mean to insult that … fool, and I’ve insulted him again,” he +said quietly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, you’ve insulted him again,” Kirillov jerked out, “and besides, +he’s not a fool.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve done all I can, anyway.” +</p> +<p> +“No.” +</p> +<p> +“What ought I to have done?” +</p> +<p> +“Not have challenged him.” +</p> +<p> +“Accept another blow in the face?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, accept another.” +</p> +<p> +“I can’t understand anything now,” said Stavrogin wrathfully. “Why does +every one expect of me something not expected from anyone else? Why am +I to put up with what no one else puts up with, and undertake burdens no +one else can bear?” +</p> +<p> +“I thought you were seeking a burden yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“I seek a burden?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve … seen that?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it so noticeable?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +There was silence for a moment. Stavrogin had a very preoccupied face. +He was almost impressed. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t aim because I didn’t want to kill anyone. There was nothing +more in it, I assure you,” he said hurriedly, and with agitation, as +though justifying himself. +</p> +<p> +“You ought not to have offended him.” +</p> +<p> +“What ought I to have done then?” +</p> +<p> +“You ought to have killed him.” +</p> +<p> +“Are you sorry I didn’t kill him?” +</p> +<p> +“I’m not sorry for anything. I thought you really meant to kill him. You +don’t know what you’re seeking.” +</p> +<p> +“I seek a burden,” laughed Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“If you didn’t want blood yourself, why did you give him a chance to +kill you?” +</p> +<p> +“If I hadn’t challenged him, he’d have killed me simply, without a +duel.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s not your affair. Perhaps he wouldn’t have killed you.” +</p> +<p> +“Only have beaten me?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s not your business. Bear your burden. Or else there’s no merit.” +</p> +<p> +“Hang your merit. I don’t seek anyone’s approbation.” +</p> +<p> +“I thought you were seeking it,” Kirillov commented with terrible +unconcern. +</p> +<p> +They rode into the courtyard of the house. +</p> +<p> +“Do you care to come in?” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. +</p> +<p> +“No; I’m going home. Good-bye.” +</p> +<p> +He got off the horse and took his box of pistols under his arm. +</p> +<p> +“Anyway, you’re not angry with me?” said Stavrogin, holding out his hand +to him. +</p> +<p> +“Not in the least,” said Kirillov, turning round to shake hands with +him. “If my burden’s light it’s because it’s from nature; perhaps your +burden’s heavier because that’s your nature. There’s no need to be much +ashamed; only a little.” +</p> +<p> +“I know I’m a worthless character, and I don’t pretend to be a strong +one.” +</p> +<p> +“You’d better not; you’re not a strong person. Come and have tea.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went into the house, greatly perturbed. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +He learned at once from Alexey Yegorytch that Varvara Petrovna had +been very glad to hear that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had gone out for a +ride—the first time he had left the house after eight days’ illness. +She had ordered the carriage, and had driven out alone for a breath of +fresh air “according to the habit of the past, as she had forgotten for +the last eight days what it meant to breathe fresh air.” +</p> +<p> +“Alone, or with Darya Pavlovna?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch interrupted the +old man with a rapid question, and he scowled when he heard that Darya +Pavlovna “had declined to go abroad on account of indisposition and was +in her rooms.” +</p> +<p> +“Listen, old man,” he said, as though suddenly making up his mind. “Keep +watch over her all to-day, and if you notice her coming to me, stop her +at once, and tell her that I can’t see her for a few days at least … +that I ask her not to come myself.… I’ll let her know myself, when the +time comes. Do you hear?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll tell her, sir,” said Alexey Yegorytch, with distress in his voice, +dropping his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Not till you see clearly she’s meaning to come and see me of herself, +though.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be afraid, sir, there shall be no mistake. Your interviews have +all passed through me, hitherto. You’ve always turned to me for help.” +</p> +<p> +“I know. Not till she comes of herself, anyway. Bring me some tea, if +you can, at once.” +</p> +<p> +The old man had hardly gone out, when almost at the same instant the +door reopened, and Darya Pavlovna appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were +tranquil, though her face was pale. +</p> +<p> +“Where have you come from?” exclaimed Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“I was standing there, and waiting for him to go out, to come in to +you. I heard the order you gave him, and when he came out just now I hid +round the corner, on the right, and he didn’t notice me.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve long meant to break off with you, Dasha … for a while … for the +present. I couldn’t see you last night, in spite of your note. I meant +to write to you myself, but I don’t know how to write,” he added with +vexation, almost as though with disgust. +</p> +<p> +“I thought myself that we must break it off. Varvara Petrovna is too +suspicious of our relations.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, let her be.” +</p> +<p> +“She mustn’t be worried. So now we part till the end comes.” +</p> +<p> +“You still insist on expecting the end?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I’m sure of it.” +</p> +<p> +“But nothing in the world ever has an end.” +</p> +<p> +“This will have an end. Then call me. I’ll come. Now, good-bye.” +</p> +<p> +“And what sort of end will it be?” smiled Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. +</p> +<p> +“You’re not wounded, and … have not shed blood?” she asked, not +answering his question. +</p> +<p> +“It was stupid. I didn’t kill anyone. Don’t be uneasy. However, you’ll +hear all about it to-day from every one. I’m not quite well.” +</p> +<p> +“I’m going. The announcement of the marriage won’t be to-day?” she added +irresolutely. +</p> +<p> +“It won’t be to-day, and it won’t be to-morrow. I can’t say about the +day after to-morrow. Perhaps we shall all be dead, and so much the +better. Leave me alone, leave me alone, do.” +</p> +<p> +“You won’t ruin that other … mad girl?” +</p> +<p> +“I won’t ruin either of the mad creatures. It seems to be the sane I’m +ruining. I’m so vile and loathsome, Dasha, that I might really send for +you, ‘at the latter end,’ as you say. And in spite of your sanity you’ll +come. Why will you be your own ruin?” +</p> +<p> +“I know that at the end I shall be the only one left you, and … I’m +waiting for that.” +</p> +<p> +“And what if I don’t send for you after all, but run away from you?” +</p> +<p> +“That can’t be. You will send for me.” +</p> +<p> +“There’s a great deal of contempt for me in that.” +</p> +<p> +“You know that there’s not only contempt.” +</p> +<p> +“Then there is contempt, anyway?” +</p> +<p> +“I used the wrong word. God is my witness, it’s my greatest wish that +you may never have need of me.” +</p> +<p> +“One phrase is as good as another. I should also have wished not to have +ruined you.” +</p> +<p> +“You can never, anyhow, be my ruin; and you know that yourself, better +than anyone,” Darya Pavlovna said, rapidly and resolutely. “If I don’t +come to you I shall be a sister of mercy, a nurse, shall wait upon the +sick, or go selling the gospel. I’ve made up my mind to that. I cannot +be anyone’s wife. I can’t live in a house like this, either. That’s not +what I want.… You know all that.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I never could tell what you want. It seems to me that you’re +interested in me, as some veteran nurses get specially interested in +some particular invalid in comparison with the others, or still more, +like some pious old women who frequent funerals and find one corpse more +attractive than another. Why do you look at me so strangely?” +</p> +<p> +“Are you very ill?” she asked sympathetically, looking at him in a +peculiar way. “Good heavens! And this man wants to do without me!” +</p> +<p> +“Listen, Dasha, now I’m always seeing phantoms. One devil offered me +yesterday, on the bridge, to murder Lebyadkin and Marya Timofyevna, to +settle the marriage difficulty, and to cover up all traces. He asked me +to give him three roubles on account, but gave me to understand that +the whole operation wouldn’t cost less than fifteen hundred. Wasn’t he a +calculating devil! A regular shopkeeper. Ha ha!” +</p> +<p> +“But you’re fully convinced that it was an hallucination?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no; not a bit an hallucination! It was simply Fedka the convict, +the robber who escaped from prison. But that’s not the point. What do +you suppose I did! I gave him all I had, everything in my purse, and now +he’s sure I’ve given him that on account!” +</p> +<p> +“You met him at night, and he made such a suggestion? Surely you must +see that you’re being caught in their nets on every side!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, let them be. But you’ve got some question at the tip of your +tongue, you know. I see it by your eyes,” he added with a resentful and +irritable smile. +</p> +<p> +Dasha was frightened. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve no question at all, and no doubt whatever; you’d better be quiet!” +she cried in dismay, as though waving off his question. +</p> +<p> +“Then you’re convinced that I won’t go to Fedka’s little shop?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, God!” she cried, clasping her hands. “Why do you torture me like +this?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, forgive me my stupid joke. I must be picking up bad manners from +them. Do you know, ever since last night I feel awfully inclined to +laugh, to go on laughing continually forever so long. It’s as though +I must explode with laughter. It’s like an illness.… Oh! my mother’s +coming in. I always know by the rumble when her carriage has stopped at +the entrance.” +</p> +<p> +Dasha seized his hand. +</p> +<p> +“God save you from your demon, and … call me, call me quickly!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! a fine demon! It’s simply a little nasty, scrofulous imp, with a +cold in his head, one of the unsuccessful ones. But you have something +you don’t dare to say again, Dasha?” +</p> +<p> +She looked at him with pain and reproach, and turned towards the door. +</p> +<p> +“Listen,” he called after her, with a malignant and distorted smile. +“If … Yes, if, in one word, if … you understand, even if I did go to +that little shop, and if I called you after that—would you come then?” +</p> +<p> +She went out, hiding her face in her hands, and neither turning nor +answering. +</p> +<p> +“She will come even after the shop,” he whispered, thinking a moment, +and an expression of scornful disdain came into his face. “A nurse! +H’m!… but perhaps that’s what I want.” +</p> +<a id="H2CH0009"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER IV. ALL IN EXPECTATION +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +The impression made on the whole neighbourhood by the story of the duel, +which was rapidly noised abroad, was particularly remarkable from the +unanimity with which every one hastened to take up the cudgels for +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. Many of his former enemies declared themselves +his friends. The chief reason for this change of front in public opinion +was chiefly due to one person, who had hitherto not expressed her +opinion, but who now very distinctly uttered a few words, which at +once gave the event a significance exceedingly interesting to the vast +majority. This was how it happened. On the day after the duel, all the +town was assembled at the Marshal of Nobility’s in honour of his wife’s +nameday. Yulia Mihailovna was present, or, rather, presided, accompanied +by Lizaveta Nikolaevna, radiant with beauty and peculiar gaiety, which +struck many of our ladies at once as particularly suspicious at +this time. And I may mention, by the way, her engagement to Mavriky +Nikolaevitch was by now an established fact. To a playful question from +a retired general of much consequence, of whom we shall have more to +say later, Lizaveta Nikolaevna frankly replied that evening that she was +engaged. And only imagine, not one of our ladies would believe in her +engagement. They all persisted in assuming a romance of some sort, some +fatal family secret, something that had happened in Switzerland, and for +some reason imagined that Yulia Mihailovna must have had some hand in +it. It was difficult to understand why these rumours, or rather fancies, +persisted so obstinately, and why Yulia Mihailovna was so positively +connected with it. As soon as she came in, all turned to her with +strange looks, brimful of expectation. It must be observed that owing to +the freshness of the event, and certain circumstances accompanying +it, at the party people talked of it with some circumspection, in +undertones. Besides, nothing yet was known of the line taken by the +authorities. As far as was known, neither of the combatants had been +troubled by the police. Every one knew, for instance, that Gaganov had +set off home early in the morning to Duhovo, without being hindered. +Meanwhile, of course, all were eager for someone to be the first to +speak of it aloud, and so to open the door to the general impatience. +They rested their hopes on the general above-mentioned, and they were +not disappointed. +</p> +<p> +This general, a landowner, though not a wealthy one, was one of the most +imposing members of our club, and a man of an absolutely unique turn of +mind. He flirted in the old-fashioned way with the young ladies, and was +particularly fond, in large assemblies, of speaking aloud with all the +weightiness of a general, on subjects to which others were alluding +in discreet whispers. This was, so to say, his special rôle in local +society. He drawled, too, and spoke with peculiar suavity, probably +having picked up the habit from Russians travelling abroad, or from +those wealthy landowners of former days who had suffered most from the +emancipation. Stepan Trofimovitch had observed that the more completely +a landowner was ruined, the more suavely he lisped and drawled his +words. He did, as a fact, lisp and drawl himself, but was not aware of +it in himself. +</p> +<p> +The general spoke like a person of authority. He was, besides, a distant +relation of Gaganov’s, though he was on bad terms with him, and even +engaged in litigation with him. He had, moreover, in the past, fought +two duels himself, and had even been degraded to the ranks and sent to +the Caucasus on account of one of them. Some mention was made of Varvara +Petrovna’s having driven out that day and the day before, after being +kept indoors “by illness,” though the allusion was not to her, but to +the marvellous matching of her four grey horses of the Stavrogins’ +own breeding. The general suddenly observed that he had met “young +Stavrogin” that day, on horseback.… Every one was instantly silent. +The general munched his lips, and suddenly proclaimed, twisting in his +fingers his presentation gold snuff-box. +</p> +<p> +“I’m sorry I wasn’t here some years ago … I mean when I was at +Carlsbad … H’m! I’m very much interested in that young man about whom +I heard so many rumours at that time. H’m! And, I say, is it true that +he’s mad? Some one told me so then. Suddenly I’m told that he has been +insulted by some student here, in the presence of his cousins, and he +slipped under the table to get away from him. And yesterday I heard +from Stepan Vysotsky that Stavrogin had been fighting with Gaganov. And +simply with the gallant object of offering himself as a target to an +infuriated man, just to get rid of him. H’m! Quite in the style of the +guards of the twenties. Is there any house where he visits here?” +</p> +<p> +The general paused as though expecting an answer. A way had been opened +for the public impatience to express itself. +</p> +<p> +“What could be simpler?” cried Yulia Mihailovna, raising her voice, +irritated that all present had turned their eyes upon her, as though +at a word of command. “Can one wonder that Stavrogin fought Gaganov and +took no notice of the student? He couldn’t challenge a man who used to +be his serf!” +</p> +<p> +A noteworthy saying! A clear and simple notion, yet it had entered +nobody’s head till that moment. It was a saying that had extraordinary +consequences. All scandal and gossip, all the petty tittle-tattle was +thrown into the background, another significance had been detected. A +new character was revealed whom all had misjudged; a character, almost +ideally severe in his standards. Mortally insulted by a student, that +is, an educated man, no longer a serf, he despised the affront because +his assailant had once been his serf. Society had gossiped and slandered +him; shallow-minded people had looked with contempt on a man who had +been struck in the face. He had despised a public opinion, which had not +risen to the level of the highest standards, though it discussed them. +</p> +<p> +“And, meantime, you and I, Ivan Alexandrovitch, sit and discuss the +correct standards,” one old club member observed to another, with a warm +and generous glow of self-reproach. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Pyotr Mihailovitch, yes,” the other chimed in with zest, “talk of +the younger generation!” +</p> +<p> +“It’s not a question of the younger generation,” observed a third, +putting in his spoke, “it’s nothing to do with the younger generation; +he’s a star, not one of the younger generation; that’s the way to look +at it.” +</p> +<p> +“And it’s just that sort we need; they’re rare people.” The chief +point in all this was that the “new man,” besides showing himself an +unmistakable nobleman, was the wealthiest landowner in the province, and +was, therefore, bound to be a leading man who could be of assistance. +I’ve already alluded in passing to the attitude of the landowners of our +province. People were enthusiastic: +</p> +<p> +“He didn’t merely refrain from challenging the student. He put his hands +behind him, note that particularly, your excellency,” somebody pointed +out. +</p> +<p> +“And he didn’t haul him up before the new law-courts, either,” added +another. +</p> +<p> +“In spite of the fact that for a personal insult to a nobleman he’d have +got fifteen roubles damages! He he he!” +</p> +<p> +“No, I’ll tell you a secret about the new courts,” cried a third, in +a frenzy of excitement, “if anyone’s caught robbing or swindling and +convicted, he’d better run home while there’s yet time, and murder his +mother. He’ll be acquitted of everything at once, and ladies will wave +their batiste handkerchiefs from the platform. It’s the absolute truth!” +</p> +<p> +“It’s the truth. It’s the truth!” +</p> +<p> +The inevitable anecdotes followed: Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s friendly +relations with Count K. were recalled. Count K.’s stern and independent +attitude to recent reforms was well known, as well as his remarkable +public activity, though that had somewhat fallen off of late. And +now, suddenly, every one was positive that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was +betrothed to one of the count’s daughters, though nothing had given +grounds for such a supposition. And as for some wonderful adventures in +Switzerland with Lizaveta Nikolaevna, even the ladies quite dropped all +reference to it. I must mention, by the way, that the Drozdovs had by +this time succeeded in paying all the visits they had omitted at first. +Every one now confidently considered Lizaveta Nikolaevna a most ordinary +girl, who paraded her delicate nerves. Her fainting on the day of +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s arrival was explained now as due to her +terror at the student’s outrageous behaviour. They even increased the +prosaicness of that to which before they had striven to give such a +fantastic colour. As for a lame woman who had been talked of, she was +forgotten completely. They were ashamed to remember her. +</p> +<p> +“And if there had been a hundred lame girls—we’ve all been young once!” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s respectfulness to his mother was enlarged +upon. Various virtues were discovered in him. People talked with +approbation of the learning he had acquired in the four years he had +spent in German universities. Gaganov’s conduct was declared utterly +tactless: “not knowing friend from foe.” Yulia Mihailovna’s keen insight +was unhesitatingly admitted. +</p> +<p> +So by the time Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch made his appearance among them +he was received by every one with naïve solemnity. In all eyes fastened +upon him could be read eager anticipation. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch at +once wrapped himself in the most austere silence, which, of course, +gratified every one much more than if he had talked till doomsday. In a +word, he was a success, he was the fashion. If once one has figured in +provincial society, there’s no retreating into the background. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch began to fulfil all his social duties in the province +punctiliously as before. He was not found cheerful company: “a man who +has seen suffering; a man not like other people; he has something to be +melancholy about.” Even the pride and disdainful aloofness for which he +had been so detested four years before was now liked and respected. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna was triumphant. I don’t know whether she grieved much +over the shattering of her dreams concerning Lizaveta Nikolaevna. Family +pride, of course, helped her to get over it. One thing was strange: +Varvara Petrovna was suddenly convinced that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +really had “made his choice” at Count K.’s. And what was strangest of +all, she was led to believe it by rumours which reached her on no +better authority than other people. She was afraid to ask Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch a direct question. Two or three times, however, she +could not refrain from slyly and good-humouredly reproaching him for not +being open with her. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch smiled and remained silent. +The silence was taken as a sign of assent. And yet, all the time she +never forgot the cripple. The thought of her lay like a stone on her +heart, a nightmare, she was tortured by strange misgivings and surmises, +and all this at the same time as she dreamed of Count K.’s daughters. +But of this we shall speak later. Varvara Petrovna began again, of +course, to be treated with extreme deference and respect in society, but +she took little advantage of it and went out rarely. +</p> +<p> +She did, however, pay a visit of ceremony to the governor’s wife. Of +course, no one had been more charmed and delighted by Yulia Mihailovna’s +words spoken at the marshal’s soirée than she. They lifted a load of +care off her heart, and had at once relieved much of the distress she +had been suffering since that luckless Sunday. +</p> +<p> +“I misunderstood that woman,” she declared, and with her characteristic +impulsiveness she frankly told Yulia Mihailovna that she had come to +<i>thank her</i>. Yulia Mihailovna was flattered, but she behaved with dignity. +She was beginning about this time to be very conscious of her own +importance, too much so, in fact. She announced, for example, in the +course of conversation, that she had never heard of Stepan Trofimovitch +as a leading man or a savant. +</p> +<p> +“I know young Verhovensky, of course, and make much of him. He’s +imprudent, but then he’s young; he’s thoroughly well-informed, though. +He’s not an out-of-date, old-fashioned critic, anyway.” Varvara Petrovna +hastened to observe that Stepan Trofimovitch had never been a critic, +but had, on the contrary, spent all his life in her house. He was +renowned through circumstances of his early career, “only too well known +to the whole world,” and of late for his researches in Spanish +history. Now he intended to write also on the position of modern German +universities, and, she believed, something about the Dresden Madonna +too. In short, Varvara Petrovna refused to surrender Stepan Trofimovitch +to the tender mercies of Yulia Mihailovna. +</p> +<p> +“The Dresden Madonna? You mean the Sistine Madonna? <i>Chère</i> Varvara +Petrovna, I spent two hours sitting before that picture and came away +utterly disillusioned. I could make nothing of it and was in complete +amazement. Karmazinov, too, says it’s hard to understand it. They all +see nothing in it now, Russians and English alike. All its fame is just +the talk of the last generation.” +</p> +<p> +“Fashions are changed then?” +</p> +<p> +“What I think is that one mustn’t despise our younger generation either. +They cry out that they’re communists, but what I say is that we must +appreciate them and mustn’t be hard on them. I read everything now—the +papers, communism, the natural sciences—I get everything because, after +all, one must know where one’s living and with whom one has to do. One +mustn’t spend one’s whole life on the heights of one’s own fancy. I’ve +come to the conclusion, and adopted it as a principle, that one must be +kind to the young people and so keep them from the brink. Believe me, +Varvara Petrovna, that none but we who make up good society can by our +kindness and good influence keep them from the abyss towards which they +are brought by the intolerance of all these old men. I am glad though to +learn from you about Stepan Trofimovitch. You suggest an idea to me: +he may be useful at our literary matinée, you know I’m arranging for a +whole day of festivities, a subscription entertainment for the benefit +of the poor governesses of our province. They are scattered about +Russia; in our district alone we can reckon up six of them. Besides +that, there are two girls in the telegraph office, two are being trained +in the academy, the rest would like to be but have not the means. The +Russian woman’s fate is a terrible one, Varvara Petrovna! It’s out of +that they’re making the university question now, and there’s even been a +meeting of the Imperial Council about it. In this strange Russia of ours +one can do anything one likes; and that, again, is why it’s only by the +kindness and the direct warm sympathy of all the better classes that we +can direct this great common cause in the true path. Oh, heavens, have +we many noble personalities among us! There are some, of course, but +they are scattered far and wide. Let us unite and we shall be stronger. +In one word, I shall first have a literary matinée, then a light +luncheon, then an interval, and in the evening a ball. We meant to begin +the evening by living pictures, but it would involve a great deal +of expense, and so, to please the public, there will be one or two +quadrilles in masks and fancy dresses, representing well-known literary +schools. This humorous idea was suggested by Karmazinov. He has been a +great help to me. Do you know he’s going to read us the last thing he’s +written, which no one has seen yet. He is laying down the pen, and will +write no more. This last essay is his farewell to the public. It’s a +charming little thing called ‘Merci.’ The title is French; he thinks +that more amusing and even subtler. I do, too. In fact I advised it. I +think Stepan Trofimovitch might read us something too, if it were quite +short and … not so very learned. I believe Pyotr Stepanovitch and some +one else too will read something. Pyotr Stepanovitch shall run round +to you and tell you the programme. Better still, let me bring it to you +myself.” +</p> +<p> +“Allow me to put my name down in your subscription list too. I’ll tell +Stepan Trofimovitch and will beg him to consent.” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna returned home completely fascinated. She was ready +to stand up for Yulia Mihailovna through thick and thin, and for some +reason was already quite put out with Stepan Trofimovitch, while he, +poor man, sat at home, all unconscious. +</p> +<p> +“I’m in love with her. I can’t understand how I could be so mistaken in +that woman,” she said to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch and Pyotr Stepanovitch, +who dropped in that evening. +</p> +<p> +“But you must make peace with the old man all the same,” Pyotr +Stepanovitch submitted. “He’s in despair. You’ve quite sent him to +Coventry. Yesterday he met your carriage and bowed, and you turned away. +We’ll trot him out, you know; I’m reckoning on him for something, and he +may still be useful.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, he’ll read something.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t mean only that. And I was meaning to drop in on him to-day. So +shall I tell him?” +</p> +<p> +“If you like. I don’t know, though, how you’ll arrange it,” she said +irresolutely. “I was meaning to have a talk with him myself, and wanted +to fix the time and place.” +</p> +<p> +She frowned. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, it’s not worth while fixing a time. I’ll simply give him the +message.” +</p> +<p> +“Very well, do. Add that I certainly will fix a time to see him though. +Be sure to say that too.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch ran off, grinning. He was, in fact, to the best of +my recollection, particularly spiteful all this time, and ventured upon +extremely impatient sallies with almost every one. Strange to say, every +one, somehow, forgave him. It was generally accepted that he was not to +be looked at from the ordinary standpoint. I may remark that he took up +an extremely resentful attitude about Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s duel. +It took him unawares. He turned positively green when he was told of it. +Perhaps his vanity was wounded: he only heard of it next day when every +one knew of it. +</p> +<p> +“You had no right to fight, you know,” he whispered to Stavrogin, five +days later, when he chanced to meet him at the club. It was remarkable +that they had not once met during those five days, though Pyotr +Stepanovitch had dropped in at Varvara Petrovna’s almost every day. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked at him in silence with an absent-minded +air, as though not understanding what was the matter, and he went on +without stopping. He was crossing the big hall of the club on his way to +the refreshment room. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve been to see Shatov too.… You mean to make it known about Marya +Timofyevna,” Pyotr Stepanovitch muttered, running after him, and, as +though not thinking of what he was doing he clutched at his shoulder. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch shook his hand off and turned round quickly +to him with a menacing scowl. Pyotr Stepanovitch looked at him with +a strange, prolonged smile. It all lasted only one moment. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch walked on. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +He went to the “old man” straight from Varvara Petrovna’s, and he was +in such haste simply from spite, that he might revenge himself for an +insult of which I had no idea at that time. The fact is that at +their last interview on the Thursday of the previous week, Stepan +Trofimovitch, though the dispute was one of his own beginning, had +ended by turning Pyotr Stepanovitch out with his stick. He concealed the +incident from me at the time. But now, as soon as Pyotr Stepanovitch ran +in with his everlasting grin, which was so naïvely condescending, and +his unpleasantly inquisitive eyes peering into every corner, Stepan +Trofimovitch at once made a signal aside to me, not to leave the room. +This was how their real relations came to be exposed before me, for on +this occasion I heard their whole conversation. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch was sitting stretched out on a lounge. He had grown +thin and sallow since that Thursday. Pyotr Stepanovitch seated himself +beside him with a most familiar air, unceremoniously tucking his legs up +under him, and taking up more room on the lounge than deference to his +father should have allowed. Stepan Trofimovitch moved aside, in silence, +and with dignity. +</p> +<p> +On the table lay an open book. It was the novel, “What’s to be done?” +Alas, I must confess one strange weakness in my friend; the fantasy that +he ought to come forth from his solitude and fight a last battle was +getting more and more hold upon his deluded imagination. I guessed that +he had got the novel and was <i>studying</i> it solely in order that when the +inevitable conflict with the “shriekers” came about he might know their +methods and arguments beforehand, from their very “catechism,” and in +that way be prepared to confute them all triumphantly, <i>before her eyes.</i> +Oh, how that book tortured him! He sometimes flung it aside in despair, +and leaping up, paced about the room almost in a frenzy. +</p> +<p> +“I agree that the author’s fundamental idea is a true one,” he said to +me feverishly, “but that only makes it more awful. It’s just our idea, +exactly ours; we first sowed the seed, nurtured it, prepared the way, +and, indeed, what could they say new, after us? But, heavens! How it’s +all expressed, distorted, mutilated!” he exclaimed, tapping the book +with his fingers. “Were these the conclusions we were striving for? Who +can understand the original idea in this?” +</p> +<p> +“Improving your mind?” sniggered Pyotr Stepanovitch, taking the book +from the table and reading the title. “It’s high time. I’ll bring you +better, if you like.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch again preserved a dignified silence. I was sitting +on a sofa in the corner. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch quickly explained the reason of his coming. Of +course, Stepan Trofimovitch was absolutely staggered, and he listened in +alarm, which was mixed with extreme indignation. +</p> +<p> +“And that Yulia Mihailovna counts on my coming to read for her!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, they’re by no means in such need of you. On the contrary, it’s by +way of an attention to you, so as to make up to Varvara Petrovna. But, +of course, you won’t dare to refuse, and I expect you want to yourself,” +he added with a grin. “You old fogies are all so devilishly ambitious. +But, I say though, you must look out that it’s not too boring. What have +you got? Spanish history, or what is it? You’d better let me look at it +three days beforehand, or else you’ll put us to sleep perhaps.” +</p> +<p> +The hurried and too barefaced coarseness of these thrusts was obviously +premeditated. He affected to behave as though it were impossible to talk +to Stepan Trofimovitch in different and more delicate language. Stepan +Trofimovitch resolutely persisted in ignoring his insults, but what his +son told him made a more and more overwhelming impression upon him. +</p> +<p> +“And she, she herself sent me this message through you?” he asked, +turning pale. +</p> +<p> +“Well, you see, she means to fix a time and place for a mutual +explanation, the relics of your sentimentalising. You’ve been coquetting +with her for twenty years and have trained her to the most ridiculous +habits. But don’t trouble yourself, it’s quite different now. She keeps +saying herself that she’s only beginning now to ‘have her eyes opened.’ +I told her in so many words that all this friendship of yours is nothing +but a mutual pouring forth of sloppiness. She told me lots, my boy. Foo! +what a flunkey’s place you’ve been filling all this time. I positively +blushed for you.” +</p> +<p> +“I filling a flunkey’s place?” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, unable to +restrain himself. +</p> +<p> +“Worse, you’ve been a parasite, that is, a voluntary flunkey too lazy to +work, while you’ve an appetite for money. She, too, understands all that +now. It’s awful the things she’s been telling me about you, anyway. I +did laugh, my boy, over your letters to her; shameful and disgusting. +But you’re all so depraved, so depraved! There’s always something +depraving in charity—you’re a good example of it!” +</p> +<p> +“She showed you my letters!” +</p> +<p> +“All; though, of course, one couldn’t read them all. Foo, what a lot of +paper you’ve covered! I believe there are more than two thousand letters +there. And do you know, old chap, I believe there was one moment when +she’d have been ready to marry you. You let slip your chance in the +silliest way. Of course, I’m speaking from your point of view, though, +anyway, it would have been better than now when you’ve almost been +married to ‘cover another man’s sins,’ like a buffoon, for a jest, for +money.” +</p> +<p> +“For money! She, she says it was for money!” Stepan Trofimovitch wailed +in anguish. +</p> +<p> +“What else, then? But, of course, I stood up for you. That’s your only +line of defence, you know. She sees for herself that you needed money +like every one else, and that from that point of view maybe you were +right. I proved to her as clear as twice two makes four that it was a +mutual bargain. She was a capitalist and you were a sentimental buffoon +in her service. She’s not angry about the money, though you have milked +her like a goat. She’s only in a rage at having believed in you +for twenty years, at your having so taken her in over these noble +sentiments, and made her tell lies for so long. She never will admit +that she told lies of herself, but you’ll catch it the more for that. I +can’t make out how it was you didn’t see that you’d have to have a day +of reckoning. For after all you had some sense. I advised her yesterday +to put you in an almshouse, a genteel one, don’t disturb yourself; +there’ll be nothing humiliating; I believe that’s what she’ll do. Do you +remember your last letter to me, three weeks ago?” +</p> +<p> +“Can you have shown her that?” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, leaping up in +horror. +</p> +<p> +“Rather! First thing. The one in which you told me she was exploiting +you, envious of your talent; oh, yes, and that about ‘other men’s sins.’ +You have got a conceit though, my boy! How I did laugh. As a rule your +letters are very tedious. You write a horrible style. I often don’t read +them at all, and I’ve one lying about to this day, unopened. I’ll send +it to you to-morrow. But that one, that last letter of yours was the +tiptop of perfection! How I did laugh! Oh, how I laughed!” +</p> +<p> +“Monster, monster!” wailed Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Foo, damn it all, there’s no talking to you. I say, you’re getting +huffy again as you were last Thursday.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch drew himself up, menacingly. +</p> +<p> +“How dare you speak to me in such language?” +</p> +<p> +“What language? It’s simple and clear.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me, you monster, are you my son or not?” +</p> +<p> +“You know that best. To be sure all fathers are disposed to be blind in +such cases.” +</p> +<p> +“Silence! Silence!” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, shaking all over. +</p> +<p> +“You see you’re screaming and swearing at me as you did last Thursday. +You tried to lift your stick against me, but you know, I found that +document. I was rummaging all the evening in my trunk from curiosity. +It’s true there’s nothing definite, you can take that comfort. It’s only +a letter of my mother’s to that Pole. But to judge from her +character …” +</p> +<p> +“Another word and I’ll box your ears.” +</p> +<p> +“What a set of people!” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, suddenly addressing +himself to me. “You see, this is how we’ve been ever since last +Thursday. I’m glad you’re here this time, anyway, and can judge between +us. To begin with, a fact: he reproaches me for speaking like this of my +mother, but didn’t he egg me on to it? In Petersburg before I left the +High School, didn’t he wake me twice in the night, to embrace me, and +cry like a woman, and what do you suppose he talked to me about at night? +Why, the same modest anecdotes about my mother! It was from him I +first heard them.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I meant that in a higher sense! Oh, you didn’t understand me! You +understood nothing, nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“But, anyway, it was meaner in you than in me, meaner, acknowledge that. +You see, it’s nothing to me if you like. I’m speaking from your point +of view. Don’t worry about my point of view. I don’t blame my mother; if +it’s you, then it’s you, if it’s a Pole, then it’s a Pole, it’s all the +same to me. I’m not to blame because you and she managed so stupidly in +Berlin. As though you could have managed things better. Aren’t you an +absurd set, after that? And does it matter to you whether I’m your son +or not? Listen,” he went on, turning to me again, “he’s never spent a +penny on me all his life; till I was sixteen he didn’t know me at all; +afterwards he robbed me here, and now he cries out that his heart has +been aching over me all his life, and carries on before me like an +actor. I’m not Varvara Petrovna, mind you.” +</p> +<p> +He got up and took his hat. +</p> +<p> +“I curse you henceforth!” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch, as pale as death, stretched out his hand above him. +</p> +<p> +“Ach, what folly a man will descend to!” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, +actually surprised. “Well, good-bye, old fellow, I shall never come and +see you again. Send me the article beforehand, don’t forget, and try and +let it be free from nonsense. Facts, facts, facts. And above all, let it +be short. Good-bye.” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +Outside influences, too, had come into play in the matter, however. +Pyotr Stepanovitch certainly had some designs on his parent. In my +opinion he calculated upon reducing the old man to despair, and so to +driving him to some open scandal of a certain sort. This was to serve +some remote and quite other object of his own, of which I shall speak +hereafter. All sorts of plans and calculations of this kind were +swarming in masses in his mind at that time, and almost all, of course, +of a fantastic character. He had designs on another victim besides Stepan +Trofimovitch. In fact, as appeared afterwards, his victims were not few +in number, but this one he reckoned upon particularly, and it was Mr. +von Lembke himself. +</p> +<p> +Andrey Antonovitch von Lembke belonged to that race, so favoured by +nature, which is reckoned by hundreds of thousands at the Russian +census, and is perhaps unconscious that it forms throughout its whole +mass a strictly organised union. And this union, of course, is not +planned and premeditated, but exists spontaneously in the whole race, +without words or agreements as a moral obligation consisting in mutual +support given by all members of the race to one another, at all times +and places, and under all circumstances. Andrey Antonovitch had +the honour of being educated in one of those more exalted Russian +educational institutions which are filled with the youth from families +well provided with wealth or connections. Almost immediately on +finishing their studies the pupils were appointed to rather important +posts in one of the government departments. Andrey Antonovitch had one +uncle a colonel of engineers, and another a baker. But he managed to get +into this aristocratic school, and met many of his fellow-countrymen in +a similar position. He was a good-humoured companion, was rather stupid +at his studies, but always popular. And when many of his companions in +the upper forms—chiefly Russians—had already learnt to discuss the +loftiest modern questions, and looked as though they were only +waiting to leave school to settle the affairs of the universe, Andrey +Antonovitch was still absorbed in the most innocent schoolboy interests. +He amused them all, it is true, by his pranks, which were of a very +simple character, at the most a little coarse, but he made it his object +to be funny. At one time he would blow his nose in a wonderful way +when the professor addressed a question to him, thereby making his +schoolfellows and the professor laugh. Another time, in the dormitory, +he would act some indecent living picture, to the general applause, +or he would play the overture to “Fra Diavolo” with his nose rather +skilfully. He was distinguished, too, by intentional untidiness, +thinking this, for some reason, witty. In his very last year at school +he began writing Russian poetry. +</p> +<p> +Of his native language he had only an ungrammatical knowledge, like many +of his race in Russia. This turn for versifying drew him to a gloomy +and depressed schoolfellow, the son of a poor Russian general, who was +considered in the school to be a great future light in literature. The +latter patronised him. But it happened that three years after leaving +school this melancholy schoolfellow, who had flung up his official +career for the sake of Russian literature, and was consequently going +about in torn boots, with his teeth chattering with cold, wearing a +light summer overcoat in the late autumn, met, one day on the Anitchin +bridge, his former protégé, “Lembka,” as he always used to be called at +school. And, what do you suppose? He did not at first recognise him, +and stood still in surprise. Before him stood an irreproachably dressed +young man with wonderfully well-kept whiskers of a reddish hue, with +pince-nez, with patent-leather boots, and the freshest of gloves, in a +full overcoat from Sharmer’s, and with a portfolio under his arm. Lembke +was cordial to his old schoolfellow, gave him his address, and begged +him to come and see him some evening. It appeared, too, that he was by +now not “Lembka” but “Von Lembke.” The schoolfellow came to see him, +however, simply from malice perhaps. On the staircase, which was covered +with red felt and was rather ugly and by no means smart, he was met and +questioned by the house-porter. A bell rang loudly upstairs. But instead +of the wealth which the visitor expected, he found Lembke in a +very little side-room, which had a dark and dilapidated appearance, +partitioned into two by a large dark green curtain, and furnished with +very old though comfortable furniture, with dark green blinds on +high narrow windows. Von Lembke lodged in the house of a very distant +relation, a general who was his patron. He met his visitor cordially, +was serious and exquisitely polite. They talked of literature, too, but +kept within the bounds of decorum. A manservant in a white tie brought +them some weak tea and little dry, round biscuits. The schoolfellow, +from spite, asked for some seltzer water. It was given him, but after +some delays, and Lembke was somewhat embarrassed at having to summon the +footman a second time and give him orders. But of himself he asked his +visitor whether he would like some supper, and was obviously relieved +when he refused and went away. In short, Lembke was making his career, +and was living in dependence on his fellow-countryman, the influential +general. +</p> +<p> +He was at that time sighing for the general’s fifth daughter, and it +seemed to him that his feeling was reciprocated. But Amalia was none the +less married in due time to an elderly factory-owner, a German, and +an old comrade of the general’s. Andrey Antonovitch did not shed many +tears, but made a paper theatre. The curtain drew up, the actors came +in, and gesticulated with their arms. There were spectators in the +boxes, the orchestra moved their bows across their fiddles by machinery, +the conductor waved his baton, and in the stalls officers and dandies +clapped their hands. It was all made of cardboard, it was all thought +out and executed by Lembke himself. He spent six months over this +theatre. The general arranged a friendly party on purpose. The theatre +was exhibited, all the general’s five daughters, including the newly +married Amalia with her factory-owner, numerous fraus and frauleins +with their men folk, attentively examined and admired the theatre, after +which they danced. Lembke was much gratified and was quickly consoled. +</p> +<p> +The years passed by and his career was secured. He always obtained good +posts and always under chiefs of his own race; and he worked his way up +at last to a very fine position for a man of his age. He had, for a long +time, been wishing to marry and looking about him carefully. Without +the knowledge of his superiors he had sent a novel to the editor of a +magazine, but it had not been accepted. On the other hand, he cut out +a complete toy railway, and again his creation was most successful. +Passengers came on to the platform with bags and portmanteaux, with dogs +and children, and got into the carriages. The guards and porters moved +away, the bell was rung, the signal was given, and the train started +off. He was a whole year busy over this clever contrivance. But he had +to get married all the same. The circle of his acquaintance was fairly +wide, chiefly in the world of his compatriots, but his duties brought +him into Russian spheres also, of course. Finally, when he was in his +thirty-ninth year, he came in for a legacy. His uncle the baker died, +and left him thirteen thousand roubles in his will. The one thing +needful was a suitable post. In spite of the rather elevated style of +his surroundings in the service, Mr. von Lembke was a very modest man. +He would have been perfectly satisfied with some independent little +government post, with the right to as much government timber as he +liked, or something snug of that sort, and he would have been content +all his life long. But now, instead of the Minna or Ernestine he had +expected, Yulia Mihailovna suddenly appeared on the scene. His career +was instantly raised to a more elevated plane. The modest and precise +man felt that he too was capable of ambition. +</p> +<p> +Yulia Mihailovna had a fortune of two hundred serfs, to reckon in the +old style, and she had besides powerful friends. On the other hand +Lembke was handsome, and she was already over forty. It is remarkable +that he fell genuinely in love with her by degrees as he became more +used to being betrothed to her. On the morning of his wedding day he +sent her a poem. She liked all this very much, even the poem; it’s no +joke to be forty. He was very quickly raised to a certain grade and +received a certain order of distinction, and then was appointed governor +of our province. +</p> +<p> +Before coming to us Yulia Mihailovna worked hard at moulding her +husband. In her opinion he was not without abilities, he knew how to +make an entrance and to appear to advantage, he understood how to +listen and be silent with profundity, had acquired a quite distinguished +deportment, could make a speech, indeed had even some odds and ends of +thought, and had caught the necessary gloss of modern liberalism. What +worried her, however, was that he was not very open to new ideas, and +after the long, everlasting plodding for a career, was unmistakably +beginning to feel the need of repose. She tried to infect him with her +own ambition, and he suddenly began making a toy church: the pastor came +out to preach the sermon, the congregation listened with their hands +before them, one lady was drying her tears with her handkerchief, one +old gentleman was blowing his nose; finally the organ pealed forth. It +had been ordered from Switzerland, and made expressly in spite of all +expense. Yulia Mihailovna, in positive alarm, carried off the whole +structure as soon as she knew about it, and locked it up in a box in +her own room. To make up for it she allowed him to write a novel on +condition of its being kept secret. From that time she began to reckon +only upon herself. Unhappily there was a good deal of shallowness and +lack of judgment in her attitude. Destiny had kept her too long an old +maid. Now one idea after another fluttered through her ambitious and +rather over-excited brain. She cherished designs, she positively desired +to rule the province, dreamed of becoming at once the centre of a +circle, adopted political sympathies. Von Lembke was actually a little +alarmed, though, with his official tact, he quickly divined that he had +no need at all to be uneasy about the government of the province itself. +The first two or three months passed indeed very satisfactorily. But now +Pyotr Stepanovitch had turned up, and something queer began to happen. +</p> +<p> +The fact was that young Verhovensky, from the first step, had displayed +a flagrant lack of respect for Andrey Antonovitch, and had assumed a +strange right to dictate to him; while Yulia Mihailovna, who had always +till then been so jealous of her husband’s dignity, absolutely refused +to notice it; or, at any rate, attached no consequence to it. The young +man became a favourite, ate, drank, and almost slept in the house. Von +Lembke tried to defend himself, called him “young man” before other +people, and slapped him patronisingly on the shoulder, but made no +impression. Pyotr Stepanovitch always seemed to be laughing in his face +even when he appeared on the surface to be talking seriously to him, and +he would say the most startling things to him before company. Returning +home one day he found the young man had installed himself in his study +and was asleep on the sofa there, uninvited. He explained that he had +come in, and finding no one at home had “had a good sleep.” +</p> +<p> +Von Lembke was offended and again complained to his wife. Laughing at +his irritability she observed tartly that he evidently did not know how +to keep up his own dignity; and that with her, anyway, “the boy” had +never permitted himself any undue familiarity, “he was naïve and fresh +indeed, though not regardful of the conventions of society.” Von Lembke +sulked. This time she made peace between them. Pyotr Stepanovitch did +not go so far as to apologise, but got out of it with a coarse jest, +which might at another time have been taken for a fresh offence, but +was accepted on this occasion as a token of repentance. The weak spot +in Andrey Antonovitch’s position was that he had blundered in the first +instance by divulging the secret of his novel to him. Imagining him +to be an ardent young man of poetic feeling and having long dreamed +of securing a listener, he had, during the early days of their +acquaintance, on one occasion read aloud two chapters to him. The young +man had listened without disguising his boredom, had rudely yawned, +had vouchsafed no word of praise; but on leaving had asked for the +manuscript that he might form an opinion of it at his leisure, and +Andrey Antonovitch had given it him. He had not returned the manuscript +since, though he dropped in every day, and had turned off all inquiries +with a laugh. Afterwards he declared that he had lost it in the street. +At the time Yulia Mihailovna was terribly angry with her husband when +she heard of it. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you told him about the church too?” she burst out almost in +dismay. +</p> +<p> +Von Lembke unmistakably began to brood, and brooding was bad for him, +and had been forbidden by the doctors. Apart from the fact that there +were signs of trouble in the province, of which we will speak later, he +had private reasons for brooding, his heart was wounded, not merely his +official dignity. When Andrey Antonovitch had entered upon married life, +he had never conceived the possibility of conjugal strife, or dissension +in the future. It was inconsistent with the dreams he had cherished +all his life of his Minna or Ernestine. He felt that he was unequal to +enduring domestic storms. Yulia Mihailovna had an open explanation with +him at last. +</p> +<p> +“You can’t be angry at this,” she said, “if only because you’ve still as +much sense as he has, and are immeasurably higher in the social scale. +The boy still preserves many traces of his old free-thinking habits; +I believe it’s simply mischief; but one can do nothing suddenly, in a +hurry; you must do things by degrees. We must make much of our young +people; I treat them with affection and hold them back from the brink.” +</p> +<p> +“But he says such dreadful things,” Von Lembke objected. “I can’t behave +tolerantly when he maintains in my presence and before other people +that the government purposely drenches the people with vodka in order to +brutalise them, and so keep them from revolution. Fancy my position when +I’m forced to listen to that before every one.” +</p> +<p> +As he said this, Von Lembke recalled a conversation he had recently +had with Pyotr Stepanovitch. With the innocent object of displaying his +Liberal tendencies he had shown him his own private collection of every +possible kind of manifesto, Russian and foreign, which he had carefully +collected since the year 1859, not simply from a love of collecting but +from a laudable interest in them. Pyotr Stepanovitch, seeing his object, +expressed the opinion that there was more sense in one line of some +manifestoes than in a whole government department, “not even excluding +yours, maybe.” +</p> +<p> +Lembke winced. +</p> +<p> +“But this is premature among us, premature,” he pronounced almost +imploringly, pointing to the manifestoes. +</p> +<p> +“No, it’s not premature; you see you’re afraid, so it’s not premature.” +</p> +<p> +“But here, for instance, is an incitement to destroy churches.” +</p> +<p> +“And why not? You’re a sensible man, and of course you don’t believe +in it yourself, but you know perfectly well that you need religion to +brutalise the people. Truth is honester than falsehood.…” +</p> +<p> +“I agree, I agree, I quite agree with you, but it is premature, +premature in this country …” said Von Lembke, frowning. +</p> +<p> +“And how can you be an official of the government after that, when you +agree to demolishing churches, and marching on Petersburg armed with +staves, and make it all simply a question of date?” +</p> +<p> +Lembke was greatly put out at being so crudely caught. +</p> +<p> +“It’s not so, not so at all,” he cried, carried away and more and more +mortified in his amour-propre. “You’re young, and know nothing of +our aims, and that’s why you’re mistaken. You see, my dear Pyotr +Stepanovitch, you call us officials of the government, don’t you? +Independent officials, don’t you? But let me ask you, how are we acting? +Ours is the responsibility, but in the long run we serve the cause of +progress just as you do. We only hold together what you are unsettling, +and what, but for us, would go to pieces in all directions. We are not +your enemies, not a bit of it. We say to you, go forward, progress, you +may even unsettle things, that is, things that are antiquated and in +need of reform. But we will keep you, when need be, within necessary +limits, and so save you from yourselves, for without us you would set +Russia tottering, robbing her of all external decency, while our task is +to preserve external decency. Understand that we are mutually essential +to one another. In England the Whigs and Tories are in the same way +mutually essential to one another. Well, you’re Whigs and we’re Tories. +That’s how I look at it.” +</p> +<p> +Andrey Antonovitch rose to positive eloquence. He had been fond of +talking in a Liberal and intellectual style even in Petersburg, and the +great thing here was that there was no one to play the spy on him. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch was silent, and maintained an unusually grave air. +This excited the orator more than ever. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know that I, the ‘person responsible for the province,’” he went +on, walking about the study, “do you know I have so many duties I can’t +perform one of them, and, on the other hand, I can say just as truly +that there’s nothing for me to do here. The whole secret of it is, +that everything depends upon the views of the government. Suppose the +government were ever to found a republic, from policy, or to pacify +public excitement, and at the same time to increase the power of the +governors, then we governors would swallow up the republic; and not the +republic only. Anything you like we’ll swallow up. I, at least, feel +that I am ready. In one word, if the government dictates to me by +telegram, <i>activité dévorante</i>, I’ll supply <i>activité dévorante</i>. I’ve +told them here straight in their faces: ‘Dear sirs, to maintain the +equilibrium and to develop all the provincial institutions one thing +is essential; the increase of the power of the governor.’ You see it’s +necessary that all these institutions, the zemstvos, the law-courts, +should have a two-fold existence, that is, on the one hand, it’s +necessary they should exist (I agree that it is necessary), on the other +hand, it’s necessary that they shouldn’t. It’s all according to the +views of the government. If the mood takes them so that institutions +seem suddenly necessary, I shall have them at once in readiness. The +necessity passes and no one will find them under my rule. That’s what +I understand by <i>activité dévorante</i>, and you can’t have it without an +increase of the governor’s power. We’re talking <i>tête-à-tête</i>. You know +I’ve already laid before the government in Petersburg the necessity of a +special sentinel before the governor’s house. I’m awaiting an answer.” +</p> +<p> +“You ought to have two,” Pyotr Stepanovitch commented. +</p> +<p> +“Why two?” said Von Lembke, stopping short before him. +</p> +<p> +“One’s not enough to create respect for you. You certainly ought to have +two.” +</p> +<p> +Andrey Antonovitch made a wry face. +</p> +<p> +“You … there’s no limit to the liberties you take, Pyotr Stepanovitch. +You take advantage of my good-nature, you say cutting things, and play +the part of a <i>bourru bienfaisant</i>.…” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s as you please,” muttered Pyotr Stepanovitch; “anyway you +pave the way for us and prepare for our success.” +</p> +<p> +“Now, who are ‘we,’ and what success?” said Von Lembke, staring at him +in surprise. But he got no answer. +</p> +<p> +Yulia Mihailovna, receiving a report of the conversation, was greatly +displeased. +</p> +<p> +“But I can’t exercise my official authority upon your favourite,” +Andrey Antonovitch protested in self-defence, “especially when we’re +<i>tête-à-tête</i>.… I may say too much … in the goodness of my heart.” +</p> +<p> +“From too much goodness of heart. I didn’t know you’d got a collection +of manifestoes. Be so good as to show them to me.” +</p> +<p> +“But … he asked to have them for one day.” +</p> +<p> +“And you’ve let him have them, again!” cried Yulia Mihailovna getting +angry. “How tactless!” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll send someone to him at once to get them.” +</p> +<p> +“He won’t give them up.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll insist on it,” cried Von Lembke, boiling over, and he jumped up +from his seat. “Who’s he that we should be so afraid of him, and who am +I that I shouldn’t dare to do any thing?” +</p> +<p> +“Sit down and calm yourself,” said Yulia Mihailovna, checking him. +“I will answer your first question. He came to me with the highest +recommendations. He’s talented, and sometimes says extremely clever +things. Karmazinov tells me that he has connections almost everywhere, +and extraordinary influence over the younger generation in Petersburg +and Moscow. And if through him I can attract them all and group them +round myself, I shall be saving them from perdition by guiding them +into a new outlet for their ambitions. He’s devoted to me with his whole +heart and is guided by me in everything.” +</p> +<p> +“But while they’re being petted … the devil knows what they may not do. +Of course, it’s an idea …” said Von Lembke, vaguely defending himself, +“but … but here I’ve heard that manifestoes of some sort have been +found in X district.” +</p> +<p> +“But there was a rumour of that in the summer—manifestoes, false +bank-notes, and all the rest of it, but they haven’t found one of them +so far. Who told you?” +</p> +<p> +“I heard it from Von Blum.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, don’t talk to me of your Blum. Don’t ever dare mention him again!” +</p> +<p> +Yulia Mihailovna flew into a rage, and for a moment could not speak. Von +Blum was a clerk in the governor’s office whom she particularly hated. +Of that later. +</p> +<p> +“Please don’t worry yourself about Verhovensky,” she said in conclusion. +“If he had taken part in any mischief he wouldn’t talk as he does to +you, and every one else here. Talkers are not dangerous, and I will +even go so far as to say that if anything were to happen I should be the +first to hear of it through him. He’s quite fanatically devoted to me.” +</p> +<p> +I will observe, anticipating events that, had it not been for Yulia +Mihailovna’s obstinacy and self-conceit, probably nothing of all the +mischief these wretched people succeeded in bringing about amongst us +would have happened. She was responsible for a great deal. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0010"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER V. ON THE EVE OF THE FETE +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +The date of the fête which Yulia Mihailovna was getting up for the +benefit of the governesses of our province had been several times fixed +and put off. She had invariably bustling round her Pyotr Stepanovitch +and a little clerk, Lyamshin, who used at one time to visit Stepan +Trofimovitch, and had suddenly found favour in the governor’s house for +the way he played the piano and now was of use running errands. Liputin +was there a good deal too, and Yulia Mihailovna destined him to be the +editor of a new independent provincial paper. There were also several +ladies, married and single, and lastly, even Karmazinov who, though he +could not be said to bustle, announced aloud with a complacent air that +he would agreeably astonish every one when the literary quadrille began. +An extraordinary multitude of donors and subscribers had turned up, all +the select society of the town; but even the unselect were admitted, if +only they produced the cash. Yulia Mihailovna observed that sometimes it +was a positive duty to allow the mixing of classes, “for otherwise who +is to enlighten them?” +</p> +<p> +A private drawing-room committee was formed, at which it was decided +that the fête was to be of a democratic character. The enormous list +of subscriptions tempted them to lavish expenditure. They wanted to do +something on a marvellous scale—that’s why it was put off. They were +still undecided where the ball was to take place, whether in the immense +house belonging to the marshal’s wife, which she was willing to give up +to them for the day, or at Varvara Petrovna’s mansion at Skvoreshniki. +It was rather a distance to Skvoreshniki, but many of the committee were +of opinion that it would be “freer” there. Varvara Petrovna would dearly +have liked it to have been in her house. It’s difficult to understand +why this proud woman seemed almost making up to Yulia Mihailovna. +Probably what pleased her was that the latter in her turn seemed almost +fawning upon Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch and was more gracious to him +than to anyone. I repeat again that Pyotr Stepanovitch was always, in +continual whispers, strengthening in the governor’s household an idea he +had insinuated there already, that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was a man who +had very mysterious connections with very mysterious circles, and that +he had certainly come here with some commission from them. +</p> +<p> +People here seemed in a strange state of mind at the time. Among the +ladies especially a sort of frivolity was conspicuous, and it could +not be said to be a gradual growth. Certain very free-and-easy notions +seemed to be in the air. There was a sort of dissipated gaiety and +levity, and I can’t say it was always quite pleasant. A lax way of +thinking was the fashion. Afterwards when it was all over, people blamed +Yulia Mihailovna, her circle, her attitude. But it can hardly have +been altogether due to Yulia Mihailovna. On the contrary; at first many +people vied with one another in praising the new governor’s wife for her +success in bringing local society together, and for making things +more lively. Several scandalous incidents took place, for which Yulia +Mihailovna was in no way responsible, but at the time people were amused +and did nothing but laugh, and there was no one to check them. A rather +large group of people, it is true, held themselves aloof, and had views +of their own on the course of events. But even these made no complaint +at the time; they smiled, in fact. +</p> +<p> +I remember that a fairly large circle came into existence, as it were, +spontaneously, the centre of which perhaps was really to be found +in Yulia Mihailovna’s drawing-room. In this intimate circle which +surrounded her, among the younger members of it, of course, it was +considered admissible to play all sorts of pranks, sometimes rather +free-and-easy ones, and, in fact, such conduct became a principle among +them. In this circle there were even some very charming ladies. The +young people arranged picnics, and even parties, and sometimes went +about the town in a regular cavalcade, in carriages and on horseback. +They sought out adventures, even got them up themselves, simply for the +sake of having an amusing story to tell. They treated our town as though +it were a sort of Glupov. People called them the jeerers or sneerers, +because they did not stick at anything. It happened, for instance, that +the wife of a local lieutenant, a little brunette, very young though she +looked worn out from her husband’s ill-treatment, at an evening party +thoughtlessly sat down to play whist for high stakes in the fervent hope +of winning enough to buy herself a mantle, and instead of winning, lost +fifteen roubles. Being afraid of her husband, and having no means of +paying, she plucked up the courage of former days and ventured on the +sly to ask for a loan, on the spot, at the party, from the son of our +mayor, a very nasty youth, precociously vicious. The latter not only +refused it, but went laughing aloud to tell her husband. The lieutenant, +who certainly was poor, with nothing but his salary, took his wife home +and avenged himself upon her to his heart’s content in spite of her +shrieks, wails, and entreaties on her knees for forgiveness. This +revolting story excited nothing but mirth all over the town, and though +the poor wife did not belong to Yulia Mihailovna’s circle, one of the +ladies of the “cavalcade,” an eccentric and adventurous character who +happened to know her, drove round, and simply carried her off to her +own house. Here she was at once taken up by our madcaps, made much of, +loaded with presents, and kept for four days without being sent back to +her husband. She stayed at the adventurous lady’s all day long, drove +about with her and all the sportive company in expeditions about the +town, and took part in dances and merry-making. They kept egging her +on to haul her husband before the court and to make a scandal. They +declared that they would all support her and would come and bear +witness. The husband kept quiet, not daring to oppose them. The poor +thing realised at last that she had got into a hopeless position and, +more dead than alive with fright, on the fourth day she ran off in the +dusk from her protectors to her lieutenant. It’s not definitely known +what took place between husband and wife, but two shutters of the +low-pitched little house in which the lieutenant lodged were not opened +for a fortnight. Yulia Mihailovna was angry with the mischief-makers +when she heard about it all, and was greatly displeased with the +conduct of the adventurous lady, though the latter had presented the +lieutenant’s wife to her on the day she carried her off. However, this +was soon forgotten. +</p> +<p> +Another time a petty clerk, a respectable head of a family, married his +daughter, a beautiful girl of seventeen, known to every one in the town, +to another petty clerk, a young man who came from a different district. +But suddenly it was learned that the young husband had treated the +beauty very roughly on the wedding night, chastising her for what he +regarded as a stain on his honour. Lyamshin, who was almost a witness of +the affair, because he got drunk at the wedding and so stayed the night, +as soon as day dawned, ran round with the diverting intelligence. +</p> +<p> +Instantly a party of a dozen was made up, all of them on horseback, some +on hired Cossack horses, Pyotr Stepanovitch, for instance, and Liputin, +who, in spite of his grey hairs, took part in almost every scandalous +adventure of our reckless youngsters. When the young couple appeared in +the street in a droshky with a pair of horses to make the calls which +are obligatory in our town on the day after a wedding, in spite of +anything that may happen, the whole cavalcade, with merry laughter, +surrounded the droshky and followed them about the town all the morning. +They did not, it’s true, go into the house, but waited for them +outside, on horseback. They refrained from marked insult to the bride +or bridegroom, but still they caused a scandal. The whole town began +talking of it. Every one laughed, of course. But at this Von Lembke was +angry, and again had a lively scene with Yulia Mihailovna. She, too, was +extremely angry, and formed the intention of turning the scapegraces out +of her house. But next day she forgave them all after persuasions from +Pyotr Stepanovitch and some words from Karmazinov, who considered the +affair rather amusing. +</p> +<p> +“It’s in harmony with the traditions of the place,” he said. “Anyway +it’s characteristic and … bold; and look, every one’s laughing, you’re +the only person indignant.” +</p> +<p> +But there were pranks of a certain character that were absolutely past +endurance. +</p> +<p> +A respectable woman of the artisan class, who went about selling +gospels, came into the town. People talked about her, because some +interesting references to these gospel women had just appeared in the +Petersburg papers. Again the same buffoon, Lyamshin, with the help of a +divinity student, who was taking a holiday while waiting for a post in +the school, succeeded, on the pretence of buying books from the gospel +woman, in thrusting into her bag a whole bundle of indecent and obscene +photographs from abroad, sacrificed expressly for the purpose, as we +learned afterwards, by a highly respectable old gentleman (I will omit +his name) with an order on his breast, who, to use his own words, loved +“a healthy laugh and a merry jest.” When the poor woman went to take out +the holy books in the bazaar, the photographs were scattered about the +place. There were roars of laughter and murmurs of indignation. A crowd +collected, began abusing her, and would have come to blows if the police +had not arrived in the nick of time. The gospel woman was taken to +the lock-up, and only in the evening, thanks to the efforts of Mavriky +Nikolaevitch, who had learned with indignation the secret details of +this loathsome affair, she was released and escorted out of the town. At +this point Yulia Mihailovna would certainly have forbidden Lyamshin her +house, but that very evening the whole circle brought him to her with +the intelligence that he had just composed a new piece for the piano, +and persuaded her at least to hear it. The piece turned out to be really +amusing, and bore the comic title of “The Franco-Prussian War.” It began +with the menacing strains of the “Marseillaise”: +</p> +<p> +<i>“Qu’un sang impur abreuve nos sillons.”</i> +</p> +<p> +There is heard the pompous challenge, the intoxication of future +victories. But suddenly mingling with the masterly variations on the +national hymn, somewhere from some corner quite close, on one side come +the vulgar strains of “Mein lieber Augustin.” The “Marseillaise” goes +on unconscious of them. The “Marseillaise” is at the climax of its +intoxication with its own grandeur; but Augustin gains strength; +Augustin grows more and more insolent, and suddenly the melody of +Augustin begins to blend with the melody of the “Marseillaise.” The +latter begins, as it were, to get angry; becoming aware of Augustin +at last she tries to fling him off, to brush him aside like a tiresome +insignificant fly. But “Mein lieber Augustin” holds his ground firmly, +he is cheerful and self-confident, he is gleeful and impudent, and the +“Marseillaise” seems suddenly to become terribly stupid. She can no +longer conceal her anger and mortification; it is a wail of indignation, +tears, and curses, with hands outstretched to Providence. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Pas un pouce de notre terrain; pas une de nos forteresses.”</i> +</p> +<p> +But she is forced to sing in time with “Mein lieber Augustin.” Her +melody passes in a sort of foolish way into Augustin; she yields and +dies away. And only by snatches there is heard again: +</p> +<p> +<i>“Qu’un sang impur …”</i> +</p> +<p> +But at once it passes very offensively into the vulgar waltz. She +submits altogether. It is Jules Favre sobbing on Bismarck’s bosom +and surrendering every thing.… But at this point Augustin too grows +fierce; hoarse sounds are heard; there is a suggestion of countless +gallons of beer, of a frenzy of self-glorification, demands for +millions, for fine cigars, champagne, and hostages. Augustin passes into +a wild yell.… “The Franco-Prussian War” is over. Our circle applauded, +Yulia Mihailovna smiled, and said, “Now, how is one to turn him out?” +Peace was made. The rascal really had talent. Stepan Trofimovitch +assured me on one occasion that the very highest artistic talents may +exist in the most abominable blackguards, and that the one thing +does not interfere with the other. There was a rumour afterwards that +Lyamshin had stolen this burlesque from a talented and modest young man +of his acquaintance, whose name remained unknown. But this is beside the +mark. This worthless fellow who had hung about Stepan Trofimovitch for +years, who used at his evening parties, when invited, to mimic Jews of +various types, a deaf peasant woman making her confession, or the birth +of a child, now at Yulia Mihailovna’s caricatured Stepan Trofimovitch +himself in a killing way, under the title of “A Liberal of the +Forties.” Everybody shook with laughter, so that in the end it was +quite impossible to turn him out: he had become too necessary a person. +Besides he fawned upon Pyotr Stepanovitch in a slavish way, and he, +in his turn, had obtained by this time a strange and unaccountable +influence over Yulia Mihailovna. +</p> +<p> +I wouldn’t have talked about this scoundrel, and, indeed, he would not +be worth dwelling upon, but there was another revolting story, so people +declare, in which he had a hand, and this story I cannot omit from my +record. +</p> +<p> +One morning the news of a hideous and revolting sacrilege was all over +the town. At the entrance to our immense marketplace there stands the +ancient church of Our Lady’s Nativity, which was a remarkable antiquity +in our ancient town. At the gates of the precincts there is a large ikon +of the Mother of God fixed behind a grating in the wall. And behold, one +night the ikon had been robbed, the glass of the case was broken, the +grating was smashed and several stones and pearls (I don’t know whether +they were very precious ones) had been removed from the crown and the +setting. But what was worse, besides the theft a senseless, scoffing +sacrilege had been perpetrated. Behind the broken glass of the ikon they +found in the morning, so it was said, a live mouse. Now, four months +since, it has been established beyond doubt that the crime was committed +by the convict Fedka, but for some reason it is added that Lyamshin took +part in it. At the time no one spoke of Lyamshin or had any suspicion +of him. But now every one says it was he who put the mouse there. I +remember all our responsible officials were rather staggered. A crowd +thronged round the scene of the crime from early morning. There was a +crowd continually before it, not a very huge one, but always about a +hundred people, some coming and some going. As they approached they +crossed themselves and bowed down to the ikon. They began to give +offerings, and a church dish made its appearance, and with the dish a +monk. But it was only about three o’clock in the afternoon it occurred +to the authorities that it was possible to prohibit the crowds standing +about, and to command them when they had prayed, bowed down and left +their offerings, to pass on. Upon Von Lembke this unfortunate incident +made the gloomiest impression. As I was told, Yulia Mihailovna said +afterwards it was from this ill-omened morning that she first noticed in +her husband that strange depression which persisted in him until he +left our province on account of illness two months ago, and, I believe, +haunts him still in Switzerland, where he has gone for a rest after his +brief career amongst us. +</p> +<p> +I remember at one o’clock in the afternoon I crossed the marketplace; +the crowd was silent and their faces solemn and gloomy. A merchant, fat +and sallow, drove up, got out of his carriage, made a bow to the ground, +kissed the ikon, offered a rouble, sighing, got back into his carriage +and drove off. Another carriage drove up with two ladies accompanied +by two of our scapegraces. The young people (one of whom was not quite +young) got out of their carriage too, and squeezed their way up to the +ikon, pushing people aside rather carelessly. Neither of the young men +took off his hat, and one of them put a pince-nez on his nose. In the +crowd there was a murmur, vague but unfriendly. The dandy with the +pince-nez took out of his purse, which was stuffed full of bank-notes, +a copper farthing and flung it into the dish. Both laughed, and, talking +loudly, went back to their carriage. At that moment Lizaveta Nikolaevna +galloped up, escorted by Mavriky Nikolaevitch. She jumped off her horse, +flung the reins to her companion, who, at her bidding, remained on his +horse, and approached the ikon at the very moment when the farthing had +been flung down. A flush of indignation suffused her cheeks; she took +off her round hat and her gloves, fell straight on her knees before the +ikon on the muddy pavement, and reverently bowed down three times to the +earth. Then she took out her purse, but as it appeared she had only a +few small coins in it she instantly took off her diamond ear-rings and +put them in the dish. +</p> +<p> +“May I? May I? For the adornment of the setting?” she asked the monk. +</p> +<p> +“It is permitted,” replied the latter, “every gift is good.” The crowd +was silent, expressing neither dissent nor approval. +</p> +<p> +Liza got on her horse again, in her muddy riding-habit, and galloped +away. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +Two days after the incident I have described I met her in a numerous +company, who were driving out on some expedition in three coaches, +surrounded by others on horseback. She beckoned to me, stopped her +carriage, and pressingly urged me to join their party. A place was +found for me in the carriage, and she laughingly introduced me to her +companions, gorgeously attired ladies, and explained to me that they +were all going on a very interesting expedition. She was laughing, and +seemed somewhat excessively happy. Just lately she had been very lively, +even playful, in fact. +</p> +<p> +The expedition was certainly an eccentric one. They were all going to a +house the other side of the river, to the merchant Sevastyanov’s. In +the lodge of this merchant’s house our saint and prophet, Semyon +Yakovlevitch, who was famous not only amongst us but in the surrounding +provinces and even in Petersburg and Moscow, had been living for the +last ten years, in retirement, ease, and comfort. Every one went to see +him, especially visitors to the neighbourhood, extracting from him some +crazy utterance, bowing down to him, and leaving an offering. These +offerings were sometimes considerable, and if Semyon Yakovlevitch did +not himself assign them to some other purpose were piously sent to +some church or more often to the monastery of Our Lady. A monk from +the monastery was always in waiting upon Semyon Yakovlevitch with this +object. +</p> +<p> +All were in expectation of great amusement. No one of the party had seen +Semyon Yakovlevitch before, except Lyamshin, who declared that the saint +had given orders that he should be driven out with a broom, and had with +his own hand flung two big baked potatoes after him. Among the party I +noticed Pyotr Stepanovitch, again riding a hired Cossack horse, on which +he sat extremely badly, and Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, also on horseback. +The latter did not always hold aloof from social diversions, and on such +occasions always wore an air of gaiety, although, as always, he spoke +little and seldom. When our party had crossed the bridge and reached the +hotel of the town, someone suddenly announced that in one of the rooms +of the hotel they had just found a traveller who had shot himself, and +were expecting the police. At once the suggestion was made that they +should go and look at the suicide. The idea met with approval: our +ladies had never seen a suicide. I remember one of them said aloud on +the occasion, “Everything’s so boring, one can’t be squeamish over one’s +amusements, as long as they’re interesting.” Only a few of them remained +outside. The others went in a body into the dirty corridor, and amongst +the others I saw, to my amazement, Lizaveta Nikolaevna. The door of the +room was open, and they did not, of course, dare to prevent our going +in to look at the suicide. He was quite a young lad, not more than +nineteen. He must have been very good-looking, with thick fair hair, +with a regular oval face, and a fine, pure forehead. The body was +already stiff, and his white young face looked like marble. On the table +lay a note, in his handwriting, to the effect that no one was to blame +for his death, that he had killed himself because he had “squandered” +four hundred roubles. The word “squandered” was used in the letter; in +the four lines of his letter there were three mistakes in spelling. A +stout country gentleman, evidently a neighbour, who had been staying in +the hotel on some business of his own, was particularly distressed about +it. From his words it appeared that the boy had been sent by his family, +that is, a widowed mother, sisters, and aunts, from the country to the +town in order that, under the supervision of a female relation in the +town, he might purchase and take home with him various articles for the +trousseau of his eldest sister, who was going to be married. The family +had, with sighs of apprehension, entrusted him with the four hundred +roubles, the savings of ten years, and had sent him on his way with +exhortations, prayers, and signs of the cross. The boy had till then +been well-behaved and trustworthy. Arriving three days before at the +town, he had not gone to his relations, had put up at the hotel, and +gone straight to the club in the hope of finding in some back room a +“travelling banker,” or at least some game of cards for money. But that +evening there was no “banker” there or gambling going on. Going back +to the hotel about midnight he asked for champagne, Havana cigars, and +ordered a supper of six or seven dishes. But the champagne made him +drunk, and the cigar made him sick, so that he did not touch the food +when it was brought to him, and went to bed almost unconscious. Waking +next morning as fresh as an apple, he went at once to the gipsies’ camp, +which was in a suburb beyond the river, and of which he had heard the +day before at the club. He did not reappear at the hotel for two days. +At last, at five o’clock in the afternoon of the previous day, he had +returned drunk, had at once gone to bed, and had slept till ten o’clock +in the evening. On waking up he had asked for a cutlet, a bottle of +Chateau d’Yquem, and some grapes, paper, and ink, and his bill. No one +noticed anything special about him; he was quiet, gentle, and friendly. +He must have shot himself at about midnight, though it was strange that +no one had heard the shot, and they only raised the alarm at midday, +when, after knocking in vain, they had broken in the door. The bottle of +Chateau d’Yquem was half empty, there was half a plateful of grapes left +too. The shot had been fired from a little three-chambered revolver, +straight into the heart. Very little blood had flowed. The revolver had +dropped from his hand on to the carpet. The boy himself was half lying +in a corner of the sofa. Death must have been instantaneous. There was +no trace of the anguish of death in the face; the expression was serene, +almost happy, as though there were no cares in his life. All our party +stared at him with greedy curiosity. In every misfortune of one’s +neighbour there is always something cheering for an onlooker—whoever +he may be. Our ladies gazed in silence, their companions distinguished +themselves by their wit and their superb equanimity. One observed that +his was the best way out of it, and that the boy could not have hit upon +anything more sensible; another observed that he had had a good time if +only for a moment. A third suddenly blurted out the inquiry why people +had begun hanging and shooting themselves among us of late, as though +they had suddenly lost their roots, as though the ground were giving way +under every one’s feet. People looked coldly at this raisonneur. Then +Lyamshin, who prided himself on playing the fool, took a bunch of grapes +from the plate; another, laughing, followed his example, and a third +stretched out his hand for the Chateau d’Yquem. But the head of police +arriving checked him, and even ordered that the room should be cleared. +As every one had seen all they wanted they went out without disputing, +though Lyamshin began pestering the police captain about something. The +general merrymaking, laughter, and playful talk were twice as lively on +the latter half of the way. +</p> +<p> +We arrived at Semyon Yakovlevitch’s just at one o’clock. The gate of the +rather large house stood unfastened, and the approach to the lodge was +open. We learnt at once that Semyon Yakovlevitch was dining, but was +receiving guests. The whole crowd of us went in. The room in which the +saint dined and received visitors had three windows, and was fairly +large. It was divided into two equal parts by a wooden lattice-work +partition, which ran from wall to wall, and was three or four feet high. +Ordinary visitors remained on the outside of this partition, but lucky +ones were by the saint’s invitation admitted through the partition doors +into his half of the room. And if so disposed he made them sit down on +the sofa or on his old leather chairs. He himself invariably sat in +an old-fashioned shabby Voltaire arm-chair. He was a rather big, +bloated-looking, yellow-faced man of five and fifty, with a bald head +and scanty flaxen hair. He wore no beard; his right cheek was swollen, +and his mouth seemed somehow twisted awry. He had a large wart on +the left side of his nose; narrow eyes, and a calm, stolid, sleepy +expression. He was dressed in European style, in a black coat, but had +no waistcoat or tie. A rather coarse, but white shirt, peeped out below +his coat. There was something the matter with his feet, I believe, and +he kept them in slippers. I’ve heard that he had at one time been a +clerk, and received a rank in the service. He had just finished some +fish soup, and was beginning his second dish of potatoes in their skins, +eaten with salt. He never ate anything else, but he drank a great +deal of tea, of which he was very fond. Three servants provided by +the merchant were running to and fro about him. One of them was in a +swallow-tail, the second looked like a workman, and the third like +a verger. There was also a very lively boy of sixteen. Besides the +servants there was present, holding a jug, a reverend, grey-headed +monk, who was a little too fat. On one of the tables a huge samovar was +boiling, and a tray with almost two dozen glasses was standing near it. +On another table opposite offerings had been placed: some loaves and +also some pounds of sugar, two pounds of tea, a pair of embroidered +slippers, a foulard handkerchief, a length of cloth, a piece of linen, +and so on. Money offerings almost all went into the monk’s jug. The room +was full of people, at least a dozen visitors, of whom two were sitting +with Semyon Yakovlevitch on the other side of the partition. One was a +grey-headed old pilgrim of the peasant class, and the other a little, +dried-up monk, who sat demurely, with his eyes cast down. The other +visitors were all standing on the near side of the partition, and +were mostly, too, of the peasant class, except one elderly and +poverty-stricken lady, one landowner, and a stout merchant, who had come +from the district town, a man with a big beard, dressed in the Russian +style, though he was known to be worth a hundred thousand. +</p> +<p> +All were waiting for their chance, not daring to speak of themselves. +Four were on their knees, but the one who attracted most attention +was the landowner, a stout man of forty-five, kneeling right at the +partition, more conspicuous than any one, waiting reverently for a +propitious word or look from Semyon Yakovlevitch. He had been there for +about an hour already, but the saint still did not notice him. +</p> +<p> +Our ladies crowded right up to the partition, whispering gaily and +laughingly together. They pushed aside or got in front of all the other +visitors, even those on their knees, except the landowner, who remained +obstinately in his prominent position even holding on to the +partition. Merry and greedily inquisitive eyes were turned upon Semyon +Yakovlevitch, as well as lorgnettes, pince-nez, and even opera-glasses. +Lyamshin, at any rate, looked through an opera-glass. Semyon +Yakovlevitch calmly and lazily scanned all with his little eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Milovzors! Milovzors!” he deigned to pronounce, in a hoarse bass, and +slightly staccato. +</p> +<p> +All our party laughed: “What’s the meaning of ‘Milovzors’?” But Semyon +Yakovlevitch relapsed into silence, and finished his potatoes. Presently +he wiped his lips with his napkin, and they handed him tea. +</p> +<p> +As a rule, he did not take tea alone, but poured out some for his +visitors, but by no means for all, usually pointing himself to those +he wished to honour. And his choice always surprised people by its +unexpectedness. Passing by the wealthy and the high-placed, he sometimes +pitched upon a peasant or some decrepit old woman. Another time he +would pass over the beggars to honour some fat wealthy merchant. Tea was +served differently, too, to different people, sugar was put into some of +the glasses and handed separately with others, while some got it without +any sugar at all. This time the favoured one was the monk sitting by +him, who had sugar put in; and the old pilgrim, to whom it was given +without any sugar. The fat monk with the jug, from the monastery, for +some reason had none handed to him at all, though up till then he had +had his glass every day. +</p> +<p> +“Semyon Yakovlevitch, do say something to me. I’ve been longing to make +your acquaintance for ever so long,” carolled the gorgeously dressed +lady from our carriage, screwing up her eyes and smiling. She was +the lady who had observed that one must not be squeamish about one’s +amusements, so long as they were interesting. Semyon Yakovlevitch did +not even look at her. The kneeling landowner uttered a deep, sonorous +sigh, like the sound of a big pair of bellows. +</p> +<p> +“With sugar in it!” said Semyon Yakovlevitch suddenly, pointing to the +wealthy merchant. The latter moved forward and stood beside the kneeling +gentleman. +</p> +<p> +“Some more sugar for him!” ordered Semyon Yakovlevitch, after the glass +had already been poured out. They put some more in. “More, more, for +him!” More was put in a third time, and again a fourth. The merchant +began submissively drinking his syrup. +</p> +<p> +“Heavens!” whispered the people, crossing themselves. The kneeling +gentleman again heaved a deep, sonorous sigh. +</p> +<p> +“Father! Semyon Yakovlevitch!” The voice of the poor lady rang out all +at once plaintively, though so sharply that it was startling. Our party +had shoved her back to the wall. “A whole hour, dear father, I’ve been +waiting for grace. Speak to me. Consider my case in my helplessness.” +</p> +<p> +“Ask her,” said Semyon Yakovlevitch to the verger, who went to the +partition. +</p> +<p> +“Have you done what Semyon Yakovlevitch bade you last time?” he asked +the widow in a soft and measured voice. +</p> +<p> +“Done it! Father Semyon Yakovlevitch. How can one do it with them?” +wailed the widow. “They’re cannibals; they’re lodging a complaint +against me, in the court; they threaten to take it to the senate. That’s +how they treat their own mother!” +</p> +<p> +“Give her!” Semyon Yakovlevitch pointed to a sugar-loaf. The boy skipped +up, seized the sugar-loaf and dragged it to the widow. +</p> +<p> +“Ach, father; great is your merciful kindness. What am I to do with so +much?” wailed the widow. +</p> +<p> +“More, more,” said Semyon Yakovlevitch lavishly. +</p> +<p> +They dragged her another sugar-loaf. “More, more!” the saint commanded. +They took her a third, and finally a fourth. The widow was surrounded +with sugar on all sides. The monk from the monastery sighed; all this +might have gone to the monastery that day as it had done on former +occasions. +</p> +<p> +“What am I to do with so much,” the widow sighed obsequiously. “It’s +enough to make one person sick!… Is it some sort of a prophecy, +father?” +</p> +<p> +“Be sure it’s by way of a prophecy,” said someone in the crowd. +</p> +<p> +“Another pound for her, another!” Semyon Yakovlevitch persisted. +</p> +<p> +There was a whole sugar-loaf still on the table, but the saint ordered a +pound to be given, and they gave her a pound. +</p> +<p> +“Lord have mercy on us!” gasped the people, crossing themselves. “It’s +surely a prophecy.” +</p> +<p> +“Sweeten your heart for the future with mercy and loving kindness, and +then come to make complaints against your own children; bone of your +bone. That’s what we must take this emblem to mean,” the stout monk +from the monastery, who had had no tea given to him, said softly but +self-complacently, taking upon himself the rôle of interpreter in an +access of wounded vanity. +</p> +<p> +“What are you saying, father?” cried the widow, suddenly infuriated. +“Why, they dragged me into the fire with a rope round me when the +Verhishins’ house was burnt, and they locked up a dead cat in my chest. +They are ready to do any villainy.…” +</p> +<p> +“Away with her! Away with her!” Semyon Yakovlevitch said suddenly, +waving his hands. +</p> +<p> +The verger and the boy dashed through the partition. The verger took the +widow by the arm, and without resisting she trailed to the door, keeping +her eyes fixed on the loaves of sugar that had been bestowed on her, +which the boy dragged after her. +</p> +<p> +“One to be taken away. Take it away,” Semyon Yakovlevitch commanded to +the servant like a workman, who remained with him. The latter rushed +after the retreating woman, and the three servants returned somewhat +later bringing back one loaf of sugar which had been presented to the +widow and now taken away from her. She carried off three, however. +</p> +<p> +“Semyon Yakovlevitch,” said a voice at the door. “I dreamt of a bird, a +jackdaw; it flew out of the water and flew into the fire. What does the +dream mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Frost,” Semyon Yakovlevitch pronounced. +</p> +<p> +“Semyon Yakovlevitch, why don’t you answer me all this time? I’ve been +interested in you ever so long,” the lady of our party began again. +</p> +<p> +“Ask him!” said Semyon Yakovlevitch, not heeding her, but pointing to +the kneeling gentleman. +</p> +<p> +The monk from the monastery to whom the order was given moved sedately +to the kneeling figure. +</p> +<p> +“How have you sinned? And was not some command laid upon you?” +</p> +<p> +“Not to fight; not to give the rein to my hands,” answered the kneeling +gentleman hoarsely. +</p> +<p> +“Have you obeyed?” asked the monk. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot obey. My own strength gets the better of me.” +</p> +<p> +“Away with him, away with him! With a broom, with a broom!” cried Semyon +Yakovlevitch, waving his hands. The gentleman rushed out of the room +without waiting for this penalty. +</p> +<p> +“He’s left a gold piece where he knelt,” observed the monk, picking up a +half-imperial. +</p> +<p> +“For him!” said the saint, pointing to the rich merchant. The latter +dared not refuse it, and took it. +</p> +<p> +“Gold to gold,” the monk from the monastery could not refrain from +saying. +</p> +<p> +“And give him some with sugar in it,” said the saint, pointing to +Mavriky Nikolaevitch. The servant poured out the tea and took it by +mistake to the dandy with the pince-nez. +</p> +<p> +“The long one, the long one!” Semyon Yakovlevitch corrected him. +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch took the glass, made a military half-bow, and began +drinking it. I don’t know why, but all our party burst into peals of +laughter. +</p> +<p> +“Mavriky Nikolaevitch,” cried Liza, addressing him suddenly. “That +kneeling gentleman has gone away. You kneel down in his place.” +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch looked at her in amazement. +</p> +<p> +“I beg you to. You’ll do me the greatest favour. Listen, Mavriky +Nikolaevitch,” she went on, speaking in an emphatic, obstinate, excited, +and rapid voice. “You must kneel down; I must see you kneel down. If you +won’t, don’t come near me. I insist, I insist!” +</p> +<p> +I don’t know what she meant by it; but she insisted upon it +relentlessly, as though she were in a fit. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, as +we shall see later, set down these capricious impulses, which had been +particularly frequent of late, to outbreaks of blind hatred for him, +not due to spite, for, on the contrary, she esteemed him, loved him, +and respected him, and he knew that himself—but from a peculiar +unconscious hatred which at times she could not control. +</p> +<p> +In silence he gave his cup to an old woman standing behind him, opened +the door of the partition, and, without being invited, stepped into +Semyon Yakovlevitch’s private apartment, and knelt down in the middle +of the room in sight of all. I imagine that he was deeply shocked in his +candid and delicate heart by Liza’s coarse and mocking freak before +the whole company. Perhaps he imagined that she would feel ashamed of +herself, seeing his humiliation, on which she had so insisted. Of course +no one but he would have dreamt of bringing a woman to reason by +so naïve and risky a proceeding. He remained kneeling with his +imperturbable gravity—long, tall, awkward, and ridiculous. But our +party did not laugh. The unexpectedness of the action produced a painful +shock. Every one looked at Liza. +</p> +<p> +“Anoint, anoint!” muttered Semyon Yakovlevitch. +</p> +<p> +Liza suddenly turned white, cried out, and rushed through the partition. +Then a rapid and hysterical scene followed. She began pulling Mavriky +Nikolaevitch up with all her might, tugging at his elbows with both +hands. +</p> +<p> +“Get up! Get up!” she screamed, as though she were crazy. “Get up at +once, at once. How dare you?” +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch got up from his knees. She clutched his arms above +the elbow and looked intently into his face. There was terror in her +expression. +</p> +<p> +“Milovzors! Milovzors!” Semyon Yakovlevitch repeated again. +</p> +<p> +She dragged Mavriky Nikolaevitch back to the other part of the room at +last. There was some commotion in all our company. The lady from our +carriage, probably intending to relieve the situation, loudly and +shrilly asked the saint for the third time, with an affected smile: +</p> +<p> +“Well, Semyon Yakovlevitch, won’t you utter some saying for me? I’ve +been reckoning so much on you.” +</p> +<p> +“Out with the ——, out with the ——,” said Semyon Yakovlevitch, suddenly +addressing her, with an extremely indecent word. The words were uttered +savagely, and with horrifying distinctness. Our ladies shrieked, and +rushed headlong away, while the gentlemen escorting them burst into +Homeric laughter. So ended our visit to Semyon Yakovlevitch. +</p> +<p> +At this point, however, there took place, I am told, an extremely +enigmatic incident, and, I must own, it was chiefly on account of it +that I have described this expedition so minutely. +</p> +<p> +I am told that when all flocked out, Liza, supported by Mavriky +Nikolaevitch, was jostled against Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch in the crush +in the doorway. I must mention that since that Sunday morning when she +fainted they had not approached each other, nor exchanged a word, though +they had met more than once. I saw them brought together in the doorway. +I fancied they both stood still for an instant, and looked, as it were, +strangely at one another, but I may not have seen rightly in the +crowd. It is asserted, on the contrary, and quite seriously, that Liza, +glancing at Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, quickly raised her hand to the +level of his face, and would certainly have struck him if he had not +drawn back in time. Perhaps she was displeased with the expression of +his face, or the way he smiled, particularly just after such an episode +with Mavriky Nikolaevitch. I must admit I saw nothing myself, but all +the others declared they had, though they certainly could not all have +seen it in such a crush, though perhaps some may have. But I did +not believe it at the time. I remember, however, that Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch was rather pale all the way home. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +Almost at the same time, and certainly on the same day, the interview +at last took place between Stepan Trofimovitch and Varvara Petrovna. She +had long had this meeting in her mind, and had sent word about it to +her former friend, but for some reason she had kept putting it off till +then. It took place at Skvoreshniki; Varvara Petrovna arrived at her +country house all in a bustle; it had been definitely decided the +evening before that the fête was to take place at the marshal’s, but +Varvara Petrovna’s rapid brain at once grasped that no one could +prevent her from afterwards giving her own special entertainment at +Skvoreshniki, and again assembling the whole town. Then every one could +see for themselves whose house was best, and in which more taste was +displayed in receiving guests and giving a ball. Altogether she was +hardly to be recognised. She seemed completely transformed, and instead +of the unapproachable “noble lady” (Stepan Trofimovitch’s expression) +seemed changed into the most commonplace, whimsical society woman. But +perhaps this may only have been on the surface. +</p> +<p> +When she reached the empty house she had gone through all the rooms, +accompanied by her faithful old butler, Alexey Yegorytch, and by +Fomushka, a man who had seen much of life and was a specialist in +decoration. They began to consult and deliberate: what furniture was to +be brought from the town house, what things, what pictures, where they +were to be put, how the conservatories and flowers could be put to +the best use, where to put new curtains, where to have the refreshment +rooms, whether one or two, and so on and so on. And, behold, in the +midst of this exciting bustle she suddenly took it into her head to send +for Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +The latter had long before received notice of this interview and was +prepared for it, and he had every day been expecting just such a sudden +summons. As he got into the carriage he crossed himself: his fate was +being decided. He found his friend in the big drawing-room on the little +sofa in the recess, before a little marble table with a pencil and paper +in her hands. Fomushka, with a yard measure, was measuring the height +of the galleries and the windows, while Varvara Petrovna herself was +writing down the numbers and making notes on the margin. She nodded in +Stepan Trofimovitch’s direction without breaking off from what she was +doing, and when the latter muttered some sort of greeting, she hurriedly +gave him her hand, and without looking at him motioned him to a seat +beside her. +</p> +<p> +“I sat waiting for five minutes, ‘mastering my heart,’” he told me +afterwards. “I saw before me not the woman whom I had known for twenty +years. An absolute conviction that all was over gave me a strength which +astounded even her. I swear that she was surprised at my stoicism in +that last hour.” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna suddenly put down her pencil on the table and turned +quickly to Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch, we have to talk of business. I’m sure you have +prepared all your fervent words and various phrases, but we’d better go +straight to the point, hadn’t we?” +</p> +<p> +She had been in too great a hurry to show the tone she meant to take. +And what might not come next? +</p> +<p> +“Wait, be quiet; let me speak. Afterwards you shall, though really I +don’t know what you can answer me,” she said in a rapid patter. “The +twelve hundred roubles of your pension I consider a sacred obligation +to pay you as long as you live. Though why a sacred obligation, simply +a contract; that would be a great deal more real, wouldn’t it? If you +like, we’ll write it out. Special arrangements have been made in case +of my death. But you are receiving from me at present lodging, servants, +and your maintenance in addition. Reckoning that in money it would +amount to fifteen hundred roubles, wouldn’t it? I will add another three +hundred roubles, making three thousand roubles in all. Will that be +enough a year for you? I think that’s not too little? In any extreme +emergency I would add something more. And so, take your money, send me +back my servants, and live by yourself where you like in Petersburg, in +Moscow, abroad, or here, only not with me. Do you hear?” +</p> +<p> +“Only lately those lips dictated to me as imperatively and as suddenly +very different demands,” said Stepan Trofimovitch slowly and with +sorrowful distinctness. “I submitted … and danced the Cossack dance +to please you. <i>Oui, la comparaison peut être permise. C’était comme un +petit Cosaque du Don qui sautait sur sa propre tombe.</i> Now …” +</p> +<p> +“Stop, Stepan Trofimovitch, you are horribly long-winded. You didn’t +dance, but came to see me in a new tie, new linen, gloves, scented +and pomatumed. I assure you that you were very anxious to get married +yourself; it was written on your face, and I assure you a most unseemly +expression it was. If I did not mention it to you at the time, it was +simply out of delicacy. But you wished it, you wanted to be married, in +spite of the abominable things you wrote about me and your betrothed. +Now it’s very different. And what has the Cosaque du Don to do with it, +and what tomb do you mean? I don’t understand the comparison. On the +contrary, you have only to live. Live as long as you can. I shall be +delighted.” +</p> +<p> +“In an almshouse?” +</p> +<p> +“In an almshouse? People don’t go into almshouses with three thousand +roubles a year. Ah, I remember,” she laughed. “Pyotr Stepanovitch +did joke about an almshouse once. Bah, there certainly is a special +almshouse, which is worth considering. It’s for persons who are highly +respectable; there are colonels there, and there’s positively one +general who wants to get into it. If you went into it with all your +money, you would find peace, comfort, servants to wait on you. There you +could occupy yourself with study, and could always make up a party for +cards.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Passons.”</i> +</p> +<p> +<i>“Passons?”</i> Varvara Petrovna winced. “But, if so, that’s all. You’ve been +informed that we shall live henceforward entirely apart.” +</p> +<p> +“And that’s all?” he said. “All that’s left of twenty years? Our last +farewell?” +</p> +<p> +“You’re awfully fond of these exclamations, Stepan Trofimovitch. It’s +not at all the fashion. Nowadays people talk roughly but simply. You +keep harping on our twenty years! Twenty years of mutual vanity, and +nothing more. Every letter you’ve written me was written not for me but +for posterity. You’re a stylist, and not a friend, and friendship is +only a splendid word. In reality—a mutual exchange of sloppiness.…” +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens! How many sayings not your own! Lessons learned by heart! +They’ve already put their uniform on you too. You, too, are rejoicing; +you, too, are basking in the sunshine. <i>Chère, chère,</i> for what a mess of +pottage you have sold them your freedom!” +</p> +<p> +“I’m not a parrot, to repeat other people’s phrases!” cried Varvara +Petrovna, boiling over. “You may be sure I have stored up many sayings +of my own. What have you been doing for me all these twenty years? You +refused me even the books I ordered for you, though, except for the +binder, they would have remained uncut. What did you give me to read +when I asked you during those first years to be my guide? Always Kapfig, +and nothing but Kapfig. You were jealous of my culture even, and took +measures. And all the while every one’s laughing at you. I must confess +I always considered you only as a critic. You are a literary critic and +nothing more. When on the way to Petersburg I told you that I meant +to found a journal and to devote my whole life to it, you looked at me +ironically at once, and suddenly became horribly supercilious.” +</p> +<p> +“That was not that, not that.… we were afraid then of +persecution.…” +</p> +<p> +“It was just that. And you couldn’t have been afraid of persecution in +Petersburg at that time. Do you remember that in February, too, when the +news of the emancipation came, you ran to me in a panic, and demanded +that I should at once give you a written statement that the proposed +magazine had nothing to do with you; that the young people had been +coming to see me and not you; that you were only a tutor who lived in +the house, only because he had not yet received his salary. Isn’t that +so? Do remember that? You have distinguished yourself all your life, +Stepan Trofimovitch.” +</p> +<p> +“That was only a moment of weakness, a moment when we were alone,” he +exclaimed mournfully. “But is it possible, is it possible, to break +off everything for the sake of such petty impressions? Can it be that +nothing more has been left between us after those long years?” +</p> +<p> +“You are horribly calculating; you keep trying to leave me in your debt. +When you came back from abroad you looked down upon me and wouldn’t +let me utter a word, but when I came back myself and talked to you +afterwards of my impressions of the Madonna, you wouldn’t hear me, +you began smiling condescendingly into your cravat, as though I were +incapable of the same feelings as you.” +</p> +<p> +“It was not so. It was probably not so. <i>J’ai oublié!</i>” +</p> +<p> +“No; it was so,” she answered, “and, what’s more, you’ve nothing to +pride yourself on. That’s all nonsense, and one of your fancies. Now, +there’s no one, absolutely no one, in ecstasies over the Madonna; no +one wastes time over it except old men who are hopelessly out of date. +That’s established.” +</p> +<p> +“Established, is it?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s of no use whatever. This jug’s of use because one can pour water +into it. This pencil’s of use because you can write anything with it. +But that woman’s face is inferior to any face in nature. Try drawing +an apple, and put a real apple beside it. Which would you take? You +wouldn’t make a mistake, I’m sure. This is what all our theories amount +to, now that the first light of free investigation has dawned upon +them.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, indeed.” +</p> +<p> +“You laugh ironically. And what used you to say to me about charity? +Yet the enjoyment derived from charity is a haughty and immoral +enjoyment. The rich man’s enjoyment in his wealth, his power, and in the +comparison of his importance with the poor. Charity corrupts giver and +taker alike; and, what’s more, does not attain its object, as it +only increases poverty. Fathers who don’t want to work crowd round the +charitable like gamblers round the gambling-table, hoping for gain, +while the pitiful farthings that are flung them are a hundred times too +little. Have you given away much in your life? Less than a rouble, if +you try and think. Try to remember when last you gave away anything; +it’ll be two years ago, maybe four. You make an outcry and only hinder +things. Charity ought to be forbidden by law, even in the present state +of society. In the new regime there will be no poor at all.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, what an eruption of borrowed phrases! So it’s come to the new +regime already? Unhappy woman, God help you!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; it has, Stepan Trofimovitch. You carefully concealed all these new +ideas from me, though every one’s familiar with them nowadays. And you +did it simply out of jealousy, so as to have power over me. So that now +even that Yulia is a hundred miles ahead of me. But now my eyes have +been opened. I have defended you, Stepan Trofimovitch, all I could, but +there is no one who does not blame you.” +</p> +<p> +“Enough!” said he, getting up from his seat. “Enough! And what can I +wish you now, unless it’s repentance?” +</p> +<p> +“Sit still a minute, Stepan Trofimovitch. I have another question to ask +you. You’ve been told of the invitation to read at the literary matinée. +It was arranged through me. Tell me what you’re going to read?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, about that very Queen of Queens, that ideal of humanity, the +Sistine Madonna, who to your thinking is inferior to a glass or a +pencil.” +</p> +<p> +“So you’re not taking something historical?’” said Varvara Petrovna +in mournful surprise. “But they won’t listen to you. You’ve got that +Madonna on your brain. You seem bent on putting every one to sleep! Let +me assure you, Stepan Trofimovitch, I am speaking entirely in your own +interest. It would be a different matter if you would take some short +but interesting story of mediæval court life from Spanish history, or, +better still, some anecdote, and pad it out with other anecdotes and +witty phrases of your own. There were magnificent courts then; ladies, +you know, poisonings. Karmazinov says it would be strange if you +couldn’t read something interesting from Spanish history.” +</p> +<p> +“Karmazinov—that fool who has written himself out—looking for a +subject for me!” +</p> +<p> +“Karmazinov, that almost imperial intellect. You are too free in your +language, Stepan Trofimovitch.” +</p> +<p> +“Your Karmazinov is a spiteful old woman whose day is over. <i>Chère, +chère,</i> how long have you been so enslaved by them? Oh God!” +</p> +<p> +“I can’t endure him even now for the airs he gives himself. But I do +justice to his intellect. I repeat, I have done my best to defend you +as far as I could. And why do you insist on being absurd and tedious? +On the contrary, come on to the platform with a dignified smile as +the representative of the last generation, and tell them two or three +anecdotes in your witty way, as only you can tell things sometimes. +Though you may be an old man now, though you may belong to a past age, +though you may have dropped behind them, in fact, yet you’ll recognise +it yourself, with a smile, in your preface, and all will see that you’re +an amiable, good-natured, witty relic … in brief, a man of the old +savour, and so far advanced as to be capable of appreciating at their +value all the absurdities of certain ideas which you have hitherto +followed. Come, as a favour to me, I beg you.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Chère,</i> enough. Don’t ask me. I can’t. I shall speak of the Madonna, +but I shall raise a storm that will either crush them all or shatter me +alone.” +</p> +<p> +“It will certainly be you alone, Stepan Trofimovitch.” +</p> +<p> +“Such is my fate. I will speak of the contemptible slave, of the +stinking, depraved flunkey who will first climb a ladder with scissors +in his hands, and slash to pieces the divine image of the great ideal, +in the name of equality, envy, and … digestion. Let my curse thunder +out upon them, and then—then …” +</p> +<p> +“The madhouse?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps. But in any case, whether I shall be left vanquished or +victorious, that very evening I shall take my bag, my beggar’s bag. +I shall leave all my goods and chattels, all your presents, all your +pensions and promises of future benefits, and go forth on foot to end my +life a tutor in a merchant’s family or to die somewhere of hunger in a +ditch. I have said it. <i>Alea jacta est.</i>” He got up again. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve been convinced for years,” said Varvara Petrovna, getting up with +flashing eyes, “that your only object in life is to put me and my house +to shame by your calumnies! What do you mean by being a tutor in a +merchant’s family or dying in a ditch? It’s spite, calumny, and nothing +more.” +</p> +<p> +“You have always despised me. But I will end like a knight, faithful to +my lady. Your good opinion has always been dearer to me than +anything. From this moment I will take nothing, but will worship you +disinterestedly.” +</p> +<p> +“How stupid that is!” +</p> +<p> +“You have never respected me. I may have had a mass of weaknesses. Yes, +I have sponged on you. I speak the language of nihilism, but sponging +has never been the guiding motive of my action. It has happened so +of itself. I don’t know how.… I always imagined there was something +higher than meat and drink between us, and—I’ve never, never been a +scoundrel! And so, to take the open road, to set things right. I set +off late, late autumn out of doors, the mist lies over the fields, the +hoarfrost of old age covers the road before me, and the wind howls about +the approaching grave.… But so forward, forward, on my new way +</p> +<pre> + ‘Filled with purest love and fervour, + Faith which my sweet dream did yield.’ +</pre> +<p> +Oh, my dreams. Farewell. Twenty years. <i>Alea jacta est!</i>” +</p> +<p> +His face was wet with a sudden gush of tears. He took his hat. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t understand Latin,” said Varvara Petrovna, doing her best to +control herself. +</p> +<p> +Who knows, perhaps, she too felt like crying. But caprice and +indignation once more got the upper hand. +</p> +<p> +“I know only one thing, that all this is childish nonsense. You will +never be capable of carrying out your threats, which are a mass of +egoism. You will set off nowhere, to no merchant; you’ll end very +peaceably on my hands, taking your pension, and receiving your utterly +impossible friends on Tuesdays. Good-bye, Stepan Trofimovitch.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Alea jacta est!”</i> He made her a deep bow, and returned home, almost +dead with emotion. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0011"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER VI. PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +The date of the fête was definitely fixed, and Von Lembke became more +and more depressed. He was full of strange and sinister forebodings, +and this made Yulia Mihailovna seriously uneasy. Indeed, things were not +altogether satisfactory. Our mild governor had left the affairs of the +province a little out of gear; at the moment we were threatened with +cholera; serious outbreaks of cattle plague had appeared in several +places; fires were prevalent that summer in towns and villages; whilst +among the peasantry foolish rumours of incendiarism grew stronger and +stronger. Cases of robbery were twice as numerous as usual. But all +this, of course, would have been perfectly ordinary had there been +no other and more weighty reasons to disturb the equanimity of Andrey +Antonovitch, who had till then been in good spirits. +</p> +<p> +What struck Yulia Mihailovna most of all was that he became more silent +and, strange to say, more secretive every day. Yet it was hard to +imagine what he had to hide. It is true that he rarely opposed her and +as a rule followed her lead without question. At her instigation, for +instance, two or three regulations of a risky and hardly legal character +were introduced with the object of strengthening the authority of the +governor. There were several ominous instances of transgressions being +condoned with the same end in view; persons who deserved to be sent to +prison and Siberia were, solely because she insisted, recommended +for promotion. Certain complaints and inquiries were deliberately and +systematically ignored. All this came out later on. Not only did Lembke +sign everything, but he did not even go into the question of the share +taken by his wife in the execution of his duties. On the other hand, he +began at times to be restive about “the most trifling matters,” to the +surprise of Yulia Mihailovna. No doubt he felt the need to make up for +the days of suppression by brief moments of mutiny. Unluckily, +Yulia Mihailovna was unable, for all her insight, to understand this +honourable punctiliousness in an honourable character. Alas, she had +no thought to spare for that, and that was the source of many +misunderstandings. +</p> +<p> +There are some things of which it is not suitable for me to write, and +indeed I am not in a position to do so. It is not my business to discuss +the blunders of administration either, and I prefer to leave out this +administrative aspect of the subject altogether. In the chronicle I have +begun I’ve set before myself a different task. Moreover a great deal +will be brought to light by the Commission of Inquiry which has just +been appointed for our province; it’s only a matter of waiting a little. +Certain explanations, however, cannot be omitted. +</p> +<p> +But to return to Yulia Mihailovna. The poor lady (I feel very sorry for +her) might have attained all that attracted and allured her (renown and +so on) without any such violent and eccentric actions as she resolved +upon at the very first step. But either from an exaggerated passion for +the romantic or from the frequently blighted hopes of her youth, she +felt suddenly, at the change of her fortunes, that she had become one of +the specially elect, almost God’s anointed, “over whom there gleamed a +burning tongue of fire,” and this tongue of flame was the root of the +mischief, for, after all, it is not like a chignon, which will fit any +woman’s head. But there is nothing of which it is more difficult to +convince a woman than of this; on the contrary, anyone who cares to +encourage the delusion in her will always be sure to meet with success. +And people vied with one another in encouraging the delusion in Yulia +Mihailovna. The poor woman became at once the sport of conflicting +influences, while fully persuaded of her own originality. Many clever +people feathered their nests and took advantage of her simplicity during +the brief period of her rule in the province. And what a jumble there +was under this assumption of independence! She was fascinated at the +same time by the aristocratic element and the system of big landed +properties and the increase of the governor’s power, and the democratic +element, and the new reforms and discipline, and free-thinking and stray +Socialistic notions, and the correct tone of the aristocratic salon and +the free-and-easy, almost pot-house, manners of the young people that +surrounded her. She dreamed of “giving happiness” and reconciling +the irreconcilable, or, rather, of uniting all and everything in +the adoration of her own person. She had favourites too; she was +particularly fond of Pyotr Stepanovitch, who had recourse at times to +the grossest flattery in dealing with her. But she was attracted by him +for another reason, an amazing one, and most characteristic of the +poor lady: she was always hoping that he would reveal to her a regular +conspiracy against the government. Difficult as it is to imagine such +a thing, it really was the case. She fancied for some reason that there +must be a nihilist plot concealed in the province. By his silence at one +time and his hints at another Pyotr Stepanovitch did much to strengthen +this strange idea in her. She imagined that he was in communication with +every revolutionary element in Russia but at the same time passionately +devoted to her. To discover the plot, to receive the gratitude of the +government, to enter on a brilliant career, to influence the young “by +kindness,” and to restrain them from extremes—all these dreams existed +side by side in her fantastic brain. She had saved Pyotr Stepanovitch, +she had conquered him (of this she was for some reason firmly +convinced); she would save others. None, none of them should perish, +she should save them all; she would pick them out; she would send in +the right report of them; she would act in the interests of the loftiest +justice, and perhaps posterity and Russian liberalism would bless her +name; yet the conspiracy would be discovered. Every advantage at once. +</p> +<p> +Still it was essential that Andrey Antonovitch should be in rather +better spirits before the festival. He must be cheered up and reassured. +For this purpose she sent Pyotr Stepanovitch to him in the hope that he +would relieve his depression by some means of consolation best known +to himself, perhaps by giving him some information, so to speak, first +hand. She put implicit faith in his dexterity. +</p> +<p> +It was some time since Pyotr Stepanovitch had been in Mr. von Lembke’s +study. He popped in on him just when the sufferer was in a most stubborn +mood. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +A combination of circumstances had arisen which Mr. von Lembke was quite +unable to deal with. In the very district where Pyotr Stepanovitch had +been having a festive time a sub-lieutenant had been called up to be +censured by his immediate superior, and the reproof was given in the +presence of the whole company. The sub-lieutenant was a young man fresh +from Petersburg, always silent and morose, of dignified appearance +though small, stout, and rosy-cheeked. He resented the reprimand and +suddenly, with a startling shriek that astonished the whole company, +he charged at his superior officer with his head bent down like a wild +beast’s, struck him, and bit him on the shoulder with all his might; +they had difficulty in getting him off. There was no doubt that he had +gone out of his mind; anyway, it became known that of late he had been +observed performing incredibly strange actions. He had, for instance, +flung two ikons belonging to his landlady out of his lodgings and +smashed up one of them with an axe; in his own room he had, on three +stands resembling lecterns, laid out the works of Vogt, Moleschott, and +Buchner, and before each lectern he used to burn a church wax-candle. +From the number of books found in his rooms it could be gathered that +he was a well-read man. If he had had fifty thousand francs he would +perhaps have sailed to the island of Marquisas like the “cadet” to whom +Herzen alludes with such sprightly humour in one of his writings. When +he was seized, whole bundles of the most desperate manifestoes were +found in his pockets and his lodgings. +</p> +<p> +Manifestoes are a trivial matter too, and to my thinking not worth +troubling about. We have seen plenty of them. Besides, they were not +new manifestoes; they were, it was said later, just the same as had been +circulated in the X province, and Liputin, who had travelled in that +district and the neighbouring province six weeks previously, declared +that he had seen exactly the same leaflets there then. But what struck +Andrey Antonovitch most was that the overseer of Shpigulin’s factory had +brought the police just at the same time two or three packets of exactly +the same leaflets as had been found on the lieutenant. The bundles, +which had been dropped in the factory in the night, had not been opened, +and none of the factory-hands had had time to read one of them. The +incident was a trivial one, but it set Andrey Antonovitch pondering +deeply. The position presented itself to him in an unpleasantly +complicated light. +</p> +<p> +In this factory the famous “Shpigulin scandal” was just then brewing, +which made so much talk among us and got into the Petersburg and Moscow +papers with all sorts of variations. Three weeks previously one of the +hands had fallen ill and died of Asiatic cholera; then several others +were stricken down. The whole town was in a panic, for the cholera was +coming nearer and nearer and had reached the neighbouring province. +I may observe that satisfactory sanitary measures had been, so far as +possible, taken to meet the unexpected guest. But the factory belonging +to the Shpigulins, who were millionaires and well-connected people, had +somehow been overlooked. And there was a sudden outcry from every one +that this factory was the hot-bed of infection, that the factory +itself, and especially the quarters inhabited by the workpeople, were +so inveterately filthy that even if cholera had not been in the +neighbourhood there might well have been an outbreak there. Steps were +immediately taken, of course, and Andrey Antonovitch vigorously insisted +on their being carried out without delay within three weeks. The factory +was cleansed, but the Shpigulins, for some unknown reason, closed it. +One of the Shpigulin brothers always lived in Petersburg and the other +went away to Moscow when the order was given for cleansing the factory. +The overseer proceeded to pay off the workpeople and, as it appeared, +cheated them shamelessly. The hands began to complain among themselves, +asking to be paid fairly, and foolishly went to the police, though +without much disturbance, for they were not so very much excited. It +was just at this moment that the manifestoes were brought to Andrey +Antonovitch by the overseer. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch popped into the study unannounced, like an intimate +friend and one of the family; besides, he had a message from Yulia +Mihailovna. Seeing him, Lembke frowned grimly and stood still at the +table without welcoming him. Till that moment he had been pacing up and +down the study and had been discussing something <i>tête-à-tête</i> with his +clerk Blum, a very clumsy and surly German whom he had brought with him +from Petersburg, in spite of the violent opposition of Yulia Mihailovna. +On Pyotr Stepanovitch’s entrance the clerk had moved to the door, but +had not gone out. Pyotr Stepanovitch even fancied that he exchanged +significant glances with his chief. +</p> +<p> +“Aha, I’ve caught you at last, you secretive monarch of the town!” Pyotr +Stepanovitch cried out laughing, and laid his hand over the manifesto on +the table. “This increases your collection, eh?” +</p> +<p> +Andrey Antonovitch flushed crimson; his face seemed to twitch. +</p> +<p> +“Leave off, leave off at once!” he cried, trembling with rage. “And +don’t you dare … sir …” +</p> +<p> +“What’s the matter with you? You seem to be angry!” +</p> +<p> +“Allow me to inform you, sir, that I’ve no intention of putting up with +your <i>sans façon</i> henceforward, and I beg you to remember …” +</p> +<p> +“Why, damn it all, he is in earnest!” +</p> +<p> +“Hold your tongue, hold your tongue”—Von Lembke stamped on the +carpet—“and don’t dare …” +</p> +<p> +God knows what it might have come to. Alas, there was one circumstance +involved in the matter of which neither Pyotr Stepanovitch nor even +Yulia Mihailovna herself had any idea. The luckless Andrey Antonovitch +had been so greatly upset during the last few days that he had begun +to be secretly jealous of his wife and Pyotr Stepanovitch. In solitude, +especially at night, he spent some very disagreeable moments. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I imagined that if a man reads you his novel two days running +till after midnight and wants to hear your opinion of it, he has of his +own act discarded official relations, anyway.… Yulia Mihailovna treats +me as a friend; there’s no making you out,” Pyotr Stepanovitch brought +out, with a certain dignity indeed. “Here is your novel, by the way.” He +laid on the table a large heavy manuscript rolled up in blue paper. +</p> +<p> +Lembke turned red and looked embarrassed. +</p> +<p> +“Where did you find it?” he asked discreetly, with a rush of joy which +he was unable to suppress, though he did his utmost to conceal it. +</p> +<p> +“Only fancy, done up like this, it rolled under the chest of drawers. I +must have thrown it down carelessly on the chest when I went out. It was +only found the day before yesterday, when the floor was scrubbed. You +did set me a task, though!” +</p> +<p> +Lembke dropped his eyes sternly. +</p> +<p> +“I haven’t slept for the last two nights, thanks to you. It was found +the day before yesterday, but I kept it, and have been reading it ever +since. I’ve no time in the day, so I’ve read it at night. Well, I don’t +like it; it’s not my way of looking at things. But that’s no matter; +I’ve never set up for being a critic, but I couldn’t tear myself away +from it, my dear man, though I didn’t like it! The fourth and fifth +chapters are … they really are … damn it all, they are beyond words! +And what a lot of humour you’ve packed into it; it made me laugh! How +you can make fun of things <i>sans que cela paraisse!</i> As for the ninth +and tenth chapters, it’s all about love; that’s not my line, but it’s +effective though. I was nearly blubbering over Egrenev’s letter, though +you’ve shown him up so cleverly.… You know, it’s touching, though at +the same time you want to show the false side of him, as it were, don’t +you? Have I guessed right? But I could simply beat you for the ending. +For what are you setting up? Why, the same old idol of domestic +happiness, begetting children and making money; ‘they were married and +lived happy ever afterwards’—come, it’s too much! You will enchant your +readers, for even I couldn’t put the book down; but that makes it all +the worse! The reading public is as stupid as ever, but it’s the duty +of sensible people to wake them up, while you … But that’s enough. +Good-bye. Don’t be cross another time; I came in to you because I had a +couple of words to say to you, but you are so unaccountable …” +</p> +<p> +Andrey Antonovitch meantime took his novel and locked it up in an oak +bookcase, seizing the opportunity to wink to Blum to disappear. The +latter withdrew with a long, mournful face. +</p> +<p> +“I am not unaccountable, I am simply … nothing but annoyances,” he +muttered, frowning but without anger, and sitting down to the table. +“Sit down and say what you have to say. It’s a long time since I’ve seen +you, Pyotr Stepanovitch, only don’t burst upon me in the future with +such manners … sometimes, when one has business, it’s …” +</p> +<p> +“My manners are always the same.…” +</p> +<p> +“I know, and I believe that you mean nothing by it, but sometimes one is +worried.… Sit down.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch immediately lolled back on the sofa and drew his legs +under him. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +“What sort of worries? Surely not these trifles?” He nodded towards the +manifesto. “I can bring you as many of them as you like; I made their +acquaintance in X province.” +</p> +<p> +“You mean at the time you were staying there?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, it was not in my absence. I remember there was a hatchet +printed at the top of it. Allow me.” (He took up the manifesto.) “Yes, +there’s the hatchet here too; that’s it, the very same.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, here’s a hatchet. You see, a hatchet.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, is it the hatchet that scares you?” +</p> +<p> +“No, it’s not … and I am not scared; but this business … it is a +business; there are circumstances.” +</p> +<p> +“What sort? That it’s come from the factory? He he! But do you know, +at that factory the workpeople will soon be writing manifestoes for +themselves.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” Von Lembke stared at him severely. +</p> +<p> +“What I say. You’ve only to look at them. You are too soft, Andrey +Antonovitch; you write novels. But this has to be handled in the good +old way.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by the good old way? What do you mean by advising me? +The factory has been cleaned; I gave the order and they’ve cleaned it.” +</p> +<p> +“And the workmen are in rebellion. They ought to be flogged, every one +of them; that would be the end of it.” +</p> +<p> +“In rebellion? That’s nonsense; I gave the order and they’ve cleaned +it.” +</p> +<p> +“Ech, you are soft, Andrey Antonovitch!” +</p> +<p> +“In the first place, I am not so soft as you think, and in the second +place …” Von Lembke was piqued again. He had exerted himself to keep +up the conversation with the young man from curiosity, wondering if he +would tell him anything new. +</p> +<p> +“Ha ha, an old acquaintance again,” Pyotr Stepanovitch interrupted, +pouncing on another document that lay under a paper-weight, something +like a manifesto, obviously printed abroad and in verse. “Oh, come, I +know this one by heart, ‘A Noble Personality.’ Let me have a look at +it—yes, ‘A Noble Personality’ it is. I made acquaintance with that +personality abroad. Where did you unearth it?” +</p> +<p> +“You say you’ve seen it abroad?” Von Lembke said eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“I should think so, four months ago, or may be five.” +</p> +<p> +“You seem to have seen a great deal abroad.” Von Lembke looked at him +subtly. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch, not heeding him, unfolded the document and read the +poem aloud: +</p> +<p class="centered"> +“A NOBLE PERSONALITY +</p> +<pre> + “He was not of rank exalted, + He was not of noble birth, + He was bred among the people + In the breast of Mother Earth. + But the malice of the nobles + And the Tsar’s revengeful wrath + Drove him forth to grief and torture + On the martyr’s chosen path. + He set out to teach the people + Freedom, love, equality, + To exhort them to resistance; + But to flee the penalty + Of the prison, whip and gallows, + To a foreign land he went. + While the people waited hoping + From Smolensk to far Tashkent, + Waited eager for his coming + To rebel against their fate, + To arise and crush the Tsardom + And the nobles’ vicious hate, + To share all the wealth in common, + And the antiquated thrall + Of the church, the home and marriage + To abolish once for all.” +</pre> +<p> +“You got it from that officer, I suppose, eh?” asked Pyotr Stepanovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Why, do you know that officer, then, too?” +</p> +<p> +“I should think so. I had a gay time with him there for two days; he was +bound to go out of his mind.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps he did not go out of his mind.” +</p> +<p> +“You think he didn’t because he began to bite?” +</p> +<p> +“But, excuse me, if you saw those verses abroad and then, it appears, at +that officer’s …” +</p> +<p> +“What, puzzling, is it? You are putting me through an examination, +Andrey Antonovitch, I see. You see,” he began suddenly with +extraordinary dignity, “as to what I saw abroad I have already given +explanations, and my explanations were found satisfactory, otherwise I +should not have been gratifying this town with my presence. I consider +that the question as regards me has been settled, and I am not obliged +to give any further account of myself, not because I am an informer, but +because I could not help acting as I did. The people who wrote to Yulia +Mihailovna about me knew what they were talking about, and they said I +was an honest man.… But that’s neither here nor there; I’ve come +to see you about a serious matter, and it’s as well you’ve sent +your chimney-sweep away. It’s a matter of importance to me, Andrey +Antonovitch. I shall have a very great favour to ask of you.” +</p> +<p> +“A favour? H’m … by all means; I am waiting and, I confess, with +curiosity. And I must add, Pyotr Stepanovitch, that you surprise me not +a little.” +</p> +<p> +Von Lembke was in some agitation. Pyotr Stepanovitch crossed his legs. +</p> +<p> +“In Petersburg,” he began, “I talked freely of most things, but there +were things—this, for instance” (he tapped the “Noble Personality” with +his finger) “about which I held my tongue—in the first place, because +it wasn’t worth talking about, and secondly, because I only answered +questions. I don’t care to put myself forward in such matters; in that +I see the distinction between a rogue and an honest man forced by +circumstances. Well, in short, we’ll dismiss that. But now … now that +these fools … now that this has come to the surface and is in your +hands, and I see that you’ll find out all about it—for you are a man +with eyes and one can’t tell beforehand what you’ll do—and these fools +are still going on, I … I … well, the fact is, I’ve come to ask you +to save one man, a fool too, most likely mad, for the sake of his youth, +his misfortunes, in the name of your humanity.… You can’t be so humane +only in the novels you manufacture!” he said, breaking off with coarse +sarcasm and impatience. +</p> +<p> +In fact, he was seen to be a straightforward man, awkward and +impolitic from excess of humane feeling and perhaps from excessive +sensitiveness—above all, a man of limited intelligence, as Von Lembke +saw at once with extraordinary subtlety. He had indeed long suspected +it, especially when during the previous week he had, sitting alone +in his study at night, secretly cursed him with all his heart for the +inexplicable way in which he had gained Yulia Mihailovna’s good graces. +</p> +<p> +“For whom are you interceding, and what does all this mean?” he inquired +majestically, trying to conceal his curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“It … it’s … damn it! It’s not my fault that I trust you! Is it +my fault that I look upon you as a most honourable and, above all, a +sensible man … capable, that is, of understanding … damn …” +</p> +<p> +The poor fellow evidently could not master his emotion. +</p> +<p> +“You must understand at last,” he went on, “you must understand that in +pronouncing his name I am betraying him to you—I am betraying him, am I +not? I am, am I not?” +</p> +<p> +“But how am I to guess if you don’t make up your mind to speak out?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s just it; you always cut the ground from under one’s feet with +your logic, damn it.… Well, here goes … this ‘noble personality,’ +this ‘student’ … is Shatov … that’s all.” +</p> +<p> +“Shatov? How do you mean it’s Shatov?” +</p> +<p> +“Shatov is the ‘student’ who is mentioned in this. He lives here, he was +once a serf, the man who gave that slap.…” +</p> +<p> +“I know, I know.” Lembke screwed up his eyes. “But excuse me, what is he +accused of? Precisely and, above all, what is your petition?” +</p> +<p> +“I beg you to save him, do you understand? I used to know him +eight years ago, I might almost say I was his friend,” cried Pyotr +Stepanovitch, completely carried away. “But I am not bound to give you +an account of my past life,” he added, with a gesture of dismissal. “All +this is of no consequence; it’s the case of three men and a half, and +with those that are abroad you can’t make up a dozen. But what I +am building upon is your humanity and your intelligence. You will +understand and you will put the matter in its true light, as the foolish +dream of a man driven crazy … by misfortunes, by continued misfortunes, +and not as some impossible political plot or God knows what!” +</p> +<p> +He was almost gasping for breath. +</p> +<p> +“H’m. I see that he is responsible for the manifestoes with the axe,” +Lembke concluded almost majestically. “Excuse me, though, if he were the +only person concerned, how could he have distributed it both here and +in other districts and in the X province … and, above all, where did he +get them?” +</p> +<p> +“But I tell you that at the utmost there are not more than five people +in it—a dozen perhaps. How can I tell?” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t know?” +</p> +<p> +“How should I know?—damn it all.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, you knew that Shatov was one of the conspirators.” +</p> +<p> +“Ech!” Pyotr Stepanovitch waved his hand as though to keep off the +overwhelming penetration of the inquirer. “Well, listen. I’ll tell you +the whole truth: of the manifestoes I know nothing—that is, absolutely +nothing. Damn it all, don’t you know what nothing means?… That +sub-lieutenant, to be sure, and somebody else and someone else here … +and Shatov perhaps and someone else too—well, that’s the lot of +them … a wretched lot.… But I’ve come to intercede for Shatov. He +must be saved, for this poem is his, his own composition, and it was +through him it was published abroad; that I know for a fact, but of the +manifestoes I really know nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“If the poem is his work, no doubt the manifestoes are too. But what +data have you for suspecting Mr. Shatov?” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch, with the air of a man driven out of all patience, +pulled a pocket-book out of his pocket and took a note out of it. +</p> +<p> +“Here are the facts,” he cried, flinging it on the table. +</p> +<p> +Lembke unfolded it; it turned out to be a note written six months before +from here to some address abroad. It was a brief note, only two lines: +</p> +<p> +“I can’t print ‘A Noble Personality’ here, and in fact I can do nothing; +print it abroad. +</p> +<p> +“Iv. Shatov.” +</p> +<p> +Lembke looked intently at Pyotr Stepanovitch. Varvara Petrovna had been +right in saying that he had at times the expression of a sheep. +</p> +<p> +“You see, it’s like this,” Pyotr Stepanovitch burst out. “He wrote this +poem here six months ago, but he couldn’t get it printed here, in a +secret printing press, and so he asks to have it printed abroad.… That +seems clear.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that’s clear, but to whom did he write? That’s not clear yet,” +Lembke observed with the most subtle irony. +</p> +<p> +“Why, Kirillov, of course; the letter was written to Kirillov +abroad.… Surely you knew that? What’s so annoying is that perhaps you +are only putting it on before me, and most likely you knew all about +this poem and everything long ago! How did it come to be on your table? +It found its way there somehow! Why are you torturing me, if so?” +</p> +<p> +He feverishly mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. +</p> +<p> +“I know something, perhaps.” Lembke parried dexterously. “But who is +this Kirillov?” +</p> +<p> +“An engineer who has lately come to the town. He was Stavrogin’s second, +a maniac, a madman; your sub-lieutenant may really only be +suffering from temporary delirium, but Kirillov is a thoroughgoing +madman—thoroughgoing, that I guarantee. Ah, Andrey Antonovitch, if the +government only knew what sort of people these conspirators all are, +they wouldn’t have the heart to lay a finger on them. Every single +one of them ought to be in an asylum; I had a good look at them in +Switzerland and at the congresses.” +</p> +<p> +“From which they direct the movement here?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, who directs it? Three men and a half. It makes one sick to think +of them. And what sort of movement is there here? Manifestoes! And what +recruits have they made? Sub-lieutenants in brain fever and two or three +students! You are a sensible man: answer this question. Why don’t +people of consequence join their ranks? Why are they all students and +half-baked boys of twenty-two? And not many of those. I dare say there +are thousands of bloodhounds on their track, but have they tracked out +many of them? Seven! I tell you it makes one sick.” +</p> +<p> +Lembke listened with attention but with an expression that seemed to +say, “You don’t feed nightingales on fairy-tales.” +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me, though. You asserted that the letter was sent abroad, but +there’s no address on it; how do you come to know that it was addressed +to Mr. Kirillov and abroad too and … and … that it really was written +by Mr. Shatov?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, fetch some specimen of Shatov’s writing and compare it. You must +have some signature of his in your office. As for its being addressed to +Kirillov, it was Kirillov himself showed it me at the time.” +</p> +<p> +“Then you were yourself …” +</p> +<p> +“Of course I was, myself. They showed me lots of things out there. And +as for this poem, they say it was written by Herzen to Shatov when he +was still wandering abroad, in memory of their meeting, so they say, by +way of praise and recommendation—damn it all … and Shatov circulates +it among the young people as much as to say, ‘This was Herzen’s opinion +of me.’” +</p> +<p> +“Ha ha!” cried Lembke, feeling he had got to the bottom of it at last. +“That’s just what I was wondering: one can understand the manifesto, but +what’s the object of the poem?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course you’d see it. Goodness knows why I’ve been babbling to you. +Listen. Spare Shatov for me and the rest may go to the devil—even +Kirillov, who is in hiding now, shut up in Filipov’s house, where Shatov +lodges too. They don’t like me because I’ve turned round … but promise +me Shatov and I’ll dish them all up for you. I shall be of use, Andrey +Antonovitch! I reckon nine or ten men make up the whole wretched lot. I +am keeping an eye on them myself, on my own account. We know of three +already: Shatov, Kirillov, and that sub-lieutenant. The others I am only +watching carefully … though I am pretty sharp-sighted too. It’s the +same over again as it was in the X province: two students, a schoolboy, +two noblemen of twenty, a teacher, and a half-pay major of sixty, crazy +with drink, have been caught with manifestoes; that was all—you can +take my word for it, that was all; it was quite a surprise that that +was all. But I must have six days. I have reckoned it out—six days, not +less. If you want to arrive at any result, don’t disturb them for six +days and I can kill all the birds with one stone for you; but if you +flutter them before, the birds will fly away. But spare me Shatov. I +speak for Shatov.… The best plan would be to fetch him here secretly, +in a friendly way, to your study and question him without disguising +the facts.… I have no doubt he’ll throw himself at your feet and burst +into tears! He is a highly strung and unfortunate fellow; his wife +is carrying on with Stavrogin. Be kind to him and he will tell you +everything, but I must have six days.… And, above all, above all, not +a word to Yulia Mihailovna. It’s a secret. May it be a secret?” +</p> +<p> +“What?” cried Lembke, opening wide his eyes. “Do you mean to say you +said nothing of this to Yulia Mihailovna?” +</p> +<p> +“To her? Heaven forbid! Ech, Andrey Antonovitch! You see, I value her +friendship and I have the highest respect for her … and all the rest of +it … but I couldn’t make such a blunder. I don’t contradict her, for, +as you know yourself, it’s dangerous to contradict her. I may have +dropped a word to her, for I know she likes that, but to suppose that +I mentioned names to her as I have to you or anything of that sort! My +good sir! Why am I appealing to you? Because you are a man, anyway, +a serious person with old-fashioned firmness and experience in the +service. You’ve seen life. You must know by heart every detail of such +affairs, I expect, from what you’ve seen in Petersburg. But if I were +to mention those two names, for instance, to her, she’d stir up such a +hubbub.… You know, she would like to astonish Petersburg. No, she’s +too hot-headed, she really is.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, she has something of that <i>fougue,</i>” Andrey Antonovitch muttered +with some satisfaction, though at the same time he resented this +unmannerly fellow’s daring to express himself rather freely about Yulia +Mihailovna. But Pyotr Stepanovitch probably imagined that he had not +gone far enough and that he must exert himself further to flatter Lembke +and make a complete conquest of him. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Fougue</i> is just it,” he assented. “She may be a woman of genius, a +literary woman, but she would scare our sparrows. She wouldn’t be +able to keep quiet for six hours, let alone six days. Ech, Andrey +Antonovitch, don’t attempt to tie a woman down for six days! You do +admit that I have some experience—in this sort of thing, I mean; I know +something about it, and you know that I may very well know something +about it. I am not asking for six days for fun but with an object.” +</p> +<p> +“I have heard …” (Lembke hesitated to utter his thought) “I have heard +that on your return from abroad you made some expression … as it were +of repentance, in the proper quarter?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s as it may be.” +</p> +<p> +“And, of course, I don’t want to go into it.… But it has seemed to +me all along that you’ve talked in quite a different style—about the +Christian faith, for instance, about social institutions, about the +government even.…” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve said lots of things, no doubt, I am saying them still; but such +ideas mustn’t be applied as those fools do it, that’s the point. What’s +the good of biting his superior’s shoulder! You agreed with me yourself, +only you said it was premature.” +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t mean that when I agreed and said it was premature.” +</p> +<p> +“You weigh every word you utter, though. He he! You are a careful man!” +Pyotr Stepanovitch observed gaily all of a sudden. “Listen, old friend. +I had to get to know you; that’s why I talked in my own style. You are +not the only one I get to know like that. Maybe I needed to find out +your character.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s my character to you?” +</p> +<p> +“How can I tell what it may be to me?” He laughed again. “You see, my +dear and highly respected Andrey Antonovitch, you are cunning, but +it’s not come to <i>that</i> yet and it certainly never will come to it, you +understand? Perhaps you do understand. Though I did make an explanation +in the proper quarter when I came back from abroad, and I really don’t +know why a man of certain convictions should not be able to work for +the advancement of his sincere convictions … but nobody <i>there</i> has yet +instructed me to investigate your character and I’ve not undertaken any +such job from <i>them.</i> Consider: I need not have given those two names to +you. I might have gone straight <i>there;</i> that is where I made my first +explanations. And if I’d been acting with a view to financial profit or +my own interest in any way, it would have been a bad speculation on my +part, for now they’ll be grateful to you and not to me at headquarters. +I’ve done it solely for Shatov’s sake,” Pyotr Stepanovitch added +generously, “for Shatov’s sake, because of our old friendship.… But +when you take up your pen to write to headquarters, you may put in +a word for me, if you like.… I’ll make no objection, he he! <i>Adieu,</i> +though; I’ve stayed too long and there was no need to gossip so much!” +he added with some amiability, and he got up from the sofa. +</p> +<p> +“On the contrary, I am very glad that the position has been defined, so +to speak.” Von Lembke too got up and he too looked pleasant, obviously +affected by the last words. “I accept your services and acknowledge +my obligation, and you may be sure that anything I can do by way of +reporting your zeal …” +</p> +<p> +“Six days—the great thing is to put it off for six days, and that you +shouldn’t stir for those six days, that’s what I want.” +</p> +<p> +“So be it.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, I don’t tie your hands and shouldn’t venture to. You are +bound to keep watch, only don’t flutter the nest too soon; I rely on +your sense and experience for that. But I should think you’ve plenty +of bloodhounds and trackers of your own in reserve, ha ha!” Pyotr +Stepanovitch blurted out with the gaiety and irresponsibility of youth. +</p> +<p> +“Not quite so.” Lembke parried amiably. “Young people are apt to suppose +that there is a great deal in the background.… But, by the way, allow +me one little word: if this Kirillov was Stavrogin’s second, then Mr. +Stavrogin too …” +</p> +<p> +“What about Stavrogin?” +</p> +<p> +“I mean, if they are such friends?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no, no, no! There you are quite out of it, though you are cunning. +You really surprise me. I thought that you had some information about +it.… H’m … Stavrogin—it’s quite the opposite, quite.… <i>Avis au +lecteur.”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Do you mean it? And can it be so?” Lembke articulated mistrustfully. +“Yulia Mihailovna told me that from what she heard from Petersburg he is +a man acting on some sort of instructions, so to speak.…” +</p> +<p> +“I know nothing about it; I know nothing, absolutely nothing. <i>Adieu. +Avis au lecteur!</i>” Abruptly and obviously Pyotr Stepanovitch declined to +discuss it. +</p> +<p> +He hurried to the door. +</p> +<p> +“Stay, Pyotr Stepanovitch, stay,” cried Lembke. “One other tiny matter +and I won’t detain you.” +</p> +<p> +He drew an envelope out of a table drawer. +</p> +<p> +“Here is a little specimen of the same kind of thing, and I let you see +it to show how completely I trust you. Here, and tell me your opinion.” +</p> +<p> +In the envelope was a letter, a strange anonymous letter addressed to +Lembke and only received by him the day before. With intense vexation +Pyotr Stepanovitch read as follows: +</p> +<p> +“Your excellency,—For such you are by rank. Herewith I make known that +there is an attempt to be made on the life of personages of general’s +rank and on the Fatherland. For it’s working up straight for that. +I myself have been disseminating unceasingly for a number of years. +There’s infidelity too. There’s a rebellion being got up and there are +some thousands of manifestoes, and for every one of them there will be +a hundred running with their tongues out, unless they’ve been taken +away beforehand by the police. For they’ve been promised a mighty lot of +benefits, and the simple people are foolish, and there’s vodka too. The +people will attack one after another, taking them to be guilty, and, +fearing both sides, I repent of what I had no share in, my circumstances +being what they are. If you want information to save the Fatherland, +and also the Church and the ikons, I am the only one that can do it. But +only on condition that I get a pardon from the Secret Police by telegram +at once, me alone, but the rest may answer for it. Put a candle every +evening at seven o’clock in the porter’s window for a signal. Seeing it, +I shall believe and come to kiss the merciful hand from Petersburg. But +on condition there’s a pension for me, for else how am I to live? You +won’t regret it for it will mean a star for you. You must go secretly +or they’ll wring your neck. Your excellency’s desperate servant falls at +your feet. +</p> +<p> +“Repentant free-thinker incognito.” +</p> +<p> +Von Lembke explained that the letter had made its appearance in the +porter’s room when it was left empty the day before. +</p> +<p> +“So what do you think?” Pyotr Stepanovitch asked almost rudely. +</p> +<p> +“I think it’s an anonymous skit by way of a hoax.” +</p> +<p> +“Most likely it is. There’s no taking you in.” +</p> +<p> +“What makes me think that is that it’s so stupid.” +</p> +<p> +“Have you received such documents here before?” +</p> +<p> +“Once or twice, anonymous letters.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, of course they wouldn’t be signed. In a different style? In +different handwritings?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“And were they buffoonery like this one?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and you know … very disgusting.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, if you had them before, it must be the same thing now.” +</p> +<p> +“Especially because it’s so stupid. Because these people are educated +and wouldn’t write so stupidly.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, of course.” +</p> +<p> +“But what if this is someone who really wants to turn informer?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s not very likely,” Pyotr Stepanovitch rapped out dryly. “What +does he mean by a telegram from the Secret Police and a pension? It’s +obviously a hoax.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes,” Lembke admitted, abashed. +</p> +<p> +“I tell you what: you leave this with me. I can certainly find out for +you before I track out the others.” +</p> +<p> +“Take it,” Lembke assented, though with some hesitation. +</p> +<p> +“Have you shown it to anyone?” +</p> +<p> +“Is it likely! No.” +</p> +<p> +“Not to Yulia Mihailovna?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Heaven forbid! And for God’s sake don’t you show it her!” Lembke +cried in alarm. “She’ll be so upset … and will be dreadfully angry with +me.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, you’ll be the first to catch it; she’d say you brought it on +yourself if people write like that to you. I know what women’s logic is. +Well, good-bye. I dare say I shall bring you the writer in a couple of +days or so. Above all, our compact!” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +Though Pyotr Stepanovitch was perhaps far from being a stupid man, Fedka +the convict had said of him truly “that he would make up a man himself +and go on living with him too.” He came away from Lembke fully persuaded +that for the next six days, anyway, he had put his mind at rest, and +this interval was absolutely necessary for his own purposes. But it was +a false idea and founded entirely on the fact that he had made up for +himself once for all an Andrey Antonovitch who was a perfect simpleton. +</p> +<p> +Like every morbidly suspicious man, Andrey Antonovitch was always +exceedingly and joyfully trustful the moment he got on to sure ground. +The new turn of affairs struck him at first in a rather favourable light +in spite of some fresh and troublesome complications. Anyway, his former +doubts fell to the ground. Besides, he had been so tired for the last +few days, so exhausted and helpless, that his soul involuntarily yearned +for rest. But alas! he was again uneasy. The long time he had spent in +Petersburg had left ineradicable traces in his heart. The official and +even the secret history of the “younger generation” was fairly familiar +to him—he was a curious man and used to collect manifestoes—but he +could never understand a word of it. Now he felt like a man lost in +a forest. Every instinct told him that there was something in Pyotr +Stepanovitch’s words utterly incongruous, anomalous, and grotesque, +“though there’s no telling what may not happen with this ‘younger +generation,’ and the devil only knows what’s going on among them,” he +mused, lost in perplexity. +</p> +<p> +And at this moment, to make matters worse, Blum poked his head in. He +had been waiting not far off through the whole of Pyotr Stepanovitch’s +visit. This Blum was actually a distant relation of Andrey Antonovitch, +though the relationship had always been carefully and timorously +concealed. I must apologise to the reader for devoting a few words here +to this insignificant person. Blum was one of that strange class of +“unfortunate” Germans who are unfortunate not through lack of ability +but through some inexplicable ill luck. “Unfortunate” Germans are not +a myth, but really do exist even in Russia, and are of a special type. +Andrey Antonovitch had always had a quite touching sympathy for him, and +wherever he could, as he rose himself in the service, had promoted him +to subordinate positions under him; but Blum had never been successful. +Either the post was abolished after he had been appointed to it, or a +new chief took charge of the department; once he was almost arrested by +mistake with other people. He was precise, but he was gloomy to excess +and to his own detriment. He was tall and had red hair; he stooped and +was depressed and even sentimental; and in spite of his being humbled by +his life, he was obstinate and persistent as an ox, though always at +the wrong moment. For Andrey Antonovitch he, as well as his wife and +numerous family, had cherished for many years a reverent devotion. +Except Andrey Antonovitch no one had ever liked him. Yulia Mihailovna +would have discarded him from the first, but could not overcome her +husband’s obstinacy. It was the cause of their first conjugal quarrel. +It had happened soon after their marriage, in the early days of their +honeymoon, when she was confronted with Blum, who, together with the +humiliating secret of his relationship, had been until then carefully +concealed from her. Andrey Antonovitch besought her with clasped hands, +told her pathetically all the story of Blum and their friendship from +childhood, but Yulia Mihailovna considered herself disgraced forever, +and even had recourse to fainting. Von Lembke would not budge an +inch, and declared that he would not give up Blum or part from him for +anything in the world, so that she was surprised at last and was obliged +to put up with Blum. It was settled, however, that the relationship +should be concealed even more carefully than before if possible, and +that even Blum’s Christian name and patronymic should be changed, +because he too was for some reason called Andrey Antonovitch. Blum knew +no one in the town except the German chemist, had not called on anyone, +and led, as he always did, a lonely and niggardly existence. He had +long been aware of Andrey Antonovitch’s literary peccadilloes. He was +generally summoned to listen to secret <i>tête-à-tête</i> readings of his +novel; he would sit like a post for six hours at a stretch, perspiring +and straining his utmost to keep awake and smile. On reaching home he +would groan with his long-legged and lanky wife over their benefactor’s +unhappy weakness for Russian literature. +</p> +<p> +Andrey Antonovitch looked with anguish at Blum. +</p> +<p> +“I beg you to leave me alone, Blum,” he began with agitated haste, +obviously anxious to avoid any renewal of the previous conversation +which had been interrupted by Pyotr Stepanovitch. +</p> +<p> +“And yet this may be arranged in the most delicate way and with no +publicity; you have full power.” Blum respectfully but obstinately +insisted on some point, stooping forward and coming nearer and nearer by +small steps to Andrey Antonovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Blum, you are so devoted to me and so anxious to serve me that I am +always in a panic when I look at you.” +</p> +<p> +“You always say witty things, and sleep in peace satisfied with what +you’ve said, but that’s how you damage yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“Blum, I have just convinced myself that it’s quite a mistake, quite a +mistake.” +</p> +<p> +“Not from the words of that false, vicious young man whom you suspect +yourself? He has won you by his flattering praise of your talent for +literature.” +</p> +<p> +“Blum, you understand nothing about it; your project is absurd, I +tell you. We shall find nothing and there will be a fearful upset and +laughter too, and then Yulia Mihailovna …” +</p> +<p> +“We shall certainly find everything we are looking for.” Blum advanced +firmly towards him, laying his right hand on his heart. “We will make +a search suddenly early in the morning, carefully showing every +consideration for the person himself and strictly observing all the +prescribed forms of the law. The young men, Lyamshin and Telyatnikov, +assert positively that we shall find all we want. They were constant +visitors there. Nobody is favourably disposed to Mr. Verhovensky. Madame +Stavrogin has openly refused him her graces, and every honest man, if +only there is such a one in this coarse town, is persuaded that a hotbed +of infidelity and social doctrines has always been concealed there. He +keeps all the forbidden books, Ryliev’s ‘Reflections,’ all Herzen’s +works.… I have an approximate catalogue, in case of need.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh heavens! Every one has these books; how simple you are, my poor +Blum.” +</p> +<p> +“And many manifestoes,” Blum went on without heeding the observation. +“We shall end by certainly coming upon traces of the real manifestoes +here. That young Verhovensky I feel very suspicious of.” +</p> +<p> +“But you are mixing up the father and the son. They are not on good +terms. The son openly laughs at his father.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s only a mask.” +</p> +<p> +“Blum, you’ve sworn to torment me! Think! he is a conspicuous figure +here, after all. He’s been a professor, he is a well-known man. He’ll +make such an uproar and there will be such gibes all over the town, and +we shall make a mess of it all.… And only think how Yulia Mihailovna +will take it.” Blum pressed forward and did not listen. “He was only a +lecturer, only a lecturer, and of a low rank when he retired.” He smote +himself on the chest. “He has no marks of distinction. He was discharged +from the service on suspicion of plots against the government. He has +been under secret supervision, and undoubtedly still is so. And in view +of the disorders that have come to light now, you are undoubtedly bound +in duty. You are losing your chance of distinction by letting slip the +real criminal.” +</p> +<p> +“Yulia Mihailovna! Get away, Blum,” Von Lembke cried suddenly, hearing +the voice of his spouse in the next room. Blum started but did not give +in. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me, allow me,” he persisted, pressing both hands still more +tightly on his chest. +</p> +<p> +“Get away!” hissed Andrey Antonovitch. “Do what you like … afterwards. +Oh, my God!” +</p> +<p> +The curtain was raised and Yulia Mihailovna made her appearance. She +stood still majestically at the sight of Blum, casting a haughty and +offended glance at him, as though the very presence of this man was an +affront to her. Blum respectfully made her a deep bow without speaking +and, doubled up with veneration, moved towards the door on tiptoe with +his arms held a little away from him. +</p> +<p> +Either because he really took Andrey Antonovitch’s last hysterical +outbreak as a direct permission to act as he was asking, or whether +he strained a point in this case for the direct advantage of his +benefactor, because he was too confident that success would crown his +efforts; anyway, as we shall see later on, this conversation of the +governor with his subordinate led to a very surprising event which +amused many people, became public property, moved Yulia Mihailovna to +fierce anger, utterly disconcerting Andrey Antonovitch and reducing him +at the crucial moment to a state of deplorable indecision. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +V +</p> +<p> +It was a busy day for Pyotr Stepanovitch. From Von Lembke he hastened to +Bogoyavlensky Street, but as he went along Bykovy Street, past the house +where Karmazinov was staying, he suddenly stopped, grinned, and +went into the house. The servant told him that he was expected, which +interested him, as he had said nothing beforehand of his coming. +</p> +<p> +But the great writer really had been expecting him, not only that day +but the day before and the day before that. Three days before he had +handed him his manuscript <i>Merci</i> (which he had meant to read at the +literary matinée at Yulia Mihailovna’s fête). He had done this out of +amiability, fully convinced that he was agreeably flattering the young +man’s vanity by letting him read the great work beforehand. Pyotr +Stepanovitch had noticed long before that this vainglorious, spoiled +gentleman, who was so offensively unapproachable for all but the elect, +this writer “with the intellect of a statesman,” was simply trying +to curry favour with him, even with avidity. I believe the young man +guessed at last that Karmazinov considered him, if not the leader of +the whole secret revolutionary movement in Russia, at least one of those +most deeply initiated into the secrets of the Russian revolution who had +an incontestable influence on the younger generation. The state of mind +of “the cleverest man in Russia” interested Pyotr Stepanovitch, but +hitherto he had, for certain reasons, avoided explaining himself. +</p> +<p> +The great writer was staying in the house belonging to his sister, who +was the wife of a <i>kammerherr</i> and had an estate in the neighbourhood. +Both she and her husband had the deepest reverence for their illustrious +relation, but to their profound regret both of them happened to be in +Moscow at the time of his visit, so that the honour of receiving him +fell to the lot of an old lady, a poor relation of the <i>kammerherr’s,</i> who +had for years lived in the family and looked after the housekeeping. All +the household had moved about on tiptoe since Karmazinov’s arrival. The +old lady sent news to Moscow almost every day, how he had slept, what he +had deigned to eat, and had once sent a telegram to announce that after +a dinner-party at the mayor’s he was obliged to take a spoonful of a +well-known medicine. She rarely plucked up courage to enter his room, +though he behaved courteously to her, but dryly, and only talked to her +of what was necessary. +</p> +<p> +When Pyotr Stepanovitch came in, he was eating his morning cutlet with +half a glass of red wine. Pyotr Stepanovitch had been to see him before +and always found him eating this cutlet, which he finished in his +presence without ever offering him anything. After the cutlet a little +cup of coffee was served. The footman who brought in the dishes wore a +swallow-tail coat, noiseless boots, and gloves. +</p> +<p> +“Ha ha!” Karmazinov got up from the sofa, wiping his mouth with a +table-napkin, and came forward to kiss him with an air of unmixed +delight—after the characteristic fashion of Russians if they are very +illustrious. But Pyotr Stepanovitch knew by experience that, though +Karmazinov made a show of kissing him, he really only proffered his +cheek, and so this time he did the same: the cheeks met. Karmazinov did +not show that he noticed it, sat down on the sofa, and affably offered +Pyotr Stepanovitch an easy chair facing him, in which the latter +stretched himself at once. +</p> +<p> +“You don’t … wouldn’t like some lunch?” inquired Karmazinov, abandoning +his usual habit but with an air, of course, which would prompt a polite +refusal. Pyotr Stepanovitch at once expressed a desire for lunch. A +shade of offended surprise darkened the face of his host, but only for +an instant; he nervously rang for the servant and, in spite of all his +breeding, raised his voice scornfully as he gave orders for a second +lunch to be served. +</p> +<p> +“What will you have, cutlet or coffee?” he asked once more. +</p> +<p> +“A cutlet and coffee, and tell him to bring some more wine, I am +hungry,” answered Pyotr Stepanovitch, calmly scrutinising his host’s +attire. Mr. Karmazinov was wearing a sort of indoor wadded jacket with +pearl buttons, but it was too short, which was far from becoming to his +rather comfortable stomach and the solid curves of his hips. But tastes +differ. Over his knees he had a checkered woollen plaid reaching to the +floor, though it was warm in the room. +</p> +<p> +“Are you unwell?” commented Pyotr Stepanovitch. +</p> +<p> +“No, not unwell, but I am afraid of being so in this climate,” answered +the writer in his squeaky voice, though he uttered each word with a soft +cadence and agreeable gentlemanly lisp. “I’ve been expecting you since +yesterday.” +</p> +<p> +“Why? I didn’t say I’d come.” +</p> +<p> +“No, but you have my manuscript. Have you … read it?” +</p> +<p> +“Manuscript? Which one?” +</p> +<p> +Karmazinov was terribly surprised. +</p> +<p> +“But you’ve brought it with you, haven’t you?” He was so disturbed that +he even left off eating and looked at Pyotr Stepanovitch with a face of +dismay. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, that <i>Bonjour</i> you mean.…” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Merci.”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Oh, all right. I’d quite forgotten it and hadn’t read it; I haven’t had +time. I really don’t know, it’s not in my pockets … it must be on my +table. Don’t be uneasy, it will be found.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I’d better send to your rooms at once. It might be lost; besides, +it might be stolen.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, who’d want it! But why are you so alarmed? Why, Yulia Mihailovna +told me you always have several copies made—one kept at a notary’s +abroad, another in Petersburg, a third in Moscow, and then you send some +to a bank, I believe.” +</p> +<p> +“But Moscow might be burnt again and my manuscript with it. No, I’d +better send at once.” +</p> +<p> +“Stay, here it is!” Pyotr Stepanovitch pulled a roll of note-paper +out of a pocket at the back of his coat. “It’s a little crumpled. Only +fancy, it’s been lying there with my pocket-handkerchief ever since I +took it from you; I forgot it.” +</p> +<p> +Karmazinov greedily snatched the manuscript, carefully examined it, +counted the pages, and laid it respectfully beside him on a special +table, for the time, in such a way that he would not lose sight of it +for an instant. +</p> +<p> +“You don’t read very much, it seems?” he hissed, unable to restrain +himself. +</p> +<p> +“No, not very much.” +</p> +<p> +“And nothing in the way of Russian literature?” +</p> +<p> +“In the way of Russian literature? Let me see, I have read +something.… ‘On the Way’ or ‘Away!’ or ‘At the Parting of the Ways’—something of the sort; I don’t remember. +It’s a long time since I read +it, five years ago. I’ve no time.” +</p> +<p> +A silence followed. +</p> +<p> +“When I came I assured every one that you were a very intelligent man, +and now I believe every one here is wild over you.” +</p> +<p> +“Thank you,” Pyotr Stepanovitch answered calmly. +</p> +<p> +Lunch was brought in. Pyotr Stepanovitch pounced on the cutlet with +extraordinary appetite, had eaten it in a trice, tossed off the wine and +swallowed his coffee. +</p> +<p> +“This boor,” thought Karmazinov, looking at him askance as he munched +the last morsel and drained the last drops—“this boor probably +understood the biting taunt in my words … and no doubt he has read +the manuscript with eagerness; he is simply lying with some object. But +possibly he is not lying and is only genuinely stupid. I like a genius +to be rather stupid. Mayn’t he be a sort of genius among them? Devil +take the fellow!” +</p> +<p> +He got up from the sofa and began pacing from one end of the room to the +other for the sake of exercise, as he always did after lunch. +</p> +<p> +“Leaving here soon?” asked Pyotr Stepanovitch from his easy chair, +lighting a cigarette. +</p> +<p> +“I really came to sell an estate and I am in the hands of my bailiff.” +</p> +<p> +“You left, I believe, because they expected an epidemic out there after +the war?” +</p> +<p> +“N-no, not entirely for that reason,” Mr. Karmazinov went on, uttering +his phrases with an affable intonation, and each time he turned round in +pacing the corner there was a faint but jaunty quiver of his right leg. +“I certainly intend to live as long as I can.” He laughed, not without +venom. “There is something in our Russian nobility that makes them wear +out very quickly, from every point of view. But I wish to wear out as +late as possible, and now I am going abroad for good; there the climate +is better, the houses are of stone, and everything stronger. Europe will +last my time, I think. What do you think?” +</p> +<p> +“How can I tell?” +</p> +<p> +“H’m. If the Babylon out there really does fall, and great will be the +fall thereof (about which I quite agree with you, yet I think it will +last my time), there’s nothing to fall here in Russia, comparatively +speaking. There won’t be stones to fall, everything will crumble into +dirt. Holy Russia has less power of resistance than anything in the +world. The Russian peasantry is still held together somehow by the +Russian God; but according to the latest accounts the Russian God is not +to be relied upon, and scarcely survived the emancipation; it certainly +gave Him a severe shock. And now, what with railways, what with you … +I’ve no faith in the Russian God.” +</p> +<p> +“And how about the European one?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t believe in any. I’ve been slandered to the youth of Russia. +I’ve always sympathised with every movement among them. I was shown the +manifestoes here. Every one looks at them with perplexity because they +are frightened at the way things are put in them, but every one is +convinced of their power even if they don’t admit it to themselves. +Everybody has been rolling downhill, and every one has known for ages +that they have nothing to clutch at. I am persuaded of the success of +this mysterious propaganda, if only because Russia is now pre-eminently +the place in all the world where anything you like may happen without +any opposition. I understand only too well why wealthy Russians all +flock abroad, and more and more so every year. It’s simply instinct. If +the ship is sinking, the rats are the first to leave it. Holy Russia is +a country of wood, of poverty … and of danger, the country of ambitious +beggars in its upper classes, while the immense majority live in poky +little huts. She will be glad of any way of escape; you have only to +present it to her. It’s only the government that still means to +resist, but it brandishes its cudgel in the dark and hits its own men. +Everything here is doomed and awaiting the end. Russia as she is has no +future. I have become a German and I am proud of it.” +</p> +<p> +“But you began about the manifestoes. Tell me everything; how do you +look at them?” +</p> +<p> +“Every one is afraid of them, so they must be influential. They openly +unmask what is false and prove that there is nothing to lay hold of +among us, and nothing to lean upon. They speak aloud while all is +silent. What is most effective about them (in spite of their style) is +the incredible boldness with which they look the truth straight in the +face. To look facts straight in the face is only possible to Russians of +this generation. No, in Europe they are not yet so bold; it is a realm +of stone, there there is still something to lean upon. So far as I see +and am able to judge, the whole essence of the Russian revolutionary +idea lies in the negation of honour. I like its being so boldly and +fearlessly expressed. No, in Europe they wouldn’t understand it yet, but +that’s just what we shall clutch at. For a Russian a sense of honour is +only a superfluous burden, and it always has been a burden through all +his history. The open ‘right to dishonour’ will attract him more than +anything. I belong to the older generation and, I must confess, still +cling to honour, but only from habit. It is only that I prefer the old +forms, granted it’s from timidity; you see one must live somehow what’s +left of one’s life.” +</p> +<p> +He suddenly stopped. +</p> +<p> +“I am talking,” he thought, “while he holds his tongue and watches me. +He has come to make me ask him a direct question. And I shall ask him.” +</p> +<p> +“Yulia Mihailovna asked me by some stratagem to find out from you what +the surprise is that you are preparing for the ball to-morrow,” Pyotr +Stepanovitch asked suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, there really will be a surprise and I certainly shall +astonish …” said Karmazinov with increased dignity. “But I won’t tell +you what the secret is.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch did not insist. +</p> +<p> +“There is a young man here called Shatov,” observed the great writer. +“Would you believe it, I haven’t seen him.” +</p> +<p> +“A very nice person. What about him?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, nothing. He talks about something. Isn’t he the person who gave +Stavrogin that slap in the face?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“And what’s your opinion of Stavrogin?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know; he is such a flirt.” +</p> +<p> +Karmazinov detested Stavrogin because it was the latter’s habit not to +take any notice of him. +</p> +<p> +“That flirt,” he said, chuckling, “if what is advocated in your +manifestoes ever comes to pass, will be the first to be hanged.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps before,” Pyotr Stepanovitch said suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“Quite right too,” Karmazinov assented, not laughing, and with +pronounced gravity. +</p> +<p> +“You have said so once before, and, do you know, I repeated it to him.” +</p> +<p> +“What, you surely didn’t repeat it?” Karmazinov laughed again. +</p> +<p> +“He said that if he were to be hanged it would be enough for you to +be flogged, not simply as a complement but to hurt, as they flog the +peasants.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch took his hat and got up from his seat. Karmazinov +held out both hands to him at parting. +</p> +<p> +“And what if all that you are … plotting for is destined to come +to pass …” he piped suddenly, in a honeyed voice with a peculiar +intonation, still holding his hands in his. “How soon could it come +about?” +</p> +<p> +“How could I tell?” Pyotr Stepanovitch answered rather roughly. They +looked intently into each other’s eyes. +</p> +<p> +“At a guess? Approximately?” Karmazinov piped still more sweetly. +</p> +<p> +“You’ll have time to sell your estate and time to clear out too,” Pyotr +Stepanovitch muttered still more roughly. They looked at one another +even more intently. +</p> +<p> +There was a minute of silence. +</p> +<p> +“It will begin early next May and will be over by October,” Pyotr +Stepanovitch said suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“I thank you sincerely,” Karmazinov pronounced in a voice saturated with +feeling, pressing his hands. +</p> +<p> +“You will have time to get out of the ship, you rat,” Pyotr Stepanovitch +was thinking as he went out into the street. “Well, if that ‘imperial +intellect’ inquires so confidently of the day and the hour and thanks +me so respectfully for the information I have given, we mustn’t doubt +of ourselves. [He grinned.] H’m! But he really isn’t stupid … and he is +simply a rat escaping; men like that don’t tell tales!” +</p> +<p> +He ran to Filipov’s house in Bogoyavlensky Street. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VI +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch went first to Kirillov’s. He found him, as usual, +alone, and at the moment practising gymnastics, that is, standing with +his legs apart, brandishing his arms above his head in a peculiar way. +On the floor lay a ball. The tea stood cold on the table, not cleared +since breakfast. Pyotr Stepanovitch stood for a minute on the threshold. +</p> +<p> +“You are very anxious about your health, it seems,” he said in a loud +and cheerful tone, going into the room. “What a jolly ball, though; foo, +how it bounces! Is that for gymnastics too?” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov put on his coat. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that’s for the good of my health too,” he muttered dryly. “Sit +down.” +</p> +<p> +“I’m only here for a minute. Still, I’ll sit down. Health is all very +well, but I’ve come to remind you of our agreement. The appointed time +is approaching … in a certain sense,” he concluded awkwardly. +</p> +<p> +“What agreement?” +</p> +<p> +“How can you ask?” Pyotr Stepanovitch was startled and even dismayed. +</p> +<p> +“It’s not an agreement and not an obligation. I have not bound myself in +any way; it’s a mistake on your part.” +</p> +<p> +“I say, what’s this you’re doing?” Pyotr Stepanovitch jumped up. +</p> +<p> +“What I choose.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you choose?” +</p> +<p> +“The same as before.” +</p> +<p> +“How am I to understand that? Does that mean that you are in the same +mind?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. Only there’s no agreement and never has been, and I have not bound +myself in any way. I could do as I like and I can still do as I like.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov explained himself curtly and contemptuously. +</p> +<p> +“I agree, I agree; be as free as you like if you don’t change your +mind.” Pyotr Stepanovitch sat down again with a satisfied air. “You are +angry over a word. You’ve become very irritable of late; that’s why +I’ve avoided coming to see you. I was quite sure, though, you would be +loyal.” +</p> +<p> +“I dislike you very much, but you can be perfectly sure—though I don’t +regard it as loyalty and disloyalty.” +</p> +<p> +“But do you know” (Pyotr Stepanovitch was startled again) “we must talk +things over thoroughly again so as not to get in a muddle. The business +needs accuracy, and you keep giving me such shocks. Will you let me +speak?” +</p> +<p> +“Speak,” snapped Kirillov, looking away. +</p> +<p> +“You made up your mind long ago to take your life … I mean, you had the +idea in your mind. Is that the right expression? Is there any mistake +about that?” +</p> +<p> +“I have the same idea still.” +</p> +<p> +“Excellent. Take note that no one has forced it on you.” +</p> +<p> +“Rather not; what nonsense you talk.” +</p> +<p> +“I dare say I express it very stupidly. Of course, it would be very +stupid to force anybody to it. I’ll go on. You were a member of the +society before its organisation was changed, and confessed it to one of +the members.” +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t confess it, I simply said so.” +</p> +<p> +“Quite so. And it would be absurd to confess such a thing. What a +confession! You simply said so. Excellent.” +</p> +<p> +“No, it’s not excellent, for you are being tedious. I am not obliged to +give you any account of myself and you can’t understand my ideas. I want +to put an end to my life, because that’s my idea, because I don’t want +to be afraid of death, because … because there’s no need for you to +know. What do you want? Would you like tea? It’s cold. Let me get you +another glass.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch actually had taken up the teapot and was looking for +an empty glass. Kirillov went to the cupboard and brought a clean glass. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve just had lunch at Karmazinov’s,” observed his visitor, “then +I listened to him talking, and perspired and got into a sweat again +running here. I am fearfully thirsty.” +</p> +<p> +“Drink. Cold tea is good.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov sat down on his chair again and again fixed his eyes on the +farthest corner. +</p> +<p> +“The idea had arisen in the society,” he went on in the same voice, +“that I might be of use if I killed myself, and that when you get up +some bit of mischief here, and they are looking for the guilty, I might +suddenly shoot myself and leave a letter saying I did it all, so that +you might escape suspicion for another year.” +</p> +<p> +“For a few days, anyway; one day is precious.” +</p> +<p> +“Good. So for that reason they asked me, if I would, to wait. I said I’d +wait till the society fixed the day, because it makes no difference to +me.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, but remember that you bound yourself not to make up your last +letter without me and that in Russia you would be at my … well, at +my disposition, that is for that purpose only. I need hardly say, in +everything else, of course, you are free,” Pyotr Stepanovitch added +almost amiably. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t bind myself, I agreed, because it makes no difference to me.” +</p> +<p> +“Good, good. I have no intention of wounding your vanity, but …” +</p> +<p> +“It’s not a question of vanity.” +</p> +<p> +“But remember that a hundred and twenty thalers were collected for your +journey, so you’ve taken money.” +</p> +<p> +“Not at all.” Kirillov fired up. “The money was not on that condition. +One doesn’t take money for that.” +</p> +<p> +“People sometimes do.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a lie. I sent a letter from Petersburg, and in Petersburg I paid +you a hundred and twenty thalers; I put it in your hand … and it has +been sent off there, unless you’ve kept it for yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“All right, all right, I don’t dispute anything; it has been sent off. +All that matters is that you are still in the same mind.” +</p> +<p> +“Exactly the same. When you come and tell me it’s time, I’ll carry it +all out. Will it be very soon?” +</p> +<p> +“Not very many days.… But remember, we’ll make up the letter together, +the same night.” +</p> +<p> +“The same day if you like. You say I must take the responsibility for +the manifestoes on myself?” +</p> +<p> +“And something else too.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not going to make myself out responsible for everything.” +</p> +<p> +“What won’t you be responsible for?” said Pyotr Stepanovitch again. +</p> +<p> +“What I don’t choose; that’s enough. I don’t want to talk about it any +more.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch controlled himself and changed the subject. +</p> +<p> +“To speak of something else,” he began, “will you be with us this +evening? It’s Virginsky’s name-day; that’s the pretext for our meeting.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want to.” +</p> +<p> +“Do me a favour. Do come. You must. We must impress them by our number +and our looks. You have a face … well, in one word, you have a fateful +face.” +</p> +<p> +“You think so?” laughed Kirillov. “Very well, I’ll come, but not for the +sake of my face. What time is it?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, quite early, half-past six. And, you know, you can go in, sit down, +and not speak to any one, however many there may be there. Only, I say, +don’t forget to bring pencil and paper with you.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s that for?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, it makes no difference to you, and it’s my special request. You’ll +only have to sit still, speaking to no one, listen, and sometimes seem +to make a note. You can draw something, if you like.” +</p> +<p> +“What nonsense! What for?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, since it makes no difference to you! You keep saying that it’s +just the same to you.” +</p> +<p> +“No, what for?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, because that member of the society, the inspector, has stopped at +Moscow and I told some of them here that possibly the inspector may turn +up to-night; and they’ll think that you are the inspector. And as you’ve +been here three weeks already, they’ll be still more surprised.” +</p> +<p> +“Stage tricks. You haven’t got an inspector in Moscow.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, suppose I haven’t—damn him!—what business is that of yours +and what bother will it be to you? You are a member of the society +yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell them I am the inspector; I’ll sit still and hold my tongue, but I +won’t have the pencil and paper.” +</p> +<p> +“But why?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want to.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch was really angry; he turned positively green, but +again he controlled himself. He got up and took his hat. +</p> +<p> +“Is that fellow with you?” he brought out suddenly, in a low voice. +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s good. I’ll soon get him away. Don’t be uneasy.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not uneasy. He is only here at night. The old woman is in the +hospital, her daughter-in-law is dead. I’ve been alone for the last two +days. I’ve shown him the place in the paling where you can take a board +out; he gets through, no one sees.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll take him away soon.” +</p> +<p> +“He says he has got plenty of places to stay the night in.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s rot; they are looking for him, but here he wouldn’t be noticed. +Do you ever get into talk with him?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, at night. He abuses you tremendously. I’ve been reading the +‘Apocalypse’ to him at night, and we have tea. He listened eagerly, very +eagerly, the whole night.” +</p> +<p> +“Hang it all, you’ll convert him to Christianity!” +</p> +<p> +“He is a Christian as it is. Don’t be uneasy, he’ll do the murder. Whom +do you want to murder?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I don’t want him for that, I want him for something different.… +And does Shatov know about Fedka?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t talk to Shatov, and I don’t see him.” +</p> +<p> +“Is he angry?” +</p> +<p> +“No, we are not angry, only we shun one another. We lay too long side by +side in America.” +</p> +<p> +“I am going to him directly.” +</p> +<p> +“As you like.” +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin and I may come and see you from there, about ten o’clock.” +</p> +<p> +“Do.” +</p> +<p> +“I want to talk to him about something important.… I say, make me +a present of your ball; what do you want with it now? I want it for +gymnastics too. I’ll pay you for it if you like.” +</p> +<p> +“You can take it without.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch put the ball in the back pocket of his coat. +</p> +<p> +“But I’ll give you nothing against Stavrogin,” Kirillov muttered after +his guest, as he saw him out. The latter looked at him in amazement but +did not answer. +</p> +<p> +Kirillov’s last words perplexed Pyotr Stepanovitch extremely; he had not +time yet to discover their meaning, but even while he was on the stairs +of Shatov’s lodging he tried to remove all trace of annoyance and to +assume an amiable expression. Shatov was at home and rather unwell. He +was lying on his bed, though dressed. +</p> +<p> +“What bad luck!” Pyotr Stepanovitch cried out in the doorway. “Are you +really ill?” +</p> +<p> +The amiable expression of his face suddenly vanished; there was a gleam +of spite in his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Not at all.” Shatov jumped up nervously. “I am not ill at all … a +little headache …” +</p> +<p> +He was disconcerted; the sudden appearance of such a visitor positively +alarmed him. +</p> +<p> +“You mustn’t be ill for the job I’ve come about,” Pyotr Stepanovitch +began quickly and, as it were, peremptorily. “Allow me to sit down.” (He +sat down.) “And you sit down again on your bedstead; that’s right. There +will be a party of our fellows at Virginsky’s to-night on the pretext of +his birthday; it will have no political character, however—we’ve seen +to that. I am coming with Nikolay Stavrogin. I would not, of course, +have dragged you there, knowing your way of thinking at present … +simply to save your being worried, not because we think you would betray +us. But as things have turned out, you will have to go. You’ll meet +there the very people with whom we shall finally settle how you are +to leave the society and to whom you are to hand over what is in your +keeping. We’ll do it without being noticed; I’ll take you aside into a +corner; there’ll be a lot of people and there’s no need for every one to +know. I must confess I’ve had to keep my tongue wagging on your behalf; +but now I believe they’ve agreed, on condition you hand over the +printing press and all the papers, of course. Then you can go where you +please.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov listened, frowning and resentful. The nervous alarm of a moment +before had entirely left him. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t acknowledge any sort of obligation to give an account to the +devil knows whom,” he declared definitely. “No one has the authority to +set me free.” +</p> +<p> +“Not quite so. A great deal has been entrusted to you. You hadn’t the +right to break off simply. Besides, you made no clear statement about +it, so that you put them in an ambiguous position.” +</p> +<p> +“I stated my position clearly by letter as soon as I arrived here.” +</p> +<p> +“No, it wasn’t clear,” Pyotr Stepanovitch retorted calmly. “I sent you +‘A Noble Personality’ to be printed here, and meaning the copies to be +kept here till they were wanted; and the two manifestoes as well. You +returned them with an ambiguous letter which explained nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“I refused definitely to print them.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, not definitely. You wrote that you couldn’t, but you didn’t +explain for what reason. ‘I can’t’ doesn’t mean ‘I don’t want to.’ It +might be supposed that you were simply unable through circumstances. +That was how they took it, and considered that you still meant to keep +up your connection with the society, so that they might have entrusted +something to you again and so have compromised themselves. They say here +that you simply meant to deceive them, so that you might betray them +when you got hold of something important. I have defended you to the +best of my powers, and have shown your brief note as evidence in your +favour. But I had to admit on rereading those two lines that they were +misleading and not conclusive.” +</p> +<p> +“You kept that note so carefully then?” +</p> +<p> +“My keeping it means nothing; I’ve got it still.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I don’t care, damn it!” Shatov cried furiously. “Your fools may +consider that I’ve betrayed them if they like—what is it to me? I +should like to see what you can do to me?” +</p> +<p> +“Your name would be noted, and at the first success of the revolution +you would be hanged.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s when you get the upper hand and dominate Russia?” +</p> +<p> +“You needn’t laugh. I tell you again, I stood up for you. Anyway, I +advise you to turn up to-day. Why waste words through false pride? +Isn’t it better to part friends? In any case you’ll have to give up the +printing press and the old type and papers—that’s what we must talk +about.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll come,” Shatov muttered, looking down thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch glanced askance at him from his place. +</p> +<p> +“Will Stavrogin be there?” Shatov asked suddenly, raising his head. +</p> +<p> +“He is certain to be.” +</p> +<p> +“Ha ha!” +</p> +<p> +Again they were silent for a minute. Shatov grinned disdainfully and +irritably. +</p> +<p> +“And that contemptible ‘Noble Personality’ of yours, that I wouldn’t +print here. Has it been printed?” he asked. +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“To make the schoolboys believe that Herzen himself had written it in +your album?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Herzen himself.” +</p> +<p> +Again they were silent for three minutes. At last Shatov got up from the +bed. +</p> +<p> +“Go out of my room; I don’t care to sit with you.” +</p> +<p> +“I’m going,” Pyotr Stepanovitch brought out with positive alacrity, +getting up at once. “Only one word: Kirillov is quite alone in the lodge +now, isn’t he, without a servant?” +</p> +<p> +“Quite alone. Get along; I can’t stand being in the same room with you.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, you are a pleasant customer now!” Pyotr Stepanovitch reflected +gaily as he went out into the street, “and you will be pleasant this +evening too, and that just suits me; nothing better could be wished, +nothing better could be wished! The Russian God Himself seems helping +me.” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VII +</p> +<p> +He had probably been very busy that day on all sorts of errands and +probably with success, which was reflected in the self-satisfied +expression of his face when at six o’clock that evening he turned up at +Stavrogin’s. But he was not at once admitted: Stavrogin had just locked +himself in the study with Mavriky Nikolaevitch. This news instantly made +Pyotr Stepanovitch anxious. He seated himself close to the study door +to wait for the visitor to go away. He could hear conversation but could +not catch the words. The visit did not last long; soon he heard a noise, +the sound of an extremely loud and abrupt voice, then the door opened +and Mavriky Nikolaevitch came out with a very pale face. He did not +notice Pyotr Stepanovitch, and quickly passed by. Pyotr Stepanovitch +instantly ran into the study. +</p> +<p> +I cannot omit a detailed account of the very brief interview that had +taken place between the two “rivals”—an interview which might well +have seemed impossible under the circumstances, but which had yet taken +place. +</p> +<p> +This is how it had come about. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had been enjoying +an after-dinner nap on the couch in his study when Alexey Yegorytch had +announced the unexpected visitor. Hearing the name, he had positively +leapt up, unwilling to believe it. But soon a smile gleamed on his +lips—a smile of haughty triumph and at the same time of a blank, +incredulous wonder. The visitor, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, seemed struck by +the expression of that smile as he came in; anyway, he stood still in +the middle of the room as though uncertain whether to come further in or +to turn back. Stavrogin succeeded at once in transforming the expression +of his face, and with an air of grave surprise took a step towards him. +The visitor did not take his outstretched hand, but awkwardly moved a +chair and, not uttering a word, sat down without waiting for his host to +do so. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sat down on the sofa facing him obliquely +and, looking at Mavriky Nikolaevitch, waited in silence. +</p> +<p> +“If you can, marry Lizaveta Nikolaevna,” Mavriky Nikolaevitch brought +out suddenly at last, and what was most curious, it was impossible +to tell from his tone whether it was an entreaty, a recommendation, a +surrender, or a command. +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin still remained silent, but the visitor had evidently said all +he had come to say and gazed at him persistently, waiting for an answer. +</p> +<p> +“If I am not mistaken (but it’s quite certain), Lizaveta Nikolaevna is +already betrothed to you,” Stavrogin said at last. +</p> +<p> +“Promised and betrothed,” Mavriky Nikolaevitch assented firmly and +clearly. +</p> +<p> +“You have … quarrelled? Excuse me, Mavriky Nikolaevitch.” +</p> +<p> +“No, she ‘loves and respects me’; those are her words. Her words are +more precious than anything.” +</p> +<p> +“Of that there can be no doubt.” +</p> +<p> +“But let me tell you, if she were standing in the church at her wedding +and you were to call her, she’d give up me and every one and go to you.” +</p> +<p> +“From the wedding?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and after the wedding.” +</p> +<p> +“Aren’t you making a mistake?” +</p> +<p> +“No. Under her persistent, sincere, and intense hatred for you love is +flashing out at every moment … and madness … the sincerest infinite +love and … madness! On the contrary, behind the love she feels for me, +which is sincere too, every moment there are flashes of hatred … the +most intense hatred! I could never have fancied all these transitions … +before.” +</p> +<p> +“But I wonder, though, how could you come here and dispose of the hand +of Lizaveta Nikolaevna? Have you the right to do so? Has she authorised +you?” +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch frowned and for a minute he looked down. +</p> +<p> +“That’s all words on your part,” he brought out suddenly, “words of +revenge and triumph; I am sure you can read between the lines, and is +this the time for petty vanity? Haven’t you satisfaction enough? Must I +really dot my i’s and go into it all? Very well, I will dot my i’s, if +you are so anxious for my humiliation. I have no right, it’s impossible +for me to be authorised; Lizaveta Nikolaevna knows nothing about it +and her betrothed has finally lost his senses and is only fit for a +madhouse, and, to crown everything, has come to tell you so himself. You +are the only man in the world who can make her happy, and I am the one +to make her unhappy. You are trying to get her, you are pursuing her, +but—I don’t know why—you won’t marry her. If it’s because of a lovers’ +quarrel abroad and I must be sacrificed to end it, sacrifice me. She is +too unhappy and I can’t endure it. My words are not a sanction, not a +prescription, and so it’s no slur on your pride. If you care to take +my place at the altar, you can do it without any sanction from me, and +there is no ground for me to come to you with a mad proposal, especially +as our marriage is utterly impossible after the step I am taking now. I +cannot lead her to the altar feeling myself an abject wretch. What I am +doing here and my handing her over to you, perhaps her bitterest foe, is +to my mind something so abject that I shall never get over it.” +</p> +<p> +“Will you shoot yourself on our wedding day?” +</p> +<p> +“No, much later. Why stain her bridal dress with my blood? Perhaps I +shall not shoot myself at all, either now or later.” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you want to comfort me by saying that?” +</p> +<p> +“You? What would the blood of one more mean to you?” He turned pale and +his eyes gleamed. A minute of silence followed. +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me for the questions I’ve asked you,” Stavrogin began again; +“some of them I had no business to ask you, but one of them I think I +have every right to put to you. Tell me, what facts have led you to +form a conclusion as to my feelings for Lizaveta Nikolaevna? I mean to +a conviction of a degree of feeling on my part as would justify your +coming here … and risking such a proposal.” +</p> +<p> +“What?” Mavriky Nikolaevitch positively started. “Haven’t you been +trying to win her? Aren’t you trying to win her, and don’t you want to +win her?” +</p> +<p> +“Generally speaking, I can’t speak of my feeling for this woman or that +to a third person or to anyone except the woman herself. You must excuse +it, it’s a constitutional peculiarity. But to make up for it, I’ll tell +you the truth about everything else; I am married, and it’s impossible +for me either to marry or to try ‘to win’ anyone.” +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch was so astounded that he started back in his chair +and for some time stared fixedly into Stavrogin’s face. +</p> +<p> +“Only fancy, I never thought of that,” he muttered. “You said then, that +morning, that you were not married … and so I believed you were not +married.” +</p> +<p> +He turned terribly pale; suddenly he brought his fist down on the table +with all his might. +</p> +<p> +“If after that confession you don’t leave Lizaveta Nikolaevna alone, +if you make her unhappy, I’ll kill you with my stick like a dog in a +ditch!” +</p> +<p> +He jumped up and walked quickly out of the room. Pyotr Stepanovitch, +running in, found his host in a most unexpected frame of mind. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, that’s you!” Stavrogin laughed loudly; his laughter seemed to be +provoked simply by the appearance of Pyotr Stepanovitch as he ran in +with such impulsive curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“Were you listening at the door? Wait a bit. What have you come about? +I promised you something, didn’t I? Ah, bah! I remember, to meet ‘our +fellows.’ Let us go. I am delighted. You couldn’t have thought of +anything more appropriate.” He snatched up his hat and they both went at +once out of the house. +</p> +<p> +“Are you laughing beforehand at the prospect of seeing ‘our fellows’?” +chirped gaily Pyotr Stepanovitch, dodging round him with obsequious +alacrity, at one moment trying to walk beside his companion on the +narrow brick pavement and at the next running right into the mud of +the road; for Stavrogin walked in the middle of the pavement without +observing that he left no room for anyone else. +</p> +<p> +“I am not laughing at all,” he answered loudly and gaily; “on the +contrary, I am sure that you have the most serious set of people there.” +</p> +<p> +“‘Surly dullards,’ as you once deigned to express it.” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing is more amusing sometimes than a surly dullard.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, you mean Mavriky Nikolaevitch? I am convinced he came to give up +his betrothed to you, eh? I egged him on to do it, indirectly, would you +believe it? And if he doesn’t give her up, we’ll take her, anyway, won’t +we—eh?” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch knew no doubt that he was running some risk in +venturing on such sallies, but when he was excited he preferred to risk +anything rather than to remain in uncertainty. Stavrogin only laughed. +</p> +<p> +“You still reckon you’ll help me?” he asked. +</p> +<p> +“If you call me. But you know there’s one way, and the best one.” +</p> +<p> +“Do I know your way?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh no, that’s a secret for the time. Only remember, a secret has its +price.” +</p> +<p> +“I know what it costs,” Stavrogin muttered to himself, but he restrained +himself and was silent. +</p> +<p> +“What it costs? What did you say?” Pyotr Stepanovitch was startled. +</p> +<p> +“I said, ‘Damn you and your secret!’ You’d better be telling me who will +be there. I know that we are going to a name-day party, but who will be +there?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, all sorts! Even Kirillov.” +</p> +<p> +“All members of circles?” +</p> +<p> +“Hang it all, you are in a hurry! There’s not one circle formed yet.” +</p> +<p> +“How did you manage to distribute so many manifestoes then?” +</p> +<p> +“Where we are going only four are members of the circle. The others on +probation are spying on one another with jealous eagerness, and bring +reports to me. They are a trustworthy set. It’s all material which +we must organise, and then we must clear out. But you wrote the rules +yourself, there’s no need to explain.” +</p> +<p> +“Are things going badly then? Is there a hitch?” +</p> +<p> +“Going? Couldn’t be better. It will amuse you: the first thing which has +a tremendous effect is giving them titles. Nothing has more influence +than a title. I invent ranks and duties on purpose; I have secretaries, +secret spies, treasurers, presidents, registrars, their assistants—they +like it awfully, it’s taken capitally. Then, the next force is +sentimentalism, of course. You know, amongst us socialism spreads +principally through sentimentalism. But the trouble is these lieutenants +who bite; sometimes you put your foot in it. Then come the out-and-out +rogues; well, they are a good sort, if you like, and sometimes very +useful; but they waste a lot of one’s time, they want incessant looking +after. And the most important force of all—the cement that holds +everything together—is their being ashamed of having an opinion +of their own. That is a force! And whose work is it, whose precious +achievement is it, that not one idea of their own is left in their +heads! They think originality a disgrace.” +</p> +<p> +“If so, why do you take so much trouble?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, if people lie simply gaping at every one, how can you resist +annexing them? Can you seriously refuse to believe in the possibility +of success? Yes, you have the faith, but one wants will. It’s just with +people like this that success is possible. I tell you I could make them +go through fire; one has only to din it into them that they are not +advanced enough. The fools reproach me that I have taken in every one +here over the central committee and ‘the innumerable branches.’ You once +blamed me for it yourself, but where’s the deception? You and I are the +central committee and there will be as many branches as we like.” +</p> +<p> +“And always the same sort of rabble!” +</p> +<p> +“Raw material. Even they will be of use.” +</p> +<p> +“And you are still reckoning on me?” +</p> +<p> +“You are the chief, you are the head; I shall only be a subordinate, +your secretary. We shall take to our barque, you know; the oars are of +maple, the sails are of silk, at the helm sits a fair maiden, Lizaveta +Nikolaevna … hang it, how does it go in the ballad?” +</p> +<p> +“He is stuck,” laughed Stavrogin. “No, I’d better give you my version. +There you reckon on your fingers the forces that make up the circles. +All that business of titles and sentimentalism is a very good cement, +but there is something better; persuade four members of the circle to +do for a fifth on the pretence that he is a traitor, and you’ll tie +them all together with the blood they’ve shed as though it were a knot. +They’ll be your slaves, they won’t dare to rebel or call you to account. +Ha ha ha!” +</p> +<p> +“But you … you shall pay for those words,” Pyotr Stepanovitch thought +to himself, “and this very evening, in fact. You go too far.” +</p> +<p> +This or something like this must have been Pyotr Stepanovitch’s +reflection. They were approaching Virginsky’s house. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve represented me, no doubt, as a member from abroad, an inspector +in connection with the <i>Internationale?</i>” Stavrogin asked suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“No, not an inspector; you won’t be an inspector; but you are one of +the original members from abroad, who knows the most important +secrets—that’s your rôle. You are going to speak, of course?” +</p> +<p> +“What’s put that idea into your head?” +</p> +<p> +“Now you are bound to speak.” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin positively stood still in the middle of the street in +surprise, not far from a street lamp. Pyotr Stepanovitch faced his +scrutiny calmly and defiantly. Stavrogin cursed and went on. +</p> +<p> +“And are you going to speak?” he suddenly asked Pyotr Stepanovitch. +</p> +<p> +“No, I am going to listen to you.” +</p> +<p> +“Damn you, you really are giving me an idea!” +</p> +<p> +“What idea?” Pyotr Stepanovitch asked quickly. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps I will speak there, but afterwards I will give you a +hiding—and a sound one too, you know.” +</p> +<p> +“By the way, I told Karmazinov this morning that you said he ought to be +thrashed, and not simply as a form but to hurt, as they flog peasants.” +</p> +<p> +“But I never said such a thing; ha ha!” +</p> +<p> +“No matter. <i>Se non è vero </i>…” +</p> +<p> +“Well, thanks. I am truly obliged.” +</p> +<p> +“And another thing. Do you know, Karmazinov says that the essence of +our creed is the negation of honour, and that by the open advocacy of a +right to be dishonourable a Russian can be won over more easily than by +anything.” +</p> +<p> +“An excellent saying! Golden words!” cried Stavrogin. “He’s hit the mark +there! The right to dishonour—why, they’d all flock to us for that, not +one would stay behind! And listen, Verhovensky, you are not one of the +higher police, are you?” +</p> +<p> +“Anyone who has a question like that in his mind doesn’t utter it.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand, but we are by ourselves.” +</p> +<p> +“No, so far I am not one of the higher police. Enough, here we are. +Compose your features, Stavrogin; I always do mine when I go in. A +gloomy expression, that’s all, nothing more is wanted; it’s a very +simple business.” +</p> +<a id="H2CH0012"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER VII. A MEETING +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +VIRGINSKY LIVED IN HIS OWN house, or rather his wife’s, in Muravyin +Street. It was a wooden house of one story, and there were no lodgers in +it. On the pretext of Virginsky’s-name-day party, about fifteen guests +were assembled; but the entertainment was not in the least like an +ordinary provincial name-day party. From the very beginning of their +married life the husband and wife had agreed once for all that it was +utterly stupid to invite friends to celebrate name-days, and that “there +is nothing to rejoice about in fact.” In a few years they had succeeded +in completely cutting themselves off from all society. Though he was +a man of some ability, and by no means very poor, he somehow seemed +to every one an eccentric fellow who was fond of solitude, and, what’s +more, “stuck up in conversation.” Madame Virginsky was a midwife by +profession—and by that very fact was on the lowest rung of the social +ladder, lower even than the priest’s wife in spite of her husband’s +rank as an officer. But she was conspicuously lacking in the humility +befitting her position. And after her very stupid and unpardonably open +liaison on principle with Captain Lebyadkin, a notorious rogue, even the +most indulgent of our ladies turned away from her with marked contempt. +But Madame Virginsky accepted all this as though it were what she +wanted. It is remarkable that those very ladies applied to Arina +Prohorovna (that is, Madame Virginsky) when they were in an interesting +condition, rather than to any one of the other three <i>accoucheuses</i> of +the town. She was sent for even by country families living in the +neighbourhood, so great was the belief in her knowledge, luck, and skill +in critical cases. It ended in her practising only among the wealthiest +ladies; she was greedy of money. Feeling her power to the full, she +ended by not putting herself out for anyone. Possibly on purpose, +indeed, in her practice in the best houses she used to scare nervous +patients by the most incredible and nihilistic disregard of good +manners, or by jeering at “everything holy,” at the very time when +“everything holy” might have come in most useful. Our town doctor, +Rozanov—he too was an <i>accoucheur</i>—asserted most positively that on one +occasion when a patient in labour was crying out and calling on the name +of the Almighty, a free-thinking sally from Arina Prohorovna, fired off +like a pistol-shot, had so terrifying an effect on the patient that it +greatly accelerated her delivery. +</p> +<p> +But though she was a nihilist, Madame Virginsky did not, when occasion +arose, disdain social or even old-fashioned superstitions and customs +if they could be of any advantage to herself. She would never, for +instance, have stayed away from a baby’s christening, and always put on +a green silk dress with a train and adorned her chignon with curls and +ringlets for such events, though at other times she positively revelled +in slovenliness. And though during the ceremony she always maintained +“the most insolent air,” so that she put the clergy to confusion, yet +when it was over she invariably handed champagne to the guests (it was +for that that she came and dressed up), and it was no use trying to take +the glass without a contribution to her “porridge bowl.” +</p> +<p> +The guests who assembled that evening at Virginsky’s (mostly men) had a +casual and exceptional air. There was no supper nor cards. In the middle +of the large drawing-room, which was papered with extremely old blue +paper, two tables had been put together and covered with a large though +not quite clean table-cloth, and on them two samovars were boiling. The +end of the table was taken up by a huge tray with twenty-five glasses on +it and a basket with ordinary French bread cut into a number of slices, +as one sees it in genteel boarding-schools for boys or girls. The tea +was poured out by a maiden lady of thirty, Arina Prohorovna’s sister, +a silent and malevolent creature, with flaxen hair and no eyebrows, who +shared her sister’s progressive ideas and was an object of terror to +Virginsky himself in domestic life. There were only three ladies in the +room: the lady of the house, her eyebrowless sister, and Virginsky’s +sister, a girl who had just arrived from Petersburg. Arina Prohorovna, a +good-looking and buxom woman of seven-and-twenty, rather dishevelled, in +an everyday greenish woollen dress, was sitting scanning the guests with +her bold eyes, and her look seemed in haste to say, “You see I am not +in the least afraid of anything.” Miss Virginsky, a rosy-cheeked student +and a nihilist, who was also good-looking, short, plump and round as a +little ball, had settled herself beside Arina Prohorovna, almost in +her travelling clothes. She held a roll of paper in her hand, and +scrutinised the guests with impatient and roving eyes. Virginsky himself +was rather unwell that evening, but he came in and sat in an easy chair +by the tea-table. All the guests were sitting down too, and the orderly +way in which they were ranged on chairs suggested a meeting. Evidently +all were expecting something and were filling up the interval with loud +but irrelevant conversation. When Stavrogin and Verhovensky appeared +there was a sudden hush. +</p> +<p> +But I must be allowed to give a few explanations to make things clear. +</p> +<p> +I believe that all these people had come together in the agreeable +expectation of hearing something particularly interesting, and had +notice of it beforehand. They were the flower of the reddest Radicalism +of our ancient town, and had been carefully picked out by Virginsky for +this “meeting.” I may remark, too, that some of them (though not very +many) had never visited him before. Of course most of the guests had no +clear idea why they had been summoned. It was true that at that time +all took Pyotr Stepanovitch for a fully authorised emissary from abroad; +this idea had somehow taken root among them at once and naturally +flattered them. And yet among the citizens assembled ostensibly to +keep a name-day, there were some who had been approached with definite +proposals. Pyotr Verhovensky had succeeded in getting together a +“quintet” amongst us like the one he had already formed in Moscow and, +as appeared later, in our province among the officers. It was said that +he had another in X province. This quintet of the elect were sitting now +at the general table, and very skilfully succeeded in giving themselves +the air of being quite ordinary people, so that no one could have known +them. They were—since it is no longer a secret—first Liputin, then +Virginsky himself, then Shigalov (a gentleman with long ears, the +brother of Madame Virginsky), Lyamshin, and lastly a strange person +called Tolkatchenko, a man of forty, who was famed for his vast +knowledge of the people, especially of thieves and robbers. He used +to frequent the taverns on purpose (though not only with the object of +studying the people), and plumed himself on his shabby clothes, tarred +boots, and crafty wink and a flourish of peasant phrases. Lyamshin had +once or twice brought him to Stepan Trofimovitch’s gatherings, where, +however, he did not make a great sensation. He used to make his +appearance in the town from time to time, chiefly when he was out of a +job; he was employed on the railway. +</p> +<p> +Every one of these fine champions had formed this first group in the +fervent conviction that their quintet was only one of hundreds and +thousands of similar groups scattered all over Russia, and that they all +depended on some immense central but secret power, which in its turn was +intimately connected with the revolutionary movement all over Europe. +But I regret to say that even at that time there was beginning to +be dissension among them. Though they had ever since the spring been +expecting Pyotr Verhovensky, whose coming had been heralded first +by Tolkatchenko and then by the arrival of Shigalov, though they had +expected extraordinary miracles from him, and though they had responded +to his first summons without the slightest criticism, yet they had no +sooner formed the quintet than they all somehow seemed to feel insulted; +and I really believe it was owing to the promptitude with which they +consented to join. They had joined, of course, from a not ignoble +feeling of shame, for fear people might say afterwards that they had +not dared to join; still they felt Pyotr Verhovensky ought to have +appreciated their heroism and have rewarded it by telling them some +really important bits of news at least. But Verhovensky was not at all +inclined to satisfy their legitimate curiosity, and told them nothing +but what was necessary; he treated them in general with great sternness +and even rather casually. This was positively irritating, and Comrade +Shigalov was already egging the others on to insist on his “explaining +himself,” though, of course, not at Virginsky’s, where so many outsiders +were present. +</p> +<p> +I have an idea that the above-mentioned members of the first quintet +were disposed to suspect that among the guests of Virginsky’s that +evening some were members of other groups, unknown to them, belonging +to the same secret organisation and founded in the town by the same +Verhovensky; so that in fact all present were suspecting one another, +and posed in various ways to one another, which gave the whole party a +very perplexing and even romantic air. Yet there were persons present +who were beyond all suspicion. For instance, a major in the service, a +near relation of Virginsky, a perfectly innocent person who had not been +invited but had come of himself for the name-day celebration, so that it +was impossible not to receive him. But Virginsky was quite unperturbed, +as the major was “incapable of betraying them”; for in spite of his +stupidity he had all his life been fond of dropping in wherever extreme +Radicals met; he did not sympathise with their ideas himself, but +was very fond of listening to them. What’s more, he had even been +compromised indeed. It had happened in his youth that whole bundles of +manifestoes and of numbers of <i>The Bell</i> had passed through his hands, +and although he had been afraid even to open them, yet he would have +considered it absolutely contemptible to refuse to distribute them—and +there are such people in Russia even to this day. +</p> +<p> +The rest of the guests were either types of honourable amour-propre +crushed and embittered, or types of the generous impulsiveness of ardent +youth. There were two or three teachers, of whom one, a lame man of +forty-five, a master in the high school, was a very malicious and +strikingly vain person; and two or three officers. Of the latter, one +very young artillery officer who had only just come from a military +training school, a silent lad who had not yet made friends with anyone, +turned up now at Virginsky’s with a pencil in his hand, and, scarcely +taking any part in the conversation, continually made notes in his +notebook. Everybody saw this, but every one pretended not to. There was, +too, an idle divinity student who had helped Lyamshin to put indecent +photographs into the gospel-woman’s pack. He was a solid youth with a +free-and-easy though mistrustful manner, with an unchangeably satirical +smile, together with a calm air of triumphant faith in his own +perfection. There was also present, I don’t know why, the mayor’s son, +that unpleasant and prematurely exhausted youth to whom I have referred +already in telling the story of the lieutenant’s little wife. He was +silent the whole evening. Finally there was a very enthusiastic and +tousle-headed schoolboy of eighteen, who sat with the gloomy air of a +young man whose dignity has been wounded, evidently distressed by his +eighteen years. This infant was already the head of an independent +group of conspirators which had been formed in the highest class of the +gymnasium, as it came out afterwards to the surprise of every one. +</p> +<p> +I haven’t mentioned Shatov. He was there at the farthest corner of the +table, his chair pushed back a little out of the row. He gazed at the +ground, was gloomily silent, refused tea and bread, and did not for one +instant let his cap go out of his hand, as though to show that he was +not a visitor, but had come on business, and when he liked would get up +and go away. Kirillov was not far from him. He, too, was very silent, +but he did not look at the ground; on the contrary, he scrutinised +intently every speaker with his fixed, lustreless eyes, and listened +to everything without the slightest emotion or surprise. Some of the +visitors who had never seen him before stole thoughtful glances at him. +I can’t say whether Madame Virginsky knew anything about the existence +of the quintet. I imagine she knew everything and from her husband. +The girl-student, of course, took no part in anything; but she had an +anxiety of her own: she intended to stay only a day or two and then to +go on farther and farther from one university town to another “to show +active sympathy with the sufferings of poor students and to rouse +them to protest.” She was taking with her some hundreds of copies of a +lithographed appeal, I believe of her own composition. It is remarkable +that the schoolboy conceived an almost murderous hatred for her from the +first moment, though he saw her for the first time in his life; and she +felt the same for him. The major was her uncle, and met her to-day for +the first time after ten years. When Stavrogin and Verhovensky came in, +her cheeks were as red as cranberries: she had just quarrelled with her +uncle over his views on the woman question. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +With conspicuous nonchalance Verhovensky lounged in the chair at the +upper end of the table, almost without greeting anyone. His expression +was disdainful and even haughty. Stavrogin bowed politely, but in spite +of the fact that they were all only waiting for them, everybody, as +though acting on instruction, appeared scarcely to notice them. The lady +of the house turned severely to Stavrogin as soon as he was seated. +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin, will you have tea?” +</p> +<p> +“Please,” he answered. +</p> +<p> +“Tea for Stavrogin,” she commanded her sister at the samovar. “And you, +will you?” (This was to Verhovensky.) +</p> +<p> +“Of course. What a question to ask a visitor! And give me cream too; +you always give one such filthy stuff by way of tea, and with a name-day +party in the house!” +</p> +<p> +“What, you believe in keeping name-days too!” the girl-student laughed +suddenly. “We were just talking of that.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s stale,” muttered the schoolboy at the other end of the table. +</p> +<p> +“What’s stale? To disregard conventions, even the most innocent is not +stale; on the contrary, to the disgrace of every one, so far it’s a +novelty,” the girl-student answered instantly, darting forward on her +chair. “Besides, there are no innocent conventions,” she added with +intensity. +</p> +<p> +“I only meant,” cried the schoolboy with tremendous excitement, “to say +that though conventions of course are stale and must be eradicated, yet +about name-days everybody knows that they are stupid and very stale to +waste precious time upon, which has been wasted already all over the +world, so that it would be as well to sharpen one’s wits on something +more useful.…” +</p> +<p> +“You drag it out so, one can’t understand what you mean,” shouted the +girl. +</p> +<p> +“I think that every one has a right to express an opinion as well as +every one else, and if I want to express my opinion like anybody +else …” +</p> +<p> +“No one is attacking your right to give an opinion,” the lady of the +house herself cut in sharply. “You were only asked not to ramble because +no one can make out what you mean.” +</p> +<p> +“But allow me to remark that you are not treating me with respect. If +I couldn’t fully express my thought, it’s not from want of thought +but from too much thought,” the schoolboy muttered, almost in despair, +losing his thread completely. +</p> +<p> +“If you don’t know how to talk, you’d better keep quiet,” blurted out +the girl. +</p> +<p> +The schoolboy positively jumped from his chair. +</p> +<p> +“I only wanted to state,” he shouted, crimson with shame and afraid +to look about him, “that you only wanted to show off your cleverness +because Mr. Stavrogin came in—so there!” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a nasty and immoral idea and shows the worthlessness of your +development. I beg you not to address me again,” the girl rattled off. +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin,” began the lady of the house, “they’ve been discussing the +rights of the family before you came—this officer here”—she nodded +towards her relation, the major—“and, of course, I am not going to +worry you with such stale nonsense, which has been dealt with long +ago. But how have the rights and duties of the family come about in the +superstitious form in which they exist at present? That’s the question. +What’s your opinion?” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by ‘come about’?” Stavrogin asked in his turn. +</p> +<p> +“We know, for instance, that the superstition about God came from +thunder and lightning.” The girl-student rushed into the fray again, +staring at Stavrogin with her eyes almost jumping out of her head. “It’s +well known that primitive man, scared by thunder and lightning, made a +god of the unseen enemy, feeling their weakness before it. But how did +the superstition of the family arise? How did the family itself arise?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s not quite the same thing.…” Madame Virginsky tried to check +her. +</p> +<p> +“I think the answer to this question wouldn’t be quite discreet,” +answered Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“How so?” said the girl-student, craning forward suddenly. But there was +an audible titter in the group of teachers, which was at once caught up +at the other end by Lyamshin and the schoolboy and followed by a hoarse +chuckle from the major. +</p> +<p> +“You ought to write vaudevilles,” Madame Virginsky observed to +Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“It does you no credit, I don’t know what your name is,” the girl rapped +out with positive indignation. +</p> +<p> +“And don’t you be too forward,” boomed the major. “You are a young lady +and you ought to behave modestly, and you keep jumping about as though +you were sitting on a needle.” +</p> +<p> +“Kindly hold your tongue and don’t address me familiarly with your +nasty comparisons. I’ve never seen you before and I don’t recognise the +relationship.” +</p> +<p> +“But I am your uncle; I used to carry you about when you were a baby!” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t care what babies you used to carry about. I didn’t ask you +to carry me. It must have been a pleasure to you to do so, you +rude officer. And allow me to observe, don’t dare to address me so +familiarly, unless it’s as a fellow-citizen. I forbid you to do it, once +for all.” +</p> +<p> +“There, they are all like that!” cried the major, banging the table with +his fist and addressing Stavrogin, who was sitting opposite. “But, allow +me, I am fond of Liberalism and modern ideas, and I am fond of listening +to clever conversation; masculine conversation, though, I warn you. But +to listen to these women, these nightly windmills—no, that makes me +ache all over! Don’t wriggle about!” he shouted to the girl, who +was leaping up from her chair. “No, it’s my turn to speak, I’ve been +insulted.” +</p> +<p> +“You can’t say anything yourself, and only hinder other people talking,” +the lady of the house grumbled indignantly. +</p> +<p> +“No, I will have my say,” said the major hotly, addressing Stavrogin. “I +reckon on you, Mr. Stavrogin, as a fresh person who has only just come +on the scene, though I haven’t the honour of knowing you. Without men +they’ll perish like flies—that’s what I think. All their woman question +is only lack of originality. I assure you that all this woman question +has been invented for them by men in foolishness and to their own hurt. +I only thank God I am not married. There’s not the slightest variety in +them, they can’t even invent a simple pattern; they have to get men to +invent them for them! Here I used to carry her in my arms, used to dance +the mazurka with her when she was ten years old; to-day she’s come, +naturally I fly to embrace her, and at the second word she tells me +there’s no God. She might have waited a little, she was in too great a +hurry! Clever people don’t believe, I dare say; but that’s from their +cleverness. But you, chicken, what do you know about God, I said to +her. ‘Some student taught you, and if he’d taught you to light the lamp +before the ikons you would have lighted it.’” +</p> +<p> +“You keep telling lies, you are a very spiteful person. I proved to +you just now the untenability of your position,” the girl answered +contemptuously, as though disdaining further explanations with such a +man. “I told you just now that we’ve all been taught in the Catechism +if you honour your father and your parents you will live long and have +wealth. That’s in the Ten Commandments. If God thought it necessary to +offer rewards for love, your God must be immoral. That’s how I proved it +to you. It wasn’t the second word, and it was because you asserted your +rights. It’s not my fault if you are stupid and don’t understand even +now. You are offended and you are spiteful—and that’s what explains all +your generation.” +</p> +<p> +“You’re a goose!” said the major. +</p> +<p> +“And you are a fool!” +</p> +<p> +“You can call me names!” +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me, Kapiton Maximitch, you told me yourself you don’t believe in +God,” Liputin piped from the other end of the table. +</p> +<p> +“What if I did say so—that’s a different matter. I believe, perhaps, +only not altogether. Even if I don’t believe altogether, still I don’t +say God ought to be shot. I used to think about God before I left the +hussars. From all the poems you would think that hussars do nothing but +carouse and drink. Yes, I did drink, maybe, but would you believe it, +I used to jump out of bed at night and stood crossing myself before the +images with nothing but my socks on, praying to God to give me faith; +for even then I couldn’t be at peace as to whether there was a God or +not. It used to fret me so! In the morning, of course, one would amuse +oneself and one’s faith would seem to be lost again; and in fact I’ve +noticed that faith always seems to be less in the daytime.” +</p> +<p> +“Haven’t you any cards?” asked Verhovensky, with a mighty yawn, +addressing Madame Virginsky. +</p> +<p> +“I sympathise with your question, I sympathise entirely,” the +girl-student broke in hotly, flushed with indignation at the major’s +words. +</p> +<p> +“We are wasting precious time listening to silly talk,” snapped out the +lady of the house, and she looked reprovingly at her husband. +</p> +<p> +The girl pulled herself together. +</p> +<p> +“I wanted to make a statement to the meeting concerning the sufferings +of the students and their protest, but as time is being wasted in +immoral conversation …” +</p> +<p> +“There’s no such thing as moral or immoral,” the schoolboy brought out, +unable to restrain himself as soon as the girl began. +</p> +<p> +“I knew that, Mr. Schoolboy, long before you were taught it.” +</p> +<p> +“And I maintain,” he answered savagely, “that you are a child come +from Petersburg to enlighten us all, though we know for ourselves the +commandment ‘honour thy father and thy mother,’ which you could not +repeat correctly; and the fact that it’s immoral every one in Russia +knows from Byelinsky.” +</p> +<p> +“Are we ever to have an end of this?” Madame Virginsky said resolutely +to her husband. As the hostess, she blushed for the ineptitude of the +conversation, especially as she noticed smiles and even astonishment +among the guests who had been invited for the first time. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said Virginsky, suddenly lifting up his voice, “if anyone +wishes to say anything more nearly connected with our business, or has +any statement to make, I call upon him to do so without wasting time.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll venture to ask one question,” said the lame teacher suavely. He +had been sitting particularly decorously and had not spoken till then. +“I should like to know, are we some sort of meeting, or are we simply a +gathering of ordinary mortals paying a visit? I ask simply for the sake +of order and so as not to remain in ignorance.” +</p> +<p> +This “sly” question made an impression. People looked at each other, +every one expecting someone else to answer, and suddenly all, as though +at a word of command, turned their eyes to Verhovensky and Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“I suggest our voting on the answer to the question whether we are a +meeting or not,” said Madame Virginsky. +</p> +<p> +“I entirely agree with the suggestion,” Liputin chimed in, “though the +question is rather vague.” +</p> +<p> +“I agree too.” +</p> +<p> +“And so do I,” cried voices. “I too think it would make our proceedings +more in order,” confirmed Virginsky. +</p> +<p> +“To the vote then,” said his wife. “Lyamshin, please sit down to the +piano; you can give your vote from there when the voting begins.” +</p> +<p> +“Again!” cried Lyamshin. “I’ve strummed enough for you.” +</p> +<p> +“I beg you most particularly, sit down and play. Don’t you care to do +anything for the cause?” +</p> +<p> +“But I assure you, Arina Prohorovna, nobody is eavesdropping. It’s +only your fancy. Besides, the windows are high, and people would not +understand if they did hear.” +</p> +<p> +“We don’t understand ourselves,” someone muttered. “But I tell you one +must always be on one’s guard. I mean in case there should be spies,” +she explained to Verhovensky. “Let them hear from the street that we +have music and a name-day party.” +</p> +<p> +“Hang it all!” Lyamshin swore, and sitting down to the piano, began +strumming a valse, banging on the keys almost with his fists, at random. +</p> +<p> +“I propose that those who want it to be a meeting should put up their +right hands,” Madame Virginsky proposed. +</p> +<p> +Some put them up, others did not. Some held them up and then put them +down again and then held them up again. “Foo! I don’t understand it at +all,” one officer shouted. “I don’t either,” cried the other. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I understand,” cried a third. “If it’s yes, you hold your hand up.” +</p> +<p> +“But what does ‘yes’ mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Means a meeting.” +</p> +<p> +“No, it means not a meeting.” +</p> +<p> +“I voted for a meeting,” cried the schoolboy to Madame Virginsky. +</p> +<p> +“Then why didn’t you hold up your hand?” +</p> +<p> +“I was looking at you. You didn’t hold up yours, so I didn’t hold up +mine.” +</p> +<p> +“How stupid! I didn’t hold up my hand because I proposed it. Gentlemen, +now I propose the contrary. Those who want a meeting, sit still and do +nothing; those who don’t, hold up their right hands.” +</p> +<p> +“Those who don’t want it?” inquired the schoolboy. “Are you doing it on +purpose?” cried Madame Virginsky wrathfully. +</p> +<p> +“No. Excuse me, those who want it, or those who don’t want it? For one +must know that definitely,” cried two or three voices. +</p> +<p> +“Those who don’t want it—those who <i>don’t</i> want it.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, but what is one to do, hold up one’s hand or not hold it up if one +doesn’t want it?” cried an officer. +</p> +<p> +“Ech, we are not accustomed to constitutional methods yet!” remarked the +major. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Lyamshin, excuse me, but you are thumping so that no one can hear +anything,” observed the lame teacher. +</p> +<p> +“But, upon my word, Arina Prohorovna, nobody is listening, really!” +cried Lyamshin, jumping up. “I won’t play! I’ve come to you as a +visitor, not as a drummer!” +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen,” Virginsky went on, “answer verbally, are we a meeting or +not?” +</p> +<p> +“We are! We are!” was heard on all sides. “If so, there’s no need to +vote, that’s enough. Are you satisfied, gentlemen? Is there any need to +put it to the vote?” +</p> +<p> +“No need—no need, we understand.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps someone doesn’t want it to be a meeting?” +</p> +<p> +“No, no; we all want it.” +</p> +<p> +“But what does ‘meeting’ mean?” cried a voice. No one answered. +</p> +<p> +“We must choose a chairman,” people cried from different parts of the +room. +</p> +<p> +“Our host, of course, our host!” +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, if so,” Virginsky, the chosen chairman, began, “I propose +my original motion. If anyone wants to say anything more relevant to the +subject, or has some statement to make, let him bring it forward without +loss of time.” +</p> +<p> +There was a general silence. The eyes of all were turned again on +Verhovensky and Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“Verhovensky, have you no statement to make?” Madame Virginsky asked him +directly. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing whatever,” he answered, yawning and stretching on his chair. +“But I should like a glass of brandy.” +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin, don’t you want to?” +</p> +<p> +“Thank you, I don’t drink.” +</p> +<p> +“I mean don’t you want to speak, not don’t you want brandy.” +</p> +<p> +“To speak, what about? No, I don’t want to.” +</p> +<p> +“They’ll bring you some brandy,” she answered Verhovensky. +</p> +<p> +The girl-student got up. She had darted up several times already. +</p> +<p> +“I have come to make a statement about the sufferings of poor students +and the means of rousing them to protest.” +</p> +<p> +But she broke off. At the other end of the table a rival had risen, and +all eyes turned to him. Shigalov, the man with the long ears, slowly +rose from his seat with a gloomy and sullen air and mournfully laid on +the table a thick notebook filled with extremely small handwriting. +He remained standing in silence. Many people looked at the notebook +in consternation, but Liputin, Virginsky, and the lame teacher seemed +pleased. +</p> +<p> +“I ask leave to address the meeting,” Shigalov pronounced sullenly but +resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“You have leave.” Virginsky gave his sanction. +</p> +<p> +The orator sat down, was silent for half a minute, and pronounced in a +solemn voice, +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen!” +</p> +<p> +“Here’s the brandy,” the sister who had been pouring out tea and had +gone to fetch brandy rapped out, contemptuously and disdainfully putting +the bottle before Verhovensky, together with the wineglass which she +brought in her fingers without a tray or a plate. +</p> +<p> +The interrupted orator made a dignified pause. +</p> +<p> +“Never mind, go on, I am not listening,” cried Verhovensky, pouring +himself out a glass. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, asking your attention and, as you will see later, soliciting +your aid in a matter of the first importance,” Shigalov began again, “I +must make some prefatory remarks.” +</p> +<p> +“Arina Prohorovna, haven’t you some scissors?” Pyotr Stepanovitch asked +suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“What do you want scissors for?” she asked, with wide-open eyes. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve forgotten to cut my nails; I’ve been meaning to for the last three +days,” he observed, scrutinising his long and dirty nails with unruffled +composure. +</p> +<p> +Arina Prohorovna crimsoned, but Miss Virginsky seemed pleased. +</p> +<p> +“I believe I saw them just now on the window.” She got up from the +table, went and found the scissors, and at once brought them. Pyotr +Stepanovitch did not even look at her, took the scissors, and set to +work with them. Arina Prohorovna grasped that these were realistic +manners, and was ashamed of her sensitiveness. People looked at one +another in silence. The lame teacher looked vindictively and enviously +at Verhovensky. Shigalov went on. +</p> +<p> +“Dedicating my energies to the study of the social organisation which is +in the future to replace the present condition of things, I’ve come to +the conviction that all makers of social systems from ancient times up +to the present year, 187-, have been dreamers, tellers of fairy-tales, +fools who contradicted themselves, who understood nothing of natural +science and the strange animal called man. Plato, Rousseau, Fourier, +columns of aluminium, are only fit for sparrows and not for human +society. But, now that we are all at last preparing to act, a new +form of social organisation is essential. In order to avoid further +uncertainty, I propose my own system of world-organisation. Here it is.” +He tapped the notebook. “I wanted to expound my views to the meeting in +the most concise form possible, but I see that I should need to add a +great many verbal explanations, and so the whole exposition would occupy +at least ten evenings, one for each of my chapters.” (There was the +sound of laughter.) “I must add, besides, that my system is not yet +complete.” (Laughter again.) “I am perplexed by my own data and my +conclusion is a direct contradiction of the original idea with which I +start. Starting from unlimited freedom, I arrive at unlimited despotism. +I will add, however, that there can be no solution of the social problem +but mine.” +</p> +<p> +The laughter grew louder and louder, but it came chiefly from the +younger and less initiated visitors. There was an expression of some +annoyance on the faces of Madame Virginsky, Liputin, and the lame +teacher. +</p> +<p> +“If you’ve been unsuccessful in making your system consistent, and have +been reduced to despair yourself, what could we do with it?” one officer +observed warily. +</p> +<p> +“You are right, Mr. Officer”—Shigalov turned sharply to +him—“especially in using the word despair. Yes, I am reduced to despair. +Nevertheless, nothing can take the place of the system set forth in my +book, and there is no other way out of it; no one can invent anything +else. And so I hasten without loss of time to invite the whole society +to listen for ten evenings to my book and then give their opinions of +it. If the members are unwilling to listen to me, let us break up from +the start—the men to take up service under government, the women to +their cooking; for if you reject my solution you’ll find no other, none +whatever! If they let the opportunity slip, it will simply be their +loss, for they will be bound to come back to it again.” +</p> +<p> +There was a stir in the company. “Is he mad, or what?” voices asked. +</p> +<p> +“So the whole point lies in Shigalov’s despair,” Lyamshin commented, +“and the essential question is whether he must despair or not?” +</p> +<p> +“Shigalov’s being on the brink of despair is a personal question,” +declared the schoolboy. +</p> +<p> +“I propose we put it to the vote how far Shigalov’s despair affects the +common cause, and at the same time whether it’s worth while listening to +him or not,” an officer suggested gaily. +</p> +<p> +“That’s not right.” The lame teacher put in his spoke at last. As a rule +he spoke with a rather mocking smile, so that it was difficult to make +out whether he was in earnest or joking. “That’s not right, gentlemen. +Mr. Shigalov is too much devoted to his task and is also too modest. +I know his book. He suggests as a final solution of the question the +division of mankind into two unequal parts. One-tenth enjoys absolute +liberty and unbounded power over the other nine-tenths. The others +have to give up all individuality and become, so to speak, a herd, and, +through boundless submission, will by a series of regenerations attain +primæval innocence, something like the Garden of Eden. They’ll have +to work, however. The measures proposed by the author for depriving +nine-tenths of mankind of their freedom and transforming them into a +herd through the education of whole generations are very remarkable, +founded on the facts of nature and highly logical. One may not agree +with some of the deductions, but it would be difficult to doubt the +intelligence and knowledge of the author. It’s a pity that the time +required—ten evenings—is impossible to arrange for, or we might hear a +great deal that’s interesting.” +</p> +<p> +“Can you be in earnest?” Madame Virginsky addressed the lame gentleman +with a shade of positive uneasiness in her voice, “when that man doesn’t +know what to do with people and so turns nine-tenths of them into +slaves? I’ve suspected him for a long time.” +</p> +<p> +“You say that of your own brother?” asked the lame man. +</p> +<p> +“Relationship? Are you laughing at me?” +</p> +<p> +“And besides, to work for aristocrats and to obey them as though they +were gods is contemptible!” observed the girl-student fiercely. +</p> +<p> +“What I propose is not contemptible; it’s paradise, an earthly +paradise, and there can be no other on earth,” Shigalov pronounced +authoritatively. +</p> +<p> +“For my part,” said Lyamshin, “if I didn’t know what to do with +nine-tenths of mankind, I’d take them and blow them up into the air +instead of putting them in paradise. I’d only leave a handful of +educated people, who would live happily ever afterwards on scientific +principles.” +</p> +<p> +“No one but a buffoon can talk like that!” cried the girl, flaring up. +</p> +<p> +“He is a buffoon, but he is of use,” Madame Virginsky whispered to her. +</p> +<p> +“And possibly that would be the best solution of the problem,” said +Shigalov, turning hotly to Lyamshin. “You certainly don’t know what a +profound thing you’ve succeeded in saying, my merry friend. But as it’s +hardly possible to carry out your idea, we must confine ourselves to an +earthly paradise, since that’s what they call it.” +</p> +<p> +“This is pretty thorough rot,” broke, as though involuntarily, from +Verhovensky. Without even raising his eyes, however, he went on cutting +his nails with perfect nonchalance. +</p> +<p> +“Why is it rot?” The lame man took it up instantly, as though he had +been lying in wait for his first words to catch at them. “Why is it +rot? Mr. Shigalov is somewhat fanatical in his love for humanity, but +remember that Fourier, still more Cabet and even Proudhon himself, +advocated a number of the most despotic and even fantastic measures. Mr. +Shigalov is perhaps far more sober in his suggestions than they are. I +assure you that when one reads his book it’s almost impossible not to +agree with some things. He is perhaps less far from realism than anyone +and his earthly paradise is almost the real one—if it ever existed—for +the loss of which man is always sighing.” +</p> +<p> +“I knew I was in for something,” Verhovensky muttered again. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me,” said the lame man, getting more and more excited. +“Conversations and arguments about the future organisation of society +are almost an actual necessity for all thinking people nowadays. Herzen +was occupied with nothing else all his life. Byelinsky, as I know on +very good authority, used to spend whole evenings with his friends +debating and settling beforehand even the minutest, so to speak, +domestic, details of the social organisation of the future.” +</p> +<p> +“Some people go crazy over it,” the major observed suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“We are more likely to arrive at something by talking, anyway, than by +sitting silent and posing as dictators,” Liputin hissed, as though at +last venturing to begin the attack. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t mean Shigalov when I said it was rot,” Verhovensky mumbled. +“You see, gentlemen,”—he raised his eyes a trifle—“to my mind all +these books, Fourier, Cabet, all this talk about the right to work, +and Shigalov’s theories—are all like novels of which one can write a +hundred thousand—an æsthetic entertainment. I can understand that in +this little town you are bored, so you rush to ink and paper.” +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me,” said the lame man, wriggling on his chair, “though we are +provincials and of course objects of commiseration on that ground, yet +we know that so far nothing has happened in the world new enough to be +worth our weeping at having missed it. It is suggested to us in various +pamphlets made abroad and secretly distributed that we should unite +and form groups with the sole object of bringing about universal +destruction. It’s urged that, however much you tinker with the world, +you can’t make a good job of it, but that by cutting off a hundred +million heads and so lightening one’s burden, one can jump over the +ditch more safely. A fine idea, no doubt, but quite as impracticable as +Shigalov’s theories, which you referred to just now so contemptuously.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, but I haven’t come here for discussion.” Verhovensky let drop +this significant phrase, and, as though quite unaware of his blunder, +drew the candle nearer to him that he might see better. +</p> +<p> +“It’s a pity, a great pity, that you haven’t come for discussion, and +it’s a great pity that you are so taken up just now with your toilet.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s my toilet to you?” +</p> +<p> +“To remove a hundred million heads is as difficult as to transform the +world by propaganda. Possibly more difficult, especially in Russia,” +Liputin ventured again. +</p> +<p> +“It’s Russia they rest their hopes on now,” said an officer. +</p> +<p> +“We’ve heard they are resting their hopes on it,” interposed the lame +man. “We know that a mysterious finger is pointing to our delightful +country as the land most fitted to accomplish the great task. But +there’s this: by the gradual solution of the problem by propaganda I +shall gain something, anyway—I shall have some pleasant talk, at least, +and shall even get some recognition from government for my services +to the cause of society. But in the second way, by the rapid method +of cutting off a hundred million heads, what benefit shall I get +personally? If you began advocating that, your tongue might be cut out.” +</p> +<p> +“Yours certainly would be,” observed Verhovensky. +</p> +<p> +“You see. And as under the most favourable circumstances you would not +get through such a massacre in less than fifty or at the best thirty +years—for they are not sheep, you know, and perhaps they would not let +themselves be slaughtered—wouldn’t it be better to pack one’s bundle +and migrate to some quiet island beyond calm seas and there close one’s +eyes tranquilly? Believe me”—he tapped the table significantly with his +finger—“you will only promote emigration by such propaganda and nothing +else!” +</p> +<p> +He finished evidently triumphant. He was one of the intellects of the +province. Liputin smiled slyly, Virginsky listened rather dejectedly, +the others followed the discussion with great attention, especially the +ladies and officers. They all realised that the advocate of the hundred +million heads theory had been driven into a corner, and waited to see +what would come of it. +</p> +<p> +“That was a good saying of yours, though,” Verhovensky mumbled +more carelessly than ever, in fact with an air of positive boredom. +“Emigration is a good idea. But all the same, if in spite of all the +obvious disadvantages you foresee, more and more come forward every day +ready to fight for the common cause, it will be able to do without you. +It’s a new religion, my good friend, coming to take the place of the old +one. That’s why so many fighters come forward, and it’s a big movement. +You’d better emigrate! And, you know, I should advise Dresden, not ‘the +calm islands.’ To begin with, it’s a town that has never been visited by +an epidemic, and as you are a man of culture, no doubt you are afraid +of death. Another thing, it’s near the Russian frontier, so you can more +easily receive your income from your beloved Fatherland. Thirdly, +it contains what are called treasures of art, and you are a man of +æsthetic tastes, formerly a teacher of literature, I believe. And, +finally, it has a miniature Switzerland of its own—to provide you +with poetic inspiration, for no doubt you write verse. In fact it’s a +treasure in a nutshell!” There was a general movement, especially among +the officers. In another instant they would have all begun talking at +once. But the lame man rose irritably to the bait. +</p> +<p> +“No, perhaps I am not going to give up the common cause. You must +understand that …” +</p> +<p> +“What, would you join the quintet if I proposed it to you?” Verhovensky +boomed suddenly, and he laid down the scissors. +</p> +<p> +Every one seemed startled. The mysterious man had revealed himself too +freely. He had even spoken openly of the “quintet.” +</p> +<p> +“Every one feels himself to be an honest man and will not shirk his part +in the common cause”—the lame man tried to wriggle out of it—“but …” +</p> +<p> +“No, this is not a question which allows of a <i>but</i>,” Verhovensky +interrupted harshly and peremptorily. “I tell you, gentlemen, I must +have a direct answer. I quite understand that, having come here and +having called you together myself, I am bound to give you explanations” +(again an unexpected revelation), “but I can give you none till I know +what is your attitude to the subject. To cut the matter short—for we +can’t go on talking for another thirty years as people have done for the +last thirty—I ask you which you prefer: the slow way, which consists in +the composition of socialistic romances and the academic ordering of +the destinies of humanity a thousand years hence, while despotism will +swallow the savoury morsels which would almost fly into your mouths of +themselves if you’d take a little trouble; or do you, whatever it may +imply, prefer a quicker way which will at last untie your hands, and +will let humanity make its own social organisation in freedom and in +action, not on paper? They shout ‘a hundred million heads’; that may be +only a metaphor; but why be afraid of it if, with the slow day-dream on +paper, despotism in the course of some hundred years will devour not a +hundred but five hundred million heads? Take note too that an incurable +invalid will not be cured whatever prescriptions are written for him on +paper. On the contrary, if there is delay, he will grow so corrupt that +he will infect us too and contaminate all the fresh forces which one +might still reckon upon now, so that we shall all at last come to grief +together. I thoroughly agree that it’s extremely agreeable to chatter +liberally and eloquently, but action is a little trying.… However, I +am no hand at talking; I came here with communications, and so I beg +all the honourable company not to vote, but simply and directly to state +which you prefer: walking at a snail’s pace in the marsh, or putting on +full steam to get across it?” +</p> +<p> +“I am certainly for crossing at full steam!” cried the schoolboy in an +ecstasy. +</p> +<p> +“So am I,” Lyamshin chimed in. +</p> +<p> +“There can be no doubt about the choice,” muttered an officer, followed +by another, then by someone else. What struck them all most was that +Verhovensky had come “with communications” and had himself just promised +to speak. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, I see that almost all decide for the policy of the +manifestoes,” he said, looking round at the company. +</p> +<p> +“All, all!” cried the majority of voices. +</p> +<p> +“I confess I am rather in favour of a more humane policy,” said the +major, “but as all are on the other side, I go with all the rest.” +</p> +<p> +“It appears, then, that even you are not opposed to it,” said +Verhovensky, addressing the lame man. +</p> +<p> +“I am not exactly …” said the latter, turning rather red, “but if I do +agree with the rest now, it’s simply not to break up—” +</p> +<p> +“You are all like that! Ready to argue for six months to practise +your Liberal eloquence and in the end you vote the same as the rest! +Gentlemen, consider though, is it true that you are all ready?” +</p> +<p> +(Ready for what? The question was vague, but very alluring.) +</p> +<p> +“All are, of course!” voices were heard. But all were looking at one +another. +</p> +<p> +“But afterwards perhaps you will resent having agreed so quickly? That’s +almost always the way with you.” +</p> +<p> +The company was excited in various ways, greatly excited. The lame man +flew at him. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me to observe, however, that answers to such questions are +conditional. Even if we have given our decision, you must note that +questions put in such a strange way …” +</p> +<p> +“In what strange way?” +</p> +<p> +“In a way such questions are not asked.” +</p> +<p> +“Teach me how, please. But do you know, I felt sure you’d be the first +to take offence.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve extracted from us an answer as to our readiness for immediate +action; but what right had you to do so? By what authority do you ask +such questions?” +</p> +<p> +“You should have thought of asking that question sooner! Why did you +answer? You agree and then you go back on it!” +</p> +<p> +“But to my mind the irresponsibility of your principal question suggests +to me that you have no authority, no right, and only asked from personal +curiosity.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean? What do you mean?” cried Verhovensky, apparently +beginning to be much alarmed. +</p> +<p> +“Why, that the initiation of new members into anything you like is done, +anyway, <i>tête-à-tête</i> and not in the company of twenty people one doesn’t +know!” blurted out the lame man. He had said all that was in his mind +because he was too irritated to restrain himself. Verhovensky turned to +the general company with a capitally simulated look of alarm. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, I deem it my duty to declare that all this is folly, and +that our conversation has gone too far. I have so far initiated no one, +and no one has the right to say of me that I initiate members. We were +simply discussing our opinions. That’s so, isn’t it? But whether that’s +so or not, you alarm me very much.” He turned to the lame man again. +“I had no idea that it was unsafe here to speak of such practically +innocent matters except <i>tête-à-tête</i>. Are you afraid of informers? Can +there possibly be an informer among us here?” +</p> +<p> +The excitement became tremendous; all began talking. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, if that is so,” Verhovensky went on, “I have compromised +myself more than anyone, and so I will ask you to answer one question, +if you care to, of course. You are all perfectly free.” +</p> +<p> +“What question? What question?” every one clamoured. +</p> +<p> +“A question that will make it clear whether we are to remain together, +or take up our hats and go our several ways without speaking.” +</p> +<p> +“The question! The question!” +</p> +<p> +“If any one of us knew of a proposed political murder, would he, in view +of all the consequences, go to give information, or would he stay at +home and await events? Opinions may differ on this point. The answer +to the question will tell us clearly whether we are to separate, or to +remain together and for far longer than this one evening. Let me appeal +to you first.” He turned to the lame man. +</p> +<p> +“Why to me first?” +</p> +<p> +“Because you began it all. Be so good as not to prevaricate; it won’t +help you to be cunning. But please yourself, it’s for you to decide.” +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me, but such a question is positively insulting.” +</p> +<p> +“No, can’t you be more exact than that?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve never been an agent of the Secret Police,” replied the latter, +wriggling more than ever. +</p> +<p> +“Be so good as to be more definite, don’t keep us waiting.” +</p> +<p> +The lame man was so furious that he left off answering. Without a word +he glared wrathfully from under his spectacles at his tormentor. +</p> +<p> +“Yes or no? Would you inform or not?” cried Verhovensky. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I wouldn’t,” the lame man shouted twice as loudly. +</p> +<p> +“And no one would, of course not!” cried many voices. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me to appeal to you, Mr. Major. Would you inform or not?” +Verhovensky went on. “And note that I appeal to you on purpose.” +</p> +<p> +“I won’t inform.” +</p> +<p> +“But if you knew that someone meant to rob and murder someone else, an +ordinary mortal, then you would inform and give warning?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, of course; but that’s a private affair, while the other would be a +political treachery. I’ve never been an agent of the Secret Police.” +</p> +<p> +“And no one here has,” voices cried again. “It’s an unnecessary +question. Every one will make the same answer. There are no informers +here.” +</p> +<p> +“What is that gentleman getting up for?” cried the girl-student. +</p> +<p> +“That’s Shatov. What are you getting up for?” cried the lady of the +house. +</p> +<p> +Shatov did, in fact, stand up. He was holding his cap in his hand and +looking at Verhovensky. Apparently he wanted to say something to him, +but was hesitating. His face was pale and wrathful, but he controlled +himself. He did not say one word, but in silence walked towards the +door. +</p> +<p> +“Shatov, this won’t make things better for you!” Verhovensky called +after him enigmatically. +</p> +<p> +“But it will for you, since you are a spy and a scoundrel!” Shatov +shouted to him from the door, and he went out. +</p> +<p> +Shouts and exclamations again. +</p> +<p> +“That’s what comes of a test,” cried a voice. +</p> +<p> +“It’s been of use,” cried another. +</p> +<p> +“Hasn’t it been of use too late?” observed a third. +</p> +<p> +“Who invited him? Who let him in? Who is he? Who is Shatov? Will he +inform, or won’t he?” There was a shower of questions. +</p> +<p> +“If he were an informer he would have kept up appearances instead of +cursing it all and going away,” observed someone. +</p> +<p> +“See, Stavrogin is getting up too. Stavrogin has not answered the +question either,” cried the girl-student. +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin did actually stand up, and at the other end of the table +Kirillov rose at the same time. +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me, Mr. Stavrogin,” Madame Virginsky addressed him sharply, “we +all answered the question, while you are going away without a word.” +</p> +<p> +“I see no necessity to answer the question which interests you,” +muttered Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“But we’ve compromised ourselves and you won’t,” shouted several voices. +</p> +<p> +“What business is it of mine if you have compromised yourselves?” +laughed Stavrogin, but his eyes flashed. +</p> +<p> +“What business? What business?” voices exclaimed. +</p> +<p> +Many people got up from their chairs. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me, gentlemen, allow me,” cried the lame man. “Mr. Verhovensky +hasn’t answered the question either; he has only asked it.” +</p> +<p> +The remark produced a striking effect. All looked at one another. +Stavrogin laughed aloud in the lame man’s face and went out; Kirillov +followed him; Verhovensky ran after them into the passage. +</p> +<p> +“What are you doing?” he faltered, seizing Stavrogin’s hand and gripping +it with all his might in his. Stavrogin pulled away his hand without a +word. +</p> +<p> +“Be at Kirillov’s directly, I’ll come.… It’s absolutely necessary +for me to see you!…” +</p> +<p> +“It isn’t necessary for me,” Stavrogin cut him short. +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin will be there,” Kirillov said finally. “Stavrogin, it is +necessary for you. I will show you that there.” +</p> +<p> +They went out. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0013"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER VIII. IVAN THE TSAREVITCH +</h2> +<p> +They had gone. Pyotr Stepanovitch was about to rush back to the meeting +to bring order into chaos, but probably reflecting that it wasn’t worth +bothering about, left everything, and two minutes later was flying after +the other two. On the way he remembered a short cut to Filipov’s house. +He rushed along it, up to his knees in mud, and did in fact arrive at +the very moment when Stavrogin and Kirillov were coming in at the gate. +</p> +<p> +“You here already?” observed Kirillov. “That’s good. Come in.” +</p> +<p> +“How is it you told us you lived alone,” asked Stavrogin, passing a +boiling samovar in the passage. +</p> +<p> +“You will see directly who it is I live with,” muttered Kirillov. “Go +in.” +</p> +<p> +They had hardly entered when Verhovensky at once took out of his pocket +the anonymous letter he had taken from Lembke, and laid it before +Stavrogin. They all then sat down. Stavrogin read the letter in silence. +</p> +<p> +“Well?” he asked. +</p> +<p> +“That scoundrel will do as he writes,” Verhovensky explained. “So, as +he is under your control, tell me how to act. I assure you he may go to +Lembke to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, let him go.” +</p> +<p> +“Let him go! And when we can prevent him, too!” +</p> +<p> +“You are mistaken. He is not dependent on me. Besides, I don’t care; he +doesn’t threaten me in any way; he only threatens you.” +</p> +<p> +“You too.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t think so.” +</p> +<p> +“But there are other people who may not spare you. Surely you understand +that? Listen, Stavrogin. This is only playing with words. Surely you +don’t grudge the money?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, would it cost money?” +</p> +<p> +“It certainly would; two thousand or at least fifteen hundred. Give it +to me to-morrow or even to-day, and to-morrow evening I’ll send him to +Petersburg for you. That’s just what he wants. If you like, he can take +Marya Timofyevna. Note that.” +</p> +<p> +There was something distracted about him. He spoke, as it were, without +caution, and he did not reflect on his words. Stavrogin watched him, +wondering. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve no reason to send Marya Timofyevna away.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you don’t even want to,” Pyotr Stepanovitch smiled ironically. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps I don’t.” +</p> +<p> +“In short, will there be the money or not?” he cried with angry +impatience, and as it were peremptorily, to Stavrogin. The latter +scrutinised him gravely. “There won’t be the money.” +</p> +<p> +“Look here, Stavrogin! You know something, or have done something +already! You are going it!” +</p> +<p> +His face worked, the corners of his mouth twitched, and he suddenly +laughed an unprovoked and irrelevant laugh. +</p> +<p> +“But you’ve had money from your father for the estate,” Stavrogin +observed calmly. “Maman sent you six or eight thousand for Stepan +Trofimovitch. So you can pay the fifteen hundred out of your own money. +I don’t care to pay for other people. I’ve given a lot as it is. +It annoys me.…” He smiled himself at his own words. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, you are beginning to joke!” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin got up from his chair. Verhovensky instantly jumped up too, +and mechanically stood with his back to the door as though barring the +way to him. Stavrogin had already made a motion to push him aside and go +out, when he stopped short. +</p> +<p> +“I won’t give up Shatov to you,” he said. Pyotr Stepanovitch started. +They looked at one another. +</p> +<p> +“I told you this evening why you needed Shatov’s blood,” said Stavrogin, +with flashing eyes. “It’s the cement you want to bind your groups +together with. You drove Shatov away cleverly just now. You knew very +well that he wouldn’t promise not to inform and he would have thought it +mean to lie to you. But what do you want with me? What do you want with +me? Ever since we met abroad you won’t let me alone. The explanation +you’ve given me so far was simply raving. Meanwhile you are driving +at my giving Lebyadkin fifteen hundred roubles, so as to give Fedka an +opportunity to murder him. I know that you think I want my wife murdered +too. You think to tie my hands by this crime, and have me in your power. +That’s it, isn’t it? What good will that be to you? What the devil do +you want with me? Look at me. Once for all, am I the man for you? And +let me alone.” +</p> +<p> +“Has Fedka been to you himself?” Verhovensky asked breathlessly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, he came. His price is fifteen hundred too.… But here; he’ll +repeat it himself. There he stands.” Stavrogin stretched out his hand. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch turned round quickly. A new figure, Fedka, wearing a +sheep-skin coat, but without a cap, as though he were at home, stepped +out of the darkness in the doorway. He stood there laughing and showing +his even white teeth. His black eyes, with yellow whites, darted +cautiously about the room watching the gentlemen. There was something he +did not understand. He had evidently been just brought in by Kirillov, +and his inquiring eyes turned to the latter. He stood in the doorway, +but was unwilling to come into the room. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you got him ready here to listen to our bargaining, or +that he may actually see the money in our hands. Is that it?” asked +Stavrogin; and without waiting for an answer he walked out of the house. +Verhovensky, almost frantic, overtook him at the gate. +</p> +<p> +“Stop! Not another step!” he cried, seizing him by the arm. Stavrogin +tried to pull away his arm, but did not succeed. He was overcome with +fury. Seizing Verhovensky by the hair with his left hand he flung him +with all his might on the ground and went out at the gate. But he had +not gone thirty paces before Verhovensky overtook him again. +</p> +<p> +“Let us make it up; let us make it up!” he murmured in a spasmodic +whisper. +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin shrugged his shoulders, but neither answered nor turned round. +</p> +<p> +“Listen. I will bring you Lizaveta Nikolaevna to-morrow; shall I? No? +Why don’t you answer? Tell me what you want. I’ll do it. Listen. I’ll +let you have Shatov. Shall I?” +</p> +<p> +“Then it’s true that you meant to kill him?” cried Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“What do you want with Shatov? What is he to you?” Pyotr Stepanovitch +went on, gasping, speaking rapidly. He was in a frenzy, and kept running +forward and seizing Stavrogin by the elbow, probably unaware of what he +was doing. “Listen. I’ll let you have him. Let’s make it up. Your price +is a very great one, but … Let’s make it up!” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin glanced at him at last, and was amazed. The eyes, the voice, +were not the same as always, or as they had been in the room just now. +What he saw was almost another face. The intonation of the voice was +different. Verhovensky besought, implored. He was a man from whom what +was most precious was being taken or had been taken, and who was still +stunned by the shock. +</p> +<p> +“But what’s the matter with you?” cried Stavrogin. The other did not +answer, but ran after him and gazed at him with the same imploring but +yet inflexible expression. +</p> +<p> +“Let’s make it up!” he whispered once more. “Listen. Like Fedka, I have +a knife in my boot, but I’ll make it up with you!” +</p> +<p> +“But what do you want with me, damn you?” Stavrogin cried, with intense +anger and amazement. “Is there some mystery about it? Am I a sort of +talisman for you?” +</p> +<p> +“Listen. We are going to make a revolution,” the other muttered rapidly, +and almost in delirium. “You don’t believe we shall make a revolution? +We are going to make such an upheaval that everything will be uprooted +from its foundation. Karmazinov is right that there is nothing to lay +hold of. Karmazinov is very intelligent. Another ten such groups in +different parts of Russia—and I am safe.” +</p> +<p> +“Groups of fools like that?” broke reluctantly from Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, don’t be so clever, Stavrogin; don’t be so clever yourself. And you +know you are by no means so intelligent that you need wish others to +be. You are afraid, you have no faith. You are frightened at our doing +things on such a scale. And why are they fools? They are not such fools. +No one has a mind of his own nowadays. There are terribly few original +minds nowadays. Virginsky is a pure-hearted man, ten times as pure as +you or I; but never mind about him. Liputin is a rogue, but I know one +point about him. Every rogue has some point in him.… Lyamshin is the +only one who hasn’t, but he is in my hands. A few more groups, and I +should have money and passports everywhere; so much at least. Suppose it +were only that? And safe places, so that they can search as they like. +They might uproot one group but they’d stick at the next. We’ll set +things in a ferment.… Surely you don’t think that we two are not +enough?” +</p> +<p> +“Take Shigalov, and let me alone.…” +</p> +<p> +“Shigalov is a man of genius! Do you know he is a genius like Fourier, +but bolder than Fourier; stronger. I’ll look after him. He’s discovered +‘equality’!” +</p> +<p> +“He is in a fever; he is raving; something very queer has happened +to him,” thought Stavrogin, looking at him once more. Both walked on +without stopping. +</p> +<p> +“He’s written a good thing in that manuscript,” Verhovensky went on. “He +suggests a system of spying. Every member of the society spies on the +others, and it’s his duty to inform against them. Every one belongs to +all and all to every one. All are slaves and equal in their slavery. In +extreme cases he advocates slander and murder, but the great thing about +it is equality. To begin with, the level of education, science, and +talents is lowered. A high level of education and science is only +possible for great intellects, and they are not wanted. The great +intellects have always seized the power and been despots. Great +intellects cannot help being despots and they’ve always done more harm +than good. They will be banished or put to death. Cicero will have his +tongue cut out, Copernicus will have his eyes put out, Shakespeare will +be stoned—that’s Shigalovism. Slaves are bound to be equal. There has +never been either freedom or equality without despotism, but in the herd +there is bound to be equality, and that’s Shigalovism! Ha ha ha! Do you +think it strange? I am for Shigalovism.” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin tried to quicken his pace, and to reach home as soon as +possible. “If this fellow is drunk, where did he manage to get drunk?” +crossed his mind. “Can it be the brandy?” +</p> +<p> +“Listen, Stavrogin. To level the mountains is a fine idea, not an absurd +one. I am for Shigalov. Down with culture. We’ve had enough science! +Without science we have material enough to go on for a thousand years, +but one must have discipline. The one thing wanting in the world is +discipline. The thirst for culture is an aristocratic thirst. The moment +you have family ties or love you get the desire for property. We will +destroy that desire; we’ll make use of drunkenness, slander, spying; +we’ll make use of incredible corruption; we’ll stifle every genius +in its infancy. We’ll reduce all to a common denominator! Complete +equality! ‘We’ve learned a trade, and we are honest men; we need nothing +more,’ that was an answer given by English working-men recently. +Only the necessary is necessary, that’s the motto of the whole world +henceforward. But it needs a shock. That’s for us, the directors, to +look after. Slaves must have directors. Absolute submission, absolute +loss of individuality, but once in thirty years Shigalov would let them +have a shock and they would all suddenly begin eating one another up, to +a certain point, simply as a precaution against boredom. Boredom is an +aristocratic sensation. The Shigalovians will have no desires. Desire +and suffering are our lot, but Shigalovism is for the slaves.” +</p> +<p> +“You exclude yourself?” Stavrogin broke in again. +</p> +<p> +“You, too. Do you know, I have thought of giving up the world to the +Pope. Let him come forth, on foot, and barefoot, and show himself to the +rabble, saying, ‘See what they have brought me to!’ and they will all +rush after him, even the troops. The Pope at the head, with us +round him, and below us—Shigalovism. All that’s needed is that the +Internationale should come to an agreement with the Pope; so it will. +And the old chap will agree at once. There’s nothing else he can do. +Remember my words! Ha ha! Is it stupid? Tell me, is it stupid or not?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s enough!” Stavrogin muttered with vexation. +</p> +<p> +“Enough! Listen. I’ve given up the Pope! Damn Shigalovism! Damn the +Pope! We must have something more everyday. Not Shigalovism, for +Shigalovism is a rare specimen of the jeweller’s art. It’s an ideal; +it’s in the future. Shigalov is an artist and a fool like every +philanthropist. We need coarse work, and Shigalov despises coarse work. +Listen. The Pope shall be for the west, and you shall be for us, you +shall be for us!” +</p> +<p> +“Let me alone, you drunken fellow!” muttered Stavrogin, and he quickened +his pace. +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin, you are beautiful,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, almost +ecstatically. “Do you know that you are beautiful! What’s the most +precious thing about you is that you sometimes don’t know it. Oh, +I’ve studied you! I often watch you on the sly! There’s a lot of +simpleheartedness and naïveté about you still. Do you know that? There +still is, there is! You must be suffering and suffering genuinely from +that simple-heartedness. I love beauty. I am a nihilist, but I love +beauty. Are nihilists incapable of loving beauty? It’s only idols they +dislike, but I love an idol. You are my idol! You injure no one, and +every one hates you. You treat every one as an equal, and yet every one +is afraid of you—that’s good. Nobody would slap you on the shoulder. +You are an awful aristocrat. An aristocrat is irresistible when he goes +in for democracy! To sacrifice life, your own or another’s is nothing +to you. You are just the man that’s needed. It’s just such a man as you +that I need. I know no one but you. You are the leader, you are the sun +and I am your worm.” +</p> +<p> +He suddenly kissed his hand. A shiver ran down Stavrogin’s spine, and he +pulled away his hand in dismay. They stood still. +</p> +<p> +“Madman!” whispered Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps I am raving; perhaps I am raving,” Pyotr Stepanovitch assented, +speaking rapidly. “But I’ve thought of the first step! Shigalov would +never have thought of it. There are lots of Shigalovs, but only one man, +one man in Russia has hit on the first step and knows how to take it. +And I am that man! Why do you look at me? I need you, you; without you +I am nothing. Without you I am a fly, a bottled idea; Columbus without +America.” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin stood still and looked intently into his wild eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Listen. First of all we’ll make an upheaval,” Verhovensky went on in +desperate haste, continually clutching at Stavrogin’s left sleeve. “I’ve +already told you. We shall penetrate to the peasantry. Do you know that +we are tremendously powerful already? Our party does not consist only of +those who commit murder and arson, fire off pistols in the traditional +fashion, or bite colonels. They are only a hindrance. I don’t accept +anything without discipline. I am a scoundrel, of course, and not a +socialist. Ha ha! Listen. I’ve reckoned them all up: a teacher who +laughs with children at their God and at their cradle is on our side. +The lawyer who defends an educated murderer because he is more cultured +than his victims and could not help murdering them to get money is one +of us. The schoolboys who murder a peasant for the sake of sensation are +ours. The juries who acquit every criminal are ours. The prosecutor who +trembles at a trial for fear he should not seem advanced enough is ours, +ours. Among officials and literary men we have lots, lots, and they +don’t know it themselves. On the other hand, the docility of schoolboys +and fools has reached an extreme pitch; the schoolmasters are bitter +and bilious. On all sides we see vanity puffed up out of all proportion; +brutal, monstrous appetites.… Do you know how many we shall catch by +little, ready-made ideas? When I left Russia, Littre’s dictum that crime +is insanity was all the rage; I come back and I find that crime is +no longer insanity, but simply common sense, almost a duty; anyway, +a gallant protest. ‘How can we expect a cultured man not to commit a +murder, if he is in need of money.’ But these are only the first fruits. +The Russian God has already been vanquished by cheap vodka. The peasants +are drunk, the mothers are drunk, the children are drunk, the churches +are empty, and in the peasant courts one hears, ‘Two hundred lashes or +stand us a bucket of vodka.’ Oh, this generation has only to grow up. +It’s only a pity we can’t afford to wait, or we might have let them get +a bit more tipsy! Ah, what a pity there’s no proletariat! But there will +be, there will be; we are going that way.…” +</p> +<p> +“It’s a pity, too, that we’ve grown greater fools,” muttered Stavrogin, +moving forward as before. +</p> +<p> +“Listen. I’ve seen a child of six years old leading home his drunken +mother, whilst she swore at him with foul words. Do you suppose I am +glad of that? When it’s in our hands, maybe we’ll mend things … if need +be, we’ll drive them for forty years into the wilderness.… But one +or two generations of vice are essential now; monstrous, abject vice by +which a man is transformed into a loathsome, cruel, egoistic reptile. +That’s what we need! And what’s more, a little ‘fresh blood’ that we +may get accustomed to it. Why are you laughing? I am not contradicting +myself. I am only contradicting the philanthropists and Shigalovism, +not myself! I am a scoundrel, not a socialist. Ha ha ha! I’m only sorry +there’s no time. I promised Karmazinov to begin in May, and to make an +end by October. Is that too soon? Ha ha! Do you know what, Stavrogin? +Though the Russian people use foul language, there’s nothing cynical +about them so far. Do you know the serfs had more self-respect than +Karmazinov? Though they were beaten they always preserved their gods, +which is more than Karmazinov’s done.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, Verhovensky, this is the first time I’ve heard you talk, and I +listen with amazement,” observed Stavrogin. “So you are really not a +socialist, then, but some sort of … ambitious politician?” +</p> +<p> +“A scoundrel, a scoundrel! You are wondering what I am. I’ll tell you +what I am directly, that’s what I am leading up to. It was not for +nothing that I kissed your hand. But the people must believe that we +know what we are after, while the other side do nothing but ‘brandish +their cudgels and beat their own followers.’ Ah, if we only had more +time! That’s the only trouble, we have no time. We will proclaim +destruction.… Why is it, why is it that idea has such a fascination. +But we must have a little exercise; we must. We’ll set fires going.… +We’ll set legends going. Every scurvy ‘group’ will be of use. Out of +those very groups I’ll pick you out fellows so keen they’ll not shrink +from shooting, and be grateful for the honour of a job, too. Well, and +there will be an upheaval! There’s going to be such an upset as +the world has never seen before.… Russia will be overwhelmed with +darkness, the earth will weep for its old gods.… Well, then we shall +bring forward … whom?” +</p> +<p> +“Whom?” +</p> +<p> +“Ivan the Tsarevitch.” +</p> +<p> +“Who-m?” +</p> +<p> +“Ivan the Tsarevitch. You! You!” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin thought a minute. +</p> +<p> +“A pretender?” he asked suddenly, looking with intense surprise at his +frantic companion. “Ah! so that’s your plan at last!” +</p> +<p> +“We shall say that he is ‘in hiding,’” Verhovensky said softly, in a +sort of tender whisper, as though he really were drunk indeed. “Do you +know the magic of that phrase, ‘he is in hiding’? But he will appear, +he will appear. We’ll set a legend going better than the Skoptsis’. He +exists, but no one has seen him. Oh, what a legend one can set going! +And the great thing is it will be a new force at work! And we need that; +that’s what they are crying for. What can Socialism do: it’s destroyed +the old forces but hasn’t brought in any new. But in this we have a +force, and what a force! Incredible. We only need one lever to lift up +the earth. Everything will rise up!” +</p> +<p> +“Then have you been seriously reckoning on me?” Stavrogin said with a +malicious smile. +</p> +<p> +“Why do you laugh, and so spitefully? Don’t frighten me. I am like a +little child now. I can be frightened to death by one smile like that. +Listen. I’ll let no one see you, no one. So it must be. He exists, but +no one has seen him; he is in hiding. And do you know, one might show +you, to one out of a hundred-thousand, for instance. And the rumour will +spread over all the land, ‘We’ve seen him, we’ve seen him.’ +</p> +<p> +“Ivan Filipovitch the God of Sabaoth,* has been seen, too, when he +ascended into heaven in his chariot in the sight of men. They saw +him with their own eyes. And you are not an Ivan Filipovitch. You are +beautiful and proud as a God; you are seeking nothing for yourself, +with the halo of a victim round you, ‘in hiding.’ The great thing is +the legend. You’ll conquer them, you’ll have only to look, and you will +conquer them. He is ‘in hiding,’ and will come forth bringing a new +truth. And, meanwhile, we’ll pass two or three judgments as wise +as Solomon’s. The groups, you know, the quintets—we’ve no need of +newspapers. If out of ten thousand petitions only one is granted, all +would come with petitions. In every parish, every peasant will know that +there is somewhere a hollow tree where petitions are to be put. And the +whole land will resound with the cry, ‘A new just law is to come,’ and +the sea will be troubled and the whole gimcrack show will fall to the +ground, and then we shall consider how to build up an edifice of stone. +For the first time! We are going to build it, we, and only we!” +</p> + +<pre> + * The reference is to the legend current in the sect of + Flagellants.—Translator’s note. +</pre> +<p> +“Madness,” said Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“Why, why don’t you want it? Are you afraid? That’s why I caught at you, +because you are afraid of nothing. Is it unreasonable? But you see, so +far I am Columbus without America. Would Columbus without America seem +reasonable?” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin did not speak. Meanwhile they had reached the house and +stopped at the entrance. +</p> +<p> +“Listen,” Verhovensky bent down to his ear. “I’ll do it for you without +the money. I’ll settle Marya Timofyevna to-morrow!… Without the money, +and to-morrow I’ll bring you Liza. Will you have Liza to-morrow?” +</p> +<p> +“Is he really mad?” Stavrogin wondered smiling. The front door was +opened. +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin—is America ours?” said Verhovensky, seizing his hand for the +last time. +</p> +<p> +“What for?” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, gravely and sternly. +</p> +<p> +“You don’t care, I knew that!” cried Verhovensky in an access of furious +anger. “You are lying, you miserable, profligate, perverted, little +aristocrat! I don’t believe you, you’ve the appetite of a wolf!… +Understand that you’ve cost me such a price, I can’t give you up now! +There’s no one on earth but you! I invented you abroad; I invented it +all, looking at you. If I hadn’t watched you from my corner, nothing of +all this would have entered my head!” +</p> + +<p> +Stavrogin went up the steps without answering. +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin!” Verhovensky called after him, “I give you a day … two, +then … three, then; more than three I can’t—and then you’re to +answer!” +</p> +<a id="H2CH0014"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER IX. A RAID AT STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S +</h2> +<p> +Meanwhile an incident had occurred which astounded me and shattered +Stepan Trofimovitch. At eight o’clock in the morning Nastasya ran round +to me from him with the news that her master was “raided.” At first I +could not make out what she meant; I could only gather that the “raid” +was carried out by officials, that they had come and taken his papers, +and that a soldier had tied them up in a bundle and “wheeled them away +in a barrow.” It was a fantastic story. I hurried at once to Stepan +Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +I found him in a surprising condition: upset and in great agitation, but +at the same time unmistakably triumphant. On the table in the middle of +the room the samovar was boiling, and there was a glass of tea poured +out but untouched and forgotten. Stepan Trofimovitch was wandering round +the table and peeping into every corner of the room, unconscious of what +he was doing. He was wearing his usual red knitted jacket, but seeing +me, he hurriedly put on his coat and waistcoat—a thing he had never +done before when any of his intimate friends found him in his jacket. He +took me warmly by the hand at once. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Enfin un ami!”</i> (He heaved a deep sigh.) “<i>Cher,</i> I’ve sent to you only, +and no one knows anything. We must give Nastasya orders to lock the +doors and not admit anyone, except, of course them.… <i>Vous comprenez?</i>” +</p> +<p> +He looked at me uneasily, as though expecting a reply. I made haste, of +course, to question him, and from his disconnected and broken sentences, +full of unnecessary parentheses, I succeeded in learning that at seven +o’clock that morning an official of the province had ‘all of a sudden’ +called on him. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Pardon, j’ai oublié son nom. Il n’est pas du pays,</i> but I think he came +to the town with Lembke, <i>quelque chose de bête et d’Allemand dans la +physionomie. Il s’appelle Rosenthal.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Wasn’t it Blum?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that was his name. <i>Vous le connaissez? Quelque chose d’hébété et +de très content dans la figure, pourtant très sevère, roide et sérieux.</i> +A type of the police, of the submissive subordinates, <i>je m’y connais.</i> I +was still asleep, and, would you believe it, he asked to have a look at +my books and manuscripts! <i>Oui, je m’en souviens, il a employé ce mot.</i> He +did not arrest me, but only the books. <i>Il se tenait à distance,</i> and when +he began to explain his visit he looked as though I … <i>enfin il +avait l’air de croire que je tomberai sur lui immédiatement et que je +commencerai a le battre comme plâtre. Tous ces gens du bas étage sont +comme ça</i> when they have to do with a gentleman. I need hardly say I +understood it all at once. <i>Voilà vingt ans que je m’y prépare.</i> I opened +all the drawers and handed him all the keys; I gave them myself, I gave +him all. <i>J’étais digne et calme.</i> From the books he took the foreign +edition of Herzen, the bound volume of <i>The Bell,</i> four copies of my poem, +<i>et enfin tout ça.</i> Then he took my letters and my papers <i>et quelques-unes +de mes ébauches historiques, critiques et politiques.</i> All that they +carried off. Nastasya says that a soldier wheeled them away in a barrow +and covered them with an apron; <i>oui, c’est cela,</i> with an apron.” It +sounded like delirium. Who could make head or tail of it? I pelted him +with questions again. Had Blum come alone, or with others? On whose +authority? By what right? How had he dared? How did he explain it? +</p> +<p> +“<i>Il etait seul, bien seul,</i> but there was someone else <i>dans +l’antichambre, oui, je m’en souviens, et puis </i>… Though I believe there +was someone else besides, and there was a guard standing in the entry. +You must ask Nastasya; she knows all about it better than I do. <i>J’étais +surexcité, voyez-vous. Il parlait, il parlait … un tas de chases</i>; he +said very little though, it was I said all that.… I told him the +story of my life, simply from that point of view, of course. <i>J’étais +surexcité, mais digne, je vous assure.</i>… I am afraid, though, I may +have shed tears. They got the barrow from the shop next door.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, heavens! how could all this have happened? But for mercy’s sake, +speak more exactly, Stepan Trofimovitch. What you tell me sounds like a +dream.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Cher,</i> I feel as though I were in a dream myself.… <i>Savez-vous! Il +a prononcé le nom de Telyatnikof,</i> and I believe that that man was +concealed in the entry. Yes, I remember, he suggested calling the +prosecutor and Dmitri Dmitritch, I believe … <i>qui me doit encore quinze +roubles</i> I won at cards, <i>soit dit en passant. Enfin, je n’ai pas trop +compris.</i> But I got the better of them, and what do I care for Dmitri +Dmitritch? I believe I begged him very earnestly to keep it quiet; +I begged him particularly, most particularly. I am afraid I demeaned +myself, in fact, <i>comment croyez-vous? Enfin il a consenti.</i> Yes, I +remember, he suggested that himself—that it would be better to keep it +quiet, for he had only come ‘to have a look round’ <i>et rien de plus,</i> and +nothing more, nothing more … and that if they find nothing, nothing +will happen. So that we ended it all <i>en amis, je suis tout à fait +content.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Why, then he suggested the usual course of proceedings in such cases +and regular guarantees, and you rejected them yourself,” I cried with +friendly indignation. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, it’s better without the guarantees. And why make a scandal? Let’s +keep it <i>en amis</i> so long as we can. You know, in our town, if they get to +know it … <i>mes ennemis, et puis, à quoi bon, le procureur, ce cochon de +notre procureur, qui deux fois m’a manqué de politesse et qu’on a rossé +à plaisir l’autre année chez cette charmante et belle Natalya Pavlovna +quand il se cacha dans son boudoir. Et puis, mon ami,</i> don’t make +objections and don’t depress me, I beg you, for nothing is more +unbearable when a man is in trouble than for a hundred friends to point +out to him what a fool he has made of himself. Sit down though and have +some tea. I must admit I am awfully tired.… Hadn’t I better lie down +and put vinegar on my head? What do you think?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly,” I cried, “ice even. You are very much upset. You are pale +and your hands are trembling. Lie down, rest, and put off telling me. +I’ll sit by you and wait.” +</p> +<p> +He hesitated, but I insisted on his lying down. Nastasya brought a cup +of vinegar. I wetted a towel and laid it on his head. Then Nastasya +stood on a chair and began lighting a lamp before the ikon in the +corner. I noticed this with surprise; there had never been a lamp there +before and now suddenly it had made its appearance. +</p> +<p> +“I arranged for that as soon as they had gone away,” muttered Stepan +Trofimovitch, looking at me slyly. “<i>Quand on a de ces choses-là dans sa +chambre et qu’on vient vous arrêter</i> it makes an impression and they are +sure to report that they have seen it.…” +</p> +<p> +When she had done the lamp, Nastasya stood in the doorway, leaned her +cheek in her right hand, and began gazing at him with a lachrymose air. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Eloignez-la</i> on some excuse,” he nodded to me from the sofa. “I can’t +endure this Russian sympathy, <i>et puis ça m’embête.</i>” +</p> +<p> +But she went away of herself. I noticed that he kept looking towards the +door and listening for sounds in the passage. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Il faut être prêt, voyez-vous,”</i> he said, looking at me significantly, +<i>“chaque moment </i>… they may come and take one and, phew!—a man +disappears.” +</p> +<p> +“Heavens! who’ll come? Who will take you?” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Voyez-vous, mon cher,</i> I asked straight out when he was going away, what +would they do to me now.” +</p> +<p> +“You’d better have asked them where you’d be exiled!” I cried out in the +same indignation. +</p> +<p> +“That’s just what I meant when I asked, but he went away without +answering. <i>Voyez-vous:</i> as for linen, clothes, warm things especially, +that must be as they decide; if they tell me to take them—all right, +or they might send me in a soldier’s overcoat. But I thrust thirty-five +roubles” (he suddenly dropped his voice, looking towards the door by +which Nastasya had gone out) “in a slit in my waistcoat pocket, here, +feel.… I believe they won’t take the waistcoat off, and left seven +roubles in my purse to keep up appearances, as though that were all I +have. You see, it’s in small change and the coppers are on the table, +so they won’t guess that I’ve hidden the money, but will suppose that +that’s all. For God knows where I may have to sleep to-night!” +</p> +<p> +I bowed my head before such madness. It was obvious that a man could not +be arrested and searched in the way he was describing, and he must +have mixed things up. It’s true it all happened in the days before our +present, more recent regulations. It is true, too, that according to his +own account they had offered to follow the more regular procedure, but +he “got the better of them” and refused.… Of course not long ago a +governor might, in extreme cases.… But how could this be an extreme +case? That’s what baffled me. +</p> +<p> +“No doubt they had a telegram from Petersburg,” Stepan Trofimovitch said +suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“A telegram? About you? Because of the works of Herzen and your poem? +Have you taken leave of your senses? What is there in that to arrest you +for?” +</p> +<p> +I was positively angry. He made a grimace and was evidently +mortified—not at my exclamation, but at the idea that there was no +ground for arrest. +</p> +<p> +“Who can tell in our day what he may not be arrested for?” he muttered +enigmatically. +</p> +<p> +A wild and nonsensical idea crossed my mind. +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch, tell me as a friend,” I cried, “as a real friend, +I will not betray you: do you belong to some secret society or not?” +</p> +<p> +And on this, to my amazement, he was not quite certain whether he was or +was not a member of some secret society. +</p> +<p> +“That depends, <i>voyez-vous.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean ‘it depends’?” +</p> +<p> +“When with one’s whole heart one is an adherent of progress and … who +can answer it? You may suppose you don’t belong, and suddenly it turns +out that you do belong to something.” +</p> +<p> +“Now is that possible? It’s a case of yes or no.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Cela date de Pétersburg</i> when she and I were meaning to found a magazine +there. That’s what’s at the root of it. She gave them the slip then, and +they forgot us, but now they’ve remembered. <i>Cher, cher,</i> don’t you know +me?” he cried hysterically. “And they’ll take us, put us in a cart, and +march us off to Siberia forever, or forget us in prison.” +</p> +<p> +And he suddenly broke into bitter weeping. His tears positively +streamed. He covered his face with his red silk handkerchief and sobbed, +sobbed convulsively for five minutes. It wrung my heart. This was +the man who had been a prophet among us for twenty years, a leader, +a patriarch, the Kukolnik who had borne himself so loftily and +majestically before all of us, before whom we bowed down with genuine +reverence, feeling proud of doing so—and all of a sudden here he was +sobbing, sobbing like a naughty child waiting for the rod which the +teacher is fetching for him. I felt fearfully sorry for him. He believed +in the reality of that “cart” as he believed that I was sitting by his +side, and he expected it that morning, at once, that very minute, and +all this on account of his Herzen and some poem! Such complete, absolute +ignorance of everyday reality was touching and somehow repulsive. +</p> +<p> +At last he left off crying, got up from the sofa and began walking about +the room again, continuing to talk to me, though he looked out of the +window every minute and listened to every sound in the passage. Our +conversation was still disconnected. All my assurances and attempts +to console him rebounded from him like peas from a wall. He scarcely +listened, but yet what he needed was that I should console him and keep +on talking with that object. I saw that he could not do without me now, +and would not let me go for anything. I remained, and we spent more than +two hours together. In conversation he recalled that Blum had taken with +him two manifestoes he had found. +</p> +<p> +“Manifestoes!” I said, foolishly frightened. “Do you mean to say +you …” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, ten were left here,” he answered with vexation (he talked to me +at one moment in a vexed and haughty tone and at the next with dreadful +plaintiveness and humiliation), “but I had disposed of eight already, +and Blum only found two.” And he suddenly flushed with indignation. +“<i>Vous me mettez avec ces gens-là!</i> Do you suppose I could be working +with those scoundrels, those anonymous libellers, with my son Pyotr +Stepanovitch, <i>avec ces esprits forts de lâcheté?</i> Oh, heavens!” +</p> +<p> +“Bah! haven’t they mixed you up perhaps?… But it’s nonsense, it can’t +be so,” I observed. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Savez-vous,”</i> broke from him suddenly, “I feel at moments <i>que je ferai +là-bas quelque esclandre.</i> Oh, don’t go away, don’t leave me alone! <i>Ma +carrière est finie aujourd’hui, je le sens.</i> Do you know, I might fall on +somebody there and bite him, like that lieutenant.” +</p> +<p> +He looked at me with a strange expression—alarmed, and at the same time +anxious to alarm me. He certainly was getting more and more exasperated +with somebody and about something as time went on and the police-cart +did not appear; he was positively wrathful. Suddenly Nastasya, who +had come from the kitchen into the passage for some reason, upset a +clothes-horse there. Stepan Trofimovitch trembled and turned numb with +terror as he sat; but when the noise was explained, he almost shrieked +at Nastasya and, stamping, drove her back to the kitchen. A minute later +he said, looking at me in despair: “I am ruined! <i>Cher</i>”—he sat down +suddenly beside me and looked piteously into my face—“<i>cher,</i> it’s not +Siberia I am afraid of, I swear. <i>Oh, je vous jure!</i>” (Tears positively +stood in his eyes.) “It’s something else I fear.” +</p> +<p> +I saw from his expression that he wanted at last to tell me something of +great importance which he had till now refrained from telling. +</p> +<p> +“I am afraid of disgrace,” he whispered mysteriously. +</p> +<p> +“What disgrace? On the contrary! Believe me, Stepan Trofimovitch, that all +this will be explained to-day and will end to your advantage.…” +</p> +<p> +“Are you so sure that they will pardon me?” +</p> +<p> +“Pardon you? What! What a word! What have you done? I assure you you’ve +done nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Qu’en savez-vous;</i> all my life has been … <i>cher</i> … They’ll remember +everything … and if they find nothing, it will be <i>worse still</i>,” he +added all of a sudden, unexpectedly. +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean it will be worse?” +</p> +<p> +“It will be worse.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t understand.” +</p> +<p> +“My friend, let it be Siberia, Archangel, loss of rights—if I must +perish, let me perish! But … I am afraid of something else.” (Again +whispering, a scared face, mystery.) +</p> +<p> +“But of what? Of what?” +</p> +<p> +“They’ll flog me,” he pronounced, looking at me with a face of despair. +</p> +<p> +“Who’ll flog you? What for? Where?” I cried, feeling alarmed that he was +going out of his mind. +</p> +<p> +“Where? Why there … where ‘that’s’ done.” +</p> +<p> +“But where is it done?” +</p> +<p> +“Eh, <i>cher,</i>” he whispered almost in my ear. “The floor suddenly gives +way under you, you drop half through.… Every one knows that.” +</p> +<p> +“Legends!” I cried, guessing what he meant. “Old tales. Can you have +believed them till now?” I laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Tales! But there must be foundation for them; flogged men tell no +tales. I’ve imagined it ten thousand times.” +</p> +<p> +“But you, why you? You’ve done nothing, you know.” +</p> +<p> +“That makes it worse. They’ll find out I’ve done nothing and flog me for +it.” +</p> +<p> +“And you are sure that you’ll be taken to Petersburg for that.” +</p> +<p> +“My friend, I’ve told you already that I regret nothing, <i>ma carrière est +finie.</i> From that hour when she said good-bye to me at Skvoreshniki my +life has had no value for me … but disgrace, disgrace, <i>que dira-t-elle</i> +if she finds out?” +</p> +<p> +He looked at me in despair. And the poor fellow flushed all over. I +dropped my eyes too. +</p> +<p> +“She’ll find out nothing, for nothing will happen to you. I feel as if I +were speaking to you for the first time in my life, Stepan Trofimovitch, +you’ve astonished me so this morning.” +</p> +<p> +“But, my friend, this isn’t fear. For even if I am pardoned, even if +I am brought here and nothing is done to me—then I am undone. <i>Elle me +soupçonnera toute sa vie</i>—me, me, the poet, the thinker, the man whom +she has worshipped for twenty-two years!” +</p> +<p> +“It will never enter her head.” +</p> +<p> +“It will,” he whispered with profound conviction. “We’ve talked of it +several times in Petersburg, in Lent, before we came away, when we +were both afraid.… <i>Elle me soupçonnera toute sa vie </i>… and how can +I disabuse her? It won’t sound likely. And in this wretched town who’d +believe it, <i>c’est invraisemblable.… Et puis les femmes,</i> she will be +pleased. She will be genuinely grieved like a true friend, but secretly +she will be pleased.… I shall give her a weapon against me for the +rest of my life. Oh, it’s all over with me! Twenty years of such perfect +happiness with her … and now!” He hid his face in his hands. +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch, oughtn’t you to let Varvara Petrovna know at once +of what has happened?” I suggested. +</p> +<p> +“God preserve me!” he cried, shuddering and leaping up from his +place. “On no account, never, after what was said at parting at +Skvoreshniki—never!” +</p> +<p> +His eyes flashed. +</p> +<p> +We went on sitting together another hour or more, I believe, expecting +something all the time—the idea had taken such hold of us. He lay down +again, even closed his eyes, and lay for twenty minutes without uttering +a word, so that I thought he was asleep or unconscious. Suddenly he got +up impulsively, pulled the towel off his head, jumped up from the sofa, +rushed to the looking-glass, with trembling hands tied his cravat, and +in a voice of thunder called to Nastasya, telling her to give him his +overcoat, his new hat and his stick. +</p> +<p> +“I can bear no more,” he said in a breaking voice. “I can’t, I can’t! I +am going myself.” +</p> +<p> +“Where?” I cried, jumping up too. +</p> +<p> +“To Lembke. <i>Cher,</i> I ought, I am obliged. It’s my duty. I am a citizen +and a man, not a worthless chip. I have rights; I want my rights.… +For twenty years I’ve not insisted on my rights. All my life I’ve +neglected them criminally … but now I’ll demand them. He must tell me +everything—everything. He received a telegram. He dare not torture me; +if so, let him arrest me, let him arrest me!” +</p> +<p> +He stamped and vociferated almost with shrieks. “I approve of what you +say,” I said, speaking as calmly as possible, on purpose, though I was +very much afraid for him. +</p> +<p> +“Certainly it is better than sitting here in such misery, but I can’t +approve of your state of mind. Just see what you look like and in what a +state you are going there! <i>Il faut être digne et calme avec Lembke.</i> You +really might rush at someone there and bite him.” +</p> +<p> +“I am giving myself up. I am walking straight into the jaws of the lion.…” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll go with you.” +</p> +<p> +“I expected no less of you, I accept your sacrifice, the sacrifice of a +true friend; but only as far as the house, only as far as the house. You +ought not, you have no right to compromise yourself further by being my +confederate. <i>Oh, croyez-moi, je serai calme.</i> I feel that I am at this +moment <i>à la hauteur de tout ce que il y a de plus sacré.</i>…” +</p> +<p> +“I may perhaps go into the house with you,” I interrupted him. “I had a +message from their stupid committee yesterday through Vysotsky that they +reckon on me and invite me to the <i>fête</i> to-morrow as one of the stewards +or whatever it is … one of the six young men whose duty it is to look +after the trays, wait on the ladies, take the guests to their places, +and wear a rosette of crimson and white ribbon on the left shoulder. I +meant to refuse, but now why shouldn’t I go into the house on the +excuse of seeing Yulia Mihailovna herself about it?… So we will go +in together.” +</p> +<p> +He listened, nodding, but I think he understood nothing. We stood on the +threshold. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Cher”</i>—he stretched out his arm to the lamp before the ikon—”<i>cher,</i> +I have never believed in this, but … so be it, so be it!” He crossed +himself. <i>“Allons!”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s better so,” I thought as I went out on to the steps with +him. “The fresh air will do him good on the way, and we shall calm down, +turn back, and go home to bed.…” +</p> +<p> +But I reckoned without my host. On the way an adventure occurred which +agitated Stepan Trofimovitch even more, and finally determined him to go +on … so that I should never have expected of our friend so much spirit +as he suddenly displayed that morning. Poor friend, kind-hearted friend! +</p> +<a id="H2CH0015"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER X. FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +The adventure that befell us on the way was also a surprising one. But I +must tell the story in due order. An hour before Stepan Trofimovitch +and I came out into the street, a crowd of people, the hands from +Shpigulins’ factory, seventy or more in number, had been marching +through the town, and had been an object of curiosity to many +spectators. They walked intentionally in good order and almost in +silence. Afterwards it was asserted that these seventy had been elected +out of the whole number of factory hands, amounting to about nine +hundred, to go to the governor and to try and get from him, in the +absence of their employer, a just settlement of their grievances against +the manager, who, in closing the factory and dismissing the workmen, had +cheated them all in an impudent way—a fact which has since been proved +conclusively. Some people still deny that there was any election of +delegates, maintaining that seventy was too large a number to elect, +and that the crowd simply consisted of those who had been most unfairly +treated, and that they only came to ask for help in their own case, so +that the general “mutiny” of the factory workers, about which there +was such an uproar later on, had never existed at all. Others fiercely +maintained that these seventy men were not simple strikers but +revolutionists, that is, not merely that they were the most turbulent, +but that they must have been worked upon by seditious manifestoes. +The fact is, it is still uncertain whether there had been any outside +influence or incitement at work or not. My private opinion is that the +workmen had not read the seditious manifestoes at all, and if they had +read them, would not have understood one word, for one reason because +the authors of such literature write very obscurely in spite of the +boldness of their style. But as the workmen really were in a difficult +plight and the police to whom they appealed would not enter into their +grievances, what could be more natural than their idea of going in a +body to “the general himself” if possible, with the petition at their +head, forming up in an orderly way before his door, and as soon as he +showed himself, all falling on their knees and crying out to him as to +providence itself? To my mind there is no need to see in this a mutiny +or even a deputation, for it’s a traditional, historical mode of +action; the Russian people have always loved to parley with “the general +himself” for the mere satisfaction of doing so, regardless of how the +conversation may end. +</p> +<p> +And so I am quite convinced that, even though Pyotr Stepanovitch, +Liputin, and perhaps some others—perhaps even Fedka too—had been +flitting about among the workpeople talking to them (and there is fairly +good evidence of this), they had only approached two, three, five at the +most, trying to sound them, and nothing had come of their conversation. +As for the mutiny they advocated, if the factory-workers did understand +anything of their propaganda, they would have left off listening to it +at once as to something stupid that had nothing to do with them. Fedka +was a different matter: he had more success, I believe, than Pyotr +Stepanovitch. Two workmen are now known for a fact to have assisted +Fedka in causing the fire in the town which occurred three days +afterwards, and a month later three men who had worked in the factory +were arrested for robbery and arson in the province. But if in these +cases Fedka did lure them to direct and immediate action, he could only +have succeeded with these five, for we heard of nothing of the sort +being done by others. +</p> +<p> +Be that as it may, the whole crowd of workpeople had at last reached the +open space in front of the governor’s house and were drawn up there in +silence and good order. Then, gaping open-mouthed at the front door, +they waited. I am told that as soon as they halted they took off their +caps, that is, a good half-hour before the appearance of the governor, +who, as ill-luck would have it, was not at home at the moment. The +police made their appearance at once, at first individual policemen and +then as large a contingent of them as could be gathered together; they +began, of course, by being menacing, ordering them to break up. But +the workmen remained obstinately, like a flock of sheep at a fence, and +replied laconically that they had come to see “the general himself”; it +was evident that they were firmly determined. The unnatural shouting +of the police ceased, and was quickly succeeded by deliberations, +mysterious whispered instructions, and stern, fussy perplexity, which +wrinkled the brows of the police officers. The head of the police +preferred to await the arrival of the “governor himself.” It was not +true that he galloped to the spot with three horses at full speed, and +began hitting out right and left before he alighted from his carriage. +It’s true that he used to dash about and was fond of dashing about at +full speed in a carriage with a yellow back, and while his trace-horses, +who were so trained to carry their heads that they looked “positively +perverted,” galloped more and more frantically, rousing the enthusiasm +of all the shopkeepers in the bazaar, he would rise up in the carriage, +stand erect, holding on by a strap which had been fixed on purpose at +the side, and with his right arm extended into space like a figure on a +monument, survey the town majestically. But in the present case he did +not use his fists, and though as he got out of the carriage he could not +refrain from a forcible expression, this was simply done to keep up +his popularity. There is a still more absurd story that soldiers were +brought up with bayonets, and that a telegram was sent for artillery and +Cossacks; those are legends which are not believed now even by those +who invented them. It’s an absurd story, too, that barrels of water were +brought from the fire brigade, and that people were drenched with water +from them. The simple fact is that Ilya Ilyitch shouted in his heat that +he wouldn’t let one of them come dry out of the water; probably this was +the foundation of the barrel legend which got into the columns of the +Petersburg and Moscow newspapers. Probably the most accurate version was +that at first all the available police formed a cordon round the crowd, +and a messenger was sent for Lembke, a police superintendent, who dashed +off in the carriage belonging to the head of the police on the way to +Skvoreshniki, knowing that Lembke had gone there in his carriage half an +hour before. +</p> +<p> +But I must confess that I am still unable to answer the question how +they could at first sight, from the first moment, have transformed an +insignificant, that is to say an ordinary, crowd of petitioners, even +though there were several of them, into a rebellion which threatened to +shake the foundations of the state. Why did Lembke himself rush at that +idea when he arrived twenty minutes after the messenger? I imagine (but +again it’s only my private opinion) that it was to the interest of Ilya +Ilyitch, who was a crony of the factory manager’s, to represent the +crowd in this light to Lembke, in order to prevent him from going into +the case; and Lembke himself had put the idea into his head. In the +course of the last two days, he had had two unusual and mysterious +conversations with him. It is true they were exceedingly obscure, +but Ilya Ilyitch was able to gather from them that the governor had +thoroughly made up his mind that there were political manifestoes, and +that Shpigulins’ factory hands were being incited to a Socialist rising, +and that he was so persuaded of it that he would perhaps have regretted +it if the story had turned out to be nonsense. “He wants to get +distinction in Petersburg,” our wily Ilya Ilyitch thought to himself as +he left Von Lembke; “well, that just suits me.” +</p> +<p> +But I am convinced that poor Andrey Antonovitch would not have desired +a rebellion even for the sake of distinguishing himself. He was a most +conscientious official, who had lived in a state of innocence up to the +time of his marriage. And was it his fault that, instead of an innocent +allowance of wood from the government and an equally innocent Minnchen, +a princess of forty summers had raised him to her level? I know almost +for certain that the unmistakable symptoms of the mental condition +which brought poor Andrey Antonovitch to a well-known establishment in +Switzerland, where, I am told, he is now regaining his energies, +were first apparent on that fatal morning. But once we admit that +unmistakable signs of something were visible that morning, it may well +be allowed that similar symptoms may have been evident the day before, +though not so clearly. I happen to know from the most private sources +(well, you may assume that Yulia Mihailovna later on, not in triumph +but <i>almost</i> in remorse—for a woman is incapable of <i>complete</i> +remorse—revealed part of it to me herself) that Andrey Antonovitch had +gone into his wife’s room in the middle of the previous night, past +two o’clock in the morning, had waked her up, and had insisted on her +listening to his “ultimatum.” He demanded it so insistently that she +was obliged to get up from her bed in indignation and curl-papers, +and, sitting down on a couch, she had to listen, though with sarcastic +disdain. Only then she grasped for the first time how far gone her +Andrey Antonovitch was, and was secretly horrified. She ought to have +thought what she was about and have been softened, but she concealed her +horror and was more obstinate than ever. Like every wife she had her +own method of treating Andrey Antonovitch, which she had tried more than +once already and with it driven him to frenzy. Yulia Mihailovna’s method +was that of contemptuous silence, for one hour, two, a whole day and +almost for three days and nights—silence whatever happened, whatever he +said, whatever he did, even if he had clambered up to throw himself +out of a three-story window—a method unendurable for a sensitive man! +Whether Yulia Mihailovna meant to punish her husband for his blunders of +the last few days and the jealous envy he, as the chief authority in the +town, felt for her administrative abilities; whether she was indignant +at his criticism of her behaviour with the young people and local +society generally, and lack of comprehension of her subtle and +far-sighted political aims; or was angry with his stupid and senseless +jealousy of Pyotr Stepanovitch—however that may have been, she made +up her mind not to be softened even now, in spite of its being three +o’clock at night, and though Andrey Antonovitch was in a state of +emotion such as she had never seen him in before. +</p> +<p> +Pacing up and down in all directions over the rugs of her boudoir, +beside himself, he poured out everything, everything, quite +disconnectedly, it’s true, but everything that had been rankling in +his heart, for—“it was outrageous.” He began by saying that he was a +laughing-stock to every one and “was being led by the nose.” +</p> +<p> +“Curse the expression,” he squealed, at once catching her smile, “let it +stand, it’s true.… No, madam, the time has come; let me tell you it’s +not a time for laughter and feminine arts now. We are not in the boudoir +of a mincing lady, but like two abstract creatures in a balloon who have +met to speak the truth.” (He was no doubt confused and could not find +the right words for his ideas, however just they were.) “It is you, +madam, you who have destroyed my happy past. I took up this post +simply for your sake, for the sake of your ambition.… You smile +sarcastically? Don’t triumph, don’t be in a hurry. Let me tell you, +madam, let me tell you that I should have been equal to this position, +and not only this position but a dozen positions like it, for I have +abilities; but with you, madam, with you—it’s impossible, for with +you here I have no abilities. There cannot be two centres, and you have +created two—one of mine and one in your boudoir—two centres of power, +madam, but I won’t allow it, I won’t allow it! In the service, as in +marriage, there must be one centre, two are impossible.… How have you +repaid me?” he went on. “Our marriage has been nothing but your proving +to me all the time, every hour, that I am a nonentity, a fool, and +even a rascal, and I have been all the time, every hour, forced in a +degrading way to prove to you that I am not a nonentity, not a fool at +all, and that I impress every one with my honourable character. Isn’t +that degrading for both sides?” +</p> +<p> +At this point he began rapidly stamping with both feet on the carpet, +so that Yulia Mihailovna was obliged to get up with stern dignity. He +subsided quickly, but passed to being pathetic and began sobbing (yes, +sobbing!), beating himself on the breast almost for five minutes, +getting more and more frantic at Yulia Mihailovna’s profound silence. At +last he made a fatal blunder, and let slip that he was jealous of Pyotr +Stepanovitch. Realising that he had made an utter fool of himself, he +became savagely furious, and shouted that he “would not allow them to +deny God” and that he would “send her <i>salon</i> of irresponsible infidels +packing,” that the governor of a province was bound to believe in God +“and so his wife was too,” that he wouldn’t put up with these young +men; that “you, madam, for the sake of your own dignity, ought to have +thought of your husband and to have stood up for his intelligence even +if he were a man of poor abilities (and I’m by no means a man of poor +abilities!), and yet it’s your doing that every one here despises me, it +was you put them all up to it!” He shouted that he would annihilate +the woman question, that he would eradicate every trace of it, that +to-morrow he would forbid and break up their silly fête for the benefit +of the governesses (damn them!), that the first governess he came across +to-morrow morning he would drive out of the province “with a Cossack! +I’ll make a point of it!” he shrieked. “Do you know,” he screamed, “do +you know that your rascals are inciting men at the factory, and that I +know it? Let me tell you, I know the names of four of these rascals and +that I am going out of my mind, hopelessly, hopelessly!…” +</p> +<p> +But at this point Yulia Mihailovna suddenly broke her silence and +sternly announced that she had long been aware of these criminal +designs, and that it was all foolishness, and that he had taken it too +seriously, and that as for these mischievous fellows, she knew not only +those four but all of them (it was a lie); but that she had not the +faintest intention of going out of her mind on account of it, but, on +the contrary, had all the more confidence in her intelligence and hoped +to bring it all to a harmonious conclusion: to encourage the young +people, to bring them to reason, to show them suddenly and unexpectedly +that their designs were known, and then to point out to them new aims +for rational and more noble activity. +</p> +<p> +Oh, how can I describe the effect of this on Andrey Antonovitch! Hearing +that Pyotr Stepanovitch had duped him again and had made a fool of him +so coarsely, that he had told her much more than he had told him, and +sooner than him, and that perhaps Pyotr Stepanovitch was the chief +instigator of all these criminal designs—he flew into a frenzy. +“Senseless but malignant woman,” he cried, snapping his bonds at one +blow, “let me tell you, I shall arrest your worthless lover at once, I +shall put him in fetters and send him to the fortress, or—I shall jump +out of a window before your eyes this minute!” +</p> +<p> +Yulia Mihailovna, turning green with anger, greeted this tirade at once +with a burst of prolonged, ringing laughter, going off into peals such +as one hears at the French theatre when a Parisian actress, imported for +a fee of a hundred thousand to play a coquette, laughs in her husband’s +face for daring to be jealous of her. +</p> +<p> +Von Lembke rushed to the window, but suddenly stopped as though rooted +to the spot, folded his arms across his chest, and, white as a corpse, +looked with a sinister gaze at the laughing lady. “Do you know, Yulia, +do you know,” he said in a gasping and suppliant voice, “do you know +that even I can do something?” But at the renewed and even louder +laughter that followed his last words he clenched his teeth, groaned, +and suddenly rushed, not towards the window, but at his spouse, with his +fist raised! He did not bring it down—no, I repeat again and again, no; +but it was the last straw. He ran to his own room, not knowing what he +was doing, flung himself, dressed as he was, face downwards on his bed, +wrapped himself convulsively, head and all, in the sheet, and lay so for +two hours—incapable of sleep, incapable of thought, with a load on his +heart and blank, immovable despair in his soul. Now and then he shivered +all over with an agonising, feverish tremor. Disconnected and irrelevant +things kept coming into his mind: at one minute he thought of the old +clock which used to hang on his wall fifteen years ago in Petersburg and +had lost the minute-hand; at another of the cheerful clerk, Millebois, +and how they had once caught a sparrow together in Alexandrovsky +Park and had laughed so that they could be heard all over the park, +remembering that one of them was already a college assessor. I imagine +that about seven in the morning he must have fallen asleep without being +aware of it himself, and must have slept with enjoyment, with agreeable +dreams. +</p> +<p> +Waking about ten o’clock, he jumped wildly out of bed remembered +everything at once, and slapped himself on the head; he refused his +breakfast, and would see neither Blum nor the chief of the police nor +the clerk who came to remind him that he was expected to preside over +a meeting that morning; he would listen to nothing, and did not want to +understand. He ran like one possessed to Yulia Mihailovna’s part of the +house. There Sofya Antropovna, an old lady of good family who had lived +for years with Yulia Mihailovna, explained to him that his wife had set +off at ten o’clock that morning with a large company in three carriages +to Varvara Petrovna Stavrogin’s, to Skvoreshniki, to look over the place +with a view to the second fête which was planned for a fortnight later, +and that the visit to-day had been arranged with Varvara Petrovna three +days before. Overwhelmed with this news, Andrey Antonovitch returned to +his study and impulsively ordered the horses. He could hardly wait for +them to be got ready. His soul was hungering for Yulia Mihailovna—to +look at her, to be near her for five minutes; perhaps she would glance +at him, notice him, would smile as before, forgive him … “O-oh! Aren’t +the horses ready?” Mechanically he opened a thick book lying on the +table. (He sometimes used to try his fortune in this way with a book, +opening it at random and reading the three lines at the top of the +right-hand page.) What turned up was: <i>“Tout est pour le mieux dans +le meilleur des mondes possibles.”</i>—Voltaire, <i>Candide.</i> He uttered +an ejaculation of contempt and ran to get into the carriage. +“Skvoreshniki!” +</p> +<p> +The coachman said afterwards that his master urged him on all the way, +but as soon as they were getting near the mansion he suddenly told him +to turn and drive back to the town, bidding him “Drive fast; please +drive fast!” Before they reached the town wall “master told me to stop +again, got out of the carriage, and went across the road into the field; +I thought he felt ill but he stopped and began looking at the flowers, +and so he stood for a time. It was strange, really; I began to feel +quite uneasy.” This was the coachman’s testimony. I remember the weather +that morning: it was a cold, clear, but windy September day; before +Andrey Antonovitch stretched a forbidding landscape of bare fields from +which the crop had long been harvested; there were a few dying yellow +flowers, pitiful relics blown about by the howling wind. Did he want to +compare himself and his fate with those wretched flowers battered by the +autumn and the frost? I don’t think so; in fact I feel sure it was +not so, and that he realised nothing about the flowers in spite of the +evidence of the coachman and of the police superintendent, who drove up +at that moment and asserted afterwards that he found the governor with +a bunch of yellow flowers in his hand. This police superintendent, +Flibusterov by name, was an ardent champion of authority who had only +recently come to our town but had already distinguished himself and +become famous by his inordinate zeal, by a certain vehemence in the +execution of his duties, and his inveterate inebriety. Jumping out of +the carriage, and not the least disconcerted at the sight of what the +governor was doing, he blurted out all in one breath, with a frantic +expression, yet with an air of conviction, that “There’s an upset in the +town.” +</p> +<p> +“Eh? What?” said Andrey Antonovitch, turning to him with a stern face, +but without a trace of surprise or any recollection of his carriage and +his coachman, as though he had been in his own study. +</p> +<p> +“Police-superintendent Flibusterov, your Excellency. There’s a riot in +the town.” +</p> +<p> +“Filibusters?” Andrey Antonovitch said thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +“Just so, your Excellency. The Shpigulin men are making a riot.” +</p> +<p> +“The Shpigulin men!…” +</p> +<p> +The name “Shpigulin” seemed to remind him of something. He started and +put his finger to his forehead: “The Shpigulin men!” In silence, and +still plunged in thought, he walked without haste to the carriage, +took his seat, and told the coachman to drive to the town. The +police-superintendent followed in the droshky. +</p> +<p> +I imagine that he had vague impressions of many interesting things of +all sorts on the way, but I doubt whether he had any definite idea or +any settled intention as he drove into the open space in front of his +house. But no sooner did he see the resolute and orderly ranks of “the +rioters,” the cordon of police, the helpless (and perhaps purposely +helpless) chief of police, and the general expectation of which he was +the object, than all the blood rushed to his heart. With a pale face he +stepped out of his carriage. +</p> +<p> +“Caps off!” he said breathlessly and hardly audibly. “On your knees!” +he squealed, to the surprise of every one, to his own surprise too, and +perhaps the very unexpectedness of the position was the explanation of +what followed. Can a sledge on a switchback at carnival stop short as it +flies down the hill? What made it worse, Andrey Antonovitch had been all +his life serene in character, and never shouted or stamped at anyone; +and such people are always the most dangerous if it once happens that +something sets their sledge sliding downhill. Everything was whirling +before his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Filibusters!” he yelled still more shrilly and absurdly, and his voice +broke. He stood, not knowing what he was going to do, but knowing +and feeling in his whole being that he certainly would do something +directly. +</p> +<p> +“Lord!” was heard from the crowd. A lad began crossing himself; three or +four men actually did try to kneel down, but the whole mass moved three +steps forward, and suddenly all began talking at once: “Your +Excellency … we were hired for a term … the manager … you mustn’t +say,” and so on and so on. It was impossible to distinguish anything. +</p> +<p> +Alas! Andrey Antonovitch could distinguish nothing: the flowers were +still in his hands. The riot was as real to him as the prison carts +were to Stepan Trofimovitch. And flitting to and fro in the crowd +of “rioters” who gazed open-eyed at him, he seemed to see Pyotr +Stepanovitch, who had egged them on—Pyotr Stepanovitch, whom he hated +and whose image had never left him since yesterday. +</p> +<p> +“Rods!” he cried even more unexpectedly. A dead silence followed. +</p> +<p> +From the facts I have learnt and those I have conjectured, this must +have been what happened at the beginning; but I have no such exact +information for what followed, nor can I conjecture it so easily. There +are some facts, however. +</p> +<p> +In the first place, rods were brought on the scene with strange +rapidity; they had evidently been got ready beforehand in expectation +by the intelligent chief of the police. Not more than two, or at most +three, were actually flogged, however; that fact I wish to lay stress +on. It’s an absolute fabrication to say that the whole crowd of rioters, +or at least half of them, were punished. It is a nonsensical story, +too, that a poor but respectable lady was caught as she passed by +and promptly thrashed; yet I read myself an account of this incident +afterwards among the provincial items of a Petersburg newspaper. Many +people in the town talked of an old woman called Avdotya Petrovna +Tarapygin who lived in the almshouse by the cemetery. She was said, +on her way home from visiting a friend, to have forced her way into the +crowd of spectators through natural curiosity. Seeing what was going on, +she cried out, “What a shame!” and spat on the ground. For this it was +said she had been seized and flogged too. This story not only appeared +in print, but in our excitement we positively got up a subscription for +her benefit. I subscribed twenty kopecks myself. And would you believe +it? It appears now that there was no old woman called Tarapygin living +in the almshouse at all! I went to inquire at the almshouse by the +cemetery myself; they had never heard of anyone called Tarapygin there, +and, what’s more, they were quite offended when I told them the story +that was going round. I mention this fabulous Avdotya Petrovna because +what happened to her (if she really had existed) very nearly happened +to Stepan Trofimovitch. Possibly, indeed, his adventure may have been at +the bottom of the ridiculous tale about the old woman, that is, as the +gossip went on growing he was transformed into this old dame. +</p> +<p> +What I find most difficult to understand is how he came to slip away +from me as soon as he got into the square. As I had a misgiving of +something very unpleasant, I wanted to take him round the square +straight to the entrance to the governor’s, but my own curiosity was +roused, and I stopped only for one minute to question the first person +I came across, and suddenly I looked round and found Stepan Trofimovitch +no longer at my side. Instinctively I darted off to look for him in the +most dangerous place; something made me feel that his sledge, too, was +flying downhill. And I did, as a fact, find him in the very centre of +things. I remember I seized him by the arm; but he looked quietly and +proudly at me with an air of immense authority. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Cher,”</i> he pronounced in a voice which quivered on a breaking note, “if +they are dealing with people so unceremoniously before us, in an open +square, what is to be expected from that man, for instance … if he +happens to act on his own authority?” +</p> +<p> +And shaking with indignation and with an intense desire to defy them, he +pointed a menacing, accusing finger at Flibusterov, who was gazing at us +open-eyed two paces away. +</p> +<p> +“That man!” cried the latter, blind with rage. “What man? And who are +you?” He stepped up to him, clenching his fist. “Who are you?” he roared +ferociously, hysterically, and desperately. (I must mention that he +knew Stepan Trofimovitch perfectly well by sight.) Another moment and he +would have certainly seized him by the collar; but luckily, hearing him +shout, Lembke turned his head. He gazed intensely but with perplexity +at Stepan Trofimovitch, seeming to consider something, and suddenly +he shook his hand impatiently. Flibusterov was checked. I drew Stepan +Trofimovitch out of the crowd, though perhaps he may have wished to +retreat himself. +</p> +<p> +“Home, home,” I insisted; “it was certainly thanks to Lembke that we +were not beaten.” +</p> +<p> +“Go, my friend; I am to blame for exposing you to this. You have +a future and a career of a sort before you, while I—<i>mon heure est +sonnée.</i>” +</p> +<p> +He resolutely mounted the governor’s steps. The hall-porter knew me; I +said that we both wanted to see Yulia Mihailovna. +</p> +<p> +We sat down in the waiting-room and waited. I was unwilling to leave my +friend, but I thought it unnecessary to say anything more to him. He had +the air of a man who had consecrated himself to certain death for the +sake of his country. We sat down, not side by side, but in different +corners—I nearer to the entrance, he at some distance facing me, with +his head bent in thought, leaning lightly on his stick. He held his +wide-brimmed hat in his left hand. We sat like that for ten minutes. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +Lembke suddenly came in with rapid steps, accompanied by the chief of +police, looked absent-mindedly at us and, taking no notice of us, was +about to pass into his study on the right, but Stepan Trofimovitch stood +before him blocking his way. The tall figure of Stepan Trofimovitch, so +unlike other people, made an impression. Lembke stopped. +</p> +<p> +“Who is this?” he muttered, puzzled, as if he were questioning the chief +of police, though he did not turn his head towards him, and was all the +time gazing at Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Retired college assessor, Stepan Trofimovitch Verhovensky, your +Excellency,” answered Stepan Trofimovitch, bowing majestically. His +Excellency went on staring at him with a very blank expression, however. +</p> +<p> +“What is it?” And with the curtness of a great official he turned his +ear to Stepan Trofimovitch with disdainful impatience, taking him for an +ordinary person with a written petition of some sort. +</p> +<p> +“I was visited and my house was searched to-day by an official acting in +your Excellency’s name; therefore I am desirous …” +</p> +<p> +“Name? Name?” Lembke asked impatiently, seeming suddenly to have an +inkling of something. Stepan Trofimovitch repeated his name still more +majestically. +</p> +<p> +“A-a-ah! It’s … that hotbed … You have shown yourself, sir, in such a +light.… Are you a professor? a professor?” +</p> +<p> +“I once had the honour of giving some lectures to the young men of the X +university.” +</p> +<p> +“The young men!” Lembke seemed to start, though I am ready to bet that +he grasped very little of what was going on or even, perhaps, did not +know with whom he was talking. +</p> +<p> +“That, sir, I won’t allow,” he cried, suddenly getting terribly angry. +“I won’t allow young men! It’s all these manifestoes? It’s an assault +on society, sir, a piratical attack, filibustering.… What is your +request?” +</p> +<p> +“On the contrary, your wife requested me to read something to-morrow at +her fête. I’ve not come to make a request but to ask for my rights….” +</p> +<p> +“At the fête? There’ll be no fête. I won’t allow your fête. A lecture? A +lecture?” he screamed furiously. +</p> +<p> +“I should be very glad if you would speak to me rather more politely, +your Excellency, without stamping or shouting at me as though I were a +boy.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you understand whom you are speaking to?” said Lembke, turning +crimson. +</p> +<p> +“Perfectly, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +“I am protecting society while you are destroying it!… You … I +remember about you, though: you used to be a tutor in the house of +Madame Stavrogin?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I was in the position … of tutor … in the house of Madame +Stavrogin.” +</p> +<p> +“And have been for twenty years the hotbed of all that has now +accumulated … all the fruits.… I believe I saw you just now in the +square. You’d better look out, sir, you’d better look out; your way of +thinking is well known. You may be sure that I keep my eye on you. I +cannot allow your lectures, sir, I cannot. Don’t come with such requests +to me.” +</p> +<p> +He would have passed on again. +</p> +<p> +“I repeat that your Excellency is mistaken; it was your wife who asked +me to give, not a lecture, but a literary reading at the fête to-morrow. +But I decline to do so in any case now. I humbly request that you will +explain to me if possible how, why, and for what reason I was subjected +to an official search to-day? Some of my books and papers, private +letters to me, were taken from me and wheeled through the town in a +barrow.” +</p> +<p> +“Who searched you?” said Lembke, starting and returning to full +consciousness of the position. He suddenly flushed all over. He turned +quickly to the chief of police. At that moment the long, stooping, and +awkward figure of Blum appeared in the doorway. +</p> +<p> +“Why, this official here,” said Stepan Trofimovitch, indicating him. Blum +came forward with a face that admitted his responsibility but showed no +contrition. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Vous ne faites que des bêtises,”</i> Lembke threw at him in a tone of +vexation and anger, and suddenly he was transformed and completely +himself again. +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me,” he muttered, utterly disconcerted and turning absolutely +crimson, “all this … all this was probably a mere blunder, a +misunderstanding … nothing but a misunderstanding.” +</p> +<p> +“Your Excellency,” observed Stepan Trofimovitch, “once when I was young +I saw a characteristic incident. In the corridor of a theatre a man ran +up to another and gave him a sounding smack in the face before the whole +public. Perceiving at once that his victim was not the person whom he +had intended to chastise but someone quite different who only slightly +resembled him, he pronounced angrily, with the haste of one whose +moments are precious—as your Excellency did just now—‘I’ve made +a mistake … excuse me, it was a misunderstanding, nothing but a +misunderstanding.’ And when the offended man remained resentful and +cried out, he observed to him, with extreme annoyance: ‘Why, I tell you +it was a misunderstanding. What are you crying out about?’” +</p> +<p> +“That’s … that’s very amusing, of course”—Lembke gave a wry +smile—“but … but can’t you see how unhappy I am myself?” +</p> +<p> +He almost screamed, and seemed about to hide his face in his hands. +</p> +<p> +This unexpected and piteous exclamation, almost a sob, was almost more +than one could bear. It was probably the first moment since the previous +day that he had full, vivid consciousness of all that had happened—and +it was followed by complete, humiliating despair that could not be +disguised—who knows, in another minute he might have sobbed aloud. +For the first moment Stepan Trofimovitch looked wildly at him; then he +suddenly bowed his head and in a voice pregnant with feeling pronounced: +</p> +<p> +“Your Excellency, don’t trouble yourself with my petulant complaint, and +only give orders for my books and letters to be restored to me.…” +</p> +<p> +He was interrupted. At that very instant Yulia Mihailovna returned and +entered noisily with all the party which had accompanied her. But at +this point I should like to tell my story in as much detail as possible. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +In the first place, the whole company who had filled three carriages +crowded into the waiting-room. There was a special entrance to Yulia +Mihailovna’s apartments on the left as one entered the house; but on +this occasion they all went through the waiting-room—and I imagine just +because Stepan Trofimovitch was there, and because all that had happened +to him as well as the Shpigulin affair had reached Yulia Mihailovna’s +ears as she drove into the town. Lyamshin, who for some misdemeanour +had not been invited to join the party and so knew all that had been +happening in the town before anyone else, brought her the news. With +spiteful glee he hired a wretched Cossack nag and hastened on the way +to Skvoreshniki to meet the returning cavalcade with the diverting +intelligence. I fancy that, in spite of her lofty determination, Yulia +Mihailovna was a little disconcerted on hearing such surprising news, +but probably only for an instant. The political aspect of the affair, +for instance, could not cause her uneasiness; Pyotr Stepanovitch had +impressed upon her three or four times that the Shpigulin ruffians ought +to be flogged, and Pyotr Stepanovitch certainly had for some time past +been a great authority in her eyes. “But … anyway, I shall make him pay +for it,” she doubtless reflected, the “he,” of course, referring to +her spouse. I must observe in passing that on this occasion, as though +purposely, Pyotr Stepanovitch had taken no part in the expedition, +and no one had seen him all day. I must mention too, by the way, that +Varvara Petrovna had come back to the town with her guests (in the +same carriage with Yulia Mihailovna) in order to be present at the last +meeting of the committee which was arranging the fête for the next day. +She too must have been interested, and perhaps even agitated, by the +news about Stepan Trofimovitch communicated by Lyamshin. +</p> +<p> +The hour of reckoning for Andrey Antonovitch followed at once. Alas! he +felt that from the first glance at his admirable wife. With an open air +and an enchanting smile she went quickly up to Stepan Trofimovitch, held +out her exquisitely gloved hand, and greeted him with a perfect shower +of flattering phrases—as though the only thing she cared about that +morning was to make haste to be charming to Stepan Trofimovitch because +at last she saw him in her house. There was not one hint of the search +that morning; it was as though she knew nothing of it. There was not one +word to her husband, not one glance in his direction—as though he +had not been in the room. What’s more, she promptly confiscated Stepan +Trofimovitch and carried him off to the drawing-room—as though he had +had no interview with Lembke, or as though it was not worth prolonging +if he had. I repeat again, I think that in this, Yulia Mihailovna, +in spite of her aristocratic tone, made another great mistake. And +Karmazinov particularly did much to aggravate this. (He had taken part +in the expedition at Yulia Mihailovna’s special request, and in that way +had, incidentally, paid his visit to Varvara Petrovna, and she was so +poor-spirited as to be perfectly delighted at it.) On seeing Stepan +Trofimovitch, he called out from the doorway (he came in behind the +rest) and pressed forward to embrace him, even interrupting Yulia +Mihailovna. +</p> +<p> +“What years, what ages! At last … <i>excellent ami.</i>” +</p> +<p> +He made as though to kiss him, offering his cheek, of course, and Stepan +Trofimovitch was so fluttered that he could not avoid saluting it. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Cher,”</i> he said to me that evening, recalling all the events of that +day, “I wondered at that moment which of us was the most contemptible: +he, embracing me only to humiliate me, or I, despising him and his face +and kissing it on the spot, though I might have turned away.… Foo!” +</p> +<p> +“Come, tell me about yourself, tell me everything,” Karmazinov drawled +and lisped, as though it were possible for him on the spur of the moment +to give an account of twenty-five years of his life. But this foolish +trifling was the height of “chic.” +</p> +<p> +“Remember that the last time we met was at the Granovsky dinner in +Moscow, and that twenty-four years have passed since then …” Stepan +Trofimovitch began very reasonably (and consequently not at all in the +same “chic” style). +</p> +<p> +<i>“Ce cher homme,”</i> Karmazinov interrupted with shrill familiarity, +squeezing his shoulder with exaggerated friendliness. “Make haste and +take us to your room, Yulia Mihailovna; there he’ll sit down and tell us +everything.” +</p> +<p> +“And yet I was never at all intimate with that peevish old woman,” +Stepan Trofimovitch went on complaining to me that same evening, shaking +with anger; “we were almost boys, and I’d begun to detest him even +then … just as he had me, of course.” +</p> +<p> +Yulia Mihailovna’s drawing-room filled up quickly. Varvara Petrovna +was particularly excited, though she tried to appear indifferent, but +I caught her once or twice glancing with hatred at Karmazinov and with +wrath at Stepan Trofimovitch—the wrath of anticipation, the wrath of +jealousy and love: if Stepan Trofimovitch had blundered this time and +had let Karmazinov make him look small before every one, I believe she +would have leapt up and beaten him. I have forgotten to say that +Liza too was there, and I had never seen her more radiant, carelessly +light-hearted, and happy. Mavriky Nikolaevitch was there too, of course. +In the crowd of young ladies and rather vulgar young men who made up +Yulia Mihailovna’s usual retinue, and among whom this vulgarity was +taken for sprightliness, and cheap cynicism for wit, I noticed two or +three new faces: a very obsequious Pole who was on a visit in the town; +a German doctor, a sturdy old fellow who kept loudly laughing with great +zest at his own wit; and lastly, a very young princeling from Petersburg +like an automaton figure, with the deportment of a state dignitary and +a fearfully high collar. But it was evident that Yulia Mihailovna had a +very high opinion of this visitor, and was even a little anxious of the +impression her salon was making on him. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Cher M. Karmazinov,”</i> said Stepan Trofimovitch, sitting in a picturesque +pose on the sofa and suddenly beginning to lisp as daintily as +Karmazinov himself, “<i>cher M. Karmazinov,</i> the life of a man of our time +and of certain convictions, even after an interval of twenty-five years, +is bound to seem monotonous …” +</p> +<p> +The German went off into a loud abrupt guffaw like a neigh, evidently +imagining that Stepan Trofimovitch had said something exceedingly funny. +The latter gazed at him with studied amazement but produced no effect +on him whatever. The prince, too, looked at the German, turning head, +collar and all, towards him and putting up his pince-nez, though without +the slightest curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“… Is bound to seem monotonous,” Stepan Trofimovitch intentionally +repeated, drawling each word as deliberately and nonchalantly as +possible. “And so my life has been throughout this quarter of a century, +<i>et comme on trouve partout plus de moines que de raison,</i> and as I am +entirely of this opinion, it has come to pass that throughout this +quarter of a century I …” +</p> +<p> +<i>“C’est charmant, les moines,”</i> whispered Yulia Mihailovna, turning to +Varvara Petrovna, who was sitting beside her. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna responded with a look of pride. But Karmazinov could +not stomach the success of the French phrase, and quickly and shrilly +interrupted Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“As for me, I am quite at rest on that score, and for the past seven +years I’ve been settled at Karlsruhe. And last year, when it was +proposed by the town council to lay down a new water-pipe, I felt in +my heart that this question of water-pipes in Karlsruhe was dearer and +closer to my heart than all the questions of my precious Fatherland … +in this period of so-called reform.” +</p> +<p> +“I can’t help sympathising, though it goes against the grain,” sighed +Stepan Trofimovitch, bowing his head significantly. +</p> +<p> +Yulia Mihailovna was triumphant: the conversation was becoming profound +and taking a political turn. +</p> +<p> +“A drain-pipe?” the doctor inquired in a loud voice. +</p> +<p> +“A water-pipe, doctor, a water-pipe, and I positively assisted them in +drawing up the plan.” +</p> +<p> +The doctor went off into a deafening guffaw. Many people followed his +example, laughing in the face of the doctor, who remained unconscious of +it and was highly delighted that every one was laughing. +</p> +<p> +“You must allow me to differ from you, Karmazinov,” Yulia Mihailovna +hastened to interpose. “Karlsruhe is all very well, but you are fond +of mystifying people, and this time we don’t believe you. What Russian +writer has presented so many modern types, has brought forward so many +contemporary problems, has put his finger on the most vital modern +points which make up the type of the modern man of action? You, only +you, and no one else. It’s no use your assuring us of your coldness +towards your own country and your ardent interest in the water-pipes of +Karlsruhe. Ha ha!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, no doubt,” lisped Karmazinov. “I have portrayed in the character +of Pogozhev all the failings of the Slavophils and in the character of +Nikodimov all the failings of the Westerners.…” +</p> +<p> +“I say, hardly <i>all!</i>” Lyamshin whispered slyly. +</p> +<p> +“But I do this by the way, simply to while away the tedious hours and to +satisfy the persistent demands of my fellow-countrymen.” +</p> +<p> +“You are probably aware, Stepan Trofimovitch,” Yulia Mihailovna went on +enthusiastically, “that to-morrow we shall have the delight of hearing +the charming lines … one of the last of Semyon Yakovlevitch’s exquisite +literary inspirations—it’s called <i>Merci.</i> He announces in this piece +that he will write no more, that nothing in the world will induce him +to, if angels from Heaven or, what’s more, all the best society were to +implore him to change his mind. In fact he is laying down the pen for +good, and this graceful <i>Merci</i> is addressed to the public in grateful +acknowledgment of the constant enthusiasm with which it has for so many +years greeted his unswerving loyalty to true Russian thought.” +</p> +<p> +Yulia Mihailovna was at the acme of bliss. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I shall make my farewell; I shall say my <i>Merci</i> and depart and +there … in Karlsruhe … I shall close my eyes.” Karmazinov was gradually +becoming maudlin. +</p> +<p> +Like many of our great writers (and there are numbers of them amongst +us), he could not resist praise, and began to be limp at once, in spite +of his penetrating wit. But I consider this is pardonable. They say that +one of our Shakespeares positively blurted out in private conversation +that “we <i>great men</i> can’t do otherwise,” and so on, and, what’s more, was +unaware of it. +</p> +<p> +“There in Karlsruhe I shall close my eyes. When we have done our duty, +all that’s left for us great men is to make haste to close our eyes +without seeking a reward. I shall do so too.” +</p> +<p> +“Give me the address and I shall come to Karlsruhe to visit your tomb,” +said the German, laughing immoderately. +</p> +<p> +“They send corpses by rail nowadays,” one of the less important young +men said unexpectedly. +</p> +<p> +Lyamshin positively shrieked with delight. Yulia Mihailovna frowned. +Nikolay Stavrogin walked in. +</p> +<p> +“Why, I was told that you were locked up?” he said aloud, addressing +Stepan Trofimovitch before every one else. +</p> +<p> +“No, it was a case of unlocking,” jested Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“But I hope that what’s happened will have no influence on what I asked +you to do,” Yulia Mihailovna put in again. “I trust that you will not +let this unfortunate annoyance, of which I had no idea, lead you to +disappoint our eager expectations and deprive us of the enjoyment of +hearing your reading at our literary matinée.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know, I … now …” +</p> +<p> +“Really, I am so unlucky, Varvara Petrovna … and only fancy, just when +I was so longing to make the personal acquaintance of one of the +most remarkable and independent intellects of Russia—and here Stepan +Trofimovitch suddenly talks of deserting us.” +</p> +<p> +“Your compliment is uttered so audibly that I ought to pretend not to +hear it,” Stepan Trofimovitch said neatly, “but I cannot believe that +my insignificant presence is so indispensable at your fête to-morrow. +However, I …” +</p> +<p> +“Why, you’ll spoil him!” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, bursting into the +room. “I’ve only just got him in hand—and in one morning he has been +searched, arrested, taken by the collar by a policeman, and here ladies +are cooing to him in the governor’s drawing-room. Every bone in his body +is aching with rapture; in his wildest dreams he had never hoped for +such good fortune. Now he’ll begin informing against the Socialists +after this!” +</p> +<p> +“Impossible, Pyotr Stepanovitch! Socialism is too grand an idea to +be unrecognised by Stepan Trofimovitch.” Yulia Mihailovna took up the +gauntlet with energy. +</p> +<p> +“It’s a great idea but its exponents are not always great men, <i>et +brisons-là, mon cher,</i>” Stepan Trofimovitch ended, addressing his son and +rising gracefully from his seat. +</p> +<p> +But at this point an utterly unexpected circumstance occurred. Von +Lembke had been in the room for some time but seemed unnoticed by +anyone, though every one had seen him come in. In accordance with her +former plan, Yulia Mihailovna went on ignoring him. He took up his +position near the door and with a stern face listened gloomily to the +conversation. Hearing an allusion to the events of the morning, he +began fidgeting uneasily, stared at the prince, obviously struck by his +stiffly starched, prominent collar; then suddenly he seemed to start on +hearing the voice of Pyotr Stepanovitch and seeing him burst in; and no +sooner had Stepan Trofimovitch uttered his phrase about Socialists than +Lembke went up to him, pushing against Lyamshin, who at once skipped out +of the way with an affected gesture of surprise, rubbing his shoulder +and pretending that he had been terribly bruised. +</p> +<p> +“Enough!” said Von Lembke to Stepan Trofimovitch, vigorously gripping +the hand of the dismayed gentleman and squeezing it with all his might +in both of his. “Enough! The filibusters of our day are unmasked. Not +another word. Measures have been taken.…” +</p> +<p> +He spoke loudly enough to be heard by all the room, and concluded with +energy. The impression he produced was poignant. Everybody felt that +something was wrong. I saw Yulia Mihailovna turn pale. The effect was +heightened by a trivial accident. After announcing that measures had +been taken, Lembke turned sharply and walked quickly towards the door, +but he had hardly taken two steps when he stumbled over a rug, swerved +forward, and almost fell. For a moment he stood still, looked at the rug +at which he had stumbled, and, uttering aloud “Change it!” went out of +the room. Yulia Mihailovna ran after him. Her exit was followed by an +uproar, in which it was difficult to distinguish anything. Some said he +was “deranged,” others that he was “liable to attacks”; others put their +fingers to their forehead; Lyamshin, in the corner, put his two fingers +above his forehead. People hinted at some domestic difficulties—in a +whisper, of course. No one took up his hat; all were waiting. I don’t +know what Yulia Mihailovna managed to do, but five minutes later she +came back, doing her utmost to appear composed. She replied evasively +that Andrey Antonovitch was rather excited, but that it meant nothing, +that he had been like that from a child, that she knew “much better,” +and that the fête next day would certainly cheer him up. Then followed a +few flattering words to Stepan Trofimovitch simply from civility, and a +loud invitation to the members of the committee to open the meeting now, +at once. Only then, all who were not members of the committee prepared +to go home; but the painful incidents of this fatal day were not yet +over. +</p> +<p> +I noticed at the moment when Nikolay Stavrogin came in that Liza looked +quickly and intently at him and was for a long time unable to take her +eyes off him—so much so that at last it attracted attention. I saw +Mavriky Nikolaevitch bend over her from behind; he seemed to mean to +whisper something to her, but evidently changed his intention and drew +himself up quickly, looking round at every one with a guilty air. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch too excited curiosity; his face was paler than usual and +there was a strangely absent-minded look in his eyes. After flinging +his question at Stepan Trofimovitch he seemed to forget about him +altogether, and I really believe he even forgot to speak to his hostess. +He did not once look at Liza—not because he did not want to, but I am +certain because he did not notice her either. And suddenly, after the +brief silence that followed Yulia Mihailovna’s invitation to open the +meeting without loss of time, Liza’s musical voice, intentionally loud, +was heard. She called to Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, a captain who calls himself a relation of +yours, the brother of your wife, and whose name is Lebyadkin, keeps +writing impertinent letters to me, complaining of you and offering to +tell me some secrets about you. If he really is a connection of yours, +please tell him not to annoy me, and save me from this unpleasantness.” +</p> +<p> +There was a note of desperate challenge in these words—every one +realised it. The accusation was unmistakable, though perhaps it was a +surprise to herself. She was like a man who shuts his eyes and throws +himself from the roof. +</p> +<p> +But Nikolay Stavrogin’s answer was even more astounding. +</p> +<p> +To begin with, it was strange that he was not in the least surprised and +listened to Liza with unruffled attention. There was no trace of either +confusion or anger in his face. Simply, firmly, even with an air of +perfect readiness, he answered the fatal question: +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I have the misfortune to be connected with that man. I have been +the husband of his sister for nearly five years. You may be sure I will +give him your message as soon as possible, and I’ll answer for it that +he shan’t annoy you again.” +</p> +<p> +I shall never forget the horror that was reflected on the face of +Varvara Petrovna. With a distracted air she got up from her seat, +lifting up her right hand as though to ward off a blow. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch looked at her, looked at Liza, at the spectators, and +suddenly smiled with infinite disdain; he walked deliberately out of the +room. Every one saw how Liza leapt up from the sofa as soon as he +turned to go and unmistakably made a movement to run after him. But she +controlled herself and did not run after him; she went quietly out of +the room without saying a word or even looking at anyone, accompanied, +of course, by Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who rushed after her. +</p> +<p> +The uproar and the gossip that night in the town I will not attempt to +describe. Varvara Petrovna shut herself up in her town house and Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, it was said, went straight to Skvoreshniki without +seeing his mother. Stepan Trofimovitch sent me that evening to <i>cette +chère amie</i> to implore her to allow him to come to her, but she would not +see me. He was terribly overwhelmed; he shed tears. “Such a marriage! +Such a marriage! Such an awful thing in the family!” he kept repeating. +He remembered Karmazinov, however, and abused him terribly. He set +to work vigorously to prepare for the reading too and—the artistic +temperament!—rehearsed before the looking-glass and went over all the +jokes and witticisms uttered in the course of his life which he had +written down in a separate notebook, to insert into his reading next +day. +</p> +<p> +“My dear, I do this for the sake of a great idea,” he said to me, +obviously justifying himself. “<i>Cher ami,</i> I have been stationary for +twenty-five years and suddenly I’ve begun to move—whither, I know +not—but I’ve begun to move.…” +</p> +<a id="H2_PART3"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + PART III +</h2> +<a id="H2CH0016"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER I. THE FETE—FIRST PART +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +The fête took place in spite of all the perplexities of the preceding +“Shpigulin” day. I believe that even if Lembke had died the previous +night, the fête would still have taken place next morning—so peculiar +was the significance Yulia Mihailovna attached to it. Alas! up to the +last moment she was blind and had no inkling of the state of public +feeling. No one believed at last that the festive day would pass without +some tremendous scandal, some “catastrophe” as some people expressed it, +rubbing their hands in anticipation. Many people, it is true, tried to +assume a frowning and diplomatic countenance; but, speaking generally, +every Russian is inordinately delighted at any public scandal and +disorder. It is true that we did feel something much more serious +than the mere craving for a scandal: there was a general feeling +of irritation, a feeling of implacable resentment; every one seemed +thoroughly disgusted with everything. A kind of bewildered cynicism, a +forced, as it were, strained cynicism was predominant in every one. The +only people who were free from bewilderment were the ladies, and they +were clear on only one point: their remorseless detestation of Yulia +Mihailovna. Ladies of all shades of opinion were agreed in this. And +she, poor dear, had no suspicion; up to the last hour she was persuaded +that she was “surrounded by followers,” and that they were still +“fanatically devoted to her.” +</p> +<p> +I have already hinted that some low fellows of different sorts had +made their appearance amongst us. In turbulent times of upheaval or +transition low characters always come to the front everywhere. I am +not speaking now of the so-called “advanced” people who are always in a +hurry to be in advance of every one else (their absorbing anxiety) and +who always have some more or less definite, though often very stupid, +aim. No, I am speaking only of the riff-raff. In every period of +transition this riff-raff, which exists in every society, rises to the +surface, and is not only without any aim but has not even a symptom of +an idea, and merely does its utmost to give expression to uneasiness and +impatience. Moreover, this riff-raff almost always falls unconsciously +under the control of the little group of “advanced people” who do act +with a definite aim, and this little group can direct all this rabble +as it pleases, if only it does not itself consist of absolute idiots, +which, however, is sometimes the case. It is said among us now that it +is all over, that Pyotr Stepanovitch was directed by the <i>Internationale,</i> +and Yulia Mihailovna by Pyotr Stepanovitch, while she controlled, under +his rule, a rabble of all sorts. The more sober minds amongst us wonder +at themselves now, and can’t understand how they came to be so foolish +at the time. +</p> +<p> +What constituted the turbulence of our time and what transition it was +we were passing through I don’t know, nor I think does anyone, unless +it were some of those visitors of ours. Yet the most worthless fellows +suddenly gained predominant influence, began loudly criticising +everything sacred, though till then they had not dared to open their +mouths, while the leading people, who had till then so satisfactorily +kept the upper hand, began listening to them and holding their peace, +some even simpered approval in a most shameless way. People like +Lyamshin and Telyatnikov, like Gogol’s Tentyotnikov, drivelling +home-bred editions of Radishtchev, wretched little Jews with a mournful +but haughty smile, guffawing foreigners, poets of advanced tendencies +from the capital, poets who made up with peasant coats and tarred boots +for the lack of tendencies or talents, majors and colonels who ridiculed +the senselessness of the service, and who would have been ready for an +extra rouble to unbuckle their swords, and take jobs as railway clerks; +generals who had abandoned their duties to become lawyers; advanced +mediators, advancing merchants, innumerable divinity students, women +who were the embodiment of the woman question—all these suddenly gained +complete sway among us and over whom? Over the club, the venerable +officials, over generals with wooden legs, over the very strict and +inaccessible ladies of our local society. Since even Varvara Petrovna +was almost at the beck and call of this rabble, right up to the time +of the catastrophe with her son, our other local Minervas may well be +pardoned for their temporary aberration. Now all this is attributed, +as I have mentioned already, to the <i>Internationale.</i> This idea has taken +such root that it is given as the explanation to visitors from other +parts. Only lately councillor Kubrikov, a man of sixty-two, with the +Stanislav Order on his breast, came forward uninvited and confessed in +a voice full of feeling that he had beyond a shadow of doubt been for +fully three months under the influence of the <i>Internationale.</i> When with +every deference for his years and services he was invited to be more +definite, he stuck firmly to his original statement, though he could +produce no evidence except that “he had felt it in all his feelings,” so +that they cross-examined him no further. +</p> +<p> +I repeat again, there was still even among us a small group who held +themselves aloof from the beginning, and even locked themselves up. But +what lock can stand against a law of nature? Daughters will grow up even +in the most careful families, and it is essential for grown-up daughters +to dance. +</p> +<p> +And so all these people, too, ended by subscribing to the governesses’ +fund. +</p> +<p> +The ball was assumed to be an entertainment so brilliant, so +unprecedented; marvels were told about it; there were rumours of princes +from a distance with lorgnettes; of ten stewards, all young dandies, +with rosettes on their left shoulder; of some Petersburg people who +were setting the thing going; there was a rumour that Karmazinov had +consented to increase the subscriptions to the fund by reading his <i>Merci</i> +in the costume of the governesses of the district; that there would be +a literary quadrille all in costume, and every costume would symbolise +some special line of thought; and finally that “honest Russian thought” +would dance in costume—which would certainly be a complete novelty in +itself. Who could resist subscribing? Every one subscribed. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +The programme of the fête was divided into two parts: the literary +matinée from midday till four o’clock, and afterwards a ball from ten +o’clock onwards through the night. But in this very programme there lay +concealed germs of disorder. In the first place, from the very beginning +a rumour had gained ground among the public concerning a luncheon +immediately after the literary matinée, or even while it was going +on, during an interval arranged expressly for it—a free luncheon, of +course, which would form part of the programme and be accompanied by +champagne. The immense price of the tickets (three roubles) tended to +confirm this rumour. “As though one would subscribe for nothing? The +fête is arranged for twenty-four hours, so food must be provided. People +will get hungry.” This was how people reasoned in the town. I must admit +that Yulia Mihailovna did much to confirm this disastrous rumour by her +own heedlessness. A month earlier, under the first spell of the great +project, she would babble about it to anyone she met; and even sent a +paragraph to one of the Petersburg papers about the toasts and speeches +arranged for her fête. What fascinated her most at that time was +the idea of these toasts; she wanted to propose them herself and was +continually composing them in anticipation. They were to make clear what +was their banner (what was it? I don’t mind betting that the poor dear +composed nothing after all), they were to get into the Petersburg and +Moscow papers, to touch and fascinate the higher powers and then to +spread the idea over all the provinces of Russia, rousing people to +wonder and imitation. +</p> +<p> +But for toasts, champagne was essential, and as champagne can’t be +drunk on an empty stomach, it followed that a lunch was essential too. +Afterwards, when by her efforts a committee had been formed and had +attacked the subject more seriously, it was proved clearly to her at +once that if they were going to dream of banquets there would be very +little left for the governesses, however well people subscribed. There +were two ways out of the difficulty: either Belshazzar’s feast with +toasts and speeches, and ninety roubles for the governesses, or a +considerable sum of money with the fête only as a matter of form to +raise it. The committee, however, only wanted to scare her, and had of +course worked out a third course of action, which was reasonable and +combined the advantages of both, that is, a very decent fête in every +respect only without champagne, and so yielding a very respectable sum, +much more than ninety roubles. But Yulia Mihailovna would not agree to +it: her proud spirit revolted from paltry compromise. She decided at +once that if the original idea could not be carried out they should rush +to the opposite extreme, that is, raise an enormous subscription that +would be the envy of other provinces. “The public must understand,” +she said at the end of her flaming speech to the committee, “that +the attainment of an object of universal human interest is infinitely +loftier than the corporeal enjoyments of the passing moment, that the +fête in its essence is only the proclamation of a great idea, and so we +ought to be content with the most frugal German ball simply as a symbol, +that is, if we can’t dispense with this detestable ball altogether,” +so great was the aversion she suddenly conceived for it. But she was +pacified at last. It was then that “the literary quadrille” and the +other æsthetic items were invented and proposed as substitutes for the +corporeal enjoyments. It was then that Karmazinov finally consented to +read <i>Merci</i> (until then he had only tantalised them by his hesitation) and +so eradicate the very idea of victuals from the minds of our incontinent +public. So the ball was once more to be a magnificent function, though +in a different style. And not to be too ethereal it was decided that tea +with lemon and round biscuits should be served at the beginning of the +ball, and later on “orchade” and lemonade and at the end even ices—but +nothing else. For those who always and everywhere are hungry and, still +more, thirsty, they might open a buffet in the farthest of the suite of +rooms and put it in charge of Prohorovitch, the head cook of the club, +who would, subject to the strict supervision of the committee, serve +whatever was wanted, at a fixed charge, and a notice should be put up +on the door of the hall that refreshments were extra. But on the morning +they decided not to open the buffet at all for fear of disturbing the +reading, though the buffet would have been five rooms off the White Hall +in which Karmazinov had consented to read <i>Merci.</i> +</p> +<p> +It is remarkable that the committee, and even the most practical people +in it, attached enormous consequence to this reading. As for people +of poetical tendencies, the marshal’s wife, for instance, informed +Karmazinov that after the reading she would immediately order a marble +slab to be put up in the wall of the White Hall with an inscription +in gold letters, that on such a day and year, here, in this place, the +great writer of Russia and of Europe had read <i>Merci</i> on laying aside his +pen, and so had for the first time taken leave of the Russian public +represented by the leading citizens of our town, and that this +inscription would be read by all at the ball, that is, only five hours +after <i>Merci</i> had been read. I know for a fact that Karmazinov it was who +insisted that there should be no buffet in the morning on any account, +while he was reading, in spite of some protests from members of the +committee that this was rather opposed to our way of doing things. +</p> +<p> +This was the position of affairs, while in the town people were still +reckoning on a Belshazzar feast, that is, on refreshments provided by +the committee; they believed in this to the last hour. Even the young +ladies were dreaming of masses of sweets and preserves, and something +more beyond their imagination. Every one knew that the subscriptions had +reached a huge sum, that all the town was struggling to go, that people +were driving in from the surrounding districts, and that there were +not tickets enough. It was known, too, that there had been some large +subscriptions apart from the price paid for tickets: Varvara Petrovna, +for instance, had paid three hundred roubles for her ticket and had +given almost all the flowers from her conservatory to decorate the room. +The marshal’s wife, who was a member of the committee, provided the +house and the lighting; the club furnished the music, the attendants, +and gave up Prohorovitch for the whole day. There were other +contributions as well, though lesser ones, so much so indeed that the +idea was mooted of cutting down the price of tickets from three roubles +to two. Indeed, the committee were afraid at first that three roubles +would be too much for young ladies to pay, and suggested that they might +have family tickets, so that every family should pay for one daughter +only, while the other young ladies of the family, even if there were a +dozen specimens, should be admitted free. But all their apprehensions +turned out to be groundless: it was just the young ladies who did come. +Even the poorest clerks brought their girls, and it was quite evident +that if they had had no girls it would never have occurred to them to +subscribe for tickets. One insignificant little secretary brought all +his seven daughters, to say nothing of his wife and a niece into the +bargain, and every one of these persons held in her hand an entrance +ticket that cost three roubles. +</p> +<p> +It may be imagined what an upheaval it made in the town! One has only to +remember that as the fête was divided into two parts every lady needed +two costumes for the occasion—a morning one for the matinée and a +ball dress for the evening. Many middle-class people, as it appeared +afterwards, had pawned everything they had for that day, even the family +linen, even the sheets, and possibly the mattresses, to the Jews, who +had been settling in our town in great numbers during the previous two +years and who became more and more numerous as time went on. Almost all +the officials had asked for their salary in advance, and some of the +landowners sold beasts they could ill spare, and all simply to bring +their ladies got up as marchionesses, and to be as good as anybody. The +magnificence of dresses on this occasion was something unheard of in our +neighbourhood. For a fortnight beforehand the town was overflowing with +funny stories which were all brought by our wits to Yulia Mihailovna’s +court. Caricatures were passed from hand to hand. I have seen some +drawings of the sort myself, in Yulia Mihailovna’s album. All this +reached the ears of the families who were the source of the jokes; I +believe this was the cause of the general hatred of Yulia Mihailovna +which had grown so strong in the town. People swear and gnash their +teeth when they think of it now. But it was evident, even at the time, +that if the committee were to displease them in anything, or if anything +went wrong at the ball, the outburst of indignation would be something +surprising. That’s why every one was secretly expecting a scandal; and +if it was so confidently expected, how could it fail to come to pass? +</p> +<p> +The orchestra struck up punctually at midday. Being one of the stewards, +that is, one of the twelve “young men with a rosette,” I saw with my own +eyes how this day of ignominious memory began. It began with an enormous +crush at the doors. How was it that everything, including the police, +went wrong that day? I don’t blame the genuine public: the fathers of +families did not crowd, nor did they push against anyone, in spite of +their position. On the contrary, I am told that they were disconcerted +even in the street, at the sight of the crowd shoving in a way unheard +of in our town, besieging the entry and taking it by assault, instead +of simply going in. Meanwhile the carriages kept driving up, and at last +blocked the street. Now, at the time I write, I have good grounds for +affirming that some of the lowest rabble of our town were brought in +without tickets by Lyamshin and Liputin, possibly, too, by other people +who were stewards like me. Anyway, some complete strangers, who had come +from the surrounding districts and elsewhere, were present. As soon as +these savages entered the hall they began asking where the buffet was, +as though they had been put up to it beforehand, and learning that +there was no buffet they began swearing with brutal directness, and an +unprecedented insolence; some of them, it is true, were drunk when they +came. Some of them were dazed like savages at the splendour of the +hall, as they had never seen anything like it, and subsided for a minute +gazing at it open-mouthed. This great White Hall really was magnificent, +though the building was falling into decay: it was of immense size, with +two rows of windows, with an old-fashioned ceiling covered with gilt +carving, with a gallery with mirrors on the walls, red and white +draperies, marble statues (nondescript but still statues) with heavy old +furniture of the Napoleonic period, white and gold, upholstered in red +velvet. At the moment I am describing, a high platform had been put +up for the literary gentlemen who were to read, and the whole hall was +filled with chairs like the parterre of a theatre with wide aisles for +the audience. +</p> +<p> +But after the first moments of surprise the most senseless questions and +protests followed. “Perhaps we don’t care for a reading.… We’ve paid +our money.… The audience has been impudently swindled.… This is our +entertainment, not the Lembkes!” They seemed, in fact, to have been +let in for this purpose. I remember specially an encounter in which the +princeling with the stand-up collar and the face of a Dutch doll, whom I +had met the morning before at Yulia Mihailovna’s, distinguished himself. +He had, at her urgent request, consented to pin a rosette on his left +shoulder and to become one of our stewards. It turned out that this dumb +wax figure could act after a fashion of his own, if he could not talk. +When a colossal pockmarked captain, supported by a herd of rabble +following at his heels, pestered him by asking “which way to the +buffet?” he made a sign to a police sergeant. His hint was promptly +acted upon, and in spite of the drunken captain’s abuse he was +dragged out of the hall. Meantime the genuine public began to make its +appearance, and stretched in three long files between the chairs. The +disorderly elements began to subside, but the public, even the most +“respectable” among them, had a dissatisfied and perplexed air; some of +the ladies looked positively scared. +</p> +<p> +At last all were seated; the music ceased. People began blowing their +noses and looking about them. They waited with too solemn an air—which +is always a bad sign. But nothing was to be seen yet of the Lembkes. +Silks, velvets, diamonds glowed and sparkled on every side; whiffs of +fragrance filled the air. The men were wearing all their decorations, +and the old men were even in uniform. At last the marshal’s wife came in +with Liza. Liza had never been so dazzlingly charming or so splendidly +dressed as that morning. Her hair was done up in curls, her eyes +sparkled, a smile beamed on her face. She made an unmistakable +sensation: people scrutinised her and whispered about her. They said +that she was looking for Stavrogin, but neither Stavrogin nor Varvara +Petrovna were there. At the time I did not understand the expression +of her face: why was there so much happiness, such joy, such energy and +strength in that face? I remembered what had happened the day before and +could not make it out. +</p> +<p> +But still the Lembkes did not come. This was distinctly a blunder. I +learned that Yulia Mihailovna waited till the last minute for Pyotr +Stepanovitch, without whom she could not stir a step, though she never +admitted it to herself. I must mention, in parenthesis, that on the +previous day Pyotr Stepanovitch had at the last meeting of the committee +declined to wear the rosette of a steward, which had disappointed her +dreadfully, even to the point of tears. To her surprise and, later on, +her extreme discomfiture (to anticipate things) he vanished for the +whole morning and did not make his appearance at the literary matinée at +all, so that no one met him till evening. At last the audience began +to manifest unmistakable signs of impatience. No one appeared on the +platform either. The back rows began applauding, as in a theatre. The +elderly gentlemen and the ladies frowned. “The Lembkes are really giving +themselves unbearable airs.” Even among the better part of the audience +an absurd whisper began to gain ground that perhaps there would not be a +fête at all, that Lembke perhaps was really unwell, and so on and so +on. But, thank God, the Lembkes at last appeared, she was leaning on +his arm; I must confess I was in great apprehension myself about +their appearance. But the legends were disproved, and the truth +was triumphant. The audience seemed relieved. Lembke himself seemed +perfectly well. Every one, I remember, was of that opinion, for it +can be imagined how many eyes were turned on him. I may mention, +as characteristic of our society, that there were very few of the +better-class people who saw reason to suppose that there was anything +wrong with him; his conduct seemed to them perfectly normal, and so much +so that the action he had taken in the square the morning before was +accepted and approved. +</p> +<p> +“That’s how it should have been from the first,” the higher officials +declared. “If a man begins as a philanthropist he has to come to the +same thing in the end, though he does not see that it was necessary +from the point of view of philanthropy itself”—that, at least, was the +opinion at the club. They only blamed him for having lost his temper. +“It ought to have been done more coolly, but there, he is a new man,” +said the authorities. +</p> +<p> +All eyes turned with equal eagerness to Yulia Mihailovna. Of course no +one has the right to expect from me an exact account in regard to one +point: that is a mysterious, a feminine question. But I only know one +thing: on the evening of the previous day she had gone into Andrey +Antonovitch’s study and was there with him till long after midnight. +Andrey Antonovitch was comforted and forgiven. The husband and wife came +to a complete understanding, everything was forgotten, and when at +the end of the interview Lembke went down on his knees, recalling with +horror the final incident of the previous night, the exquisite hand, +and after it the lips of his wife, checked the fervent flow of penitent +phrases of the chivalrously delicate gentleman who was limp with +emotion. Every one could see the happiness in her face. She walked in +with an open-hearted air, wearing a magnificent dress. She seemed to +be at the very pinnacle of her heart’s desires, the fête—the goal and +crown of her diplomacy—was an accomplished fact. As they walked +to their seats in front of the platform, the Lembkes bowed in all +directions and responded to greetings. They were at once surrounded. The +marshal’s wife got up to meet them. +</p> +<p> +But at that point a horrid misunderstanding occurred; the orchestra, +apropos of nothing, struck up a flourish, not a triumphal march of any +kind, but a simple flourish such as was played at the club when some +one’s health was drunk at an official dinner. I know now that Lyamshin, +in his capacity of steward, had arranged this, as though in honour of +the Lembkes’ entrance. Of course he could always excuse it as a blunder +or excessive zeal.… Alas! I did not know at the time that they no +longer cared even to find excuses, and that all such considerations were +from that day a thing of the past. But the flourish was not the end of +it: in the midst of the vexatious astonishment and the smiles of the +audience there was a sudden “hurrah” from the end of the hall and from +the gallery also, apparently in Lembke’s honour. The hurrahs were few, +but I must confess they lasted for some time. Yulia Mihailovna flushed, +her eyes flashed. Lembke stood still at his chair, and turning towards +the voices sternly and majestically scanned the audience.… They +hastened to make him sit down. I noticed with dismay the same dangerous +smile on his face as he had worn the morning before, in his wife’s +drawing-room, when he stared at Stepan Trofimovitch before going up to +him. It seemed to me that now, too, there was an ominous, and, worst of +all, a rather comic expression on his countenance, the expression of a +man resigned to sacrifice himself to satisfy his wife’s lofty aims.… +Yulia Mihailovna beckoned to me hurriedly, and whispered to me to run +to Karmazinov and entreat him to begin. And no sooner had I turned away +than another disgraceful incident, much more unpleasant than the first, +took place. +</p> +<p> +On the platform, the empty platform, on which till that moment all eyes +and all expectations were fastened, and where nothing was to be seen but +a small table, a chair in front of it, and on the table a glass of water +on a silver salver—on the empty platform there suddenly appeared the +colossal figure of Captain Lebyadkin wearing a dress-coat and a white +tie. I was so astounded I could not believe my eyes. The captain seemed +confused and remained standing at the back of the platform. Suddenly +there was a shout in the audience, “Lebyadkin! You?” The captain’s +stupid red face (he was hopelessly drunk) expanded in a broad vacant +grin at this greeting. He raised his hand, rubbed his forehead with it, +shook his shaggy head and, as though making up his mind to go through +with it, took two steps forward and suddenly went off into a series +of prolonged, blissful, gurgling, but not loud guffaws, which made him +screw up his eyes and set all his bulky person heaving. This spectacle +set almost half the audience laughing, twenty people applauded. The +serious part of the audience looked at one another gloomily; it all +lasted only half a minute, however. Liputin, wearing his steward’s +rosette, ran on to the platform with two servants; they carefully took +the captain by both arms, while Liputin whispered something to him. +The captain scowled, muttered “Ah, well, if that’s it!” waved his hand, +turned his huge back to the public and vanished with his escort. But a +minute later Liputin skipped on to the platform again. He was wearing +the sweetest of his invariable smiles, which usually suggested vinegar +and sugar, and carried in his hands a sheet of note-paper. With tiny but +rapid steps he came forward to the edge of the platform. +</p> +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, addressing the public, “through our +inadvertency there has arisen a comical misunderstanding which has been +removed; but I’ve hopefully undertaken to do something at the earnest +and most respectful request of one of our local poets. Deeply touched by +the humane and lofty object … in spite of his appearance … the object +which has brought us all together … to wipe away the tears of the poor +but well-educated girls of our province … this gentleman, I mean this +local poet … although desirous of preserving his incognito, would +gladly have heard his poem read at the beginning of the ball … that is, +I mean, of the matinée. Though this poem is not in the programme … +for it has only been received half an hour ago … yet it has seemed to +<i>us</i>”—(Us? Whom did he mean by us? I report his confused and incoherent +speech word for word)—“that through its remarkable naïveté of feeling, +together with its equally remarkable gaiety, the poem might well be +read, that is, not as something serious, but as something appropriate to +the occasion, that is to the idea … especially as some lines … And I +wanted to ask the kind permission of the audience.” +</p> +<p> +“Read it!” boomed a voice at the back of the hall. +</p> +<p> +“Then I am to read it?” +</p> +<p> +“Read it, read it!” cried many voices. +</p> +<p> +“With the permission of the audience I will read it,” Liputin minced +again, still with the same sugary smile. He still seemed to hesitate, +and I even thought that he was rather excited. These people are +sometimes nervous in spite of their impudence. A divinity student would +have carried it through without winking, but Liputin did, after all, +belong to the last generation. +</p> +<p> +“I must say, that is, I have the honour to say by way of preface, that +it is not precisely an ode such as used to be written for fêtes, but is +rather, so to say, a jest, but full of undoubted feeling, together with +playful humour, and, so to say, the most realistic truthfulness.” +</p> +<p> +“Read it, read it!” +</p> +<p> +He unfolded the paper. No one of course was in time to stop him. +Besides, he was wearing his steward’s badge. In a ringing voice he +declaimed: +</p> +<p> +“To the local governesses of the Fatherland from the poet at the fête: +</p> +<pre> + “Governesses all, good morrow, + Triumph on this festive day. + Retrograde or vowed George-Sander— + Never mind, just frisk away!” +</pre> +<p> +“But that’s Lebyadkin’s! Lebyadkin’s!” cried several voices. There was +laughter and even applause, though not from very many. +</p> +<pre> + “Teaching French to wet-nosed children, + You are glad enough to think + You can catch a worn-out sexton— + Even he is worth a wink!” +</pre> +<p> +“Hurrah! hurrah!” +</p> +<pre> + “But in these great days of progress, + Ladies, to your sorrow know, + You can’t even catch a sexton, + If you have not got a ‘dot’.” +</pre> +<p> +“To be sure, to be sure, that’s realism. You can’t hook a husband +without a ‘dot’!” +</p> +<pre> + “But, henceforth, since through our feasting + Capital has flowed from all, + And we send you forth to conquest + Dancing, dowried from this hall— + Retrograde or vowed George-Sander, + Never mind, rejoice you may, + You’re a governess with a dowry, + Spit on all and frisk away!” +</pre> +<p> +I must confess I could not believe my ears. The insolence of it was so +unmistakable that there was no possibility of excusing Liputin on +the ground of stupidity. Besides, Liputin was by no means stupid. The +intention was obvious, to me, anyway; they seemed in a hurry to create +disorder. Some lines in these idiotic verses, for instance the last, +were such that no stupidity could have let them pass. Liputin himself +seemed to feel that he had undertaken too much; when he had achieved +his exploit he was so overcome by his own impudence that he did not even +leave the platform but remained standing, as though there were something +more he wanted to say. He had probably imagined that it would somehow +produce a different effect; but even the group of ruffians who had +applauded during the reading suddenly sank into silence, as though they, +too, were overcome. What was silliest of all, many of them took the +whole episode seriously, that is, did not regard the verses as a lampoon +but actually thought it realistic and true as regards the governesses—a +poem with a tendency, in fact. But the excessive freedom of the verses +struck even them at last; as for the general public they were not only +scandalised but obviously offended. I am sure I am not mistaken as to +the impression. Yulia Mihailovna said afterwards that in another moment +she would have fallen into a swoon. One of the most respectable old +gentlemen helped his old wife on to her feet, and they walked out of the +hall accompanied by the agitated glances of the audience. Who knows, +the example might have infected others if Karmazinov himself, wearing a +dress-coat and a white tie and carrying a manuscript, in his hand, had +not appeared on the platform at that moment. Yulia Mihailovna turned +an ecstatic gaze at him as on her deliverer.… But I was by that time +behind the scenes. I was in quest of Liputin. +</p> +<p> +“You did that on purpose!” I said, seizing him indignantly by the arm. +</p> +<p> +“I assure you I never thought …” he began, cringing and lying at once, +pretending to be unhappy. “The verses had only just been brought and I +thought that as an amusing pleasantry.…” +</p> +<p> +“You did not think anything of the sort. You can’t really think that +stupid rubbish an amusing pleasantry?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I do.” +</p> +<p> +“You are simply lying, and it wasn’t brought to you just now. You helped +Lebyadkin to compose it yourself, yesterday very likely, to create a +scandal. The last verse must have been yours, the part about the sexton +too. Why did he come on in a dress-coat? You must have meant him to read +it, too, if he had not been drunk?” +</p> +<p> +Liputin looked at me coldly and ironically. +</p> +<p> +“What business is it of yours?” he asked suddenly with strange calm. +</p> +<p> +“What business is it of mine? You are wearing the steward’s badge, +too.… Where is Pyotr Stepanovitch?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know, somewhere here; why do you ask?” +</p> +<p> +“Because now I see through it. It’s simply a plot against Yulia +Mihailovna so as to ruin the day by a scandal.…” +</p> +<p> +Liputin looked at me askance again. +</p> +<p> +“But what is it to you?” he said, grinning. He shrugged his shoulders +and walked away. +</p> +<p> +It came over me with a rush. All my suspicions were confirmed. Till +then, I had been hoping I was mistaken! What was I to do? I was on the +point of asking the advice of Stepan Trofimovitch, but he was standing +before the looking-glass, trying on different smiles, and continually +consulting a piece of paper on which he had notes. He had to go +on immediately after Karmazinov, and was not in a fit state for +conversation. Should I run to Yulia Mihailovna? But it was too soon +to go to her: she needed a much sterner lesson to cure her of +her conviction that she had “a following,” and that every one was +“fanatically devoted” to her. She would not have believed me, and would +have thought I was dreaming. Besides, what help could she be? “Eh,” I +thought, “after all, what business is it of mine? I’ll take off my +badge and go home <i>when it begins.</i>” That was my mental phrase, “when it +begins”; I remember it. +</p> +<p> +But I had to go and listen to Karmazinov. Taking a last look round +behind the scenes, I noticed that a good number of outsiders, even women +among them, were flitting about, going in and out. “Behind the scenes” +was rather a narrow space completely screened from the audience by a +curtain and communicating with other rooms by means of a passage. Here +our readers were awaiting their turns. But I was struck at that moment +by the reader who was to follow Stepan Trofimovitch. He, too, was some +sort of professor (I don’t know to this day exactly what he was) who had +voluntarily left some educational institution after a disturbance among +the students, and had arrived in the town only a few days before. He, +too, had been recommended to Yulia Mihailovna, and she had received him +with reverence. I know now that he had only spent one evening in her +company before the reading; he had not spoken all that evening, had +listened with an equivocal smile to the jests and the general tone of +the company surrounding Yulia Mihailovna, and had made an unpleasant +impression on every one by his air of haughtiness, and at the same +time almost timorous readiness to take offence. It was Yulia Mihailovna +herself who had enlisted his services. Now he was walking from corner to +corner, and, like Stepan Trofimovitch, was muttering to himself, though +he looked on the ground instead of in the looking-glass. He was not +trying on smiles, though he often smiled rapaciously. It was obvious +that it was useless to speak to him either. He looked about forty, was +short and bald, had a greyish beard, and was decently dressed. But what +was most interesting about him was that at every turn he took he threw +up his right fist, brandished it above his head and suddenly brought it +down again as though crushing an antagonist to atoms. He went through +this by-play every moment. It made me uncomfortable. I hastened away to +listen to Karmazinov. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +There was a feeling in the hall that something was wrong again. Let me +state to begin with that I have the deepest reverence for genius, but +why do our geniuses in the decline of their illustrious years behave +sometimes exactly like little boys? What though he was Karmazinov, and +came forward with as much dignity as five <i>Kammerherrs</i> rolled into one? +How could he expect to keep an audience like ours listening for a whole +hour to a single paper? I have observed, in fact, that however big a +genius a man may be, he can’t monopolise the attention of an audience at +a frivolous literary matinée for more than twenty minutes with impunity. +The entrance of the great writer was received, indeed, with the utmost +respect: even the severest elderly men showed signs of approval and +interest, and the ladies even displayed some enthusiasm. The applause +was brief, however, and somehow uncertain and not unanimous. Yet there +was no unseemly behaviour in the back rows, till Karmazinov began to +speak, not that anything very bad followed then, but only a sort of +misunderstanding. I have mentioned already that he had rather a shrill +voice, almost feminine in fact, and at the same time a genuinely +aristocratic lisp. He had hardly articulated a few words when someone +had the effrontery to laugh aloud—probably some ignorant simpleton who +knew nothing of the world, and was congenitally disposed to laughter. +But there was nothing like a hostile demonstration; on the contrary +people said “sh-h!” and the offender was crushed. But Mr. Karmazinov, +with an affected air and intonation, announced that “at first he had +declined absolutely to read.” (Much need there was to mention it!) +“There are some lines which come so deeply from the heart that it is +impossible to utter them aloud, so that these holy things cannot be laid +before the public”—(Why lay them then?)—“but as he had been begged +to do so, he was doing so, and as he was, moreover, laying down his +pen forever, and had sworn to write no more, he had written this last +farewell; and as he had sworn never, on any inducement, to read anything +in public,” and so on, and so on, all in that style. +</p> +<p> +But all that would not have mattered; every one knows what authors’ +prefaces are like, though, I may observe, that considering the lack of +culture of our audience and the irritability of the back rows, all this +may have had an influence. Surely it would have been better to have +read a little story, a short tale such as he had written in the +past—over-elaborate, that is, and affected, but sometimes witty. It +would have saved the situation. No, this was quite another story! It was +a regular oration! Good heavens, what wasn’t there in it! I am positive +that it would have reduced to rigidity even a Petersburg audience, let +alone ours. Imagine an article that would have filled some thirty pages +of print of the most affected, aimless prattle; and to make matters +worse, the gentleman read it with a sort of melancholy condescension +as though it were a favour, so that it was almost insulting to the +audience. The subject.… Who could make it out? It was a sort of +description of certain impressions and reminiscences. But of what? And +about what? Though the leading intellects of the province did their +utmost during the first half of the reading, they could make nothing +of it, and they listened to the second part simply out of politeness. +A great deal was said about love, indeed, of the love of the genius for +some person, but I must admit it made rather an awkward impression. For +the great writer to tell us about his first kiss seemed to my mind a +little incongruous with his short and fat little figure … Another thing +that was offensive; these kisses did not occur as they do with the rest +of mankind. There had to be a framework of gorse (it had to be gorse or +some such plant that one must look up in a flora) and there had to be a +tint of purple in the sky, such as no mortal had ever observed before, +or if some people had seen it, they had never noticed it, but he seemed +to say, “I have seen it and am describing it to you, fools, as if it +were a most ordinary thing.” The tree under which the interesting couple +sat had of course to be of an orange colour. They were sitting somewhere +in Germany. Suddenly they see Pompey or Cassius on the eve of a battle, +and both are penetrated by a thrill of ecstasy. Some wood-nymph squeaked +in the bushes. Gluck played the violin among the reeds. The title of the +piece he was playing was given in full, but no one knew it, so that one +would have had to look it up in a musical dictionary. Meanwhile a fog +came on, such a fog, such a fog, that it was more like a million pillows +than a fog. And suddenly everything disappears and the great genius is +crossing the frozen Volga in a thaw. Two and a half pages are filled +with the crossing, and yet he falls through the ice. The genius is +drowning—you imagine he was drowned? Not a bit of it; this was simply +in order that when he was drowning and at his last gasp, he might catch +sight of a bit of ice, the size of a pea, but pure and crystal “as a +frozen tear,” and in that tear was reflected Germany, or more accurately +the sky of Germany, and its iridescent sparkle recalled to his mind the +very tear which “dost thou remember, fell from thine eyes when we were +sitting under that emerald tree, and thou didst cry out joyfully: ‘There +is no crime!’ ‘No,’ I said through my tears, ‘but if that is so, there +are no righteous either.’ We sobbed and parted forever.” She went off +somewhere to the sea coast, while he went to visit some caves, and then +he descends and descends and descends for three years under Suharev +Tower in Moscow, and suddenly in the very bowels of the earth, he finds +in a cave a lamp, and before the lamp a hermit. The hermit is praying. +The genius leans against a little barred window, and suddenly hears a +sigh. Do you suppose it was the hermit sighing? Much he cares about the +hermit! Not a bit of it, this sigh simply reminds him of her first sigh, +thirty-seven years before, “in Germany, when, dost thou remember, we sat +under an agate tree and thou didst say to me, ‘Why love? See ochra is +growing all around and I love thee; but the ochra will cease to grow, +and I shall cease to love.’” Then the fog comes on again, Hoffman +appears on the scene, the wood-nymph whistles a tune from Chopin, and +suddenly out of the fog appears Ancus Marcius over the roofs of Rome, +wearing a laurel wreath. “A chill of ecstasy ran down our backs and we +parted forever”—and so on and so on. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps I am not reporting it quite right and don’t know how to report +it, but the drift of the babble was something of that sort. And after +all, how disgraceful this passion of our great intellects for jesting in +a superior way really is! The great European philosopher, the great man +of science, the inventor, the martyr—all these who labour and are heavy +laden, are to the great Russian genius no more than so many cooks in his +kitchen. He is the master and they come to him, cap in hand, awaiting +orders. It is true he jeers superciliously at Russia too, and there +is nothing he likes better than exhibiting the bankruptcy of Russia in +every relation before the great minds of Europe, but as regards himself, +no, he is at a higher level than all the great minds of Europe; they are +only material for his jests. He takes another man’s idea, tacks on to it +its antithesis, and the epigram is made. There is such a thing as crime, +there is no such thing as crime; there is no such thing as justice, +there are no just men; atheism, Darwinism, the Moscow bells.… But +alas, he no longer believes in the Moscow bells; Rome, laurels.… But +he has no belief in laurels even.… We have a conventional attack of +Byronic spleen, a grimace from Heine, something of Petchorin—and the +machine goes on rolling, whistling, at full speed. “But you may praise +me, you may praise me, that I like extremely; it’s only in a manner of +speaking that I lay down the pen; I shall bore you three hundred times +more, you’ll grow weary of reading me.…” +</p> +<p> +Of course it did not end without trouble; but the worst of it was that +it was his own doing. People had for some time begun shuffling their +feet, blowing their noses, coughing, and doing everything that people +do when a lecturer, whoever he may be, keeps an audience for longer than +twenty minutes at a literary matinée. But the genius noticed nothing of +all this. He went on lisping and mumbling, without giving a thought to +the audience, so that every one began to wonder. Suddenly in a back row +a solitary but loud voice was heard: +</p> +<p> +“Good Lord, what nonsense!” +</p> +<p> +The exclamation escaped involuntarily, and I am sure was not intended +as a demonstration. The man was simply worn out. But Mr. Karmazinov +stopped, looked sarcastically at the audience, and suddenly lisped with +the deportment of an aggrieved <i>kammerherr.</i> +</p> +<p> +“I’m afraid I’ve been boring you dreadfully, gentlemen?” +</p> +<p> +That was his blunder, that he was the first to speak; for provoking an +answer in this way he gave an opening for the rabble to speak, too, and +even legitimately, so to say, while if he had restrained himself, people +would have gone on blowing their noses and it would have passed off +somehow. Perhaps he expected applause in response to his question, but +there was no sound of applause; on the contrary, every one seemed to +subside and shrink back in dismay. +</p> +<p> +“You never did see Ancus Marcius, that’s all brag,” cried a voice that +sounded full of irritation and even nervous exhaustion. +</p> +<p> +“Just so,” another voice agreed at once. “There are no such things as +ghosts nowadays, nothing but natural science. Look it up in a scientific +book.” +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, there was nothing I expected less than such objections,” +said Karmazinov, extremely surprised. The great genius had completely +lost touch with his Fatherland in Karlsruhe. +</p> +<p> +“Nowadays it’s outrageous to say that the world stands on three fishes,” +a young lady snapped out suddenly. “You can’t have gone down to the +hermit’s cave, Karmazinov. And who talks about hermits nowadays?” +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, what surprises me most of all is that you take it all so +seriously. However … however, you are perfectly right. No one has +greater respect for truth and realism than I have.…” +</p> +<p> +Though he smiled ironically he was tremendously overcome. His face +seemed to express: “I am not the sort of man you think, I am on your +side, only praise me, praise me more, as much as possible, I like it +extremely.…” +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen,” he cried, completely mortified at last, “I see that my poor +poem is quite out of place here. And, indeed, I am out of place here +myself, I think.” +</p> +<p> +“You threw at the crow and you hit the cow,” some fool, probably drunk, +shouted at the top of his voice, and of course no notice ought to +have been taken of him. It is true there was a sound of disrespectful +laughter. +</p> +<p> +“A cow, you say?” Karmazinov caught it up at once, his voice grew +shriller and shriller. “As for crows and cows, gentlemen, I will +refrain. I’ve too much respect for any audience to permit myself +comparisons, however harmless; but I did think …” +</p> +<p> +“You’d better be careful, sir,” someone shouted from a back row. +</p> +<p> +“But I had supposed that laying aside my pen and saying farewell to my +readers, I should be heard …” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, we want to hear you, we want to,” a few voices from the front +row plucked up spirit to exclaim at last. +</p> +<p> +“Read, read!” several enthusiastic ladies’ voices chimed in, and at last +there was an outburst of applause, sparse and feeble, it is true. +</p> +<p> +“Believe me, Karmazinov, every one looks on it as an honour …” the +marshal’s wife herself could not resist saying. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Karmazinov!” cried a fresh young voice in the back of the hall +suddenly. It was the voice of a very young teacher from the district +school who had only lately come among us, an excellent young man, quiet +and gentlemanly. He stood up in his place. “Mr. Karmazinov, if I had +the happiness to fall in love as you have described to us, I really +shouldn’t refer to my love in an article intended for public +reading.…” He flushed red all over. +</p> +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen,” cried Karmazinov, “I have finished. I will omit +the end and withdraw. Only allow me to read the six last lines: +</p> +<p> +“Yes, dear reader, farewell!” he began at once from the manuscript +without sitting down again in his chair. “Farewell, reader; I do not +greatly insist on our parting friends; what need to trouble you, +indeed. You may abuse me, abuse me as you will if it affords you any +satisfaction. But best of all if we forget one another forever. And +if you all, readers, were suddenly so kind as to fall on your knees and +begin begging me with tears, ‘Write, oh, write for us, Karmazinov—for +the sake of Russia, for the sake of posterity, to win laurels,’ even +then I would answer you, thanking you, of course, with every courtesy, +‘No, we’ve had enough of one another, dear fellow-countrymen, <i>merci!</i> +It’s time we took our separate ways!’ <i>Merci, merci, merci!</i>” +</p> +<p> +Karmazinov bowed ceremoniously, and, as red as though he had been +cooked, retired behind the scenes. +</p> +<p> +“Nobody would go down on their knees; a wild idea!” +</p> +<p> +“What conceit!” +</p> +<p> +“That’s only humour,” someone more reasonable suggested. +</p> +<p> +“Spare me your humour.” +</p> +<p> +“I call it impudence, gentlemen!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, he’s finished now, anyway!” +</p> +<p> +“Ech, what a dull show!” +</p> +<p> +But all these ignorant exclamations in the back rows (though they were +confined to the back rows) were drowned in applause from the other half +of the audience. They called for Karmazinov. Several ladies with Yulia +Mihailovna and the marshal’s wife crowded round the platform. In Yulia +Mihailovna’s hands was a gorgeous laurel wreath resting on another +wreath of living roses on a white velvet cushion. +</p> +<p> +“Laurels!” Karmazinov pronounced with a subtle and rather sarcastic +smile. “I am touched, of course, and accept with real emotion this +wreath prepared beforehand, but still fresh and unwithered, but I assure +you, mesdames, that I have suddenly become so realistic that I feel +laurels would in this age be far more appropriate in the hands of a +skilful cook than in mine.…” +</p> +<p> +“Well, a cook is more useful,” cried the divinity student, who had been +at the “meeting” at Virginsky’s. +</p> +<p> +There was some disorder. In many rows people jumped up to get a better +view of the presentation of the laurel wreath. +</p> +<p> +“I’d give another three roubles for a cook this minute,” another voice +assented loudly, too loudly; insistently, in fact. +</p> +<p> +“So would I.” +</p> +<p> +“And I.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it possible there’s no buffet?…” +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, it’s simply a swindle.…” +</p> +<p> +It must be admitted, however, that all these unbridled gentlemen still +stood in awe of our higher officials and of the police superintendent, +who was present in the hall. Ten minutes later all had somehow got back +into their places, but there was not the same good order as before. +And it was into this incipient chaos that poor Stepan Trofimovitch was +thrust. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +I ran out to him behind the scenes once more, and had time to warn him +excitedly that in my opinion the game was up, that he had better not +appear at all, but had better go home at once on the excuse of his usual +ailment, for instance, and I would take off my badge and come with him. +At that instant he was on his way to the platform; he stopped suddenly, +and haughtily looking me up and down he pronounced solemnly: +</p> +<p> +“What grounds have you, sir, for thinking me capable of such baseness?” +</p> +<p> +I drew back. I was as sure as twice two make four that he would not get +off without a catastrophe. Meanwhile, as I stood utterly dejected, I saw +moving before me again the figure of the professor, whose turn it was to +appear after Stepan Trofimovitch, and who kept lifting up his fist +and bringing it down again with a swing. He kept walking up and down, +absorbed in himself and muttering something to himself with a diabolical +but triumphant smile. I somehow almost unintentionally went up to him. +I don’t know what induced me to meddle again. “Do you know,” I said, +“judging from many examples, if a lecturer keeps an audience for more +than twenty minutes it won’t go on listening. No celebrity is able to +hold his own for half an hour.” +</p> +<p> +He stopped short and seemed almost quivering with resentment. Infinite +disdain was expressed in his countenance. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t trouble yourself,” he muttered contemptuously and walked on. At +that moment Stepan Trofimovitch’s voice rang out in the hall. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, hang you all,” I thought, and ran to the hall. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch took his seat in the lecturer’s chair in the midst +of the still persisting disorder. He was greeted by the first rows with +looks which were evidently not over-friendly. (Of late, at the club, +people almost seemed not to like him, and treated him with much less +respect than formerly.) But it was something to the good that he was not +hissed. I had had a strange idea in my head ever since the previous +day: I kept fancying that he would be received with hisses as soon as +he appeared. They scarcely noticed him, however, in the disorder. What +could that man hope for if Karmazinov was treated like this? He was +pale; it was ten years since he had appeared before an audience. From +his excitement and from all that I knew so well in him, it was clear to +me that he, too, regarded his present appearance on the platform as a +turning-point of his fate, or something of the kind. That was just what +I was afraid of. The man was dear to me. And what were my feelings when +he opened his lips and I heard his first phrase? +</p> +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen,” he pronounced suddenly, as though resolved to +venture everything, though in an almost breaking voice. “Ladies and +gentlemen! Only this morning there lay before me one of the illegal +leaflets that have been distributed here lately, and I asked myself for +the hundredth time, ‘Wherein lies its secret?’” +</p> +<p> +The whole hall became instantly still, all looks were turned to him, +some with positive alarm. There was no denying, he knew how to secure +their interest from the first word. Heads were thrust out from behind +the scenes; Liputin and Lyamshin listened greedily. Yulia Mihailovna +waved to me again. +</p> +<p> +“Stop him, whatever happens, stop him,” she whispered in agitation. +I could only shrug my shoulders: how could one stop a man resolved to +venture everything? Alas, I understood what was in Stepan Trofimovitch’s +mind. +</p> +<p> +“Ha ha, the manifestoes!” was whispered in the audience; the whole hall +was stirred. +</p> +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve solved the whole mystery. The whole secret +of their effect lies in their stupidity.” (His eyes flashed.) “Yes, +gentlemen, if this stupidity were intentional, pretended and calculated, +oh, that would be a stroke of genius! But we must do them justice: +they don’t pretend anything. It’s the barest, most simple-hearted, +most shallow stupidity. <i>C’est la bêtise dans son essence la plus pure, +quelque chose comme un simple chimique.</i> If it were expressed ever so +little more cleverly, every one would see at once the poverty of this +shallow stupidity. But as it is, every one is left wondering: no one +can believe that it is such elementary stupidity. ‘It’s impossible that +there’s nothing more in it,’ every one says to himself and tries to +find the secret of it, sees a mystery in it, tries to read between the +lines—the effect is attained! Oh, never has stupidity been so solemnly +rewarded, though it has so often deserved it.… For, <i>en parenthese,</i> +stupidity is of as much service to humanity as the loftiest genius.…” +</p> +<p> +“Epigram of 1840” was commented, in a very modest voice, however, but it +was followed by a general outbreak of noise and uproar. +</p> +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen, hurrah! I propose a toast to stupidity!” cried +Stepan Trofimovitch, defying the audience in a perfect frenzy. +</p> +<p> +I ran up on the pretext of pouring out some water for him. +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch, leave off, Yulia Mihailovna entreats you to.” +</p> +<p> +“No, you leave me alone, idle young man,” he cried out at me at the top +of his voice. I ran away. “Messieurs,” he went on, “why this excitement, +why the outcries of indignation I hear? I have come forward with an +olive branch. I bring you the last word, for in this business I have the +last word—and we shall be reconciled.” +</p> +<p> +“Down with him!” shouted some. +</p> +<p> +“Hush, let him speak, let him have his say!” yelled another section. The +young teacher was particularly excited; having once brought himself to +speak he seemed now unable to be silent. +</p> +<p> +“Messieurs, the last word in this business—is forgiveness. I, an old +man at the end of my life, I solemnly declare that the spirit of life +breathes in us still, and there is still a living strength in the young +generation. The enthusiasm of the youth of today is as pure and bright +as in our age. All that has happened is a change of aim, the replacing +of one beauty by another! The whole difficulty lies in the question +which is more beautiful, Shakespeare or boots, Raphael or petroleum?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s treachery!” growled some. +</p> +<p> +“Compromising questions!” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Agent provocateur!”</i> +</p> +<p> +“But I maintain,” Stepan Trofimovitch shrilled at the utmost pitch of +excitement, “I maintain that Shakespeare and Raphael are more precious +than the emancipation of the serfs, more precious than Nationalism, more +precious than Socialism, more precious than the young generation, more +precious than chemistry, more precious than almost all humanity because +they are the fruit, the real fruit of all humanity and perhaps the +highest fruit that can be. A form of beauty already attained, but for +the attaining of which I would not perhaps consent to live.… Oh, +heavens!” he cried, clasping his hands, “ten years ago I said the same +thing from the platform in Petersburg, exactly the same thing, in the +same words, and in just the same way they did not understand it, they +laughed and hissed as now; shallow people, what is lacking in you that +you cannot understand? But let me tell you, let me tell you, without the +English, life is still possible for humanity, without Germany, life is +possible, without the Russians it is only too possible, without science, +without bread, life is possible—only without beauty it is impossible, +for there will be nothing left in the world. That’s the secret at the +bottom of everything, that’s what history teaches! Even science would +not exist a moment without beauty—do you know that, you who laugh—it +will sink into bondage, you won’t invent a nail even!… I won’t yield an +inch!” he shouted absurdly in confusion, and with all his might banged +his fist on the table. +</p> +<p> +But all the while that he was shrieking senselessly and incoherently, +the disorder in the hall increased. Many people jumped up from their +seats, some dashed forward, nearer to the platform. It all happened much +more quickly than I describe it, and there was no time to take steps, +perhaps no wish to, either. +</p> +<p> +“It’s all right for you, with everything found for you, you pampered +creatures!” the same divinity student bellowed at the foot of the +platform, grinning with relish at Stepan Trofimovitch, who noticed it +and darted to the very edge of the platform. +</p> +<p> +“Haven’t I, haven’t I just declared that the enthusiasm of the young +generation is as pure and bright as it was, and that it is coming to +grief through being deceived only in the forms of beauty! Isn’t that +enough for you? And if you consider that he who proclaims this is a +father crushed and insulted, can one—oh, shallow hearts—can one +rise to greater heights of impartiality and fairness?… Ungrateful … +unjust.… Why, why can’t you be reconciled!” +</p> +<p> +And he burst into hysterical sobs. He wiped away his dropping tears with +his fingers. His shoulders and breast were heaving with sobs. He was +lost to everything in the world. +</p> +<p> +A perfect panic came over the audience, almost all got up from their +seats. Yulia Mihailovna, too, jumped up quickly, seizing her husband by +the arm and pulling him up too.… The scene was beyond all belief. +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch!” the divinity student roared gleefully. “There’s +Fedka the convict wandering about the town and the neighbourhood, +escaped from prison. He is a robber and has recently committed another +murder. Allow me to ask you: if you had not sold him as a recruit +fifteen years ago to pay a gambling debt, that is, more simply, lost +him at cards, tell me, would he have got into prison? Would he have cut +men’s throats now, in his struggle for existence? What do you say, Mr. +Æsthete?” +</p> +<p> +I decline to describe the scene that followed. To begin with there was a +furious volley of applause. The applause did not come from all—probably +from some fifth part of the audience—but they applauded furiously. The +rest of the public made for the exit, but as the applauding part of the +audience kept pressing forward towards the platform, there was a regular +block. The ladies screamed, some of the girls began to cry and asked to +go home. Lembke, standing up by his chair, kept gazing wildly about him. +Yulia Mihailovna completely lost her head—for the first time during her +career amongst us. As for Stepan Trofimovitch, for the first moment +he seemed literally crushed by the divinity student’s words, but he +suddenly raised his arms as though holding them out above the public and +yelled: +</p> +<p> +“I shake the dust from off my feet and I curse you.… It’s the end, the +end.…” +</p> +<p> +And turning, he ran behind the scenes, waving his hands menacingly. +</p> +<p> +“He has insulted the audience!… Verhovensky!” the angry section +roared. They even wanted to rush in pursuit of him. It was impossible to +appease them, at the moment, any way, and—a final catastrophe broke +like a bomb on the assembly and exploded in its midst: the third reader, +the maniac who kept waving his fist behind the scenes, suddenly ran +on to the platform. He looked like a perfect madman. With a broad, +triumphant smile, full of boundless self-confidence, he looked round at +the agitated hall and he seemed to be delighted at the disorder. He was +not in the least disconcerted at having to speak in such an uproar, on +the contrary, he was obviously delighted. This was so obvious that it +attracted attention at once. +</p> +<p> +“What’s this now?” people were heard asking. “Who is this? Sh-h! What +does he want to say?” +</p> +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen,” the maniac shouted with all his might, standing +at the very edge of the platform and speaking with almost as shrill, +feminine a voice as Karmazinov’s, but without the aristocratic lisp. +“Ladies and gentlemen! Twenty years ago, on the eve of war with half +Europe, Russia was regarded as an ideal country by officials of all +ranks! Literature was in the service of the censorship; military drill +was all that was taught at the universities; the troops were trained +like a ballet, and the peasants paid the taxes and were mute under the +lash of serfdom. Patriotism meant the wringing of bribes from the quick +and the dead. Those who did not take bribes were looked upon as rebels +because they disturbed the general harmony. The birch copses were +extirpated in support of discipline. Europe trembled.… But never in +the thousand years of its senseless existence had Russia sunk to such +ignominy.…” +</p> +<p> +He raised his fist, waved it ecstatically and menacingly over his head +and suddenly brought it down furiously, as though pounding an adversary +to powder. A frantic yell rose from the whole hall, there was a +deafening roar of applause; almost half the audience was applauding: +their enthusiasm was excusable. Russia was being put to shame publicly, +before every one. Who could fail to roar with delight? +</p> +<p> +“This is the real thing! Come, this is something like! Hurrah! Yes, this +is none of your æsthetics!” +</p> +<p> +The maniac went on ecstatically: +</p> +<p> +“Twenty years have passed since then. Universities have been opened and +multiplied. Military drill has passed into a legend; officers are too +few by thousands, the railways have eaten up all the capital and have +covered Russia as with a spider’s web, so that in another fifteen years +one will perhaps get somewhere. Bridges are rarely on fire, and fires in +towns occur only at regular intervals, in turn, at the proper season. +In the law courts judgments are as wise as Solomon’s, and the jury only +take bribes through the struggle for existence, to escape starvation. +The serfs are free, and flog one another instead of being flogged by +the land-owners. Seas and oceans of vodka are consumed to support the +budget, and in Novgorod, opposite the ancient and useless St. Sophia, +there has been solemnly put up a colossal bronze globe to celebrate a +thousand years of disorder and confusion; Europe scowls and begins to +be uneasy again.… Fifteen years of reforms! And yet never even in the +most grotesque periods of its madness has Russia sunk …” +</p> +<p> +The last words could not be heard in the roar of the crowd. One could +see him again raise his arm and bring it down triumphantly again. +Enthusiasm was beyond all bounds: people yelled, clapped their hands, +even some of the ladies shouted: “Enough, you can’t beat that!” Some +might have been drunk. The orator scanned them all and seemed revelling +in his own triumph. I caught a glimpse of Lembke in indescribable +excitement, pointing something out to somebody. Yulia Mihailovna, with a +pale face, said something in haste to the prince, who had run up to her. +But at that moment a group of six men, officials more or less, burst on +to the platform, seized the orator and dragged him behind the scenes. I +can’t understand how he managed to tear himself away from them, but he +did escape, darted up to the edge of the platform again and succeeded in +shouting again, at the top of his voice, waving his fist: “But never has +Russia sunk …” +</p> +<p> +But he was dragged away again. I saw some fifteen men dash behind the +scenes to rescue him, not crossing the platform but breaking down the +light screen at the side of it.… I saw afterwards, though I could +hardly believe my eyes, the girl student (Virginsky’s sister) leap on +to the platform with the same roll under her arm, dressed as before, +as plump and rosy as ever, surrounded by two or three women and two or +three men, and accompanied by her mortal enemy, the schoolboy. I even +caught the phrase: +</p> +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve come to call attention to the sufferings +of poor students and to rouse them to a general protest …” +</p> +<p> +But I ran away. Hiding my badge in my pocket I made my way from the +house into the street by back passages which I knew of. First of all, of +course, I went to Stepan Trofimovitch’s. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0017"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER II. THE END OF THE FETE +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +HE WOULD NOT SEE ME. He had shut himself up and was writing. At my +repeated knocks and appeals he answered through the door: +</p> +<p> +“My friend, I have finished everything. Who can ask anything more of +me?” +</p> +<p> +“You haven’t finished anything, you’ve only helped to make a mess of the +whole thing. For God’s sake, no epigrams, Stepan Trofimovitch! Open the +door. We must take steps; they may still come and insult you.…” +</p> +<p> +I thought myself entitled to be particularly severe and even rigorous. +I was afraid he might be going to do something still more mad. But to my +surprise I met an extraordinary firmness. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be the first to insult me then. I thank you for the past, but +I repeat I’ve done with all men, good and bad. I am writing to Darya +Pavlovna, whom I’ve forgotten so unpardonably till now. You may take it +to her to-morrow, if you like, now <i>merci</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch, I assure you that the matter is more serious +than you think. Do you think that you’ve crushed someone there? You’ve +pulverised no one, but have broken yourself to pieces like an empty +bottle.” (Oh, I was coarse and discourteous, I remember it with +regret.) “You’ve absolutely no reason to write to Darya Pavlovna … and +what will you do with yourself without me? What do you understand about +practical life? I expect you are plotting something else? You’ll simply +come to grief again if you go plotting something more.…” +</p> +<p> +He rose and came close up to the door. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve not been long with them, but you’ve caught the infection of +their tone and language. <i>Dieu vous pardonne, mon ami, et Dieu vous +garde.</i> But I’ve always seen in you the germs of delicate feeling, and +you will get over it perhaps—<i>après le temps,</i> of course, like all of us +Russians. As for what you say about my impracticability, I’ll remind you +of a recent idea of mine: a whole mass of people in Russia do nothing +whatever but attack other people’s impracticability with the utmost fury +and with the tiresome persistence of flies in the summer, accusing every +one of it except themselves. <i>Cher,</i> remember that I am excited, and +don’t distress me. Once more <i>merci</i> for everything, and let us part like +Karmazinov and the public; that is, let us forget each other with as +much generosity as we can. He was posing in begging his former readers +so earnestly to forget him; <i>quant à moi,</i> I am not so conceited, and I +rest my hopes on the youth of your inexperienced heart. How should you +remember a useless old man for long? ‘Live more,’ my friend, as Nastasya +wished me on my last name-day <i>(ces pauvres gens ont quelquefois des +mots charmants et pleins de philosophie).</i> I do not wish you much +happiness—it will bore you. I do not wish you trouble either, but, +following the philosophy of the peasant, I will repeat simply ‘live +more’ and try not to be much bored; this useless wish I add from myself. +Well, good-bye, and good-bye for good. Don’t stand at my door, I will +not open it.” +</p> +<p> +He went away and I could get nothing more out of him. In spite of his +“excitement,” he spoke smoothly, deliberately, with weight, obviously +trying to be impressive. Of course he was rather vexed with me and was +avenging himself indirectly, possibly even for the yesterday’s “prison +carts” and “floors that give way.” His tears in public that morning, in +spite of a triumph of a sort, had put him, he knew, in rather a comic +position, and there never was a man more solicitous of dignity and +punctilio in his relations with his friends than Stepan Trofimovitch. +Oh, I don’t blame him. But this fastidiousness and irony which he +preserved in spite of all shocks reassured me at the time. A man who was +so little different from his ordinary self was, of course, not in the +mood at that moment for anything tragic or extraordinary. So I reasoned +at the time, and, heavens, what a mistake I made! I left too much out of +my reckoning. +</p> +<p> +In anticipation of events I will quote the few first lines of the letter +to Darya Pavlovna, which she actually received the following day: +</p> +<p> +“<i>Mon enfant,</i> my hand trembles, but I’ve done with everything. You were +not present at my last struggle: you did not come to that matinée, and +you did well to stay away. But you will be told that in our Russia, +which has grown so poor in men of character, one man had the courage to +stand up and, in spite of deadly menaces showered on him from all +sides, to tell the fools the truth, that is, that they are fools. <i>Oh, +ce sont—des pauvres petits vauriens et rien de plus, des +petits</i>—fools—<i>voilà le mot!</i> The die is cast; I am going from this town +forever and I know not whither. Every one I loved has turned from me. +But you, you are a pure and naïve creature; you, a gentle being whose +life has been all but linked with mine at the will of a capricious and +imperious heart; you who looked at me perhaps with contempt when I shed +weak tears on the eve of our frustrated marriage; you, who cannot in any +case look on me except as a comic figure—for you, for you is the last +cry of my heart, for you my last duty, for you alone! I cannot leave +you forever thinking of me as an ungrateful fool, a churlish egoist, as +probably a cruel and ungrateful heart—whom, alas, I cannot forget—is +every day describing me to you.…” +</p> +<p> +And so on and so on, four large pages. +</p> +<p> +Answering his “I won’t open” with three bangs with my fist on the door, +and shouting after him that I was sure he would send Nastasya for me +three times that day, but I would not come, I gave him up and ran off to +Yulia Mihailovna. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +There I was the witness of a revolting scene: the poor woman was +deceived to her face, and I could do nothing. Indeed, what could I say +to her? I had had time to reconsider things a little and reflect that +I had nothing to go upon but certain feelings and suspicious +presentiments. I found her in tears, almost in hysterics, with +compresses of eau-de-Cologne and a glass of water. Before her stood +Pyotr Stepanovitch, who talked without stopping, and the prince, who +held his tongue as though it had been under a lock. With tears and +lamentations she reproached Pyotr Stepanovitch for his “desertion.” I +was struck at once by the fact that she ascribed the whole failure, +the whole ignominy of the matinée, everything in fact, to Pyotr +Stepanovitch’s absence. +</p> +<p> +In him I observed an important change: he seemed a shade too anxious, +almost serious. As a rule he never seemed serious; he was always +laughing, even when he was angry, and he was often angry. Oh, he was +angry now! He was speaking coarsely, carelessly, with vexation and +impatience. He said that he had been taken ill at Gaganov’s lodging, +where he had happened to go early in the morning. Alas, the poor woman +was so anxious to be deceived again! The chief question which I found +being discussed was whether the ball, that is, the whole second half of +the fête, should or should not take place. Yulia Mihailovna could not be +induced to appear at the ball “after the insults she had received that +morning”; in other words, her heart was set on being compelled to do so, +and by him, by Pyotr Stepanovitch. She looked upon him as an oracle, and +I believe if he had gone away she would have taken to her bed at once. +But he did not want to go away; he was desperately anxious that the ball +should take place and that Yulia Mihailovna should be present at it. +</p> +<p> +“Come, what is there to cry about? Are you set on having a scene? On +venting your anger on somebody? Well, vent it on me; only make haste +about it, for the time is passing and you must make up your mind. We +made a mess of it with the matinée; we’ll pick up on the ball. Here, the +prince thinks as I do. Yes, if it hadn’t been for the prince, how would +things have ended there?” +</p> +<p> +The prince had been at first opposed to the ball (that is, opposed to +Yulia Mihailovna’s appearing at it; the ball was bound to go on in any +case), but after two or three such references to his opinion he began +little by little to grunt his acquiescence. +</p> +<p> +I was surprised too at the extraordinary rudeness of Pyotr +Stepanovitch’s tone. Oh, I scout with indignation the contemptible +slander which was spread later of some supposed liaison between Yulia +Mihailovna and Pyotr Stepanovitch. There was no such thing, nor could +there be. He gained his ascendency over her from the first only by +encouraging her in her dreams of influence in society and in the +ministry, by entering into her plans, by inventing them for her, and +working upon her with the grossest flattery. He had got her completely +into his toils and had become as necessary to her as the air she +breathed. Seeing me, she cried, with flashing eyes: +</p> +<p> +“Here, ask him. He kept by my side all the while, just like the prince +did. Tell me, isn’t it plain that it was all a preconcerted plot, a +base, designing plot to damage Andrey Antonovitch and me as much as +possible? Oh, they had arranged it beforehand. They had a plan! It’s a +party, a regular party.” +</p> +<p> +“You are exaggerating as usual. You’ve always some romantic notion in +your head. But I am glad to see Mr.…” (He pretended to have forgotten +my name.) “He’ll give us his opinion.” +</p> +<p> +“My opinion,” I hastened to put in, “is the same as Yulia Mihailovna’s. +The plot is only too evident. I have brought you these ribbons, Yulia +Mihailovna. Whether the ball is to take place or not is not my business, +for it’s not in my power to decide; but my part as steward is over. +Forgive my warmth, but I can’t act against the dictates of common sense +and my own convictions.” +</p> +<p> +“You hear! You hear!” She clasped her hands. +</p> +<p> +“I hear, and I tell you this.” He turned to me. “I think you must +have eaten something which has made you all delirious. To my thinking, +nothing has happened, absolutely nothing but what has happened before +and is always liable to happen in this town. A plot, indeed! It was an +ugly failure, disgracefully stupid. But where’s the plot? A plot against +Yulia Mihailovna, who has spoiled them and protected them and fondly +forgiven them all their schoolboy pranks! Yulia Mihailovna! What have I +been hammering into you for the last month continually? What did I warn +you? What did you want with all these people—what did you want with +them? What induced you to mix yourself up with these fellows? What was +the motive, what was the object of it? To unite society? But, mercy on +us! will they ever be united?” +</p> +<p> +“When did you warn me? On the contrary, you approved of it, you even +insisted on it.… I confess I am so surprised.… You brought all sorts +of strange people to see me yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“On the contrary, I opposed you; I did not approve of it. As for +bringing them to see you, I certainly did, but only after they’d got +in by dozens and only of late to make up ‘the literary quadrille’—we +couldn’t get on without these rogues. Only I don’t mind betting that a +dozen or two more of the same sort were let in without tickets to-day.” +</p> +<p> +“Not a doubt of it,” I agreed. +</p> +<p> +“There, you see, you are agreeing already. Think what the tone has been +lately here—I mean in this wretched town. It’s nothing but insolence, +impudence; it’s been a crying scandal all the time. And who’s been +encouraging it? Who’s screened it by her authority? Who’s upset them +all? Who has made all the small fry huffy? All their family secrets are +caricatured in your album. Didn’t you pat them on the back, your poets +and caricaturists? Didn’t you let Lyamshin kiss your hand? Didn’t a +divinity student abuse an actual state councillor in your presence and +spoil his daughter’s dress with his tarred boots? Now, can you wonder +that the public is set against you?” +</p> +<p> +“But that’s all your doing, yours! Oh, my goodness!” +</p> +<p> +“No, I warned you. We quarrelled. Do you hear, we quarrelled?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, you are lying to my face!” +</p> +<p> +“Of course it’s easy for you to say that. You need a victim to vent your +wrath on. Well, vent it on me as I’ve said already. I’d better appeal to +you, Mr.…” (He was still unable to recall my name.) “We’ll reckon +on our fingers. I maintain that, apart from Liputin, there was nothing +preconcerted, nothing! I will prove it, but first let us analyse +Liputin. He came forward with that fool Lebyadkin’s verses. Do you +maintain that that was a plot? But do you know it might simply have +struck Liputin as a clever thing to do. Seriously, seriously. He simply +came forward with the idea of making every one laugh and entertaining +them—his protectress Yulia Mihailovna first of all. That was all. Don’t +you believe it? Isn’t that in keeping with all that has been going +on here for the last month? Do you want me to tell the whole truth? I +declare that under other circumstances it might have gone off all right. +It was a coarse joke—well, a bit strong, perhaps; but it was amusing, +you know, wasn’t it?” +</p> +<p> +“What! You think what Liputin did was clever?” Yulia Mihailovna cried +in intense indignation. “Such stupidity, such tactlessness, so +contemptible, so mean! It was intentional! Oh, you are saying it on +purpose! I believe after that you are in the plot with them yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course I was behind the scenes, I was in hiding, I set it all going. +But if I were in the plot—understand that, anyway—it wouldn’t have +ended with Liputin. So according to you I had arranged with my papa too +that he should cause such a scene on purpose? Well, whose fault is it +that my papa was allowed to read? Who tried only yesterday to prevent +you from allowing it, only yesterday?” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Oh, hier il avait tant d’esprit,</i> I was so reckoning on him; and then he +has such manners. I thought with him and Karmazinov … Only think!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, only think. But in spite of <i>tant d’esprit</i> papa has made things +worse, and if I’d known beforehand that he’d make such a mess of it, I +should certainly not have persuaded you yesterday to keep the goat +out of the kitchen garden, should I—since I am taking part in this +conspiracy against your fête that you are so positive about? And yet I +did try to dissuade you yesterday; I tried to because I foresaw it. To +foresee everything was, of course, impossible; he probably did not know +himself a minute before what he would fire off—these nervous old men +can’t be reckoned on like other people. But you can still save +the situation: to satisfy the public, send to him to-morrow by +administrative order, and with all the ceremonies, two doctors to +inquire into his health. Even to-day, in fact, and take him straight to +the hospital and apply cold compresses. Every one would laugh, anyway, +and see that there was nothing to take offence at. I’ll tell people +about it in the evening at the ball, as I am his son. Karmazinov is +another story. He was a perfect ass and dragged out his article for a +whole hour. He certainly must have been in the plot with me! ‘I’ll make +a mess of it too,’ he thought, ‘to damage Yulia Mihailovna.’” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Karmazinov! <i>Quelle honte!</i> I was burning, burning with shame for his +audience!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I shouldn’t have burnt, but have cooked him instead. The audience +was right, you know. Who was to blame for Karmazinov, again? Did I foist +him upon you? Was I one of his worshippers? Well, hang him! But the +third maniac, the political—that’s a different matter. That was every +one’s blunder, not only my plot.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, don’t speak of it! That was awful, awful! That was my fault, +entirely my fault!” +</p> +<p> +“Of course it was, but I don’t blame you for that. No one can control +them, these candid souls! You can’t always be safe from them, even in +Petersburg. He was recommended to you, and in what terms too! So you +will admit that you are bound to appear at the ball to-night. It’s an +important business. It was you put him on to the platform. You must make +it plain now to the public that you are not in league with him, that +the fellow is in the hands of the police, and that you were in some +inexplicable way deceived. You ought to declare with indignation that +you were the victim of a madman. Because he is a madman and nothing +more. That’s how you must put it about him. I can’t endure these people +who bite. I say worse things perhaps, but not from the platform, you +know. And they are talking about a senator too.” +</p> +<p> +“What senator? Who’s talking?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t understand it myself, you know. Do you know anything about a +senator, Yulia Mihailovna?” +</p> +<p> +“A senator?” +</p> +<p> +“You see, they are convinced that a senator has been appointed to be +governor here, and that you are being superseded from Petersburg. I’ve +heard it from lots of people.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve heard it too,” I put in. +</p> +<p> +“Who said so?” asked Yulia Mihailovna, flushing all over. +</p> +<p> +“You mean, who said so first? How can I tell? But there it is, people +say so. Masses of people are saying so. They were saying so yesterday +particularly. They are all very serious about it, though I can’t make it +out. Of course the more intelligent and competent don’t talk, but even +some of those listen.” +</p> +<p> +“How mean! And … how stupid!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s just why you must make your appearance, to show these +fools.” +</p> +<p> +“I confess I feel myself that it’s my duty, but … what if there’s +another disgrace in store for us? What if people don’t come? No one will +come, you know, no one!” +</p> +<p> +“How hot you are! They not come! What about the new clothes? What about +the girls’ dresses? I give you up as a woman after that! Is that your +knowledge of human nature?” +</p> +<p> +“The marshal’s wife won’t come, she won’t.” +</p> +<p> +“But, after all, what has happened? Why won’t they come?” he cried at +last with angry impatience. +</p> +<p> +“Ignominy, disgrace—that’s what’s happened. I don’t know what to call +it, but after it I can’t face people.” +</p> +<p> +“Why? How are you to blame for it, after all? Why do you take the blame +of it on yourself? Isn’t it rather the fault of the audience, of +your respectable residents, your patresfamilias? They ought to have +controlled the roughs and the rowdies—for it was all the work of roughs +and rowdies, nothing serious. You can never manage things with the +police alone in any society, anywhere. Among us every one asks for +a special policeman to protect him wherever he goes. People don’t +understand that society must protect itself. And what do our +patresfamilias, the officials, the wives and daughters, do in such +cases? They sit quiet and sulk. In fact there’s not enough social +initiative to keep the disorderly in check.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, that’s the simple truth! They sit quiet, sulk and … gaze about +them.” +</p> +<p> +“And if it’s the truth, you ought to say so aloud, proudly, sternly, +just to show that you are not defeated, to those respectable residents +and mothers of families. Oh, you can do it; you have the gift when your +head is clear. You will gather them round you and say it aloud. And +then a paragraph in the <i>Voice</i> and the <i>Financial News.</i> Wait a bit, I’ll +undertake it myself, I’ll arrange it all for you. Of course there must +be more superintendence: you must look after the buffet; you must ask +the prince, you must ask Mr.… You must not desert us, monsieur, just +when we have to begin all over again. And finally, you must appear +arm-in-arm with Andrey Antonovitch.… How is Andrey Antonovitch?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, how unjustly, how untruly, how cruelly you have always judged that +angelic man!” Yulia Mihailovna cried in a sudden, outburst, almost with +tears, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch was positively taken aback for the moment. “Good +heavens! I.… What have I said? I’ve always …” +</p> +<p> +“You never have, never! You have never done him justice.” +</p> +<p> +“There’s no understanding a woman,” grumbled Pyotr Stepanovitch, with a +wry smile. +</p> +<p> +“He is the most sincere, the most delicate, the most angelic of men! The +most kind-hearted of men!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, really, as for kind-heartedness … I’ve always done him +justice.…” +</p> +<p> +“Never! But let us drop it. I am too awkward in my defence of him. +This morning that little Jesuit, the marshal’s wife, also dropped some +sarcastic hints about what happened yesterday.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, she has no thoughts to spare for yesterday now, she is full of +to-day. And why are you so upset at her not coming to the ball to-night? +Of course, she won’t come after getting mixed up in such a scandal. +Perhaps it’s not her fault, but still her reputation … her hands are +soiled.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean; I don’t understand? Why are her hands soiled?” Yulia +Mihailovna looked at him in perplexity. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t vouch for the truth of it, but the town is ringing with the +story that it was she brought them together.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean? Brought whom together?” +</p> +<p> +“What, do you mean to say you don’t know?” he exclaimed with +well-simulated wonder. “Why Stavrogin and Lizaveta Nikolaevna.” +</p> +<p> +“What? How?” we all cried out at once. +</p> +<p> +“Is it possible you don’t know? Phew! Why, it is quite a tragic romance: +Lizaveta Nikolaevna was pleased to get out of that lady’s carriage +and get straight into Stavrogin’s carriage, and slipped off with ‘the +latter’ to Skvoreshniki in full daylight. Only an hour ago, hardly an +hour.” +</p> +<p> +We were flabbergasted. Of course we fell to questioning him, but to our +wonder, although he “happened” to be a witness of the scene himself, +he could give us no detailed account of it. The thing seemed to have +happened like this: when the marshal’s wife was driving Liza and Mavriky +Nikolaevitch from the matinée to the house of Praskovya Ivanovna (whose +legs were still bad) they saw a carriage waiting a short distance, about +twenty-five paces, to one side of the front door. When Liza jumped out, +she ran straight to this carriage; the door was flung open and shut +again; Liza called to Mavriky Nikolaevitch, “Spare me,” and the carriage +drove off at full speed to Skvoreshniki. To our hurried questions +whether it was by arrangement? Who was in the carriage? Pyotr +Stepanovitch answered that he knew nothing about it; no doubt it had +been arranged, but that he did not see Stavrogin himself; possibly the +old butler, Alexey Yegorytch, might have been in the carriage. To the +question “How did he come to be there, and how did he know for a fact +that she had driven to Skvoreshniki?” he answered that he happened to be +passing and, at seeing Liza, he had run up to the carriage (and yet he +could not make out who was in it, an inquisitive man like him!) and +that Mavriky Nikolaevitch, far from setting off in pursuit, had not +even tried to stop Liza, and had even laid a restraining hand on the +marshal’s wife, who was shouting at the top of her voice: “She is going +to Stavrogin, to Stavrogin.” At this point I lost patience, and cried +furiously to Pyotr Stepanovitch: +</p> +<p> +“It’s all your doing, you rascal! This was what you were doing this +morning. You helped Stavrogin, you came in the carriage, you helped her +into it … it was you, you, you! Yulia Mihailovna, he is your enemy; he +will be your ruin too! Beware of him!” +</p> +<p> +And I ran headlong out of the house. I wonder myself and cannot make out +to this day how I came to say that to him. But I guessed quite right: +it had all happened almost exactly as I said, as appeared later. What +struck me most was the obviously artificial way in which he broke +the news. He had not told it at once on entering the house as an +extraordinary piece of news, but pretended that we knew without his +telling us which was impossible in so short a time. And if we had known +it, we could not possibly have refrained from mentioning it till he +introduced the subject. Besides, he could not have heard yet that the +town was “ringing with gossip” about the marshal’s wife in so short a +time. Besides, he had once or twice given a vulgar, frivolous smile +as he told the story, probably considering that we were fools and +completely taken in. +</p> +<p> +But I had no thought to spare for him; the central fact I believed, and +ran from Yulia Mihailovna’s, beside myself. The catastrophe cut me +to the heart. I was wounded almost to tears; perhaps I did shed +some indeed. I was at a complete loss what to do. I rushed to Stepan +Trofimovitch’s, but the vexatious man still refused to open the door. +Nastasya informed me, in a reverent whisper, that he had gone to bed, +but I did not believe it. At Liza’s house I succeeded in questioning the +servants. They confirmed the story of the elopement, but knew nothing +themselves. There was great commotion in the house; their mistress had +been attacked by fainting fits, and Mavriky Nikolaevitch was with her. +I did not feel it possible to ask for Mavriky Nikolaevitch. To my +inquiries about Pyotr Stepanovitch they told me that he had been in and +out continually of late, sometimes twice in the day. The servants were +sad, and showed particular respectfulness in speaking of Liza; they were +fond of her. That she was ruined, utterly ruined, I did not doubt; +but the psychological aspect of the matter I was utterly unable to +understand, especially after her scene with Stavrogin the previous day. +To run about the town and inquire at the houses of acquaintances, who +would, of course, by now have heard the news and be rejoicing at it, +seemed to me revolting, besides being humiliating for Liza. But, strange +to say, I ran to see Darya Pavlovna, though I was not admitted (no one +had been admitted into the house since the previous morning). I don’t +know what I could have said to her and what made me run to her. From her +I went to her brother’s. Shatov listened sullenly and in silence. I may +observe that I found him more gloomy than I had ever seen him before; he +was awfully preoccupied and seemed only to listen to me with an effort. +He said scarcely anything and began walking up and down his cell from +corner to corner, treading more noisily than usual. As I was going down +the stairs he shouted after me to go to Liputin’s: “There you’ll hear +everything.” Yet I did not go to Liputin’s, but after I’d gone a good +way towards home I turned back to Shatov’s again, and, half opening the +door without going in, suggested to him laconically and with no kind of +explanation, “Won’t you go to Marya Timofyevna to-day?” At this Shatov +swore at me, and I went away. I note here that I may not forget it that +he did purposely go that evening to the other end of the town to see +Marya Timofyevna, whom he had not seen for some time. He found her in +excellent health and spirits and Lebyadkin dead drunk, asleep on the +sofa in the first room. This was at nine o’clock. He told me so himself +next day when we met for a moment in the street. Before ten o’clock I +made up my mind to go to the ball, but not in the capacity of a steward +(besides my rosette had been left at Yulia Mihailovna’s). I was tempted +by irresistible curiosity to listen, without asking any questions, +to what people were saying in the town about all that had happened. I +wanted, too, to have a look at Yulia Mihailovna, if only at a distance. +I reproached myself greatly that I had left her so abruptly that +afternoon. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +All that night, with its almost grotesque incidents, and the terrible +<i>dénouement</i> that followed in the early morning, still seems to me like a +hideous nightmare, and is, for me at least, the most painful chapter +in my chronicle. I was late for the ball, and it was destined to end +so quickly that I arrived not long before it was over. It was eleven +o’clock when I reached the entrance of the marshal’s house, where the +same White Hall in which the matinée had taken place had, in spite of +the short interval between, been cleared and made ready to serve as the +chief ballroom for the whole town, as we expected, to dance in. But far +as I had been that morning from expecting the ball to be a success, I +had had no presentiment of the full truth. Not one family of the +higher circles appeared; even the subordinate officials of rather more +consequence were absent—and this was a very striking fact. As for +ladies and girls, Pyotr Stepanovitch’s arguments (the duplicity of which +was obvious now) turned out to be utterly incorrect: exceedingly few +had come; to four men there was scarcely one lady—and what ladies +they were! Regimental ladies of a sort, three doctors’ wives with +their daughters, two or three poor ladies from the country, the seven +daughters and the niece of the secretary whom I have mentioned already, +some wives of tradesmen, of post-office clerks and other small fry—was +this what Yulia Mihailovna expected? Half the tradespeople even were +absent. As for the men, in spite of the complete absence of all persons +of consequence, there was still a crowd of them, but they made a +doubtful and suspicious impression. There were, of course, some quiet +and respectful officers with their wives, some of the most docile +fathers of families, like that secretary, for instance, the father of +his seven daughters. All these humble, insignificant people had come, as +one of these gentlemen expressed it, because it was “inevitable.” But, +on the other hand, the mass of free-and-easy people and the mass too of +those whom Pyotr Stepanovitch and I had suspected of coming in without +tickets, seemed even bigger than in the afternoon. So far they were all +sitting in the refreshment bar, and had gone straight there on arriving, +as though it were the meeting-place they had agreed upon. So at least it +seemed to me. The refreshment bar had been placed in a large room, +the last of several opening out of one another. Here Prohoritch was +installed with all the attractions of the club cuisine and with a +tempting display of drinks and dainties. I noticed several persons whose +coats were almost in rags and whose get-up was altogether suspicious and +utterly unsuitable for a ball. They had evidently been with great pains +brought to a state of partial sobriety which would not last long; and +goodness knows where they had been brought from, they were not local +people. I knew, of course, that it was part of Yulia Mihailovna’s idea +that the ball should be of the most democratic character, and that “even +working people and shopmen should not be excluded if any one of that +class chanced to pay for a ticket.” She could bravely utter such words +in her committee with absolute security that none of the working people +of our town, who all lived in extreme poverty, would dream of taking a +ticket. But in spite of the democratic sentiments of the committee, I +could hardly believe that such sinister-looking and shabby people could +have been admitted in the regular way. But who could have admitted them, +and with what object? Lyamshin and Liputin had already been deprived of +their steward’s rosettes, though they were present at the ball, as they +were taking part in the “literary quadrille.” But, to my amazement, +Liputin’s place was taken by the divinity student, who had caused +the greatest scandal at the matinée by his skirmish with Stepan +Trofimovitch; and Lyamshin’s was taken by Pyotr Stepanovitch himself. +What was to be looked for under the circumstances? +</p> +<p> +I tried to listen to the conversation. I was struck by the wildness +of some ideas I heard expressed. It was maintained in one group, for +instance, that Yulia Mihailovna had arranged Liza’s elopement with +Stavrogin and had been paid by the latter for doing so. Even the sum +paid was mentioned. It was asserted that she had arranged the whole fête +with a view to it, and that that was the reason why half the town had +not turned up at the ball, and that Lembke himself was so upset about it +that “his mind had given way,” and that, crazy as he was, “she had got +him in tow.” There was a great deal of laughter too, hoarse, wild +and significant. Every one was criticising the ball, too, with great +severity, and abusing Yulia Mihailovna without ceremony. In fact it was +disorderly, incoherent, drunken and excited babble, so it was difficult +to put it together and make anything of it. At the same time there were +simple-hearted people enjoying themselves at the refreshment-bar; there +were even some ladies of the sort who are surprised and frightened at +nothing, very genial and festive, chiefly military ladies with their +husbands. They made parties at the little tables, were drinking tea, and +were very merry. The refreshment-bar made a snug refuge for almost half +of the guests. Yet in a little time all this mass of people must stream +into the ballroom. It was horrible to think of it! +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile the prince had succeeded in arranging three skimpy quadrilles +in the White Hall. The young ladies were dancing, while their parents +were enjoying watching them. But many of these respectable persons had +already begun to think how they could, after giving their girls a treat, +get off in good time before “the trouble began.” Absolutely every one +was convinced that it certainly would begin. It would be difficult for +me to describe Yulia Mihailovna’s state of mind. I did not talk to her +though I went close up to her. She did not respond to the bow I made her +on entering; she did not notice me (really did not notice). There was a +painful look in her face and a contemptuous and haughty though restless +and agitated expression in her eyes. She controlled herself with evident +suffering—for whose sake, with what object? She certainly ought to have +gone away, still more to have got her husband away, and she remained! +From her face one could see that her eyes were “fully opened,” and +that it was useless for her to expect any thing more. She did not even +summon Pyotr Stepanovitch (he seemed to avoid her; I saw him in the +refreshment-room, he was extremely lively). But she remained at the ball +and did not let Andrey Antonovitch leave her side for a moment. Oh, up +to the very last moment, even that morning she would have repudiated any +hint about his health with genuine indignation. But now her eyes were +to be opened on this subject too. As for me, I thought from the first +glance that Andrey Antonovitch looked worse than he had done in the +morning. He seemed to be plunged into a sort of oblivion and hardly +to know where he was. Sometimes he looked about him with unexpected +severity—at me, for instance, twice. Once he tried to say something; +he began loudly and audibly but did not finish the sentence, throwing +a modest old clerk who happened to be near him almost into a panic. But +even this humble section of the assembly held sullenly and timidly +aloof from Yulia Mihailovna and at the same time turned upon her husband +exceedingly strange glances, open and staring, quite out of keeping with +their habitually submissive demeanour. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that struck me, and I suddenly began to guess about Andrey +Antonovitch,” Yulia Mihailovna confessed to me afterwards. +</p> +<p> +Yes, she was to blame again! Probably when after my departure she had +settled with Pyotr Stepanovitch that there should be a ball and that +she should be present she must have gone again to the study where Andrey +Antonovitch was sitting, utterly “shattered” by the matinée; must again +have used all her fascinations to persuade him to come with her. But +what misery she must have been in now! And yet she did not go away. +Whether it was pride or simply she lost her head, I do not know. In +spite of her haughtiness, she attempted with smiles and humiliation +to enter into conversation with some ladies, but they were confused, +confined themselves to distrustful monosyllables, “Yes” and “No,” and +evidently avoided her. +</p> +<p> +The only person of undoubted consequence who was present at the ball was +that distinguished general whom I have described already, the one who +after Stavrogin’s duel with Gaganov opened the door to public impatience +at the marshal’s wife’s. He walked with an air of dignity through the +rooms, looked about, and listened, and tried to appear as though he had +come rather for the sake of observation than for the sake of enjoying +himself.… He ended by establishing himself beside Yulia Mihailovna +and not moving a step away from her, evidently trying to keep up her +spirits, and reassure her. He certainly was a most kind-hearted man, +of very high rank, and so old that even compassion from him was not +wounding. But to admit to herself that this old gossip was venturing to +pity her and almost to protect her, knowing that he was doing her honour +by his presence, was very vexatious. The general stayed by her and never +ceased chattering. +</p> +<p> +“They say a town can’t go on without seven righteous men … seven, I +think it is, I am not sure of the number fixed.… I don’t know how many +of these seven, the certified righteous of the town … have the honour +of being present at your ball. Yet in spite of their presence I begin +to feel unsafe. <i>Vous me pardonnez, charmante dame, n’est-ce pas?</i> I speak +allegorically, but I went into the refreshment-room and I am glad I +escaped alive.… Our priceless Prohoritch is not in his place there, +and I believe his bar will be destroyed before morning. But I am +laughing. I am only waiting to see what the ‘literary quadrille’ is +going to be like, and then home to bed. You must excuse a gouty old +fellow. I go early to bed, and I would advise you too to go ‘by-by,’ as +they say <i>aux enfants.</i> I’ve come, you know, to have a look at the pretty +girls … whom, of course, I could meet nowhere in such profusion as +here. They all live beyond the river and I don’t drive out so far. +There’s a wife of an officer … in the chasseurs I believe he is … +who is distinctly pretty, distinctly, and … she knows it herself. I’ve +talked to the sly puss; she is a sprightly one … and the girls too are +fresh-looking; but that’s all, there’s nothing but freshness. Still, +it’s a pleasure to look at them. There are some rosebuds, but their +lips are thick. As a rule there’s an irregularity about female beauty +in Russia, and … they are a little like buns.… <i>vous me pardonnez, +n’est-ce pas?</i> … with good eyes, however, laughing eyes.… These +rose buds are charming for two years when they are young … even for +three … then they broaden out and are spoilt forever … producing +in their husbands that deplorable indifference which does so much to +promote the woman movement … that is, if I understand it correctly.… +H’m! It’s a fine hall; the rooms are not badly decorated. It might be +worse. The music might be much worse.… I don’t say it ought to have +been. What makes a bad impression is that there are so few ladies. I say +nothing about the dresses. It’s bad that that chap in the grey trousers +should dare to dance the cancan so openly. I can forgive him if he does +it in the gaiety of his heart, and since he is the local chemist.… +Still, eleven o’clock is a bit early even for chemists. There were two +fellows fighting in the refreshment-bar and they weren’t turned out. At +eleven o’clock people ought to be turned out for fighting, whatever the +standard of manners.… Three o’clock is a different matter; then one +has to make concessions to public opinion—if only this ball survives +till three o’clock. Varvara Petrovna has not kept her word, though, and +hasn’t sent flowers. H’m! She has no thoughts for flowers, <i>pauvre mère!</i> +And poor Liza! Have you heard? They say it’s a mysterious story … +and Stavrogin is to the front again.… H’m! I would have gone home +to bed … I can hardly keep my eyes open. But when is this ‘literary +quadrille’ coming on?” +</p> +<p> +At last the “literary quadrille” began. Whenever of late there had been +conversation in the town on the ball it had invariably turned on this +literary quadrille, and as no one could imagine what it would be like, +it aroused extraordinary curiosity. Nothing could be more unfavourable +to its chance of success, and great was the disappointment. +</p> +<p> +The side doors of the White Hall were thrown open and several masked +figures appeared. The public surrounded them eagerly. All the occupants +of the refreshment-bar trooped to the last man into the hall. The masked +figures took their places for the dance. I succeeded in making my way to +the front and installed myself just behind Yulia Mihailovna, Von Lembke, +and the general. At this point Pyotr Stepanovitch, who had kept away +till that time, skipped up to Yulia Mihailovna. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve been in the refreshment-room all this time, watching,” he +whispered, with the air of a guilty schoolboy, which he, however, +assumed on purpose to irritate her even more. She turned crimson with +anger. +</p> +<p> +“You might give up trying to deceive me now at least, insolent man!” +broke from her almost aloud, so that it was heard by other people. Pyotr +Stepanovitch skipped away extremely well satisfied with himself. +</p> +<p> +It would be difficult to imagine a more pitiful, vulgar, dull and +insipid allegory than this “literary quadrille.” Nothing could be +imagined less appropriate to our local society. Yet they say it was +Karmazinov’s idea. It was Liputin indeed who arranged it with the help +of the lame teacher who had been at the meeting at Virginsky’s. But +Karmazinov had given the idea and had, it was said, meant to dress up +and to take a special and prominent part in it. The quadrille was +made up of six couples of masked figures, who were not in fancy dress +exactly, for their clothes were like every one else’s. Thus, for +instance, one short and elderly gentleman wearing a dress-coat—in fact, +dressed like every one else—wore a venerable grey beard, tied on (and this +constituted his disguise). As he danced he pounded up and down, taking +tiny and rapid steps on the same spot with a stolid expression of +countenance. He gave vent to sounds in a subdued but husky bass, and +this huskiness was meant to suggest one of the well-known papers. +Opposite this figure danced two giants, X and Z, and these letters were +pinned on their coats, but what the letters meant remained unexplained. +“Honest Russian thought” was represented by a middle-aged gentleman in +spectacles, dress-coat and gloves, and wearing fetters (real fetters). +Under his arm he had a portfolio containing papers relating to some +“case.” To convince the sceptical, a letter from abroad testifying to +the honesty of “honest Russian thought” peeped out of his pocket. All +this was explained by the stewards, as the letter which peeped out of +his pocket could not be read. “Honest Russian thought” had his right +hand raised and in it held a glass as though he wanted to propose a +toast. In a line with him on each side tripped a crop-headed Nihilist +girl; while <i>vis-à-vis</i> danced another elderly gentleman in a dress-coat +with a heavy cudgel in his hand. He was meant to represent a formidable +periodical (not a Petersburg one), and seemed to be saying, “I’ll +pound you to a jelly.” But in spite of his cudgel he could not bear the +spectacles of “honest Russian thought” fixed upon him and tried to look +away, and when he did the <i>pas de deux,</i> he twisted, turned, and did not +know what to do with himself—so terrible, probably, were the stings +of his conscience! I don’t remember all the absurd tricks they played, +however; it was all in the same style, so that I felt at last painfully +ashamed. And this same expression, as it were, of shame was reflected in +the whole public, even on the most sullen figures that had come out of +the refreshment-room. For some time all were silent and gazed with angry +perplexity. When a man is ashamed he generally begins to get angry and +is disposed to be cynical. By degrees a murmur arose in the audience. +</p> +<p> +“What’s the meaning of it?” a man who had come in from the +refreshment-room muttered in one of the groups. +</p> +<p> +“It’s silly.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s something literary. It’s a criticism of the <i>Voice</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s that to me?” +</p> +<p> +From another group: +</p> +<p> +“Asses!” +</p> +<p> +“No, they are not asses; it’s we who are the asses.” +</p> +<p> +“Why are you an ass?” +</p> +<p> +“I am not an ass.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, if you are not, I am certainly not.” +</p> +<p> +From a third group: +</p> +<p> +“We ought to give them a good smacking and send them flying.” +</p> +<p> +“Pull down the hall!” +</p> +<p> +From a fourth group: +</p> +<p> +“I wonder the Lembkes are not ashamed to look on!” +</p> +<p> +“Why should they be ashamed? You are not.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I am ashamed, and he is the governor.” +</p> +<p> +“And you are a pig.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve never seen such a commonplace ball in my life,” a lady observed +viciously, quite close to Yulia Mihailovna, obviously with the intention +of being overheard. She was a stout lady of forty with rouge on her +cheeks, wearing a bright-coloured silk dress. Almost every one in the +town knew her, but no one received her. She was the widow of a civil +councillor, who had left her a wooden house and a small pension; but +she lived well and kept horses. Two months previously she had called on +Yulia Mihailovna, but the latter had not received her. +</p> +<p> +“That might have been foreseen,” she added, looking insolently into +Yulia Mihailovna’s face. +</p> +<p> +“If you could foresee it, why did you come?” Yulia Mihailovna could not +resist saying. +</p> +<p> +“Because I was too simple,” the sprightly lady answered instantly, up in +arms and eager for the fray; but the general intervened. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Chère dame”</i>—he bent over to Yulia Mihailovna—“you’d really better be +going. We are only in their way and they’ll enjoy themselves thoroughly +without us. You’ve done your part, you’ve opened the ball, now leave +them in peace. And Andrey Antonovitch doesn’t seem to be feeling quite +satisfactorily.… To avoid trouble.” +</p> +<p> +But it was too late. +</p> +<p> +All through the quadrille Andrey Antonovitch gazed at the dancers with a +sort of angry perplexity, and when he heard the comments of the audience +he began looking about him uneasily. Then for the first time he caught +sight of some of the persons who had come from the refreshment-room; +there was an expression of extreme wonder in his face. Suddenly there +was a loud roar of laughter at a caper that was cut in the quadrille. +The editor of the “menacing periodical, not a Petersburg one,” who was +dancing with the cudgel in his hands, felt utterly unable to endure +the spectacled gaze of “honest Russian thought,” and not knowing how to +escape it, suddenly in the last figure advanced to meet him standing on +his head, which was meant, by the way, to typify the continual turning +upside down of common sense by the menacing non-Petersburg gazette. As +Lyamshin was the only one who could walk standing on his head, he had +undertaken to represent the editor with the cudgel. Yulia Mihailovna had +had no idea that anyone was going to walk on his head. “They concealed +that from me, they concealed it,” she repeated to me afterwards in +despair and indignation. The laughter from the crowd was, of course, +provoked not by the allegory, which interested no one, but simply by +a man’s walking on his head in a swallow-tail coat. Lembke flew into a +rage and shook with fury. +</p> +<p> +“Rascal!” he cried, pointing to Lyamshin, “take hold of the scoundrel, +turn him over … turn his legs … his head … so that his head’s up … +up!” +</p> +<p> +Lyamshin jumped on to his feet. The laughter grew louder. +</p> +<p> +“Turn out all the scoundrels who are laughing!” Lembke prescribed +suddenly. +</p> +<p> +There was an angry roar and laughter in the crowd. +</p> +<p> +“You can’t do like that, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +“You mustn’t abuse the public.” +</p> +<p> +“You are a fool yourself!” a voice cried suddenly from a corner. +</p> +<p> +“Filibusters!” shouted someone from the other end of the room. +</p> +<p> +Lembke looked round quickly at the shout and turned pale. A vacant smile +came on to his lips, as though he suddenly understood and remembered +something. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said Yulia Mihailovna, addressing the crowd which was +pressing round them, as she drew her husband away—“gentlemen, excuse +Andrey Antonovitch. Andrey Antonovitch is unwell … excuse … forgive +him, gentlemen.” +</p> +<p> +I positively heard her say “forgive him.” It all happened very quickly. +But I remember for a fact that a section of the public rushed out of +the hall immediately after those words of Yulia Mihailovna’s as though +panic-stricken. I remember one hysterical, tearful feminine shriek: +</p> +<p> +“Ach, the same thing again!” +</p> +<p> +And in the retreat of the guests, which was almost becoming a crush, +another bomb exploded exactly as in the afternoon. +</p> +<p> +“Fire! All the riverside quarter is on fire!” +</p> +<p> +I don’t remember where this terrible cry rose first, whether it was +first raised in the hall, or whether someone ran upstairs from the +entry, but it was followed by such alarm that I can’t attempt to +describe it. More than half the guests at the ball came from the quarter +beyond the river, and were owners or occupiers of wooden houses in that +district. They rushed to the windows, pulled back the curtains in a +flash, and tore down the blinds. The riverside was in flames. The fire, +it is true, was only beginning, but it was in flames in three separate +places—and that was what was alarming. +</p> +<p> +“Arson! The Shpigulin men!” roared the crowd. +</p> +<p> +I remember some very characteristic exclamations: +</p> +<p> +“I’ve had a presentiment in my heart that there’d be arson, I’ve had a +presentiment of it these last few days!” +</p> +<p> +“The Shpigulin men, the Shpigulin men, no one else!” +</p> +<p> +“We were all lured here on purpose to set fire to it!” +</p> +<p> +This last most amazing exclamation came from a woman; it was an +unintentional involuntary shriek of a housewife whose goods were +burning. Every one rushed for the door. I won’t describe the crush in +the vestibule over sorting out cloaks, shawls, and pelisses, the shrieks +of the frightened women, the weeping of the young ladies. I doubt +whether there was any theft, but it was no wonder that in such disorder +some went away without their wraps because they were unable to find +them, and this grew into a legend with many additions, long preserved in +the town. Lembke and Yulia Mihailovna were almost crushed by the crowd +at the doors. +</p> +<p> +“Stop, every one! Don’t let anyone out!” yelled Lembke, stretching out +his arms menacingly towards the crowding people. +</p> +<p> +“Every one without exception to be strictly searched at once!” +</p> +<p> +A storm of violent oaths rose from the crowd. +</p> +<p> +“Andrey Antonovitch! Andrey Antonovitch!” cried Yulia Mihailovna in +complete despair. +</p> +<p> +“Arrest her first!” shouted her husband, pointing his finger at her +threateningly. “Search her first! The ball was arranged with a view to +the fire.…” +</p> +<p> +She screamed and fell into a swoon. (Oh, there was no doubt of its being +a real one.) The general, the prince, and I rushed to her assistance; +there were others, even among the ladies, who helped us at that +difficult moment. We carried the unhappy woman out of this hell to her +carriage, but she only regained consciousness as she reached the house, +and her first utterance was about Andrey Antonovitch again. With the +destruction of all her fancies, the only thing left in her mind was +Andrey Antonovitch. They sent for a doctor. I remained with her for a +whole hour; the prince did so too. The general, in an access of generous +feeling (though he had been terribly scared), meant to remain all night +“by the bedside of the unhappy lady,” but within ten minutes he fell +asleep in an arm-chair in the drawing-room while waiting for the doctor, +and there we left him. +</p> +<p> +The chief of the police, who had hurried from the ball to the fire, had +succeeded in getting Andrey Antonovitch out of the hall after us, and +attempted to put him into Yulia Mihailovna’s carriage, trying all he +could to persuade his Excellency “to seek repose.” But I don’t know +why he did not insist. Andrey Antonovitch, of course, would not hear of +repose, and was set on going to the fire; but that was not a sufficient +reason. It ended in his taking him to the fire in his droshky. He told +us afterwards that Lembke was gesticulating all the way and “shouting +orders that it was impossible to obey owing to their unusualness.” It +was officially reported later on that his Excellency had at that time +been in a delirious condition “owing to a sudden fright.” +</p> +<p> +There is no need to describe how the ball ended. A few dozen rowdy +fellows, and with them some ladies, remained in the hall. There were +no police present. They would not let the orchestra go, and beat +the musicians who attempted to leave. By morning they had pulled all +Prohoritch’s stall to pieces, had drunk themselves senseless, danced the +Kamarinsky in its unexpurgated form, made the rooms in a shocking mess, +and only towards daybreak part of this hopelessly drunken rabble reached +the scene of the fire to make fresh disturbances there. The other part +spent the night in the rooms dead drunk, with disastrous consequences +to the velvet sofas and the floor. Next morning, at the earliest +possibility, they were dragged out by their legs into the street. So +ended the fête for the benefit of the governesses of our province. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +The fire frightened the inhabitants of the riverside just because it +was evidently a case of arson. It was curious that at the first cry of +“fire” another cry was raised that the Shpigulin men had done it. It +is now well known that three Shpigulin men really did have a share in +setting fire to the town, but that was all; all the other factory +hands were completely acquitted, not only officially but also by public +opinion. Besides those three rascals (of whom one has been caught and +confessed and the other two have so far escaped), Fedka the convict +undoubtedly had a hand in the arson. That is all that is known for +certain about the fire till now; but when it comes to conjectures it’s +a very different matter. What had led these three rascals to do it? Had +they been instigated by anyone? It is very difficult to answer all these +questions even now. +</p> +<p> +Owing to the strong wind, the fact that the houses at the riverside were +almost all wooden, and that they had been set fire to in three +places, the fire spread quickly and enveloped the whole quarter with +extraordinary rapidity. (The fire burnt, however, only at two ends; +at the third spot it was extinguished almost as soon as it began to +burn—of which later.) But the Petersburg and Moscow papers exaggerated +our calamity. Not more than a quarter, roughly speaking, of the +riverside district was burnt down; possibly less indeed. Our fire +brigade, though it was hardly adequate to the size and population of the +town, worked with great promptitude and devotion. But it would not +have been of much avail, even with the zealous co-operation of the +inhabitants, if the wind had not suddenly dropped towards morning. When +an hour after our flight from the ball I made my way to the riverside, +the fire was at its height. A whole street parallel with the river was +in flames. It was as light as day. I won’t describe the fire; every one +in Russia knows what it looks like. The bustle and crush was immense in +the lanes adjoining the burning street. The inhabitants, fully expecting +the fire to reach their houses, were hauling out their belongings, but +had not yet left their dwellings, and were waiting meanwhile sitting +on their boxes and feather beds under their windows. Part of the male +population were hard at work ruthlessly chopping down fences and even +whole huts which were near the fire and on the windward side. None +were crying except the children, who had been waked out of their sleep, +though the women who had dragged out their chattels were lamenting +in sing-song voices. Those who had not finished their task were still +silent, busily carrying out their goods. Sparks and embers were carried +a long way in all directions. People put them out as best they could. +Some helped to put the fire out while others stood about, admiring it. A +great fire at night always has a thrilling and exhilarating effect. +This is what explains the attraction of fireworks. But in that case the +artistic regularity with which the fire is presented and the complete +lack of danger give an impression of lightness and playfulness like the +effect of a glass of champagne. A real conflagration is a very different +matter. Then the horror and a certain sense of personal danger, +together with the exhilarating effect of a fire at night, produce on the +spectator (though of course not in the householder whose goods are being +burnt) a certain concussion of the brain and, as it were, a challenge to +those destructive instincts which, alas, lie hidden in every heart, even +that of the mildest and most domestic little clerk.… This sinister +sensation is almost always fascinating. “I really don’t know whether one +can look at a fire without a certain pleasure.” This is word for word +what Stepan Trofimovitch said to me one night on returning home after he +had happened to witness a fire and was still under the influence of the +spectacle. Of course, the very man who enjoys the spectacle will rush +into the fire himself to save a child or an old woman; but that is +altogether a different matter. +</p> +<p> +Following in the wake of the crowd of sightseers, I succeeded, without +asking questions, in reaching the chief centre of danger, where at last +I saw Lembke, whom I was seeking at Yulia Mihailovna’s request. His +position was strange and extraordinary. He was standing on the ruins of +a fence. Thirty paces to the left of him rose the black skeleton of a +two-storied house which had almost burnt out. It had holes instead of +windows at each story, its roof had fallen in, and the flames were still +here and there creeping among the charred beams. At the farther end +of the courtyard, twenty paces away, the lodge, also a two-storied +building, was beginning to burn, and the firemen were doing their utmost +to save it. On the right the firemen and the people were trying to save +a rather large wooden building which was not actually burning, though +it had caught fire several times and was inevitably bound to be burnt in +the end. Lembke stood facing the lodge, shouting and gesticulating. He +was giving orders which no one attempted to carry out. It seemed to me +that every one had given him up as hopeless and left him. Anyway, +though every one in the vast crowd of all classes, among whom there +were gentlemen, and even the cathedral priest, was listening to him +with curiosity and wonder, no one spoke to him or tried to get him away. +Lembke, with a pale face and glittering eyes, was uttering the most +amazing things. To complete the picture, he had lost his hat and was +bareheaded. +</p> +<p> +“It’s all incendiarism! It’s nihilism! If anything is burning, it’s +nihilism!” I heard almost with horror; and though there was nothing to +be surprised at, yet actual madness, when one sees it, always gives one +a shock. +</p> +<p> +“Your Excellency,” said a policeman, coming up to him, “what if you were +to try the repose of home?… It’s dangerous for your Excellency even to +stand here.” +</p> +<p> +This policeman, as I heard afterwards, had been told off by the chief +of police to watch over Andrey Antonovitch, to do his utmost to get him +home, and in case of danger even to use force—a task evidently beyond +the man’s power. +</p> +<p> +“They will wipe away the tears of the people whose houses have been +burnt, but they will burn down the town. It’s all the work of four +scoundrels, four and a half! Arrest the scoundrel! He worms himself into +the honour of families. They made use of the governesses to burn down +the houses. It’s vile, vile! Aie, what’s he about?” he shouted, suddenly +noticing a fireman at the top of the burning lodge, under whom the roof +had almost burnt away and round whom the flames were beginning to flare +up. “Pull him down! Pull him down! He will fall, he will catch fire, put +him out!… What is he doing there?” +</p> +<p> +“He is putting the fire out, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +“Not likely. The fire is in the minds of men and not in the roofs of +houses. Pull him down and give it up! Better give it up, much better! +Let it put itself out. Aie, who is crying now? An old woman! It’s an old +woman shouting. Why have they forgotten the old woman?” +</p> +<p> +There actually was an old woman crying on the ground floor of the +burning lodge. She was an old creature of eighty, a relation of the +shopkeeper who owned the house. But she had not been forgotten; she had +gone back to the burning house while it was still possible, with the +insane idea of rescuing her feather bed from a corner room which was +still untouched. Choking with the smoke and screaming with the heat, for +the room was on fire by the time she reached it, she was still trying +with her decrepit hands to squeeze her feather bed through a broken +window pane. Lembke rushed to her assistance. Every one saw him run up +to the window, catch hold of one corner of the feather bed and try with +all his might to pull it out. As ill luck would have it, a board fell at +that moment from the roof and hit the unhappy governor. It did not +kill him, it merely grazed him on the neck as it fell, but Andrey +Antonovitch’s career was over, among us at least; the blow knocked him +off his feet and he sank on the ground unconscious. +</p> +<p> +The day dawned at last, gloomy and sullen. The fire was abating; the +wind was followed by a sudden calm, and then a fine drizzling rain fell. +I was by that time in another part, some distance from where Lembke had +fallen, and here I overheard very strange conversations in the crowd. A +strange fact had come to light. On the very outskirts of the quarter, +on a piece of waste land beyond the kitchen gardens, not less than fifty +paces from any other buildings, there stood a little wooden house which +had only lately been built, and this solitary house had been on fire at +the very beginning, almost before any other. Even had it burnt down, it +was so far from other houses that no other building in the town could +have caught fire from it, and, vice versa, if the whole riverside +had been burnt to the ground, that house might have remained intact, +whatever the wind had been. It followed that it had caught fire +separately and independently and therefore not accidentally. But the +chief point was that it was not burnt to the ground, and at daybreak +strange things were discovered within it. The owner of this new house, +who lived in the neighbourhood, rushed up as soon as he saw it in flames +and with the help of his neighbours pulled apart a pile of faggots which +had been heaped up by the side wall and set fire to. In this way he +saved the house. But there were lodgers in the house—the captain, who +was well known in the town, his sister, and their elderly servant, and +these three persons—the captain, his sister, and their servant—had +been murdered and apparently robbed in the night. (It was here that the +chief of police had gone while Lembke was rescuing the feather bed.) +</p> +<p> +By morning the news had spread and an immense crowd of all classes, even +the riverside people who had been burnt out had flocked to the waste +land where the new house stood. It was difficult to get there, so dense +was the crowd. I was told at once that the captain had been found lying +dressed on the bench with his throat cut, and that he must have been +dead drunk when he was killed, so that he had felt nothing, and he had +“bled like a bull”; that his sister Marya Timofeyevna had been “stabbed +all over” with a knife and she was lying on the floor in the doorway, so +that probably she had been awake and had fought and struggled with the +murderer. The servant, who had also probably been awake, had her skull +broken. The owner of the house said that the captain had come to see him +the morning before, and that in his drunken bragging he had shown him a +lot of money, as much as two hundred roubles. The captain’s shabby old +green pocket-book was found empty on the floor, but Marya Timofeyevna’s +box had not been touched, and the silver setting of the ikon had not +been removed either; the captain’s clothes, too, had not been disturbed. +It was evident that the thief had been in a hurry and was a man familiar +with the captain’s circumstances, who had come only for money and knew +where it was kept. If the owner of the house had not run up at that +moment the burning faggot stack would certainly have set fire to the +house and “it would have been difficult to find out from the charred +corpses how they had died.” +</p> +<p> +So the story was told. One other fact was added: that the person who +had taken this house for the Lebyadkins was no other than Mr. Stavrogin, +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, the son of Varvara Petrovna. He had come +himself to take it and had had much ado to persuade the owner to let +it, as the latter had intended to use it as a tavern; but Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch was ready to give any rent he asked and had paid for six +months in advance. +</p> +<p> +“The fire wasn’t an accident,” I heard said in the crowd. +</p> +<p> +But the majority said nothing. People’s faces were sullen, but I did +not see signs of much indignation. People persisted, however, in +gossiping about Stavrogin, saying that the murdered woman was his wife; +that on the previous day he had “dishonourably” abducted a young lady +belonging to the best family in the place, the daughter of Madame +Drozdov, and that a complaint was to be lodged against him in +Petersburg; and that his wife had been murdered evidently that he might +marry the young lady. Skvoreshniki was not more than a mile and a half +away, and I remember I wondered whether I should not let them know the +position of affairs. I did not notice, however, that there was anyone +egging the crowd on and I don’t want to accuse people falsely, though I +did see and recognised at once in the crowd at the fire two or three +of the rowdy lot I had seen in the refreshment-room. I particularly +remember one thin, tall fellow, a cabinet-maker, as I found out later, +with an emaciated face and a curly head, black as though grimed with +soot. He was not drunk, but in contrast to the gloomy passivity of the +crowd seemed beside himself with excitement. He kept addressing the +people, though I don’t remember his words; nothing coherent that he said +was longer than “I say, lads, what do you say to this? Are things to go +on like this?” and so saying he waved his arms. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0018"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER III. A ROMANCE ENDED +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +FROM THE LARGE BALLROOM of Skvoreshniki (the room in which the last +interview with Varvara Petrovna and Stepan Trofimovitch had taken place) +the fire could be plainly seen. At daybreak, soon after five in the +morning, Liza was standing at the farthest window on the right looking +intently at the fading glow. She was alone in the room. She was wearing +the dress she had worn the day before at the matinée—a very smart light +green dress covered with lace, but crushed and put on carelessly and +with haste. Suddenly noticing that some of the hooks were undone in +front she flushed, hurriedly set it right, snatched up from a chair the +red shawl she had flung down when she came in the day before, and put +it round her neck. Some locks of her luxuriant hair had come loose and +showed below the shawl on her right shoulder. Her face looked weary and +careworn, but her eyes glowed under her frowning brows. She went up to +the window again and pressed her burning forehead against the cold pane. +The door opened and Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch came in. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve sent a messenger on horseback,” he said. “In ten minutes we shall +hear all about it, meantime the servants say that part of the riverside +quarter has been burnt down, on the right side of the bridge near the +quay. It’s been burning since eleven o’clock; now the fire is going +down.” +</p> +<p> +He did not go near the window, but stood three steps behind her; she did +not turn towards him. +</p> +<p> +“It ought to have been light an hour ago by the calendar, and it’s still +almost night,” she said irritably. +</p> +<p> +“‘Calendars always tell lies,’” he observed with a polite smile, but, +a little ashamed; he made haste to add: “It’s dull to live by the +calendar, Liza.” +</p> +<p> +And he relapsed into silence, vexed at the ineptitude of the second +sentence. Liza gave a wry smile. +</p> +<p> +“You are in such a melancholy mood that you cannot even find words to +speak to me. But you need not trouble, there’s a point in what you said. +I always live by the calendar. Every step I take is regulated by the +calendar. Does that surprise you?” +</p> +<p> +She turned quickly from the window and sat down in a low chair. +</p> +<p> +“You sit down, too, please. We haven’t long to be together and I want to +say anything I like.… Why shouldn’t you, too, say anything you like?” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sat beside her and softly, almost timidly took +her hand. +</p> +<p> +“What’s the meaning of this tone, Liza? Where has it suddenly sprung +from? What do you mean by ‘we haven’t long to be together’? That’s the +second mysterious phrase since you waked, half an hour ago.” +</p> +<p> +“You are beginning to reckon up my mysterious phrases!” she laughed. +“Do you remember I told you I was a dead woman when I came in yesterday? +That you thought fit to forget. To forget or not to notice.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t remember, Liza. Why dead? You must live.” +</p> +<p> +“And is that all? You’ve quite lost your flow of words. I’ve lived my +hour and that’s enough. Do you remember Christopher Ivanovitch?” +</p> +<p> +“No I don’t,” he answered, frowning. +</p> +<p> +“Christopher Ivanovitch at Lausanne? He bored you dreadfully. He always +used to open the door and say, ‘I’ve come for one minute,’ and then stay +the whole day. I don’t want to be like Christopher Ivanovitch and stay +the whole day.” +</p> +<p> +A look of pain came into his face. +</p> +<p> +“Liza, it grieves me, this unnatural language. This affectation must +hurt you, too. What’s it for? What’s the object of it?” +</p> +<p> +His eyes glowed. +</p> +<p> +“Liza,” he cried, “I swear I love you now more than yesterday when you +came to me!” +</p> +<p> +“What a strange declaration! Why bring in yesterday and to-day and these +comparisons?” +</p> +<p> +“You won’t leave me,” he went on, almost with despair; “we will go away +together, to-day, won’t we? Won’t we?” +</p> +<p> +“Aie, don’t squeeze my hand so painfully! Where could we go together +to-day? To ‘rise again’ somewhere? No, we’ve made experiments enough … +and it’s too slow for me; and I am not fit for it; it’s too exalted +for me. If we are to go, let it be to Moscow, to pay visits and +entertain—that’s my ideal you know; even in Switzerland I didn’t +disguise from you what I was like. As we can’t go to Moscow and pay +visits since you are married, it’s no use talking of that.” +</p> +<p> +“Liza! What happened yesterday!” +</p> +<p> +“What happened is over!” +</p> +<p> +“That’s impossible! That’s cruel!” +</p> +<p> +“What if it is cruel? You must bear it if it is cruel.” +</p> +<p> +“You are avenging yourself on me for yesterday’s caprice,” he muttered +with an angry smile. Liza flushed. +</p> +<p> +“What a mean thought!” +</p> +<p> +“Why then did you bestow on me … so great a happiness? Have I the right +to know?” +</p> +<p> +“No, you must manage without rights; don’t aggravate the meanness of +your supposition by stupidity. You are not lucky to-day. By the way, you +surely can’t be afraid of public opinion and that you will be blamed +for this ‘great happiness’? If that’s it, for God’s sake don’t alarm +yourself. It’s not your doing at all and you are not responsible to +anyone. When I opened your door yesterday, you didn’t even know who was +coming in. It was simply my caprice, as you expressed it just now, +and nothing more! You can look every one in the face boldly and +triumphantly!” +</p> +<p> +“Your words, that laugh, have been making me feel cold with horror for +the last hour. That ‘happiness’ of which you speak frantically is +worth … everything to me. How can I lose you now? I swear I loved you +less yesterday. Why are you taking everything from me to-day? Do you +know what it has cost me, this new hope? I’ve paid for it with life.” +</p> +<p> +“Your own life or another’s?” +</p> +<p> +He got up quickly. +</p> +<p> +“What does that mean?” he brought out, looking at her steadily. +</p> +<p> +“Have you paid for it with your life or with mine? is what I mean. Or +have you lost all power of understanding?” cried Liza, flushing. “Why +did you start up so suddenly? Why do you stare at me with such a look? +You frighten me. What is it you are afraid of all the time? I noticed +some time ago that you were afraid and you are now, this very minute … +Good heavens, how pale you are!” +</p> +<p> +“If you know anything, Liza, I swear I don’t … and I wasn’t talking of +<i>that</i> just now when I said that I had paid for it with life.…” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t understand you,” she brought out, faltering apprehensively. +</p> +<p> +At last a slow brooding smile came on to his lips. He slowly sat down, +put his elbows on his knees, and covered his face with his hands. +</p> +<p> +“A bad dream and delirium.… We were talking of two different things.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know what you were talking about.… Do you mean to say you did +not know yesterday that I should leave you to-day, did you know or not? +Don’t tell a lie, did you or not?” +</p> +<p> +“I did,” he said softly. +</p> +<p> +“Well then, what would you have? You knew and yet you accepted ‘that +moment’ for yourself. Aren’t we quits?” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me the whole truth,” he cried in intense distress. “When you +opened my door yesterday, did you know yourself that it was only for one +hour?” +</p> +<p> +She looked at him with hatred. +</p> +<p> +“Really, the most sensible person can ask most amazing questions. And +why are you so uneasy? Can it be vanity that a woman should leave you +first instead of your leaving her? Do you know, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, +since I’ve been with you I’ve discovered that you are very generous to +me, and it’s just that I can’t endure from you.” +</p> +<p> +He got up from his seat and took a few steps about the room. +</p> +<p> +“Very well, perhaps it was bound to end so.… But how can it all have +happened?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a question to worry about! Especially as you know the answer +yourself perfectly well, and understand it better than anyone on earth, +and were counting on it yourself. I am a young lady, my heart has been +trained on the opera, that’s how it all began, that’s the solution.” +</p> +<p> +“No.” +</p> +<p> +“There is nothing in it to fret your vanity. It is all the absolute +truth. It began with a fine moment which was too much for me to bear. +The day before yesterday, when I ‘insulted’ you before every one and you +answered me so chivalrously, I went home and guessed at once that +you were running away from me because you were married, and not from +contempt for me which, as a fashionable young lady, I dreaded more than +anything. I understood that it was for my sake, for me, mad as I was, +that you ran away. You see how I appreciate your generosity. Then Pyotr +Stepanovitch skipped up to me and explained it all to me at once. He +revealed to me that you were dominated by a ‘great idea,’ before which +he and I were as nothing, but yet that I was a stumbling-block in your +path. He brought himself in, he insisted that we three should work +together, and said the most fantastic things about a boat and about +maple-wood oars out of some Russian song. I complimented him and told +him he was a poet, which he swallowed as the real thing. And as apart +from him I had known long before that I had not the strength to do +anything for long, I made up my mind on the spot. Well, that’s all and +quite enough, and please let us have no more explanations. We might +quarrel. Don’t be afraid of anyone, I take it all on myself. I am horrid +and capricious, I was fascinated by that operatic boat, I am a young +lady … but you know I did think that you were dreadfully in love +with me. Don’t despise the poor fool, and don’t laugh at the tear that +dropped just now. I am awfully given to crying with self-pity. Come, +that’s enough, that’s enough. I am no good for anything and you are +no good for anything; it’s as bad for both of us, so let’s comfort +ourselves with that. Anyway, it eases our vanity.” +</p> +<p> +“Dream and delirium,” cried Stavrogin, wringing his hands, and pacing +about the room. “Liza, poor child, what have you done to yourself?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve burnt myself in a candle, nothing more. Surely you are not crying, +too? You should show less feeling and better breeding.…” +</p> +<p> +“Why, why did you come to me?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t you understand what a ludicrous position you put yourself in in +the eyes of the world by asking such questions?” +</p> +<p> +“Why have you ruined yourself, so grotesquely and so stupidly, and +what’s to be done now?” +</p> +<p> +“And this is Stavrogin, ‘the vampire Stavrogin,’ as you are called by a +lady here who is in love with you! Listen! I have told you already, I’ve +put all my life into one hour and I am at peace. Do the same with +yours … though you’ve no need to: you have plenty of ‘hours’ and +‘moments’ of all sorts before you.” +</p> +<p> +“As many as you; I give you my solemn word, not one hour more than you!” +</p> +<p> +He was still walking up and down and did not see the rapid penetrating +glance she turned upon him, in which there seemed a dawning hope. But +the light died away at the same moment. +</p> +<p> +“If you knew what it costs me that I can’t be sincere at this moment, +Liza, if I could only tell you …” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me? You want to tell me something, to me? God save me from your +secrets!” she broke in almost in terror. He stopped and waited uneasily. +</p> +<p> +“I ought to confess that ever since those days in Switzerland I have +had a strong feeling that you have something awful, loathsome, some +bloodshed on your conscience … and yet something that would make you +look very ridiculous. Beware of telling me, if it’s true: I shall laugh +you to scorn. I shall laugh at you for the rest of your life.… Aie, +you are turning pale again? I won’t, I won’t, I’ll go at once.” She +jumped up from her chair with a movement of disgust and contempt. +</p> +<p> +“Torture me, punish me, vent your spite on me,” he cried in despair. +“You have the full right. I knew I did not love you and yet I ruined +you! Yes, I accepted the moment for my own; I had a hope … I’ve had +it a long time … my last hope.… I could not resist the radiance that +flooded my heart when you came in to me yesterday, of yourself, alone, +of your own accord. I suddenly believed.… Perhaps I have faith in it +still.” +</p> +<p> +“I will repay such noble frankness by being as frank. I don’t want to be +a Sister of Mercy for you. Perhaps I really may become a nurse unless I +happen appropriately to die to-day; but if I do I won’t be your nurse, +though, of course, you need one as much as any crippled creature. I +always fancied that you would take me to some place where there was a +huge wicked spider, big as a man, and we should spend our lives looking +at it and being afraid of it. That’s how our love would spend itself. +Appeal to Dashenka; she will go with you anywhere you like.” +</p> +<p> +“Can’t you help thinking of her even now?” +</p> +<p> +“Poor little spaniel! Give her my greetings. Does she know that even in +Switzerland you had fixed on her for your old age? What prudence! What +foresight! Aie, who’s that?” +</p> +<p> +At the farther end of the room a door opened a crack; a head was thrust +in and vanished again hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“Is that you, Alexey Yegorytch?” asked Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“No, it’s only I.” Pyotr Stepanovitch thrust himself half in again. +“How do you do, Lizaveta Nikolaevna? Good morning, anyway. I guessed I +should find you both in this room. I have come for one moment literally, +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. I was anxious to have a couple of words with +you at all costs … absolutely necessary … only a few words!” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin moved towards him but turned back to Liza at the third step. +</p> +<p> +“If you hear anything directly, Liza, let me tell you I am to blame for +it!” +</p> +<p> +She started and looked at him in dismay; but he hurriedly went out. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +The room from which Pyotr Stepanovitch had peeped in was a large +oval vestibule. Alexey Yegorytch had been sitting there before Pyotr +Stepanovitch came in, but the latter sent him away. Stavrogin closed the +door after him and stood expectant. Pyotr Stepanovitch looked rapidly +and searchingly at him. +</p> +<p> +“Well?” +</p> +<p> +“If you know already,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch hurriedly, his eyes +looking as though they would dive into Stavrogin’s soul, “then, of +course, we are none of us to blame, above all not you, for it’s such a +concatenation … such a coincidence of events … in brief, you can’t be +legally implicated and I’ve rushed here to tell you so beforehand.” +</p> +<p> +“Have they been burnt? murdered?” +</p> +<p> +“Murdered but not burnt, that’s the trouble, but I give you my word of +honour that it’s not been my fault, however much you may suspect me, +eh? Do you want the whole truth: you see the idea really did cross my +mind—you hinted it yourself, not seriously, but teasing me (for, of +course, you would not hint it seriously), but I couldn’t bring myself +to it, and wouldn’t bring myself to it for anything, not for a hundred +roubles—and what was there to be gained by it, I mean for me, for +me.…” (He was in desperate haste and his talk was like the clacking of a +rattle.) “But what a coincidence of circumstances: I gave that drunken +fool Lebyadkin two hundred and thirty roubles of my own money (do you +hear, my own money, there wasn’t a rouble of yours and, what’s more, you +know it yourself) the day before yesterday, in the evening—do you hear, +not yesterday after the matinée, but the day before yesterday, make a +note of it: it’s a very important coincidence for I did not know for +certain at that time whether Lizaveta Nikolaevna would come to you or +not; I gave my own money simply because you distinguished yourself by +taking it into your head to betray your secret to every one. Well, I +won’t go into that … that’s your affair … your chivalry, but I must +own I was amazed, it was a knock-down blow. And forasmuch as I was +exceeding weary of these tragic stories—and let me tell you, I talk +seriously though I do use Biblical language—as it was all upsetting +my plans in fact, I made up my mind at any cost, and without your +knowledge, to pack the Lebyadkins off to Petersburg, especially as he +was set on going himself. I made one mistake: I gave the money in your +name;—was it a mistake or not? Perhaps it wasn’t a mistake, eh? Listen +now, listen how it has all turned out.…” +</p> +<p> +In the heat of his talk he went close up to Stavrogin and took hold of +the revers of his coat (really, it may have been on purpose). With a +violent movement Stavrogin struck him on the arm. +</p> +<p> +“Come, what is it … give over … you’ll break my arm … what matters +is the way things have turned out,” he rattled on, not in the least +surprised at the blow. “I forked out the money in the evening on +condition that his sister and he should set off early next morning; I +trusted that rascal Liputin with the job of getting them into the train +and seeing them off. But that beast Liputin wanted to play his schoolboy +pranks on the public—perhaps you heard? At the matinée? Listen, listen: +they both got drunk, made up verses of which half are Liputin’s; he +rigged Lebyadkin out in a dress-coat, assuring me meanwhile that he had +packed him off that morning, but he kept him shut somewhere in a back +room, till he thrust him on the platform at the matinée. But Lebyadkin +got drunk quickly and unexpectedly. Then came the scandalous scene you +know of, and then they got him home more dead than alive, and Liputin +filched away the two hundred roubles, leaving him only small change. But +it appears unluckily that already that morning Lebyadkin had taken that +two hundred roubles out of his pocket, boasted of it and shown it in +undesirable quarters. And as that was just what Fedka was expecting, and +as he had heard something at Kirillov’s (do you remember, your hint?) he +made up his mind to take advantage of it. That’s the whole truth. I +am glad, anyway, that Fedka did not find the money, the rascal was +reckoning on a thousand, you know! He was in a hurry and seems to have +been frightened by the fire himself.… Would you believe it, that fire +came as a thunderbolt for me. Devil only knows what to make of it! It is +taking things into their own hands.… You see, as I expect so much of +you I will hide nothing from you: I’ve long been hatching this idea of a +fire because it suits the national and popular taste; but I was keeping +it for a critical moment, for that precious time when we should all rise +up and … And they suddenly took it into their heads to do it, on their +own initiative, without orders, now at the very moment when we ought to +be lying low and keeping quiet! Such presumption!… The fact is, I’ve +not got to the bottom of it yet, they talk about two Shpigulin men, but +if there are any of <i>our</i> fellows in it, if any one of them has had a hand +in it—so much the worse for him! You see what comes of letting people +get ever so little out of hand! No, this democratic rabble, with +its quintets, is a poor foundation; what we want is one magnificent, +despotic will, like an idol, resting on something fundamental and +external.… Then the quintets will cringe into obedience and be +obsequiously ready on occasion. But, anyway, though, they are all crying +out now that Stavrogin wanted his wife to be burnt and that that’s what +caused the fire in the town, but …” +</p> +<p> +“Why, are they all saying that?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, not yet, and I must confess I have heard nothing of the sort, but +what one can do with people, especially when they’ve been burnt out! <i>Vox +populi vox Dei</i>. A stupid rumour is soon set going. But you really have +nothing to be afraid of. From the legal point of view you are all right, +and with your conscience also. For you didn’t want it done, did you? +There’s no clue, nothing but the coincidence.… The only thing is Fedka +may remember what you said that night at Kirillov’s (and what made you +say it?) but that proves nothing and we shall stop Fedka’s mouth. I +shall stop it to-day.…” +</p> +<p> +“And weren’t the bodies burnt at all?” +</p> +<p> +“Not a bit; that ruffian could not manage anything properly. But I am +glad, anyway, that you are so calm … for though you are not in any way +to blame, even in thought, but all the same.… And you must admit that +all this settles your difficulties capitally: you are suddenly free and +a widower and can marry a charming girl this minute with a lot of money, +who is already yours, into the bargain. See what can be done by crude, +simple coincidence—eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Are you threatening me, you fool?” +</p> +<p> +“Come, leave off, leave off! Here you are, calling me a fool, and what +a tone to use! You ought to be glad, yet you … I rushed here on purpose +to let you know in good time.… Besides, how could I threaten you? +As if I cared for what I could get by threats! I want you to help from +goodwill and not from fear. You are the light and the sun.… It’s +I who am terribly afraid of you, not you of me! I am not Mavriky +Nikolaevitch.… And only fancy, as I flew here in a racing droshky I +saw Mavriky Nikolaevitch by the fence at the farthest corner of your +garden … in his greatcoat, drenched through, he must have been sitting +there all night! Queer goings on! How mad people can be!” +</p> +<p> +“Mavriky Nikolaevitch? Is that true?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes. He is sitting by the garden fence. About three hundred paces +from here, I think. I made haste to pass him, but he saw me. Didn’t you +know? In that case I am glad I didn’t forget to tell you. A man like +that is more dangerous than anyone if he happens to have a revolver +about him, and then the night, the sleet, or natural irritability—for +after all he is in a nice position, ha ha! What do you think? Why is he +sitting there?” +</p> +<p> +“He is waiting for Lizaveta Nikolaevna, of course.” +</p> +<p> +“Well! Why should she go out to him? And … in such rain too … what a +fool!” +</p> +<p> +“She is just going out to him!” +</p> +<p> +“Eh! That’s a piece of news! So then … But listen, her position is +completely changed now. What does she want with Mavriky now? You +are free, a widower, and can marry her to-morrow. She doesn’t know +yet—leave it to me and I’ll arrange it all for you. Where is she? We +must relieve her mind too.” +</p> +<p> +“Relieve her mind?” +</p> +<p> +“Rather! Let’s go.” +</p> +<p> +“And do you suppose she won’t guess what those dead bodies mean?” said +Stavrogin, screwing up his eyes in a peculiar way. +</p> +<p> +“Of course she won’t,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch with all the confidence +of a perfect simpleton, “for legally … Ech, what a man you are! What +if she did guess? Women are so clever at shutting their eyes to such +things, you don’t understand women! Apart from it’s being altogether +to her interest to marry you now, because there’s no denying she’s +disgraced herself; apart from that, I talked to her of ‘the boat’ and I +saw that one could affect her by it, so that shows you what the girl is +made of. Don’t be uneasy, she will step over those dead bodies without +turning a hair—especially as you are not to blame for them; not in the +least, are you? She will only keep them in reserve to use them against +you when you’ve been married two or three years. Every woman saves up +something of the sort out of her husband’s past when she gets married, +but by that time … what may not happen in a year? Ha ha!” +</p> +<p> +“If you’ve come in a racing droshky, take her to Mavriky Nikolaevitch +now. She said just now that she could not endure me and would leave me, +and she certainly will not accept my carriage.” +</p> +<p> +“What! Can she really be leaving? How can this have come about?” said +Pyotr Stepanovitch, staring stupidly at him. +</p> +<p> +“She’s guessed somehow during this night that I don’t love her … which +she knew all along, indeed.” +</p> +<p> +“But don’t you love her?” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, with an expression +of extreme surprise. “If so, why did you keep her when she came to you +yesterday, instead of telling her plainly like an honourable man that +you didn’t care for her? That was horribly shabby on your part; and how +mean you make me look in her eyes!” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin suddenly laughed. +</p> +<p> +“I am laughing at my monkey,” he explained at once. +</p> +<p> +“Ah! You saw that I was putting it on!” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, +laughing too, with great enjoyment. “I did it to amuse you! Only fancy, +as soon as you came out to me I guessed from your face that you’d been +‘unlucky.’ A complete fiasco, perhaps. Eh? There! I’ll bet anything,” +he cried, almost gasping with delight, “that you’ve been sitting side by +side in the drawing-room all night wasting your precious time discussing +something lofty and elevated.… There, forgive me, forgive me; it’s not +my business. I felt sure yesterday that it would all end in foolishness. +I brought her to you simply to amuse you, and to show you that you +wouldn’t have a dull time with me. I shall be of use to you a hundred +times in that way. I always like pleasing people. If you don’t want her +now, which was what I was reckoning on when I came, then …” +</p> +<p> +“So you brought her simply for my amusement?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, what else?” +</p> +<p> +“Not to make me kill my wife?” +</p> +<p> +“Come. You’ve not killed her? What a tragic fellow you are! +</p> +<p> +“It’s just the same; you killed her.” +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t kill her! I tell you I had no hand in it.… You are beginning +to make me uneasy, though.…” +</p> +<p> +“Go on. You said, ‘if you don’t want her now, then … ‘” +</p> +<p> +“Then, leave it to me, of course. I can quite easily marry her off to +Mavriky Nikolaevitch, though I didn’t make him sit down by the fence. +Don’t take that notion into your head. I am afraid of him, now. You talk +about my droshky, but I simply dashed by.… What if he has a revolver? +It’s a good thing I brought mine. Here it is.” He brought a revolver out +of his pocket, showed it, and hid it again at once. “I took it as I +was coming such a long way.… But I’ll arrange all that for you in a +twinkling: her little heart is aching at this moment for Mavriky; it +should be, anyway.… And, do you know, I am really rather sorry for +her? If I take her to Mavriky she will begin about you directly; she +will praise you to him and abuse him to his face. You know the heart of +woman! There you are, laughing again! I am awfully glad that you are so +cheerful now. Come, let’s go. I’ll begin with Mavriky right away, and +about them … those who’ve been murdered … hadn’t we better keep quiet +now? She’ll hear later on, anyway.” +</p> +<p> +“What will she hear? Who’s been murdered? What were you saying about +Mavriky Nikolaevitch?” said Liza, suddenly opening the door. +</p> +<p> +“Ah! You’ve been listening?” +</p> +<p> +“What were you saying just now about Mavriky Nikolaevitch? Has he been +murdered?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! Then you didn’t hear? Don’t distress yourself, Mavriky Nikolaevitch +is alive and well, and you can satisfy yourself of it in an instant, +for he is here by the wayside, by the garden fence … and I believe he’s +been sitting there all night. He is drenched through in his greatcoat! +He saw me as I drove past.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s not true. You said ‘murdered.’ … Who’s been murdered?” she +insisted with agonising mistrust. +</p> +<p> +“The only people who have been murdered are my wife, her brother +Lebyadkin, and their servant,” Stavrogin brought out firmly. +</p> +<p> +Liza trembled and turned terribly pale. +</p> +<p> +“A strange brutal outrage, Lizaveta Nikolaevna. A simple case of +robbery,” Pyotr Stepanovitch rattled off at once “Simply robbery, under +cover of the fire. The crime was committed by Fedka the convict, and it +was all that fool Lebyadkin’s fault for showing every one his +money.… I rushed here with the news … it fell on me like a +thunderbolt. Stavrogin could hardly stand when I told him. We were +deliberating here whether to tell you at once or not?” +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, is he telling the truth?” Liza articulated +faintly. +</p> +<p> +“No; it’s false.” +</p> +<p> +“False?” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, starting. “What do you mean by that?” +</p> +<p> +“Heavens! I shall go mad!” cried Liza. +</p> +<p> +“Do you understand, anyway, that he is mad now!” Pyotr Stepanovitch +cried at the top of his voice. “After all, his wife has just been +murdered. You see how white he is.… Why, he has been with you the +whole night. He hasn’t left your side a minute. How can you suspect +him?” +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, tell me, as before God, are you guilty or not, +and I swear I’ll believe your word as though it were God’s, and I’ll +follow you to the end of the earth. Yes, I will. I’ll follow you like a +dog.” +</p> +<p> +“Why are you tormenting her, you fantastic creature?” cried Pyotr +Stepanovitch in exasperation. “Lizaveta Nikolaevna, upon my oath, you +can crush me into powder, but he is not guilty. On the contrary, it has +crushed him, and he is raving, you see that. He is not to blame in +any way, not in any way, not even in thought!… It’s all the work of +robbers who will probably be found within a week and flogged.… It’s +all the work of Fedka the convict, and some Shpigulin men, all the town +is agog with it. That’s why I say so too.” +</p> +<p> +“Is that right? Is that right?” Liza waited trembling for her final +sentence. +</p> +<p> +“I did not kill them, and I was against it, but I knew they were +going to be killed and I did not stop the murderers. Leave me, Liza,” +Stavrogin brought out, and he walked into the drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +Liza hid her face in her hands and walked out of the house. Pyotr +Stepanovitch was rushing after her, but at once hurried back and went +into the drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +“So that’s your line? That’s your line? So there’s nothing you are +afraid of?” He flew at Stavrogin in an absolute fury, muttering +incoherently, scarcely able to find words and foaming at the mouth. +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin stood in the middle of the room and did not answer a word. +He clutched a lock of his hair in his left hand and smiled helplessly. +Pyotr Stepanovitch pulled him violently by the sleeve. +</p> +<p> +“Is it all over with you? So that’s the line you are taking? You’ll +inform against all of us, and go to a monastery yourself, or to the +devil.… But I’ll do for you, though you are not afraid of me!” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! That’s you chattering!” said Stavrogin, noticing him at last. +“Run,” he said, coming to himself suddenly, “run after her, order the +carriage, don’t leave her.… Run, run! Take her home so that no one +may know … and that she mayn’t go there … to the bodies … to the +bodies.… Force her to get into the carriage … Alexey Yegorytch! +Alexey Yegorytch!” +</p> +<p> +“Stay, don’t shout! By now she is in Mavriky’s arms.… Mavriky won’t +put her into your carriage.… Stay! There’s something more important +than the carriage!” +</p> +<p> +He seized his revolver again. Stavrogin looked at him gravely. +</p> +<p> +“Very well, kill me,” he said softly, almost conciliatorily. +</p> +<p> +“Foo. Damn it! What a maze of false sentiment a man can get into!” said +Pyotr Stepanovitch, shaking with rage. “Yes, really, you ought to be +killed! She ought simply to spit at you! Fine sort of ‘magic boat,’ +you are; you are a broken-down, leaky old hulk!… You ought to pull +yourself together if only from spite! Ech! Why, what difference would it +make to you since you ask for a bullet through your brains yourself?” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin smiled strangely. +</p> +<p> +“If you were not such a buffoon I might perhaps have said yes now.… If +you had only a grain of sense …” +</p> +<p> +“I am a buffoon, but I don’t want you, my better half, to be one! Do you +understand me?” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin did understand, though perhaps no one else did. Shatov, for +instance, was astonished when Stavrogin told him that Pyotr Stepanovitch +had enthusiasm. +</p> +<p> +“Go to the devil now, and to-morrow perhaps I may wring something out of +myself. Come to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes? Yes?” +</p> +<p> +“How can I tell?… Go to hell. Go to hell.” And he walked out of the +room. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps, after all, it may be for the best,” Pyotr Stepanovitch +muttered to himself as he hid the revolver. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +He rushed off to overtake Lizaveta Nikolaevna. She had not got far +away, only a few steps, from the house. She had been detained by Alexey +Yegorytch, who was following a step behind her, in a tail coat, and +without a hat; his head was bowed respectfully. He was persistently +entreating her to wait for a carriage; the old man was alarmed and +almost in tears. +</p> +<p> +“Go along. Your master is asking for tea, and there’s no one to give it +to him,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, pushing him away. He took Liza’s arm. +</p> +<p> +She did not pull her arm away, but she seemed hardly to know what she +was doing; she was still dazed. +</p> +<p> +“To begin with, you are going the wrong way,” babbled Pyotr +Stepanovitch. “We ought to go this way, and not by the garden, and, +secondly, walking is impossible in any case. It’s over two miles, and +you are not properly dressed. If you would wait a second, I came in a +droshky; the horse is in the yard. I’ll get it instantly, put you in, +and get you home so that no one sees you.” +</p> +<p> +“How kind you are,” said Liza graciously. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, not at all. Any humane man in my position would do the same.…” +</p> +<p> +Liza looked at him, and was surprised. +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens! Why I thought it was that old man here still.” +</p> +<p> +“Listen. I am awfully glad that you take it like this, because it’s +all such a frightfully stupid convention, and since it’s come to that, +hadn’t I better tell the old man to get the carriage at once. It’s only +a matter of ten minutes and we’ll turn back and wait in the porch, eh?” +</p> +<p> +“I want first … where are those murdered people?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! What next? That was what I was afraid of.… No, we’d better leave +those wretched creatures alone; it’s no use your looking at them.” +</p> +<p> +“I know where they are. I know that house.” +</p> +<p> +“Well? What if you do know it? Come; it’s raining, and there’s a fog. +(A nice job this sacred duty I’ve taken upon myself.) Listen, Lizaveta +Nikolaevna! It’s one of two alternatives. Either you come with me in the +droshky—in that case wait here, and don’t take another step, for if we +go another twenty steps we must be seen by Mavriky Nikolaevitch.” +</p> +<p> +“Mavriky Nikolaevitch! Where? Where?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, if you want to go with him, I’ll take you a little farther, if +you like, and show you where he sits, but I don’t care to go up to him +just now. No, thank you.” +</p> +<p> +“He is waiting for me. Good God!” she suddenly stopped, and a flush of +colour flooded her face. +</p> +<p> +“Oh! Come now. If he is an unconventional man! You know, Lizaveta +Nikolaevna, it’s none of my business. I am a complete outsider, and you +know that yourself. But, still, I wish you well.… If your ‘fairy boat’ +has failed you, if it has turned out to be nothing more than a rotten +old hulk, only fit to be chopped up …” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! That’s fine, that’s lovely,” cried Liza. +</p> +<p> +“Lovely, and yet your tears are falling. You must have spirit. You must +be as good as a man in every way. In our age, when woman.… Foo, hang +it,” Pyotr Stepanovitch was on the point of spitting. “And the chief +point is that there is nothing to regret. It may all turn out for the +best. Mavriky Nikolaevitch is a man.… In fact, he is a man of feeling +though not talkative, but that’s a good thing, too, as long as he has no +conventional notions, of course.…” +</p> +<p> +“Lovely, lovely!” Liza laughed hysterically. +</p> +<p> +“Well, hang it all … Lizaveta Nikolaevna,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch +suddenly piqued. “I am simply here on your account.… It’s nothing to +me.… I helped you yesterday when you wanted it yourself. To-day … +well, you can see Mavriky Nikolaevitch from here; there he’s sitting; he +doesn’t see us. I say, Lizaveta Nikolaevna, have you ever read ‘Polenka +Saxe’?” +</p> +<p> +“What’s that?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s the name of a novel, ‘Polenka Saxe.’ I read it when I was a +student.… In it a very wealthy official of some sort, Saxe, arrested +his wife at a summer villa for infidelity.… But, hang it; it’s no +consequence! You’ll see, Mavriky Nikolaevitch will make you an offer +before you get home. He doesn’t see us yet.” +</p> +<p> +“Ach! Don’t let him see us!” Liza cried suddenly, like a mad creature. +“Come away, come away! To the woods, to the fields!” +</p> +<p> +And she ran back. +</p> +<p> +“Lizaveta Nikolaevna, this is such cowardice,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, +running after her. “And why don’t you want him to see you? On the +contrary, you must look him straight in the face, with pride.… If it’s +some feeling about that … some maidenly … that’s such a prejudice, so +out of date … But where are you going? Where are you going? Ech! she is +running! Better go back to Stavrogin’s and take my droshky.… Where are +you going? That’s the way to the fields! There! She’s fallen down!…” +</p> +<p> +He stopped. Liza was flying along like a bird, not conscious where she +was going, and Pyotr Stepanovitch was already fifty paces behind her. +She stumbled over a mound of earth and fell down. At the same moment +there was the sound of a terrible shout from behind. It came from +Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who had seen her flight and her fall, and was +running to her across the field. In a flash Pyotr Stepanovitch had +retired into Stavrogin’s gateway to make haste and get into his droshky. +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch was already standing in terrible alarm by Liza, who +had risen to her feet; he was bending over her and holding her hands in +both of his. All the incredible surroundings of this meeting overwhelmed +him, and tears were rolling down his cheeks. He saw the woman for whom +he had such reverent devotion running madly across the fields, at such +an hour, in such weather, with nothing over her dress, the gay dress she +wore the day before now crumpled and muddy from her fall.… He could +not utter a word; he took off his greatcoat, and with trembling hands +put it round her shoulders. Suddenly he uttered a cry, feeling that she +had pressed her lips to his hand. +</p> +<p> +“Liza,” he cried, “I am no good for anything, but don’t drive me away +from you!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no! Let us make haste away from here. Don’t leave me!” and, seizing +his hand, she drew him after her. “Mavriky Nikolaevitch,” she suddenly +dropped her voice timidly, “I kept a bold face there all the time, but +now I am afraid of death. I shall die soon, very soon, but I am afraid, +I am afraid to die.…” she whispered, pressing his hand tight. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, if there were someone,” he looked round in despair. “Some +passer-by! You will get your feet wet, you … will lose your reason!” +</p> +<p> +“It’s all right; it’s all right,” she tried to reassure him. “That’s +right. I am not so frightened with you. Hold my hand, lead me.… Where +are we going now? Home? No! I want first to see the people who have been +murdered. His wife has been murdered they say, and he says he killed +her himself. But that’s not true, is it? I want to see for myself those +three who’ve been killed … on my account … it’s because of them his +love for me has grown cold since last night.… I shall see and find out +everything. Make haste, make haste, I know the house … there’s a fire +there.… Mavriky Nikolaevitch, my dear one, don’t forgive me in my +shame! Why forgive me? Why are you crying? Give me a blow and kill me +here in the field, like a dog!” +</p> +<p> +“No one is your judge now,” Mavriky Nikolaevitch pronounced firmly. “God +forgive you. I least of all can be your judge.” +</p> +<p> +But it would be strange to describe their conversation. And meanwhile +they walked hand in hand quickly, hurrying as though they were crazy. +They were going straight towards the fire. Mavriky Nikolaevitch still +had hopes of meeting a cart at least, but no one came that way. A mist +of fine, drizzling rain enveloped the whole country, swallowing up every +ray of light, every gleam of colour, and transforming everything into +one smoky, leaden, indistinguishable mass. It had long been daylight, +yet it seemed as though it were still night. And suddenly in this cold +foggy mist there appeared coming towards them a strange and absurd +figure. Picturing it now I think I should not have believed my eyes if +I had been in Lizaveta Nikolaevna’s place, yet she uttered a cry of +joy, and recognised the approaching figure at once. It was Stepan +Trofimovitch. How he had gone off, how the insane, impracticable idea +of his flight came to be carried out, of that later. I will only mention +that he was in a fever that morning, yet even illness did not prevent +his starting. He was walking resolutely on the damp ground. It was +evident that he had planned the enterprise to the best of his ability, +alone with his inexperience and lack of practical sense. He wore +“travelling dress,” that is, a greatcoat with a wide patent-leather +belt, fastened with a buckle and a pair of new high boots pulled over +his trousers. Probably he had for some time past pictured a traveller as +looking like this, and the belt and the high boots with the shining tops +like a hussar’s, in which he could hardly walk, had been ready some time +before. A broad-brimmed hat, a knitted scarf, twisted close round his +neck, a stick in his right hand, and an exceedingly small but extremely +tightly packed bag in his left, completed his get-up. He had, besides, +in the same right hand, an open umbrella. These three objects—the +umbrella, the stick, and the bag—had been very awkward to carry for the +first mile, and had begun to be heavy by the second. +</p> +<p> +“Can it really be you?” cried Liza, looking at him with distressed +wonder, after her first rush of instinctive gladness. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Lise,”</i> cried Stepan Trofimovitch, rushing to her almost in delirium too. +“<i>Chère, chère</i>.… Can you be out, too … in such a fog? You see the glow +of fire. <i>Vous êtes malheureuse, n’est-ce pas?</i> I see, I see. Don’t tell +me, but don’t question me either. <i>Nous sommes tous malheureux mais il +faut les pardonner tous. Pardonnons, Lise,</i> and let us be free forever. +To be quit of the world and be completely free. <i>Il faut pardonner, +pardonner, et pardonner!”</i> +</p> +<p> +“But why are you kneeling down?” +</p> +<p> +“Because, taking leave of the world, I want to take leave of all my past +in your person!” He wept and raised both her hands to his tear-stained +eyes. “I kneel to all that was beautiful in my life. I kiss and give +thanks! Now I’ve torn myself in half; left behind a mad visionary who +dreamed of soaring to the sky. <i>Vingt-deux ans,</i> here. A shattered, frozen +old man. A tutor <i>chez ce marchand, s’il existe pourtant ce +marchand.</i>… But how drenched you are, <i>Lise!”</i> he cried, jumping on to +his feet, feeling that his knees too were soaked by the wet earth. “And +how is it possible … you are in such a dress … and on foot, and in +these fields?… You are crying! <i>Vous êtes malheureuse.</i> Bah, I did hear +something.… But where have you come from now?” He asked hurried +questions with an uneasy air, looking in extreme bewilderment at Mavriky +Nikolaevitch. <i>“Mais savez-vous l’heure qu’il est?”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch, have you heard anything about the people who’ve +been murdered?… Is it true? Is it true?” +</p> +<p> +“These people! I saw the glow of their work all night. They were bound +to end in this.…” His eyes flashed again. “I am fleeing away from +madness, from a delirious dream. I am fleeing away to seek for Russia. +<i>Existe-t-elle, la Russie? Bah! C’est vous, cher capitaine!</i> +I’ve never doubted that I should meet you somewhere on some high +adventure.… But take my umbrella, and—why must you be on foot? For +God’s sake, do at least take my umbrella, for I shall hire a carriage +somewhere in any case. I am on foot because Stasie (I mean, Nastasya) +would have shouted for the benefit of the whole street if she’d found out +I was going away. So I slipped away as far as possible incognito. I don’t +know; in the <i>Voice</i> they write of there being brigands everywhere, but I +thought surely I shouldn’t meet a brigand the moment I came out on the +road. <i>Chère Lise,</i> I thought you said something of someone’s being +murdered. <i>Oh, mon Dieu!</i> You are ill!” +</p> +<p> +“Come along, come along!” cried Liza, almost in hysterics, drawing +Mavriky Nikolaevitch after her again. “Wait a minute, Stepan +Trofimovitch!” she came back suddenly to him. “Stay, poor darling, let +me sign you with the cross. Perhaps, it would be better to put you under +control, but I’d rather make the sign of the cross over you. You, too, +pray for ‘poor’ Liza—just a little, don’t bother too much about it. +Mavriky Nikolaevitch, give that baby back his umbrella. You must give it +him. That’s right.… Come, let us go, let us go!” +</p> +<p> +They reached the fatal house at the very moment when the huge crowd, +which had gathered round it, had already heard a good deal of Stavrogin, +and of how much it was to his interest to murder his wife. Yet, I +repeat, the immense majority went on listening without moving or +uttering a word. The only people who were excited were bawling drunkards +and excitable individuals of the same sort as the gesticulatory +cabinet-maker. Every one knew the latter as a man really of mild +disposition, but he was liable on occasion to get excited and to fly off +at a tangent if anything struck him in a certain way. I did not see +Liza and Mavriky Nikolaevitch arrive. Petrified with amazement, I first +noticed Liza some distance away in the crowd, and I did not at once +catch sight of Mavriky Nikolaevitch. I fancy there was a moment when +he fell two or three steps behind her or was pressed back by the crush. +Liza, forcing her way through the crowd, seeing and noticing nothing +round her, like one in a delirium, like a patient escaped from a +hospital, attracted attention only too quickly, of course. There arose +a hubbub of loud talking and at last sudden shouts. Some one bawled out, +“It’s Stavrogin’s woman!” And on the other side, “It’s not enough to +murder them, she wants to look at them!” All at once I saw an arm raised +above her head from behind and suddenly brought down upon it. Liza fell +to the ground. We heard a fearful scream from Mavriky Nikolaevitch as +he dashed to her assistance and struck with all his strength the man who +stood between him and Liza. But at that instant the same cabinetmaker +seized him with both arms from behind. For some minutes nothing could be +distinguished in the scrimmage that followed. I believe Liza got up but +was knocked down by another blow. Suddenly the crowd parted and a +small space was left empty round Liza’s prostrate figure, and Mavriky +Nikolaevitch, frantic with grief and covered with blood, was standing +over her, screaming, weeping, and wringing his hands. I don’t remember +exactly what followed after; I only remember that they began to carry +Liza away. I ran after her. She was still alive and perhaps still +conscious. The cabinet-maker and three other men in the crowd were +seized. These three still deny having taken any part in the dastardly +deed, stubbornly maintaining that they have been arrested by mistake. +Perhaps it’s the truth. Though the evidence against the cabinet-maker +is clear, he is so irrational that he is still unable to explain what +happened coherently. I too, as a spectator, though at some distance, +had to give evidence at the inquest. I declared that it had all happened +entirely accidentally through the action of men perhaps moved by +ill-feeling, yet scarcely conscious of what they were doing—drunk and +irresponsible. I am of that opinion to this day. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0019"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE LAST RESOLUTION +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +THAT MORNING MANY people saw Pyotr Stepanovitch. All who saw him +remembered that he was in a particularly excited state. At two o’clock +he went to see Gaganov, who had arrived from the country only the day +before, and whose house was full of visitors hotly discussing the events +of the previous day. Pyotr Stepanovitch talked more than anyone and made +them listen to him. He was always considered among us as a “chatterbox +of a student with a screw loose,” but now he talked of Yulia Mihailovna, +and in the general excitement the theme was an enthralling one. As one +who had recently been her intimate and confidential friend, he disclosed +many new and unexpected details concerning her; incidentally (and of +course unguardedly) he repeated some of her own remarks about persons +known to all in the town, and thereby piqued their vanity. He dropped +it all in a vague and rambling way, like a man free from guile driven +by his sense of honour to the painful necessity of clearing up a perfect +mountain of misunderstandings, and so simple-hearted that he hardly knew +where to begin and where to leave off. He let slip in a rather unguarded +way, too, that Yulia Mihailovna knew the whole secret of Stavrogin and +that she had been at the bottom of the whole intrigue. She had taken +him in too, for he, Pyotr Stepanovitch, had also been in love with this +unhappy Liza, yet he had been so hoodwinked that he had <i>almost</i> taken her +to Stavrogin himself in the carriage. “Yes, yes, it’s all very well +for you to laugh, gentlemen, but if only I’d known, if I’d known how it +would end!” he concluded. To various excited inquiries about Stavrogin +he bluntly replied that in his opinion the catastrophe to the Lebyadkins +was a pure coincidence, and that it was all Lebyadkin’s own fault for +displaying his money. He explained this particularly well. One of his +listeners observed that it was no good his “pretending”; that he had +eaten and drunk and almost slept at Yulia Mihailovna’s, yet now he was +the first to blacken her character, and that this was by no means such +a fine thing to do as he supposed. But Pyotr Stepanovitch immediately +defended himself. +</p> +<p> +“I ate and drank there not because I had no money, and it’s not my fault +that I was invited there. Allow me to judge for myself how far I need to +be grateful for that.” +</p> +<p> +The general impression was in his favour. “He may be rather absurd, and +of course he is a nonsensical fellow, yet still he is not responsible +for Yulia Mihailovna’s foolishness. On the contrary, it appears that he +tried to stop her.” +</p> +<p> +About two o’clock the news suddenly came that Stavrogin, about whom +there was so much talk, had suddenly left for Petersburg by the midday +train. This interested people immensely; many of them frowned. Pyotr +Stepanovitch was so much struck that I was told he turned quite pale and +cried out strangely, “Why, how could they have let him go?” He hurried +away from Gaganov’s forthwith, yet he was seen in two or three other +houses. +</p> +<p> +Towards dusk he succeeded in getting in to see Yulia Mihailovna though +he had the greatest pains to do so, as she had absolutely refused to see +him. I heard of this from the lady herself only three weeks afterwards, +just before her departure for Petersburg. She gave me no details, but +observed with a shudder that “he had on that occasion astounded her +beyond all belief.” I imagine that all he did was to terrify her +by threatening to charge her with being an accomplice if she “said +anything.” The necessity for this intimidation arose from his plans at +the moment, of which she, of course, knew nothing; and only later, +five days afterwards, she guessed why he had been so doubtful of her +reticence and so afraid of a new outburst of indignation on her part. +</p> +<p> +Between seven and eight o’clock, when it was dark, all the five members +of the quintet met together at Ensign Erkel’s lodgings in a little +crooked house at the end of the town. The meeting had been fixed by +Pyotr Stepanovitch himself, but he was unpardonably late, and the +members waited over an hour for him. This Ensign Erkel was that young +officer who had sat the whole evening at Virginsky’s with a pencil in +his hand and a notebook before him. He had not long been in the town; +he lodged alone with two old women, sisters, in a secluded by-street and +was shortly to leave the town; a meeting at his house was less likely +to attract notice than anywhere. This strange boy was distinguished by +extreme taciturnity: he was capable of sitting for a dozen evenings in +succession in noisy company, with the most extraordinary conversation +going on around him, without uttering a word, though he listened with +extreme attention, watching the speakers with his childlike eyes. His +face was very pretty and even had a certain look of cleverness. He did +not belong to the quintet; it was supposed that he had some special job +of a purely practical character. It is known now that he had nothing of +the sort and probably did not understand his position himself. It was +simply that he was filled with hero-worship for Pyotr Stepanovitch, +whom he had only lately met. If he had met a monster of iniquity who had +incited him to found a band of brigands on the pretext of some romantic +and socialistic object, and as a test had bidden him rob and murder the +first peasant he met, he would certainly have obeyed and done it. He had +an invalid mother to whom he sent half of his scanty pay—and how +she must have kissed that poor little flaxen head, how she must have +trembled and prayed over it! I go into these details about him because I +feel very sorry for him. +</p> +<p> +“Our fellows” were excited. The events of the previous night had made a +great impression on them, and I fancy they were in a panic. The simple +disorderliness in which they had so zealously and systematically taken +part had ended in a way they had not expected. The fire in the night, +the murder of the Lebyadkins, the savage brutality of the crowd with +Liza, had been a series of surprises which they had not anticipated in +their programme. They hotly accused the hand that had guided them of +despotism and duplicity. In fact, while they were waiting for Pyotr +Stepanovitch they worked each other up to such a point that they +resolved again to ask him for a definite explanation, and if he evaded +again, as he had done before, to dissolve the quintet and to found +instead a new secret society “for the propaganda of ideas” and on +their own initiative on the basis of democracy and equality. Liputin, +Shigalov, and the authority on the peasantry supported this plan; +Lyamshin said nothing, though he looked approving. Virginsky hesitated +and wanted to hear Pyotr Stepanovitch first. It was decided to hear +Pyotr Stepanovitch, but still he did not come; such casualness added +fuel to the flames. Erkel was absolutely silent and did nothing but +order the tea, which he brought from his landladies in glasses on a +tray, not bringing in the samovar nor allowing the servant to enter. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch did not turn up till half-past eight. With rapid +steps he went up to the circular table before the sofa round which the +company were seated; he kept his cap in his hand and refused tea. He +looked angry, severe, and supercilious. He must have observed at once +from their faces that they were “mutinous.” +</p> +<p> +“Before I open my mouth, you’ve got something hidden; out with it.” +</p> +<p> +Liputin began “in the name of all,” and declared in a voice quivering +with resentment “that if things were going on like that they might as +well blow their brains out.” Oh, they were not at all afraid to blow +their brains out, they were quite ready to, in fact, but only to serve +the common cause (a general movement of approbation). So he must be more +open with them so that they might always know beforehand, “or else what +would things be coming to?” (Again a stir and some guttural sounds.) To +behave like this was humiliating and dangerous. “We don’t say so because +we are afraid, but if one acts and the rest are only pawns, then one +would blunder and all would be lost.” (Exclamations. “Yes, yes.” General +approval.) +</p> +<p> +“Damn it all, what do you want?” +</p> +<p> +“What connection is there between the common cause and the petty +intrigues of Mr. Stavrogin?” cried Liputin, boiling over. “Suppose he +is in some mysterious relation to the centre, if that legendary centre +really exists at all, it’s no concern of ours. And meantime a murder has +been committed, the police have been roused; if they follow the thread +they may find what it starts from.” +</p> +<p> +“If Stavrogin and you are caught, we shall be caught too,” added the +authority on the peasantry. +</p> +<p> +“And to no good purpose for the common cause,” Virginsky concluded +despondently. +</p> +<p> +“What nonsense! The murder is a chance crime; it was committed by Fedka +for the sake of robbery.” +</p> +<p> +“H’m! Strange coincidence, though,” said Liputin, wriggling. +</p> +<p> +“And if you will have it, it’s all through you.” +</p> +<p> +“Through us?” +</p> +<p> +“In the first place, you, Liputin, had a share in the intrigue yourself; +and the second chief point is, you were ordered to get Lebyadkin away +and given money to do it; and what did you do? If you’d got him away +nothing would have happened.” +</p> +<p> +“But wasn’t it you yourself who suggested the idea that it would be a +good thing to set him on to read his verses?” +</p> +<p> +“An idea is not a command. The command was to get him away.” +</p> +<p> +“Command! Rather a queer word.… On the contrary, your orders were to +delay sending him off.” +</p> +<p> +“You made a mistake and showed your foolishness and self-will. The +murder was the work of Fedka, and he carried it out alone for the sake +of robbery. You heard the gossip and believed it. You were scared. +Stavrogin is not such a fool, and the proof of that is he left the town +at twelve o’clock after an interview with the vice-governor; if there +were anything in it they would not let him go to Petersburg in broad +daylight.” +</p> +<p> +“But we are not making out that Mr. Stavrogin committed the murder +himself,” Liputin rejoined spitefully and unceremoniously. “He may have +known nothing about it, like me; and you know very well that I knew +nothing about it, though I am mixed up in it like mutton in a hash.” +</p> +<p> +“Whom are you accusing?” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, looking at him darkly. +</p> +<p> +“Those whose interest it is to burn down towns.” +</p> +<p> +“You make matters worse by wriggling out of it. However, won’t you read +this and pass it to the others, simply as a fact of interest?” +</p> +<p> +He pulled out of his pocket Lebyadkin’s anonymous letter to Lembke and +handed it to Liputin. The latter read it, was evidently surprised, and +passed it thoughtfully to his neighbour; the letter quickly went the +round. +</p> +<p> +“Is that really Lebyadkin’s handwriting?” observed Shigalov. +</p> +<p> +“It is,” answered Liputin and Tolkatchenko (the authority on the +peasantry). +</p> +<p> +“I simply brought it as a fact of interest and because I knew you were +so sentimental over Lebyadkin,” repeated Pyotr Stepanovitch, taking the +letter back. “So it turns out, gentlemen, that a stray Fedka relieves us +quite by chance of a dangerous man. That’s what chance does sometimes! +It’s instructive, isn’t it?” +</p> +<p> +The members exchanged rapid glances. +</p> +<p> +“And now, gentlemen, it’s my turn to ask questions,” said Pyotr +Stepanovitch, assuming an air of dignity. “Let me know what business you +had to set fire to the town without permission.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s this! We, we set fire to the town? That is laying the blame on +others!” they exclaimed. +</p> +<p> +“I quite understand that you carried the game too far,” Pyotr +Stepanovitch persisted stubbornly, “but it’s not a matter of petty +scandals with Yulia Mihailovna. I’ve brought you here gentlemen, +to explain to you the greatness of the danger you have so stupidly +incurred, which is a menace to much besides yourselves.” +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me, we, on the contrary, were intending just now to point out +to you the greatness of the despotism and unfairness you have shown +in taking such a serious and also strange step without consulting the +members,” Virginsky, who had been hitherto silent, protested, almost +with indignation. +</p> +<p> +“And so you deny it? But I maintain that you set fire to the town, you +and none but you. Gentlemen, don’t tell lies! I have good evidence. By +your rashness you exposed the common cause to danger. You are only one +knot in an endless network of knots—and your duty is blind obedience to +the centre. Yet three men of you incited the Shpigulin men to set fire +to the town without the least instruction to do so, and the fire has +taken place.” +</p> +<p> +“What three? What three of us?” +</p> +<p> +“The day before yesterday, at three o’clock in the night, you, +Tolkatchenko, were inciting Fomka Zavyalov at the ‘Forget-me-not.’” +</p> +<p> +“Upon my word!” cried the latter, jumping up, “I scarcely said a word +to him, and what I did say was without intention, simply because he had +been flogged that morning. And I dropped it at once; I saw he was too +drunk. If you had not referred to it I should not have thought of it +again. A word could not set the place on fire.” +</p> +<p> +“You are like a man who should be surprised that a tiny spark could blow +a whole powder magazine into the air.” +</p> +<p> +“I spoke in a whisper in his ear, in a corner; how could you have heard +of it?” +</p> +<p> +Tolkatchenko reflected suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“I was sitting there under the table. Don’t disturb yourselves, +gentlemen; I know every step you take. You smile sarcastically, Mr. +Liputin? But I know, for instance, that you pinched your wife black and +blue at midnight, three days ago, in your bedroom as you were going to +bed.” +</p> +<p> +Liputin’s mouth fell open and he turned pale. (It was afterwards found +out that he knew of this exploit of Liputin’s from Agafya, Liputin’s +servant, whom he had paid from the beginning to spy on him; this only +came out later.) +</p> +<p> +“May I state a fact?” said Shigalov, getting up. +</p> +<p> +“State it.” +</p> +<p> +Shigalov sat down and pulled himself together. +</p> +<p> +“So far as I understand—and it’s impossible not to understand it—you +yourself at first and a second time later, drew with great eloquence, +but too theoretically, a picture of Russia covered with an endless +network of knots. Each of these centres of activity, proselytising +and ramifying endlessly, aims by systematic denunciation to injure the +prestige of local authority, to reduce the villages to confusion, +to spread cynicism and scandals, together with complete disbelief in +everything and an eagerness for something better, and finally, by means +of fires, as a pre-eminently national method, to reduce the country at +a given moment, if need be, to desperation. Are those your words which +I tried to remember accurately? Is that the programme you gave us as the +authorised representative of the central committee, which is to this day +utterly unknown to us and almost like a myth?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s correct, only you are very tedious.” +</p> +<p> +“Every one has a right to express himself in his own way. Giving us +to understand that the separate knots of the general network already +covering Russia number by now several hundred, and propounding the +theory that if every one does his work successfully, all Russia at a +given moment, at a signal …” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, damn it all, I have enough to do without you!” cried Pyotr +Stepanovitch, twisting in his chair. +</p> +<p> +“Very well, I’ll cut it short and I’ll end simply by asking if we’ve +seen the disorderly scenes, we’ve seen the discontent of the people, +we’ve seen and taken part in the downfall of local administration, and +finally, we’ve seen with our own eyes the town on fire? What do you find +amiss? Isn’t that your programme? What can you blame us for?” +</p> +<p> +“Acting on your own initiative!” Pyotr Stepanovitch cried furiously. +“While I am here you ought not to have dared to act without my +permission. Enough. We are on the eve of betrayal, and perhaps to-morrow +or to-night you’ll be seized. So there. I have authentic information.” +</p> +<p> +At this all were agape with astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“You will be arrested not only as the instigators of the fire, but as a +quintet. The traitor knows the whole secret of the network. So you see +what a mess you’ve made of it!” +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin, no doubt,” cried Liputin. +</p> +<p> +“What … why Stavrogin?” Pyotr Stepanovitch seemed suddenly taken aback. +“Hang it all,” he cried, pulling himself together at once, “it’s Shatov! +I believe you all know now that Shatov in his time was one of the +society. I must tell you that, watching him through persons he does +not suspect, I found out to my amazement that he knows all about the +organisation of the network and … everything, in fact. To save +himself from being charged with having formerly belonged, he will give +information against all. He has been hesitating up till now and I have +spared him. Your fire has decided him: he is shaken and will hesitate +no longer. To-morrow we shall be arrested as incendiaries and political +offenders.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it true? How does Shatov know?” The excitement was indescribable. +</p> +<p> +“It’s all perfectly true. I have no right to reveal the source from +which I learnt it or how I discovered it, but I tell you what I can +do for you meanwhile: through one person I can act on Shatov so that +without his suspecting it he will put off giving information, but not +more than for twenty-four hours.” All were silent. +</p> +<p> +“We really must send him to the devil!” Tolkatchenko was the first to +exclaim. +</p> +<p> +“It ought to have been done long ago,” Lyamshin put in malignantly, +striking the table with his fist. +</p> +<p> +“But how is it to be done?” muttered Liputin. Pyotr Stepanovitch at once +took up the question and unfolded his plan. The plan was the following +day at nightfall to draw Shatov away to a secluded spot to hand over +the secret printing press which had been in his keeping and was buried +there, and there “to settle things.” He went into various essential +details which we will omit here, and explained minutely Shatov’s present +ambiguous attitude to the central society, of which the reader knows +already. +</p> +<p> +“That’s all very well,” Liputin observed irresolutely, “but since it +will be another adventure … of the same sort … it will make too great +a sensation.” +</p> +<p> +“No doubt,” assented Pyotr Stepanovitch, “but I’ve provided against +that. We have the means of averting suspicion completely.” +</p> +<p> +And with the same minuteness he told them about Kirillov, of his +intention to shoot himself, and of his promise to wait for a signal from +them and to leave a letter behind him taking on himself anything they +dictated to him (all of which the reader knows already). +</p> +<p> +“His determination to take his own life—a philosophic, or as I should +call it, insane decision—has become known <i>there</i>” Pyotr Stepanovitch +went on to explain. “<i>There</i> not a thread, not a grain of dust is +overlooked; everything is turned to the service of the cause. Foreseeing +how useful it might be and satisfying themselves that his intention was +quite serious, they had offered him the means to come to Russia (he was +set for some reason on dying in Russia), gave him a commission which he +promised to carry out (and he had done so), and had, moreover, bound him +by a promise, as you already know, to commit suicide only when he was +told to. He promised everything. You must note that he belongs to the +organisation on a particular footing and is anxious to be of service; +more than that I can’t tell you. To-morrow, <i>after Shatov’s affair</i>, I’ll +dictate a note to him saying that he is responsible for his death. That +will seem very plausible: they were friends and travelled together to +America, there they quarrelled; and it will all be explained in the +letter … and … and perhaps, if it seems feasible, we might dictate +something more to Kirillov—something about the manifestoes, for +instance, and even perhaps about the fire. But I’ll think about +that. You needn’t worry yourselves, he has no prejudices; he’ll sign +anything.” +</p> +<p> +There were expressions of doubt. It sounded a fantastic story. But they +had all heard more or less about Kirillov; Liputin more than all. +</p> +<p> +“He may change his mind and not want to,” said Shigalov; “he is a madman +anyway, so he is not much to build upon.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be uneasy, gentlemen, he will want to,” Pyotr Stepanovitch +snapped out. “I am obliged by our agreement to give him warning the day +before, so it must be to-day. I invite Liputin to go with me at once to +see him and make certain, and he will tell you, gentlemen, when he comes +back—to-day if need be—whether what I say is true. However,” he broke +off suddenly with intense exasperation, as though he suddenly felt he +was doing people like them too much honour by wasting time in persuading +them, “however, do as you please. If you don’t decide to do it, +the union is broken up—but solely through your insubordination and +treachery. In that case we are all independent from this moment. But +under those circumstances, besides the unpleasantness of Shatov’s +betrayal and its consequences, you will have brought upon yourselves +another little unpleasantness of which you were definitely warned when +the union was formed. As far as I am concerned, I am not much afraid of +you, gentlemen.… Don’t imagine that I am so involved with you.… But +that’s no matter.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, we decide to do it,” Liputin pronounced. +</p> +<p> +“There’s no other way out of it,” muttered Tolkatchenko, “and if only +Liputin confirms about Kirillov, then … +</p> +<p> +“I am against it; with all my soul and strength I protest against such a +murderous decision,” said Virginsky, standing up. +</p> +<p> +“But?” asked Pyotr Stepanovitch.… +</p> +<p> +“<i>But</i> what?” +</p> +<p> +“You said <i>but</i> … and I am waiting.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t think I did say <i>but</i> … I only meant to say that if you decide +to do it, then …” +</p> +<p> +“Then?” +</p> +<p> +Virginsky did not answer. +</p> +<p> +“I think that one is at liberty to neglect danger to one’s own life,” +said Erkel, suddenly opening his mouth, “but if it may injure the cause, +then I consider one ought not to dare to neglect danger to one’s +life.…” +</p> +<p> +He broke off in confusion, blushing. Absorbed as they all were in their +own ideas, they all looked at him in amazement—it was such a surprise +that he too could speak. +</p> +<p> +“I am for the cause,” Virginsky pronounced suddenly. +</p> +<p> +Every one got up. It was decided to communicate once more and make final +arrangements at midday on the morrow, though without meeting. The place +where the printing press was hidden was announced and each was assigned +his part and his duty. Liputin and Pyotr Stepanovitch promptly set off +together to Kirillov. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +All our fellows believed that Shatov was going to betray them; but they +also believed that Pyotr Stepanovitch was playing with them like pawns. +And yet they knew, too, that in any case they would all meet on the spot +next day and that Shatov’s fate was sealed. They suddenly felt like +flies caught in a web by a huge spider; they were furious, but they were +trembling with terror. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch, of course, had treated them badly; it might all have +gone off far more harmoniously and easily if he had taken the trouble +to embellish the facts ever so little. Instead of putting the facts in a +decorous light, as an exploit worthy of ancient Rome or something of the +sort, he simply appealed to their animal fears and laid stress on the +danger to their own skins, which was simply insulting; of course there +was a struggle for existence in everything and there was no other +principle in nature, they all knew that, but still.… +</p> +<p> +But Pyotr Stepanovitch had no time to trot out the Romans; he was +completely thrown out of his reckoning. Stavrogin’s flight had astounded +and crushed him. It was a lie when he said that Stavrogin had seen the +vice-governor; what worried Pyotr Stepanovitch was that Stavrogin had +gone off without seeing anyone, even his mother—and it was certainly +strange that he had been allowed to leave without hindrance. +(The authorities were called to account for it afterwards.) Pyotr +Stepanovitch had been making inquiries all day, but so far had found out +nothing, and he had never been so upset. And how could he, how could he +give up Stavrogin all at once like this! That was why he could not +be very tender with the quintet. Besides, they tied his hands: he had +already decided to gallop after Stavrogin at once; and meanwhile he was +detained by Shatov; he had to cement the quintet together once for all, +in case of emergency. “Pity to waste them, they might be of use.” That, +I imagine, was his way of reasoning. +</p> +<p> +As for Shatov, Pyotr Stepanovitch was firmly convinced that he would +betray them. All that he had told the others about it was a lie: he had +never seen the document nor heard of it, but he thought it as certain as +that twice two makes four. It seemed to him that what had happened—the +death of Liza, the death of Marya Timofyevna—would be too much for +Shatov, and that he would make up his mind at once. Who knows? perhaps +he had grounds for supposing it. It is known, too, that he hated Shatov +personally; there had at some time been a quarrel between them, and +Pyotr Stepanovitch never forgave an offence. I am convinced, indeed, +that this was his leading motive. +</p> +<p> +We have narrow brick pavements in our town, and in some streets only +raised wooden planks instead of a pavement. Pyotr Stepanovitch walked +in the middle of the pavement, taking up the whole of it, utterly +regardless of Liputin, who had no room to walk beside him and so had to +hurry a step behind or run in the muddy road if he wanted to speak to +him. Pyotr Stepanovitch suddenly remembered how he had lately splashed +through the mud to keep pace with Stavrogin, who had walked, as he was +doing now, taking up the whole pavement. He recalled the whole scene, +and rage choked him. +</p> +<p> +But Liputin, too, was choking with resentment. Pyotr Stepanovitch might +treat the others as he liked, but him! Why, he knew more than all the +rest, was in closer touch with the work and taking more intimate part +in it than anyone, and hitherto his services had been continual, though +indirect. Oh, he knew that even now Pyotr Stepanovitch might ruin him <i>if +it came to the worst.</i> But he had long hated Pyotr Stepanovitch, and not +because he was a danger but because of his overbearing manner. Now, when +he had to make up his mind to such a deed, he raged inwardly more than +all the rest put together. Alas! he knew that next day “like a slave” +he would be the first on the spot and would bring the others, and if +he could somehow have murdered Pyotr Stepanovitch before the morrow, +without ruining himself, of course, he would certainly have murdered +him. +</p> +<p> +Absorbed in his sensations, he trudged dejectedly after his tormentor, +who seemed to have forgotten his existence, though he gave him a +rude and careless shove with his elbow now and then. Suddenly Pyotr +Stepanovitch halted in one of the principal thoroughfares and went into +a restaurant. +</p> +<p> +“What are you doing?” cried Liputin, boiling over. “This is a +restaurant.” +</p> +<p> +“I want a beefsteak.” +</p> +<p> +“Upon my word! It is always full of people.” +</p> +<p> +“What if it is?” +</p> +<p> +“But … we shall be late. It’s ten o’clock already.” +</p> +<p> +“You can’t be too late to go there.” +</p> +<p> +“But I shall be late! They are expecting me back.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, let them; but it would be stupid of you to go to them. With all +your bobbery I’ve had no dinner. And the later you go to Kirillov’s the +more sure you are to find him.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch went to a room apart. Liputin sat in an easy chair on +one side, angry and resentful, and watched him eating. Half an hour +and more passed. Pyotr Stepanovitch did not hurry himself; he ate with +relish, rang the bell, asked for a different kind of mustard, then for +beer, without saying a word to Liputin. He was pondering deeply. He was +capable of doing two things at once—eating with relish and pondering +deeply. Liputin loathed him so intensely at last that he could not tear +himself away. It was like a nervous obsession. He counted every morsel +of beefsteak that Pyotr Stepanovitch put into his mouth; he loathed him +for the way he opened it, for the way he chewed, for the way he smacked +his lips over the fat morsels, he loathed the steak itself. At last +things began to swim before his eyes; he began to feel slightly giddy; +he felt hot and cold run down his spine by turns. +</p> +<p> +“You are doing nothing; read that,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch suddenly, +throwing him a sheet of paper. Liputin went nearer to the candle. The +paper was closely covered with bad handwriting, with corrections in +every line. By the time he had mastered it Pyotr Stepanovitch had paid +his bill and was ready to go. When they were on the pavement Liputin +handed him back the paper. +</p> +<p> +“Keep it; I’ll tell you afterwards.… What do you say to it, though?” +</p> +<p> +Liputin shuddered all over. +</p> +<p> +“In my opinion … such a manifesto … is nothing but a ridiculous +absurdity.” +</p> +<p> +His anger broke out; he felt as though he were being caught up and +carried along. +</p> +<p> +“If we decide to distribute such manifestoes,” he said, quivering +all over, “we’ll make ourselves, contemptible by our stupidity and +incompetence.” +</p> +<p> +“H’m! I think differently,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, walking on +resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“So do I; surely it isn’t your work?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s not your business.” +</p> +<p> +“I think too that doggerel, ‘A Noble Personality,’ is the most utter +trash possible, and it couldn’t have been written by Herzen.” +</p> +<p> +“You are talking nonsense; it’s a good poem.” +</p> +<p> +“I am surprised, too, for instance,” said Liputin, still dashing along +with desperate leaps, “that it is suggested that we should act so as +to bring everything to the ground. It’s natural in Europe to wish to +destroy everything because there’s a proletariat there, but we are only +amateurs here and in my opinion are only showing off.” +</p> +<p> +“I thought you were a Fourierist.” +</p> +<p> +“Fourier says something quite different, quite different.” +</p> +<p> +“I know it’s nonsense.” +</p> +<p> +“No, Fourier isn’t nonsense.… Excuse me, I can’t believe that there +will be a rising in May.” +</p> +<p> +Liputin positively unbuttoned his coat, he was so hot. +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s enough; but now, that I mayn’t forget it,” said Pyotr +Stepanovitch, passing with extraordinary coolness to another subject, +“you will have to print this manifesto with your own hands. We’re going +to dig up Shatov’s printing press, and you will take it to-morrow. As +quickly as possible you must print as many copies as you can, and then +distribute them all the winter. The means will be provided. You must +do as many copies as possible, for you’ll be asked for them from other +places.” +</p> +<p> +“No, excuse me; I can’t undertake such a … I decline.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ll take it all the same. I am acting on the instructions of the +central committee, and you are bound to obey.” +</p> +<p> +“And I consider that our centres abroad have forgotten what Russia is +like and have lost all touch, and that’s why they talk such +nonsense.… I even think that instead of many hundreds of quintets in +Russia, we are the only one that exists, and there is no network at +all,” Liputin gasped finally. +</p> +<p> +“The more contemptible of you, then, to run after the cause without +believing in it … and you are running after me now like a mean little +cur.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I’m not. We have a full right to break off and found a new +society.” +</p> +<p> +“Fool!” Pyotr Stepanovitch boomed at him threateningly all of a sudden, +with flashing eyes. +</p> +<p> +They stood facing one another for some time. Pyotr Stepanovitch turned +and pursued his way confidently. +</p> +<p> +The idea flashed through Liputin’s mind, “Turn and go back; if I don’t +turn now I shall never go back.” He pondered this for ten steps, but at +the eleventh a new and desperate idea flashed into his mind: he did not +turn and did not go back. +</p> +<p> +They were approaching Filipov’s house, but before reaching it they +turned down a side street, or, to be more accurate, an inconspicuous +path under a fence, so that for some time they had to walk along a steep +slope above a ditch where they could not keep their footing without +holding the fence. At a dark corner in the slanting fence Pyotr +Stepanovitch took out a plank, leaving a gap, through which he promptly +scrambled. Liputin was surprised, but he crawled through after him; then +they replaced the plank after them. This was the secret way by which +Fedka used to visit Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“Shatov mustn’t know that we are here,” Pyotr Stepanovitch whispered +sternly to Liputin. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +Kirillov was sitting on his leather sofa drinking tea, as he always was +at that hour. He did not get up to meet them, but gave a sort of start +and looked at the new-comers anxiously. +</p> +<p> +“You are not mistaken,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, “it’s just that I’ve +come about.” +</p> +<p> +“To-day?” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, to-morrow … about this time.” And he hurriedly sat down at +the table, watching Kirillov’s agitation with some uneasiness. But the +latter had already regained his composure and looked as usual. +</p> +<p> +“These people still refuse to believe in you. You are not vexed at my +bringing Liputin?” +</p> +<p> +“To-day I am not vexed; to-morrow I want to be alone.” +</p> +<p> +“But not before I come, and therefore in my presence.” +</p> +<p> +“I should prefer not in your presence.” +</p> +<p> +“You remember you promised to write and to sign all I dictated.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t care. And now will you be here long?” +</p> +<p> +“I have to see one man and to remain half an hour, so whatever you say I +shall stay that half-hour.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov did not speak. Liputin meanwhile sat down on one side under the +portrait of the bishop. That last desperate idea gained more and more +possession of him. Kirillov scarcely noticed him. Liputin had heard +of Kirillov’s theory before and always laughed at him; but now he was +silent and looked gloomily round him. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve no objection to some tea,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, moving up. +“I’ve just had some steak and was reckoning on getting tea with you.” +</p> +<p> +“Drink it. You can have some if you like.” +</p> +<p> +“You used to offer it to me,” observed Pyotr Stepanovitch sourly. +</p> +<p> +“That’s no matter. Let Liputin have some too.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I … can’t.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t want to or can’t?” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, turning quickly to +him. +</p> +<p> +“I am not going to here,” Liputin said expressively. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch frowned. +</p> +<p> +“There’s a flavour of mysticism about that; goodness knows what to make +of you people!” +</p> +<p> +No one answered; there was a full minute of silence. +</p> +<p> +“But I know one thing,” he added abruptly, “that no superstition will +prevent any one of us from doing his duty.” +</p> +<p> +“Has Stavrogin gone?” asked Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“He’s done well.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch’s eyes gleamed, but he restrained himself. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t care what you think as long as every one keeps his word.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll keep my word.” +</p> +<p> +“I always knew that you would do your duty like an independent and +progressive man.” +</p> +<p> +“You are an absurd fellow.” +</p> +<p> +“That may be; I am very glad to amuse you. I am always glad if I can +give people pleasure.” +</p> +<p> +“You are very anxious I should shoot myself and are afraid I might +suddenly not?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, you see, it was your own doing—connecting your plan with our +work. Reckoning on your plan we have already done something, so that you +couldn’t refuse now because you’ve let us in for it.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve no claim at all.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand, I understand; you are perfectly free, and we don’t come +in so long as your free intention is carried out.” +</p> +<p> +“And am I to take on myself all the nasty things you’ve done?” +</p> +<p> +“Listen, Kirillov, are you afraid? If you want to cry off, say so at +once.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not afraid.” +</p> +<p> +“I ask because you are making so many inquiries.” +</p> +<p> +“Are you going soon?” +</p> +<p> +“Asking questions again?” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov scanned him contemptuously. +</p> +<p> +“You see,” Pyotr Stepanovitch went on, getting angrier and angrier, and +unable to take the right tone, “you want me to go away, to be alone, to +concentrate yourself, but all that’s a bad sign for you—for you above +all. You want to think a great deal. To my mind you’d better not think. +And really you make me uneasy.” +</p> +<p> +“There’s only one thing I hate, that at such a moment I should have a +reptile like you beside me.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, that doesn’t matter. I’ll go away at the time and stand on the +steps if you like. If you are so concerned about trifles when it comes +to dying, then … it’s all a very bad sign. I’ll go out on to the +steps and you can imagine I know nothing about it, and that I am a man +infinitely below you.” +</p> +<p> +“No, not infinitely; you’ve got abilities, but there’s a lot you don’t +understand because you are a low man.” +</p> +<p> +“Delighted, delighted. I told you already I am delighted to provide +entertainment … at such a moment.” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t understand anything.” +</p> +<p> +“That is, I … well, I listen with respect, anyway.” +</p> +<p> +“You can do nothing; even now you can’t hide your petty spite, though +it’s not to your interest to show it. You’ll make me cross, and then I +may want another six months.” Pyotr Stepanovitch looked at his watch. +“I never understood your theory, but I know you didn’t invent it for our +sakes, so I suppose you would carry it out apart from us. And I know too +that you haven’t mastered the idea but the idea has mastered you, so you +won’t put it off.” +</p> +<p> +“What? The idea has mastered me?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“And not I mastered the idea? That’s good. You have a little sense. Only +you tease me and I am proud.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a good thing, that’s a good thing. Just what you need, to be +proud.” +</p> +<p> +“Enough. You’ve drunk your tea; go away.” +</p> +<p> +“Damn it all, I suppose I must”—Pyotr Stepanovitch got up—“though +it’s early. Listen, Kirillov. Shall I find that man—you know whom I +mean—at Myasnitchiha’s? Or has she too been lying?” +</p> +<p> +“You won’t find him, because he is here and not there.” +</p> +<p> +“Here! Damn it all, where?” +</p> +<p> +“Sitting in the kitchen, eating and drinking.” +</p> +<p> +“How dared he?” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, flushing angrily. “It was his +duty to wait … what nonsense! He has no passport, no money!” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know. He came to say good-bye; he is dressed and ready. He +is going away and won’t come back. He says you are a scoundrel and he +doesn’t want to wait for your money.” +</p> +<p> +“Ha ha! He is afraid that I’ll … But even now I can … if … Where is +he, in the kitchen?” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov opened a side door into a tiny dark room; from this room three +steps led straight to the part of the kitchen where the cook’s bed was +usually put, behind the partition. Here, in the corner under the ikons, +Fedka was sitting now, at a bare deal table. Before him stood a +pint bottle, a plate of bread, and some cold beef and potatoes on an +earthenware dish. He was eating in a leisurely way and was already half +drunk, but he was wearing his sheep-skin coat and was evidently ready +for a journey. A samovar was boiling the other side of the screen, but +it was not for Fedka, who had every night for a week or more zealously +blown it up and got it ready for “Alexey Nilitch, for he’s such a habit +of drinking tea at nights.” I am strongly disposed to believe that, +as Kirillov had not a cook, he had cooked the beef and potatoes that +morning with his own hands for Fedka. +</p> +<p> +“What notion is this?” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, whisking into the room. +“Why didn’t you wait where you were ordered?” +</p> +<p> +And swinging his fist, he brought it down heavily on the table. +</p> +<p> +Fedka assumed an air of dignity. +</p> +<p> +“You wait a bit, Pyotr Stepanovitch, you wait a bit,” he began, with a +swaggering emphasis on each word, “it’s your first duty to understand +here that you are on a polite visit to Mr. Kirillov, Alexey Nilitch, +whose boots you might clean any day, because beside you he is a man of +culture and you are only—foo!” +</p> +<p> +And he made a jaunty show of spitting to one side. Haughtiness and +determination were evident in his manner, and a certain very threatening +assumption of argumentative calm that suggested an outburst to follow. +But Pyotr Stepanovitch had no time to realise the danger, and it did not +fit in with his preconceived ideas. The incidents and disasters of the +day had quite turned his head. Liputin, at the top of the three steps, +stared inquisitively down from the little dark room. +</p> +<p> +“Do you or don’t you want a trustworthy passport and good money to go +where you’ve been told? Yes or no?” +</p> +<p> +“D’you see, Pyotr Stepanovitch, you’ve been deceiving me from the first, +and so you’ve been a regular scoundrel to me. For all the world like a +filthy human louse—that’s how I look on you. You’ve promised me a lot +of money for shedding innocent blood and swore it was for Mr. Stavrogin, +though it turns out to be nothing but your want of breeding. I didn’t +get a farthing out of it, let alone fifteen hundred, and Mr. Stavrogin +hit you in the face, which has come to our ears. Now you are threatening +me again and promising me money—what for, you don’t say. And I +shouldn’t wonder if you are sending me to Petersburg to plot some +revenge in your spite against Mr. Stavrogin, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, +reckoning on my simplicity. And that proves you are the chief murderer. +And do you know what you deserve for the very fact that in the depravity +of your heart you’ve given up believing in God Himself, the true +Creator? You are no better than an idolater and are on a level with +the Tatar and the Mordva. Alexey Nilitch, who is a philosopher, has +expounded the true God, the Creator, many a time to you, as well as the +creation of the world and the fate that’s to come and the transformation +of every sort of creature and every sort of beast out of the Apocalypse, +but you’ve persisted like a senseless idol in your deafness and your +dumbness and have brought Ensign Erkel to the same, like the veriest +evil seducer and so-called atheist.…” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, you drunken dog! He strips the ikons of their setting and then +preaches about God!” +</p> +<p> +“D’you see, Pyotr Stepanovitch, I tell you truly that I have stripped +the ikons, but I only took out the pearls; and how do you know? Perhaps +my own tear was transformed into a pearl in the furnace of the Most High +to make up for my sufferings, seeing I am just that very orphan, having +no daily refuge. Do you know from the books that once, in ancient times, +a merchant with just such tearful sighs and prayers stole a pearl from +the halo of the Mother of God, and afterwards, in the face of all the +people, laid the whole price of it at her feet, and the Holy Mother +sheltered him with her mantle before all the people, so that it was a +miracle, and the command was given through the authorities to write it +all down word for word in the Imperial books. And you let a mouse in, +so you insulted the very throne of God. And if you were not my natural +master, whom I dandled in my arms when I was a stripling, I would have +done for you now, without budging from this place!” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch flew into a violent rage. +</p> +<p> +“Tell me, have you seen Stavrogin to-day?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t you dare to question me. Mr. Stavrogin is fairly amazed at you, +and he had no share in it even in wish, let alone instructions or giving +money. You’ve presumed with me.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ll get the money and you’ll get another two thousand in Petersburg, +when you get there, in a lump sum, and you’ll get more.” +</p> +<p> +“You are lying, my fine gentleman, and it makes me laugh to see how +easily you are taken in. Mr. Stavrogin stands at the top of the ladder +above you, and you yelp at him from below like a silly puppy dog, while +he thinks it would be doing you an honour to spit at you.” +</p> +<p> +“But do you know,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch in a rage, “that I won’t +let you stir a step from here, you scoundrel, and I’ll hand you straight +over to the police.” +</p> +<p> +Fedka leapt on to his feet and his eyes gleamed with fury. Pyotr +Stepanovitch pulled out his revolver. Then followed a rapid and +revolting scene: before Pyotr Stepanovitch could take aim, Fedka swung +round and in a flash struck him on the cheek with all his might. Then +there was the thud of a second blow, a third, then a fourth, all on the +cheek. Pyotr Stepanovitch was dazed; with his eyes starting out of his +head, he muttered something, and suddenly crashed full length to the +ground. +</p> +<p> +“There you are; take him,” shouted Fedka with a triumphant swagger; he +instantly took up his cap, his bag from under the bench, and was gone. +Pyotr Stepanovitch lay gasping and unconscious. Liputin even imagined +that he had been murdered. Kirillov ran headlong into the kitchen. +</p> +<p> +“Water!” he cried, and ladling some water in an iron dipper from a +bucket, he poured it over the injured man’s head. Pyotr Stepanovitch +stirred, raised his head, sat up, and looked blankly about him. +</p> +<p> +“Well, how are you?” asked Kirillov. Pyotr Stepanovitch looked at him +intently, still not recognising him; but seeing Liputin peeping in from +the kitchen, he smiled his hateful smile and suddenly got up, picking up +his revolver from the floor. +</p> +<p> +“If you take it into your head to run away to-morrow like that scoundrel +Stavrogin,” he cried, pouncing furiously on Kirillov, pale, stammering, +and hardly able to articulate his words, “I’ll hang you … like a +fly … or crush you … if it’s at the other end of the world … do you +understand!” +</p> +<p> +And he held the revolver straight at Kirillov’s head; but almost at the +same minute, coming completely to himself, he drew back his hand, thrust +the revolver into his pocket, and without saying another word ran out of +the house. Liputin followed him. They clambered through the same gap and +again walked along the slope holding to the fence. Pyotr Stepanovitch +strode rapidly down the street so that Liputin could scarcely keep up +with him. At the first crossing he suddenly stopped. +</p> +<p> +“Well?” He turned to Liputin with a challenge. +</p> +<p> +Liputin remembered the revolver and was still trembling all over after +the scene he had witnessed; but the answer seemed to come of itself +irresistibly from his tongue: +</p> +<p> +“I think … I think that …” +</p> +<p> +“Did you see what Fedka was drinking in the kitchen?” +</p> +<p> +“What he was drinking? He was drinking vodka.” +</p> +<p> +“Well then, let me tell you it’s the last time in his life he will drink +vodka. I recommend you to remember that and reflect on it. And now go to +hell; you are not wanted till to-morrow. But mind now, don’t be a fool!” +</p> +<p> +Liputin rushed home full speed. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +He had long had a passport in readiness made out in a false name. It +seems a wild idea that this prudent little man, the petty despot of +his family, who was, above all things, a sharp man of business and a +capitalist, and who was an official too (though he was a Fourierist), +should long before have conceived the fantastic project of procuring +this passport in case of emergency, that he might escape abroad by means +of it <i>if</i> … he did admit the possibility of this if, though no doubt he +was never able himself to formulate what this <i>if</i> might mean. +</p> +<p> +But now it suddenly formulated itself, and in a most unexpected way. +That desperate idea with which he had gone to Kirillov’s after that +“fool” he had heard from Pyotr Stepanovitch on the pavement, had been +to abandon everything at dawn next day and to emigrate abroad. If anyone +doubts that such fantastic incidents occur in everyday Russian life, +even now, let him look into the biographies of all the Russian exiles +abroad. Not one of them escaped with more wisdom or real justification. +It has always been the unrestrained domination of phantoms and nothing +more. +</p> +<p> +Running home, he began by locking himself in, getting out his travelling +bag, and feverishly beginning to pack. His chief anxiety was the +question of money, and how much he could rescue from the impending +ruin—and by what means. He thought of it as “rescuing,” for it seemed +to him that he could not linger an hour, and that by daylight he must +be on the high road. He did not know where to take the train either; he +vaguely determined to take it at the second or third big station from +the town, and to make his way there on foot, if necessary. In that way, +instinctively and mechanically he busied himself in his packing with a +perfect whirl of ideas in his head—and suddenly stopped short, gave it +all up, and with a deep groan stretched himself on the sofa. +</p> +<p> +He felt clearly, and suddenly realised that he might escape, but that +he was by now utterly incapable of deciding whether he ought to make off +<i>before or after</i> Shatov’s death; that he was simply a lifeless body, a +crude inert mass; that he was being moved by an awful outside power; and +that, though he had a passport to go abroad, that though he could run +away from Shatov (otherwise what need was there of such haste?), yet he +would run away, not from Shatov, not before his murder, but <i>after</i> it, +and that that was determined, signed, and sealed. +</p> +<p> +In insufferable distress, trembling every instant and wondering at +himself, alternately groaning aloud and numb with terror, he managed to +exist till eleven o’clock next morning locked in and lying on the sofa; +then came the shock he was awaiting, and it at once determined him. When +he unlocked his door and went out to his household at eleven o’clock +they told him that the runaway convict and brigand, Fedka, who was a +terror to every one, who had pillaged churches and only lately been +guilty of murder and arson, who was being pursued and could not be +captured by our police, had been found at daybreak murdered, five miles +from the town, at a turning off the high road, and that the whole town +was talking of it already. He rushed headlong out of the house at once +to find out further details, and learned, to begin with, that Fedka, who +had been found with his skull broken, had apparently been robbed and, +secondly, that the police already had strong suspicion and even good +grounds for believing that the murderer was one of the Shpigulin men +called Fomka, the very one who had been his accomplice in murdering the +Lebyadkins and setting fire to their house, and that there had been a +quarrel between them on the road about a large sum of money stolen from +Lebyadkin, which Fedka was supposed to have hidden. Liputin ran to Pyotr +Stepanovitch’s lodgings and succeeded in learning at the back door, on +the sly, that though Pyotr Stepanovitch had not returned home till about +one o’clock at night, he had slept there quietly all night till eight +o’clock next morning. Of course, there could be no doubt that there was +nothing extraordinary about Fedka’s death, and that such careers usually +have such an ending; but the coincidence of the fatal words that “it was +the last time Fedka would drink vodka,” with the prompt fulfilment of +the prediction, was so remarkable that Liputin no longer hesitated. The +shock had been given; it was as though a stone had fallen upon him and +crushed him forever. Returning home, he thrust his travelling-bag under +the bed without a word, and in the evening at the hour fixed he was the +first to appear at the appointed spot to meet Shatov, though it’s true +he still had his passport in his pocket. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0020"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER V. A WANDERER +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +THE CATASTROPHE WITH Liza and the death of Marya Timofyevna made an +overwhelming impression on Shatov. I have already mentioned that that +morning I met him in passing; he seemed to me not himself. He told me +among other things that on the evening before at nine o’clock (that +is, three hours before the fire had broken out) he had been at Marya +Timofyevna’s. He went in the morning to look at the corpses, but as far +as I know gave no evidence of any sort that morning. Meanwhile, towards +the end of the day there was a perfect tempest in his soul, and … I +think I can say with certainty that there was a moment at dusk when he +wanted to get up, go out and tell everything. What that <i>everything</i> was, +no one but he could say. Of course he would have achieved nothing, and +would have simply betrayed himself. He had no proofs whatever with which +to convict the perpetrators of the crime, and, indeed, he had nothing +but vague conjectures to go upon, though to him they amounted to +complete certainty. But he was ready to ruin himself if he could only +“crush the scoundrels”—his own words. Pyotr Stepanovitch had guessed +fairly correctly at this impulse in him, and he knew himself that he +was risking a great deal in putting off the execution of his new +awful project till next day. On his side there was, as usual, great +self-confidence and contempt for all these “wretched creatures” and for +Shatov in particular. He had for years despised Shatov for his “whining +idiocy,” as he had expressed it in former days abroad, and he was +absolutely confident that he could deal with such a guileless creature, +that is, keep an eye on him all that day, and put a check on him at the +first sign of danger. Yet what saved “the scoundrels” for a short time +was something quite unexpected which they had not foreseen.… +</p> +<p> +Towards eight o’clock in the evening (at the very time when the quintet +was meeting at Erkel’s, and waiting in indignation and excitement for +Pyotr Stepanovitch) Shatov was lying in the dark on his bed with a +headache and a slight chill; he was tortured by uncertainty, he was +angry, he kept making up his mind, and could not make it up finally, and +felt, with a curse, that it would all lead to nothing. Gradually he sank +into a brief doze and had something like a nightmare. He dreamt that +he was lying on his bed, tied up with cords and unable to stir, and +meantime he heard a terrible banging that echoed all over the house, a +banging on the fence, at the gate, at his door, in Kirillov’s lodge, +so that the whole house was shaking, and a far-away familiar voice that +wrung his heart was calling to him piteously. He suddenly woke and sat +up in bed. To his surprise the banging at the gate went on, though +not nearly so violent as it had seemed in his dream. The knocks were +repeated and persistent, and the strange voice “that wrung his heart” +could still be heard below at the gate, though not piteously but angrily +and impatiently, alternating with another voice, more restrained and +ordinary. He jumped up, opened the casement pane and put his head out. +</p> +<p> +“Who’s there?” he called, literally numb with terror. +</p> +<p> +“If you are Shatov,” the answer came harshly and resolutely from below, +“be so good as to tell me straight out and honestly whether you agree to +let me in or not?” +</p> +<p> +It was true: he recognised the voice! +</p> +<p> +“Marie!… Is it you?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, Marya Shatov, and I assure you I can’t keep the driver a +minute longer.” +</p> +<p> +“This minute … I’ll get a candle,” Shatov cried faintly. Then he rushed +to look for the matches. The matches, as always happens at such moments, +could not be found. He dropped the candlestick and the candle on the +floor and as soon as he heard the impatient voice from below again, he +abandoned the search and dashed down the steep stairs to open the gate. +</p> +<p> +“Be so good as to hold the bag while I settle with this blockhead,” was +how Madame Marya Shatov greeted him below, and she thrust into his hands +a rather light cheap canvas handbag studded with brass nails, of Dresden +manufacture. She attacked the driver with exasperation. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me to tell you, you are asking too much. If you’ve been driving +me for an extra hour through these filthy streets, that’s your fault, +because it seems you didn’t know where to find this stupid street and +imbecile house. Take your thirty kopecks and make up your mind that +you’ll get nothing more.” +</p> +<p> +“Ech, lady, you told me yourself Voznesensky Street and this is +Bogoyavlensky; Voznesensky is ever so far away. You’ve simply put the +horse into a steam.” +</p> +<p> +“Voznesensky, Bogoyavlensky—you ought to know all those stupid names +better than I do, as you are an inhabitant; besides, you are unfair, I +told you first of all Filipov’s house and you declared you knew it. In +any case you can have me up to-morrow in the local court, but now I beg +you to let me alone.” +</p> +<p> +“Here, here’s another five kopecks.” With eager haste Shatov pulled a +five-kopeck piece out of his pocket and gave it to the driver. +</p> +<p> +“Do me a favour, I beg you, don’t dare to do that!” Madame Shatov flared +up, but the driver drove off and Shatov, taking her hand, drew her +through the gate. +</p> +<p> +“Make haste, Marie, make haste … that’s no matter, and … you are wet +through. Take care, we go up here—how sorry I am there’s no light—the +stairs are steep, hold tight, hold tight! Well, this is my room. Excuse +my having no light … One minute!” +</p> +<p> +He picked up the candlestick but it was a long time before the matches +were found. Madame Shatov stood waiting in the middle of the room, +silent and motionless. +</p> +<p> +“Thank God, here they are at last!” he cried joyfully, lighting up the +room. Marya Shatov took a cursory survey of his abode. +</p> +<p> +“They told me you lived in a poor way, but I didn’t expect it to be +as bad as this,” she pronounced with an air of disgust, and she moved +towards the bed. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I am tired!” she sat down on the hard bed, with an exhausted air. +“Please put down the bag and sit down on the chair yourself. Just as you +like though; you are in the way standing there. I have come to you for +a time, till I can get work, because I know nothing of this place and I +have no money. But if I shall be in your way I beg you again, be so good +as to tell me so at once, as you are bound to do if you are an honest +man. I could sell something to-morrow and pay for a room at an hotel, +but you must take me to the hotel yourself.… Oh, but I am tired!” +</p> +<p> +Shatov was all of a tremor. +</p> +<p> +“You mustn’t, Marie, you mustn’t go to an hotel! An hotel! What for? +What for?” +</p> +<p> +He clasped his hands imploringly.… +</p> +<p> +“Well, if I can get on without the hotel … I must, any way, explain the +position. Remember, Shatov, that we lived in Geneva as man and wife for +a fortnight and a few days; it’s three years since we parted, without +any particular quarrel though. But don’t imagine that I’ve come back +to renew any of the foolishness of the past. I’ve come back to look for +work, and that I’ve come straight to this town is just because it’s all +the same to me. I’ve not come to say I am sorry for anything; please +don’t imagine anything so stupid as that.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Marie! This is unnecessary, quite unnecessary,” Shatov muttered +vaguely. +</p> +<p> +“If so, if you are so far developed as to be able to understand that, I +may allow myself to add, that if I’ve come straight to you now and am +in your lodging, it’s partly because I always thought you were far +from being a scoundrel and were perhaps much better than other … +blackguards!” +</p> +<p> +Her eyes flashed. She must have had to bear a great deal at the hands of +some “blackguards.” +</p> +<p> +“And please believe me, I wasn’t laughing at you just now when I told +you you were good. I spoke plainly, without fine phrases and I can’t +endure them. But that’s all nonsense. I always hoped you would have +sense enough not to pester me.… Enough, I am tired.” +</p> +<p> +And she bent on him a long, harassed and weary gaze. Shatov stood +facing her at the other end of the room, which was five paces away, and +listened to her timidly with a look of new life and unwonted radiance +on his face. This strong, rugged man, all bristles on the surface, +was suddenly all softness and shining gladness. There was a thrill +of extraordinary and unexpected feeling in his soul. Three years of +separation, three years of the broken marriage had effaced nothing from +his heart. And perhaps every day during those three years he had dreamed +of her, of that beloved being who had once said to him, “I love you.” +Knowing Shatov I can say with certainty that he could never have allowed +himself even to dream that a woman might say to him, “I love you.” +He was savagely modest and chaste, he looked on himself as a perfect +monster, detested his own face as well as his character, compared +himself to some freak only fit to be exhibited at fairs. Consequently +he valued honesty above everything and was fanatically devoted to his +convictions; he was gloomy, proud, easily moved to wrath, and sparing +of words. But here was the one being who had loved him for a fortnight +(that he had never doubted, never!), a being he had always considered +immeasurably above him in spite of his perfectly sober understanding of +her errors; a being to whom he could forgive everything, <i>everything</i> (of +that there could be no question; indeed it was quite the other way, his +idea was that he was entirely to blame); this woman, this Marya Shatov, +was in his house, in his presence again … it was almost inconceivable! +He was so overcome, there was so much that was terrible and at the same +time so much happiness in this event that he could not, perhaps would +not—perhaps was afraid to—realise the position. It was a dream. But +when she looked at him with that harassed gaze he suddenly understood +that this woman he loved so dearly was suffering, perhaps had been +wronged. His heart went cold. He looked at her features with anguish: +the first bloom of youth had long faded from this exhausted face. It’s +true that she was still good-looking—in his eyes a beauty, as she had +always been. In reality she was a woman of twenty-five, rather strongly +built, above the medium height (taller than Shatov), with abundant dark +brown hair, a pale oval face, and large dark eyes now glittering with +feverish brilliance. But the light-hearted, naïve and good-natured +energy he had known so well in the past was replaced now by a sullen +irritability and disillusionment, a sort of cynicism which was not yet +habitual to her herself, and which weighed upon her. But the chief thing +was that she was ill, that he could see clearly. In spite of the awe in +which he stood of her he suddenly went up to her and took her by both +hands. +</p> +<p> +“Marie … you know … you are very tired, perhaps, for God’s sake, don’t +be angry.… If you’d consent to have some tea, for instance, eh? Tea +picks one up so, doesn’t it? If you’d consent!” +</p> +<p> +“Why talk about consenting! Of course I consent, what a baby you are +still. Get me some if you can. How cramped you are here. How cold it +is!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I’ll get some logs for the fire directly, some logs … I’ve got +logs.” Shatov was all astir. “Logs … that is … but I’ll get tea +directly,” he waved his hand as though with desperate determination and +snatched up his cap. +</p> +<p> +“Where are you going? So you’ve no tea in the house?” +</p> +<p> +“There shall be, there shall be, there shall be, there shall be +everything directly.… I …” he took his revolver from the shelf, “I’ll +sell this revolver directly … or pawn it.…” +</p> +<p> +“What foolishness and what a time that will take! Take my money if +you’ve nothing, there’s eighty kopecks here, I think; that’s all I have. +This is like a madhouse.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want your money, I don’t want it I’ll be here directly, in one +instant. I can manage without the revolver.…” +</p> +<p> +And he rushed straight to Kirillov’s. This was probably two hours before +the visit of Pyotr Stepanovitch and Liputin to Kirillov. Though Shatov +and Kirillov lived in the same yard they hardly ever saw each other, and +when they met they did not nod or speak: they had been too long “lying +side by side” in America.… +</p> +<p> +“Kirillov, you always have tea; have you got tea and a samovar?” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov, who was walking up and down the room, as he was in the habit +of doing all night, stopped and looked intently at his hurried visitor, +though without much surprise. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve got tea and sugar and a samovar. But there’s no need of the +samovar, the tea is hot. Sit down and simply drink it.” +</p> +<p> +“Kirillov, we lay side by side in America.… My wife has come to me … +I … give me the tea.… I shall want the samovar.” +</p> +<p> +“If your wife is here you want the samovar. But take it later. I’ve +two. And now take the teapot from the table. It’s hot, boiling hot. Take +everything, take the sugar, all of it. Bread … there’s plenty of bread; +all of it. There’s some veal. I’ve a rouble.” +</p> +<p> +“Give it me, friend, I’ll pay it back to-morrow! Ach, Kirillov!” +</p> +<p> +“Is it the same wife who was in Switzerland? That’s a good thing. And +your running in like this, that’s a good thing too.” +</p> +<p> +“Kirillov!” cried Shatov, taking the teapot under his arm and carrying +the bread and sugar in both hands. “Kirillov, if … if you could get rid +of your dreadful fancies and give up your atheistic ravings … oh, what +a man you’d be, Kirillov!” +</p> +<p> +“One can see you love your wife after Switzerland. It’s a good thing you +do—after Switzerland. When you want tea, come again. You can come all +night, I don’t sleep at all. There’ll be a samovar. Take the rouble, +here it is. Go to your wife, I’ll stay here and think about you and your +wife.” +</p> +<p> +Marya Shatov was unmistakably pleased at her husband’s haste and fell +upon the tea almost greedily, but there was no need to run for the +samovar; she drank only half a cup and swallowed a tiny piece of bread. +The veal she refused with disgust and irritation. +</p> +<p> +“You are ill, Marie, all this is a sign of illness,” Shatov remarked +timidly as he waited upon her. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I’m ill, please sit down. Where did you get the tea if you +haven’t any?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov told her about Kirillov briefly. She had heard something of him. +</p> +<p> +“I know he is mad; say no more, please; there are plenty of fools. So +you’ve been in America? I heard, you wrote.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I … I wrote to you in Paris.” +</p> +<p> +“Enough, please talk of something else. Are you a Slavophil in your +convictions?” +</p> +<p> +“I … I am not exactly.… Since I cannot be a Russian, I became a +Slavophil.” He smiled a wry smile with the effort of one who feels he +has made a strained and inappropriate jest. +</p> +<p> +“Why, aren’t you a Russian?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I’m not.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s all foolishness. Do sit down, I entreat you. Why are you +all over the place? Do you think I am lightheaded? Perhaps I shall be. +You say there are only you two in the house.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.… Downstairs …” +</p> +<p> +“And both such clever people. What is there downstairs? You said +downstairs?” +</p> +<p> +“No, nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“Why nothing? I want to know.” +</p> +<p> +“I only meant to say that now we are only two in the yard, but that the +Lebyadkins used to live downstairs.…” +</p> +<p> +“That woman who was murdered last night?” she started suddenly. “I heard +of it. I heard of it as soon as I arrived. There was a fire here, wasn’t +there?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Marie, yes, and perhaps I am doing a scoundrelly thing this moment +in forgiving the scoundrels.…” He stood up suddenly and paced about +the room, raising his arms as though in a frenzy. +</p> +<p> +But Marie had not quite understood him. She heard his answers +inattentively; she asked questions but did not listen. +</p> +<p> +“Fine things are being done among you! Oh, how contemptible it all is! +What scoundrels men all are! But do sit down, I beg you, oh, how you +exasperate me!” and she let her head sink on the pillow, exhausted. +</p> +<p> +“Marie, I won’t.… Perhaps you’ll lie down, Marie?” She made no answer +and closed her eyes helplessly. Her pale face looked death-like. She +fell asleep almost instantly. Shatov looked round, snuffed the candle, +looked uneasily at her face once more, pressed his hands tight in front +of him and walked on tiptoe out of the room into the passage. At the +top of the stairs he stood in the corner with his face to the wall and +remained so for ten minutes without sound or movement. He would have +stood there longer, but he suddenly caught the sound of soft cautious +steps below. Someone was coming up the stairs. Shatov remembered he had +forgotten to fasten the gate. +</p> +<p> +“Who’s there?” he asked in a whisper. The unknown visitor went on slowly +mounting the stairs without answering. When he reached the top he stood +still; it was impossible to see his face in the dark; suddenly Shatov +heard the cautious question: +</p> +<p> +“Ivan Shatov?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov said who he was, but at once held out his hand to check his +advance. The latter took his hand, and Shatov shuddered as though he had +touched some terrible reptile. +</p> +<p> +“Stand here,” he whispered quickly. “Don’t go in, I can’t receive you +just now. My wife has come back. I’ll fetch the candle.” +</p> +<p> +When he returned with the candle he found a young officer standing +there; he did not know his name but he had seen him before. +</p> +<p> +“Erkel,” said the lad, introducing himself. “You’ve seen me at +Virginsky’s.” +</p> +<p> +“I remember; you sat writing. Listen,” said Shatov in sudden excitement, +going up to him frantically, but still talking in a whisper. “You gave +me a sign just now when you took my hand. But you know I can treat all +these signals with contempt! I don’t acknowledge them.… I don’t want +them.… I can throw you downstairs this minute, do you know that?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I know nothing about that and I don’t know what you are in such a +rage about,” the visitor answered without malice and almost ingenuously. +“I have only to give you a message, and that’s what I’ve come for, being +particularly anxious not to lose time. You have a printing press which +does not belong to you, and of which you are bound to give an account, +as you know yourself. I have received instructions to request you to +give it up to-morrow at seven o’clock in the evening to Liputin. I have +been instructed to tell you also that nothing more will be asked of +you.” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing?” +</p> +<p> +“Absolutely nothing. Your request is granted, and you are struck off our +list. I was instructed to tell you that positively.” +</p> +<p> +“Who instructed you to tell me?” +</p> +<p> +“Those who told me the sign.” +</p> +<p> +“Have you come from abroad?” +</p> +<p> +“I … I think that’s no matter to you.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, hang it! Why didn’t you come before if you were told to?” +</p> +<p> +“I followed certain instructions and was not alone.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand, I understand that you were not alone. Eh … hang it! But +why didn’t Liputin come himself?” +</p> +<p> +“So I shall come for you to-morrow at exactly six o’clock in the +evening, and we’ll go there on foot. There will be no one there but us +three.” +</p> +<p> +“Will Verhovensky be there?” +</p> +<p> +“No, he won’t. Verhovensky is leaving the town at eleven o’clock +to-morrow morning.” +</p> +<p> +“Just what I thought!” Shatov whispered furiously, and he struck his +fist on his hip. “He’s run off, the sneak!” +</p> +<p> +He sank into agitated reflection. Erkel looked intently at him and +waited in silence. +</p> +<p> +“But how will you take it? You can’t simply pick it up in your hands and +carry it.” +</p> +<p> +“There will be no need to. You’ll simply point out the place and we’ll +just make sure that it really is buried there. We only know whereabouts +the place is, we don’t know the place itself. And have you pointed the +place out to anyone else yet?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov looked at him. +</p> +<p> +“You, you, a chit of a boy like you, a silly boy like you, you too have +got caught in that net like a sheep? Yes, that’s just the young blood +they want! Well, go along. E-ech! that scoundrel’s taken you all in and +run away.” +</p> +<p> +Erkel looked at him serenely and calmly but did not seem to understand. +</p> +<p> +“Verhovensky, Verhovensky has run away!” Shatov growled fiercely. +</p> +<p> +“But he is still here, he is not gone away. He is not going till +to-morrow,” Erkel observed softly and persuasively. “I particularly +begged him to be present as a witness; my instructions all referred to +him (he explained frankly like a young and inexperienced boy). But I +regret to say he did not agree on the ground of his departure, and he +really is in a hurry.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov glanced compassionately at the simple youth again, but suddenly +gave a gesture of despair as though he thought “they are not worth +pitying.” +</p> +<p> +“All right, I’ll come,” he cut him short. “And now get away, be off.” +</p> +<p> +“So I’ll come for you at six o’clock punctually.” Erkel made a courteous +bow and walked deliberately downstairs. +</p> +<p> +“Little fool!” Shatov could not help shouting after him from the top. +</p> +<p> +“What is it?” responded the lad from the bottom. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing, you can go.” +</p> +<p> +“I thought you said something.” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +Erkel was a “little fool” who was only lacking in the higher form +of reason, the ruling power of the intellect; but of the lesser, the +subordinate reasoning faculties, he had plenty—even to the point of +cunning. Fanatically, childishly devoted to “the cause” or rather in +reality to Pyotr Verhovensky, he acted on the instructions given to him +when at the meeting of the quintet they had agreed and had distributed +the various duties for the next day. When Pyotr Stepanovitch gave him +the job of messenger, he succeeded in talking to him aside for ten +minutes. +</p> +<p> +A craving for active service was characteristic of this shallow, +unreflecting nature, which was forever yearning to follow the lead +of another man’s will, of course for the good of “the common” or “the +great” cause. Not that that made any difference, for little fanatics +like Erkel can never imagine serving a cause except by identifying +it with the person who, to their minds, is the expression of it. The +sensitive, affectionate and kind-hearted Erkel was perhaps the most +callous of Shatov’s would-be murderers, and, though he had no personal +spite against him, he would have been present at his murder without the +quiver of an eyelid. He had been instructed, for instance, to have a +good look at Shatov’s surroundings while carrying out his commission, +and when Shatov, receiving him at the top of the stairs, blurted out to +him, probably unaware in the heat of the moment, that his wife had come +back to him—Erkel had the instinctive cunning to avoid displaying the +slightest curiosity, though the idea flashed through his mind that the +fact of his wife’s return was of great importance for the success of +their undertaking. +</p> +<p> +And so it was in reality; it was only that fact that saved the +“scoundrels” from Shatov’s carrying out his intention, and at the same +time helped them “to get rid of him.” To begin with, it agitated Shatov, +threw him out of his regular routine, and deprived him of his usual +clear-sightedness and caution. Any idea of his own danger would be the +last thing to enter his head at this moment when he was absorbed with +such different considerations. On the contrary, he eagerly believed that +Pyotr Verhovensky was running away the next day: it fell in exactly with +his suspicions! Returning to the room he sat down again in a corner, +leaned his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands. Bitter +thoughts tormented him.… +</p> +<p> +Then he would raise his head again and go on tiptoe to look at her. +“Good God! she will be in a fever by to-morrow morning; perhaps it’s +begun already! She must have caught cold. She is not accustomed to this +awful climate, and then a third-class carriage, the storm, the rain, and +she has such a thin little pelisse, no wrap at all.… And to leave +her like this, to abandon her in her helplessness! Her bag, too, her +bag—what a tiny, light thing, all crumpled up, scarcely weighs ten +pounds! Poor thing, how worn out she is, how much she’s been through! +She is proud, that’s why she won’t complain. But she is irritable, very +irritable. It’s illness; an angel will grow irritable in illness. What +a dry forehead, it must be hot—how dark she is under the eyes, +and … and yet how beautiful the oval of her face is and her rich hair, +how …” +</p> +<p> +And he made haste to turn away his eyes, to walk away as though he were +frightened at the very idea of seeing in her anything but an unhappy, +exhausted fellow-creature who needed <i>help</i>—“how could he think of +<i>hopes</i>, oh, how mean, how base is man!” And he would go back to his +corner, sit down, hide his face in his hands and again sink into dreams +and reminiscences … and again he was haunted by hopes. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I am tired, I am tired,” he remembered her exclamations, her +weak broken voice. “Good God! Abandon her now, and she has only eighty +kopecks; she held out her purse, a tiny old thing! She’s come to look +for a job. What does she know about jobs? What do they know about +Russia? Why, they are like naughty children, they’ve nothing but their +own fancies made up by themselves, and she is angry, poor thing, +that Russia is not like their foreign dreams! The luckless, innocent +creatures!… It’s really cold here, though.” +</p> +<p> +He remembered that she had complained, that he had promised to heat the +stove. “There are logs here, I can fetch them if only I don’t wake her. +But I can do it without waking her. But what shall I do about the veal? +When she gets up perhaps she will be hungry.… Well, that will do +later: Kirillov doesn’t go to bed all night. What could I cover her +with, she is sleeping so soundly, but she must be cold, ah, she must be +cold!” And once more he went to look at her; her dress had worked up +a little and her right leg was half uncovered to the knee. He suddenly +turned away almost in dismay, took off his warm overcoat, and, remaining +in his wretched old jacket, covered it up, trying not to look at it. +</p> +<p> +A great deal of time was spent in righting the fire, stepping about +on tiptoe, looking at the sleeping woman, dreaming in the corner, then +looking at her again. Two or three hours had passed. During that time +Verhovensky and Liputin had been at Kirillov’s. At last he, too, began +to doze in the corner. He heard her groan; she waked up and called him; +he jumped up like a criminal. +</p> +<p> +“Marie, I was dropping asleep.… Ah, what a wretch I am, Marie!” +</p> +<p> +She sat up, looking about her with wonder, seeming not to recognise +where she was, and suddenly leapt up in indignation and anger. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve taken your bed, I fell asleep so tired I didn’t know what I was +doing; how dared you not wake me? How could you dare imagine I meant to +be a burden to you?” +</p> +<p> +“How could I wake you, Marie?” +</p> +<p> +“You could, you ought to have! You’ve no other bed here, and I’ve taken +yours. You had no business to put me into a false position. Or do you +suppose that I’ve come to take advantage of your charity? Kindly get +into your bed at once and I’ll lie down in the corner on some chairs.” +</p> +<p> +“Marie, there aren’t chairs enough, and there’s nothing to put on them.” +</p> +<p> +“Then simply oil the floor. Or you’ll have to lie on the floor yourself. +I want to lie on the floor at once, at once!” +</p> +<p> +She stood up, tried to take a step, but suddenly a violent spasm of pain +deprived her of all power and all determination, and with a loud groan +she fell back on the bed. Shatov ran up, but Marie, hiding her face in +the pillow, seized his hand and gripped and squeezed it with all her +might. This lasted a minute. +</p> +<p> +“Marie darling, there’s a doctor Frenzel living here, a friend of +mine.… I could run for him.” +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense!” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by nonsense? Tell me, Marie, what is it hurting you? +For we might try fomentations … on the stomach for instance.… I can +do that without a doctor.… Or else mustard poultices.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s this,” she asked strangely, raising her head and looking at him +in dismay. +</p> +<p> +“What’s what, Marie?” said Shatov, not understanding. “What are you +asking about? Good heavens! I am quite bewildered, excuse my not +understanding.” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, let me alone; it’s not your business to understand. And it would +be too absurd …” she said with a bitter smile. “Talk to me about +something. Walk about the room and talk. Don’t stand over me and don’t +look at me, I particularly ask you that for the five-hundredth time!” +</p> +<p> +Shatov began walking up and down the room, looking at the floor, and +doing his utmost not to glance at her. +</p> +<p> +“There’s—don’t be angry, Marie, I entreat you—there’s some veal here, +and there’s tea not far off.… You had so little before.” +</p> +<p> +She made an angry gesture of disgust. Shatov bit his tongue in despair. +</p> +<p> +“Listen, I intend to open a bookbinding business here, on rational +co-operative principles. Since you live here what do you think of it, +would it be successful?” +</p> +<p> +“Ech, Marie, people don’t read books here, and there are none here at +all. And are they likely to begin binding them!” +</p> +<p> +“Who are they?” +</p> +<p> +“The local readers and inhabitants generally, Marie.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, speak more clearly. <i>They</i> indeed, and one doesn’t know who +they are. You don’t know grammar!” +</p> +<p> +“It’s in the spirit of the language,” Shatov muttered. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, get along with your spirit, you bore me. Why shouldn’t the local +inhabitant or reader have his books bound?” +</p> +<p> +“Because reading books and having them bound are two different stages of +development, and there’s a vast gulf between them. To begin with, a man +gradually gets used to reading, in the course of ages of course, but +takes no care of his books and throws them about, not thinking them +worth attention. But binding implies respect for books, and implies +that not only he has grown fond of reading, but that he looks upon it as +something of value. That period has not been reached anywhere in Russia +yet. In Europe books have been bound for a long while.” +</p> +<p> +“Though that’s pedantic, anyway, it’s not stupid, and reminds me of the +time three years ago; you used to be rather clever sometimes three years +ago.” +</p> +<p> +She said this as disdainfully as her other capricious remarks. +</p> +<p> +“Marie, Marie,” said Shatov, turning to her, much moved, “oh, Marie! +If you only knew how much has happened in those three years! I heard +afterwards that you despised me for changing my convictions. But what +are the men I’ve broken with? The enemies of all true life, out-of-date +Liberals who are afraid of their own independence, the flunkeys +of thought, the enemies of individuality and freedom, the decrepit +advocates of deadness and rottenness! All they have to offer is +senility, a glorious mediocrity of the most bourgeois kind, contemptible +shallowness, a jealous equality, equality without individual dignity, +equality as it’s understood by flunkeys or by the French in ’93. And +the worst of it is there are swarms of scoundrels among them, swarms of +scoundrels!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, there are a lot of scoundrels,” she brought out abruptly with +painful effort. She lay stretched out, motionless, as though afraid +to move, with her head thrown back on the pillow, rather on one side, +staring at the ceiling with exhausted but glowing eyes. Her face was +pale, her lips were dry and hot. +</p> +<p> +“You recognise it, Marie, you recognise it,” cried Shatov. She tried to +shake her head, and suddenly the same spasm came over her again. Again +she hid her face in the pillow, and again for a full minute she squeezed +Shatov’s hand till it hurt. He had run up, beside himself with alarm. +</p> +<p> +“Marie, Marie! But it may be very serious, Marie!” +</p> +<p> +“Be quiet … I won’t have it, I won’t have it,” she screamed almost +furiously, turning her face upwards again. “Don’t dare to look at me +with your sympathy! Walk about the room, say something, talk.…” +</p> +<p> +Shatov began muttering something again, like one distraught. +</p> +<p> +“What do you do here?” she asked, interrupting him with contemptuous +impatience. +</p> +<p> +“I work in a merchant’s office. I could get a fair amount of money even +here if I cared to, Marie.” +</p> +<p> +“So much the better for you.…” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, don’t suppose I meant anything, Marie. I said it without thinking.” +</p> +<p> +“And what do you do besides? What are you preaching? You can’t exist +without preaching, that’s your character!” +</p> +<p> +“I am preaching God, Marie.” +</p> +<p> +“In whom you don’t believe yourself. I never could see the idea of that.” +</p> +<p> +“Let’s leave that, Marie; we’ll talk of that later.” +</p> +<p> +“What sort of person was this Marya Timofyevna here?” +</p> +<p> +“We’ll talk of that later too, Marie.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t dare to say such things to me! Is it true that her death may have +been caused by … the wickedness … of these people?” +</p> +<p> +“Not a doubt of it,” growled Shatov. +</p> +<p> +Marie suddenly raised her head and cried out painfully: +</p> +<p> +“Don’t dare speak of that to me again, don’t dare to, never, never!” +</p> +<p> +And she fell back in bed again, overcome by the same convulsive agony; +it was the third time, but this time her groans were louder, in fact she +screamed. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you insufferable man! Oh, you unbearable man,” she cried, tossing +about recklessly, and pushing away Shatov as he bent over her. +</p> +<p> +“Marie, I’ll do anything you like.… I’ll walk about and talk.…” +</p> +<p> +“Surely you must see that it has begun!” +</p> +<p> +“What’s begun, Marie?” +</p> +<p> +“How can I tell! Do I know anything about it?… I curse myself! Oh, +curse it all from the beginning!” +</p> +<p> +“Marie, if you’d tell me what’s beginning … or else I … if you don’t, +what am I to make of it?” +</p> +<p> +“You are a useless, theoretical babbler. Oh, curse everything on earth!” +</p> +<p> +“Marie, Marie!” He seriously thought that she was beginning to go mad. +</p> +<p> +“Surely you must see that I am in the agonies of childbirth,” she said, +sitting up and gazing at him with a terrible, hysterical vindictiveness +that distorted her whole face. “I curse him before he is born, this +child!” +</p> +<p> +“Marie,” cried Shatov, realising at last what it meant. “Marie … but +why didn’t you tell me before.” He pulled himself together at once and +seized his cap with an air of vigorous determination. +</p> +<p> +“How could I tell when I came in here? Should I have come to you if I’d +known? I was told it would be another ten days! Where are you going?… +Where are you going? You mustn’t dare!” +</p> +<p> +“To fetch a midwife! I’ll sell the revolver. We must get money before +anything else now.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t dare to do anything, don’t dare to fetch a midwife! Bring a +peasant woman, any old woman, I’ve eighty kopecks in my purse.… +Peasant women have babies without midwives.… And if I die, so much the +better.…” +</p> +<p> +“You shall have a midwife and an old woman too. But how am I to leave +you alone, Marie!” +</p> +<p> +But reflecting that it was better to leave her alone now in spite of +her desperate state than to leave her without help later, he paid +no attention to her groans, nor her angry exclamations, but rushed +downstairs, hurrying all he could. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +First of all he went to Kirillov. It was by now about one o’clock in the +night. Kirillov was standing in the middle of the room. +</p> +<p> +“Kirillov, my wife is in childbirth.” +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Childbirth, bearing a child!” +</p> +<p> +“You … are not mistaken?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no, no, she is in agonies! I want a woman, any old woman, I must +have one at once.… Can you get one now? You used to have a lot of old +women.…” +</p> +<p> +“Very sorry that I am no good at childbearing,” Kirillov answered +thoughtfully; “that is, not at childbearing, but at doing anything for +childbearing … or … no, I don’t know how to say it.” +</p> +<p> +“You mean you can’t assist at a confinement yourself? But that’s not +what I’ve come for. An old woman, I want a woman, a nurse, a servant!” +</p> +<p> +“You shall have an old woman, but not directly, perhaps … If you like +I’ll come instead.…” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, impossible; I am running to Madame Virginsky, the midwife, now.” +</p> +<p> +“A horrid woman!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, Kirillov, yes, but she is the best of them all. Yes, it’ll all +be without reverence, without gladness, with contempt, with abuse, with +blasphemy in the presence of so great a mystery, the coming of a new +creature! Oh, she is cursing it already!” +</p> +<p> +“If you like I’ll …” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, but while I’m running (oh, I’ll make Madame Virginsky come), +will you go to the foot of my staircase and quietly listen? But don’t +venture to go in, you’ll frighten her; don’t go in on any account, you +must only listen … in case anything dreadful happens. If anything very +bad happens, then run in.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand. I’ve another rouble. Here it is. I meant to have a fowl +to-morrow, but now I don’t want to, make haste, run with all your might. +There’s a samovar all the night.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov knew nothing of the present design against Shatov, nor had he +had any idea in the past of the degree of danger that threatened him. +He only knew that Shatov had some old scores with “those people,” +and although he was to some extent involved with them himself through +instructions he had received from abroad (not that these were of +much consequence, however, for he had never taken any direct share in +anything), yet of late he had given it all up, having left off doing +anything especially for the “cause,” and devoted himself entirely to a +life of contemplation. Although Pyotr Stepanovitch had at the meeting +invited Liputin to go with him to Kirillov’s to make sure that the +latter would take upon himself, at a given moment, the responsibility +for the “Shatov business,” yet in his interview with Kirillov he had +said no word about Shatov nor alluded to him in any way—probably +considering it impolitic to do so, and thinking that Kirillov could +not be relied upon. He put off speaking about it till next day, when it +would be all over and would therefore not matter to Kirillov; such at +least was Pyotr Stepanovitch’s judgment of him. Liputin, too, was +struck by the fact that Shatov was not mentioned in spite of what Pyotr +Stepanovitch had promised, but he was too much agitated to protest. +</p> +<p> +Shatov ran like a hurricane to Virginsky’s house, cursing the distance +and feeling it endless. +</p> +<p> +He had to knock a long time at Virginsky’s; every one had been asleep a +long while. But Shatov did not scruple to bang at the shutters with +all his might. The dog chained up in the yard dashed about barking +furiously. The dogs caught it up all along the street, and there was a +regular babel of barking. +</p> +<p> +“Why are you knocking and what do you want?” Shatov heard at the window +at last Virginsky’s gentle voice, betraying none of the resentment +appropriate to the “outrage.” The shutter was pushed back a little and +the casement was opened. +</p> +<p> +“Who’s there, what scoundrel is it?” shrilled a female voice which +betrayed all the resentment appropriate to the “outrage.” It was the old +maid, Virginsky’s relation. +</p> +<p> +“I am Shatov, my wife has come back to me and she is just confined.…” +</p> +<p> +“Well, let her be, get along.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve come for Arina Prohorovna; I won’t go without Arina Prohorovna!” +</p> +<p> +“She can’t attend to every one. Practice at night is a special line. +Take yourself off to Maksheyev’s and don’t dare to make that din,” +rattled the exasperated female voice. He could hear Virginsky checking +her; but the old maid pushed him away and would not desist. +</p> +<p> +“I am not going away!” Shatov cried again. +</p> +<p> +“Wait a little, wait a little,” Virginsky cried at last, overpowering +the lady. “I beg you to wait five minutes, Shatov. I’ll wake Arina +Prohorovna. Please don’t knock and don’t shout.… Oh, how awful it all +is!” +</p> +<p> +After five endless minutes, Arina Prohorovna made her appearance. +</p> +<p> +“Has your wife come?” Shatov heard her voice at the window, and to his +surprise it was not at all ill-tempered, only as usual peremptory, but +Arina Prohorovna could not speak except in a peremptory tone. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my wife, and she is in labour.” +</p> +<p> +“Marya Ignatyevna?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Marya Ignatyevna. Of course it’s Marya Ignatyevna.” +</p> +<p> +A silence followed. Shatov waited. He heard a whispering in the house. +</p> +<p> +“Has she been here long?” Madame Virginsky asked again. +</p> +<p> +“She came this evening at eight o’clock. Please make haste.” +</p> +<p> +Again he heard whispering, as though they were consulting. “Listen, you +are not making a mistake? Did she send you for me herself?” +</p> +<p> +“No, she didn’t send for you, she wants a peasant woman, so as not to +burden me with expense, but don’t be afraid, I’ll pay you.” +</p> +<p> +“Very good, I’ll come, whether you pay or not. I always thought highly +of Marya Ignatyevna for the independence of her sentiments, though +perhaps she won’t remember me. Have you got the most necessary things?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve nothing, but I’ll get everything, everything.” +</p> +<p> +“There is something generous even in these people,” Shatov reflected, +as he set off to Lyamshin’s. “The convictions and the man are two very +different things, very likely I’ve been very unfair to them!… We are +all to blame, we are all to blame … and if only all were convinced of +it!” +</p> +<p> +He had not to knock long at Lyamshin’s; the latter, to Shatov’s +surprise, opened his casement at once, jumping out of bed, barefoot +and in his night-clothes at the risk of catching cold; and he was +hypochondriacal and always anxious about his health. But there was +a special cause for such alertness and haste: Lyamshin had been in a +tremor all the evening, and had not been able to sleep for excitement +after the meeting of the quintet; he was haunted by the dread +of uninvited and undesired visitors. The news of Shatov’s giving +information tormented him more than anything.… And suddenly there +was this terrible loud knocking at the window as though to justify his +fears. +</p> +<p> +He was so frightened at seeing Shatov that he at once slammed the +casement and jumped back into bed. Shatov began furiously knocking and +shouting. +</p> +<p> +“How dare you knock like that in the middle of the night?” shouted +Lyamshin, in a threatening voice, though he was numb with fear, when at +least two minutes later he ventured to open the casement again, and was +at last convinced that Shatov had come alone. +</p> +<p> +“Here’s your revolver for you; take it back, give me fifteen roubles.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s the matter, are you drunk? This is outrageous, I shall simply +catch cold. Wait a minute, I’ll just throw my rug over me.” +</p> +<p> +“Give me fifteen roubles at once. If you don’t give it me, I’ll knock +and shout till daybreak; I’ll break your window-frame.” +</p> +<p> +“And I’ll shout police and you’ll be taken to the lock-up.” +</p> +<p> +“And am I dumb? Can’t I shout ‘police’ too? Which of us has most reason +to be afraid of the police, you or I?” +</p> +<p> +“And you can hold such contemptible opinions! I know what you are +hinting at.… Stop, stop, for God’s sake don’t go on knocking! Upon my +word, who has money at night? What do you want money for, unless you are +drunk?” +</p> +<p> +“My wife has come back. I’ve taken ten roubles off the price, I haven’t +fired it once; take the revolver, take it this minute!” +</p> +<p> +Lyamshin mechanically put his hand out of the casement and took the +revolver; he waited a little, and suddenly thrusting his head out of the +casement, and with a shiver running down his spine, faltered as though +he were beside himself. +</p> +<p> +“You are lying, your wife hasn’t come back to you.… It’s … it’s +simply that you want to run away.” +</p> +<p> +“You are a fool. Where should I run to? It’s for your Pyotr Verhovensky +to run away, not for me. I’ve just been to the midwife, Madame +Virginsky, and she consented at once to come to me. You can ask them. My +wife is in agony; I need the money; give it me!” +</p> +<p> +A swarm of ideas flared up in Lyamshin’s crafty mind like a shower of +fireworks. It all suddenly took a different colour, though still panic +prevented him from reflecting. +</p> +<p> +“But how … you are not living with your wife?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll break your skull for questions like that.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh dear, I understand, forgive me, I was struck all of a heap.… But I +understand, I understand … is Arina Prohorovna really coming? You said +just now that she had gone? You know, that’s not true. You see, you see, +you see what lies you tell at every step.” +</p> +<p> +“By now, she must be with my wife … don’t keep me … it’s not my fault +you are a fool.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a lie, I am not a fool. Excuse me, I really can’t …” +</p> +<p> +And utterly distraught he began shutting the casement again for the +third time, but Shatov gave such a yell that he put his head out again. +</p> +<p> +“But this is simply an unprovoked assault! What do you want of me, what +is it, what is it, formulate it? And think, only think, it’s the middle +of the night!” +</p> +<p> +“I want fifteen roubles, you sheep’s-head!” +</p> +<p> +“But perhaps I don’t care to take back the revolver. You have no right +to force me. You bought the thing and the matter is settled, and you’ve +no right.… I can’t give you a sum like that in the night, anyhow. +Where am I to get a sum like that?” +</p> +<p> +“You always have money. I’ve taken ten roubles off the price, but every +one knows you are a skinflint.” +</p> +<p> +“Come the day after to-morrow, do you hear, the day after to-morrow at +twelve o’clock, and I’ll give you the whole of it, that will do, won’t +it?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov knocked furiously at the window-frame for the third time. +</p> +<p> +“Give me ten roubles, and to-morrow early the other five.” +</p> +<p> +“No, the day after to-morrow the other five, to-morrow I swear I shan’t +have it. You’d better not come, you’d better not come.” +</p> +<p> +“Give me ten, you scoundrel!” +</p> +<p> +“Why are you so abusive. Wait a minute, I must light a candle; you’ve +broken the window.… Nobody swears like that at night. Here you are!” +He held a note to him out of the window. +</p> +<p> +Shatov seized it—it was a note for five roubles. +</p> +<p> +“On my honour I can’t do more, if you were to murder me, I couldn’t; the +day after to-morrow I can give you it all, but now I can do nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not going away!” roared Shatov. +</p> +<p> +“Very well, take it, here’s some more, see, here’s some more, and I +won’t give more. You can shout at the top of your voice, but I won’t +give more, I won’t, whatever happens, I won’t, I won’t.” +</p> +<p> +He was in a perfect frenzy, desperate and perspiring. The two notes +he had just given him were each for a rouble. Shatov had seven roubles +altogether now. +</p> +<p> +“Well, damn you, then, I’ll come to-morrow. I’ll thrash you, Lyamshin, +if you don’t give me the other eight.” +</p> +<p> +“You won’t find me at home, you fool!” Lyamshin reflected quickly. +</p> +<p> +“Stay, stay!” he shouted frantically after Shatov, who was already +running off. “Stay, come back. Tell me please, is it true what you said +that your wife has come back?” +</p> +<p> +“Fool!” cried Shatov, with a gesture of disgust, and ran home as hard as +he could. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +I may mention that Anna Prohorovna knew nothing of the resolutions +that had been taken at the meeting the day before. On returning home +overwhelmed and exhausted, Virginsky had not ventured to tell her of the +decision that had been taken, yet he could not refrain from telling her +half—that is, all that Verhovensky had told them of the certainty of +Shatov’s intention to betray them; but he added at the same time that +he did not quite believe it. Arina Prohorovna was terribly alarmed. This +was why she decided at once to go when Shatov came to fetch her, though +she was tired out, as she had been hard at work at a confinement all the +night before. She had always been convinced that “a wretched creature +like Shatov was capable of any political baseness,” but the arrival of +Marya Ignatyevna put things in a different light. Shatov’s alarm, the +despairing tone of his entreaties, the way he begged for help, clearly +showed a complete change of feeling in the traitor: a man who was ready +to betray himself merely for the sake of ruining others would, she +thought, have had a different air and tone. In short, Arina Prohorovna +resolved to look into the matter for herself, with her own eyes. +Virginsky was very glad of her decision, he felt as though a +hundredweight had been lifted off him! He even began to feel +hopeful: Shatov’s appearance seemed to him utterly incompatible with +Verhovensky’s supposition. +</p> +<p> +Shatov was not mistaken: on getting home he found Arina Prohorovna +already with Marie. She had just arrived, had contemptuously dismissed +Kirillov, whom she found hanging about the foot of the stairs, had +hastily introduced herself to Marie, who had not recognised her as +her former acquaintance, found her in “a very bad way,” that is +ill-tempered, irritable and in “a state of cowardly despair,” and within +five minutes had completely silenced all her protests. +</p> +<p> +“Why do you keep on that you don’t want an expensive midwife?” she was +saying at the moment when Shatov came in. “That’s perfect nonsense, +it’s a false idea arising from the abnormality of your condition. In the +hands of some ordinary old woman, some peasant midwife, you’d have fifty +chances of going wrong and then you’d have more bother and expense than +with a regular midwife. How do you know I am an expensive midwife? You +can pay afterwards; I won’t charge you much and I answer for my success; +you won’t die in my hands, I’ve seen worse cases than yours. And I can +send the baby to a foundling asylum to-morrow, if you like, and then to +be brought up in the country, and that’s all it will mean. And meantime +you’ll grow strong again, take up some rational work, and in a very +short time you’ll repay Shatov for sheltering you and for the expense, +which will not be so great.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s not that … I’ve no right to be a burden.…” +</p> +<p> +“Rational feelings and worthy of a citizen, but you can take my word for +it, Shatov will spend scarcely anything, if he is willing to become ever +so little a man of sound ideas instead of the fantastic person he is. +He has only not to do anything stupid, not to raise an alarm, not to run +about the town with his tongue out. If we don’t restrain him he will be +knocking up all the doctors of the town before the morning; he waked +all the dogs in my street. There’s no need of doctors I’ve said already. +I’ll answer for everything. You can hire an old woman if you like +to wait on you, that won’t cost much. Though he too can do something +besides the silly things he’s been doing. He’s got hands and feet, he +can run to the chemist’s without offending your feelings by being too +benevolent. As though it were a case of benevolence! Hasn’t he brought +you into this position? Didn’t he make you break with the family in +which you were a governess, with the egoistic object of marrying you? We +heard of it, you know … though he did run for me like one possessed and +yell so all the street could hear. I won’t force myself upon anyone and +have come only for your sake, on the principle that all of us are bound +to hold together! And I told him so before I left the house. If you +think I am in the way, good-bye, I only hope you won’t have trouble +which might so easily be averted.” +</p> +<p> +And she positively got up from the chair. Marie was so helpless, in such +pain, and—the truth must be confessed—so frightened of what was before +her that she dared not let her go. But this woman was suddenly hateful +to her, what she said was not what she wanted, there was something quite +different in Marie’s soul. Yet the prediction that she might possibly +die in the hands of an inexperienced peasant woman overcame her +aversion. But she made up for it by being more exacting and more +ruthless than ever with Shatov. She ended by forbidding him not only to +look at her but even to stand facing her. Her pains became more violent. +Her curses, her abuse became more and more frantic. +</p> +<p> +“Ech, we’ll send him away,” Arina Prohorovna rapped out. “I don’t know +what he looks like, he is simply frightening you; he is as white as a +corpse! What is it to you, tell me please, you absurd fellow? What a +farce!” +</p> +<p> +Shatov made no reply, he made up his mind to say nothing. “I’ve seen +many a foolish father, half crazy in such cases. But they, at any +rate …” +</p> +<p> +“Be quiet or leave me to die! Don’t say another word! I won’t have it, I +won’t have it!” screamed Marie. +</p> +<p> +“It’s impossible not to say another word, if you are not out of your +mind, as I think you are in your condition. We must talk of what we +want, anyway: tell me, have you anything ready? You answer, Shatov, she +is incapable.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me what’s needed?” +</p> +<p> +“That means you’ve nothing ready.” She reckoned up all that was quite +necessary, and one must do her the justice to say she only asked for +what was absolutely indispensable, the barest necessaries. Some things +Shatov had. Marie took out her key and held it out to him, for him to +look in her bag. As his hands shook he was longer than he should have +been opening the unfamiliar lock. Marie flew into a rage, but when Arina +Prohorovna rushed up to take the key from him, she would not allow her +on any account to look into her bag and with peevish cries and tears +insisted that no one should open the bag but Shatov. +</p> +<p> +Some things he had to fetch from Kirillov’s. No sooner had Shatov turned +to go for them than she began frantically calling him back and was only +quieted when Shatov had rushed impetuously back from the stairs, and +explained that he should only be gone a minute to fetch something +indispensable and would be back at once. +</p> +<p> +“Well, my lady, it’s hard to please you,” laughed Arina Prohorovna, “one +minute he must stand with his face to the wall and not dare to look at +you, and the next he mustn’t be gone for a minute, or you begin crying. +He may begin to imagine something. Come, come, don’t be silly, don’t +blubber, I was laughing, you know.” +</p> +<p> +“He won’t dare to imagine anything.” +</p> +<p> +“Tut, tut, tut, if he didn’t love you like a sheep he wouldn’t run about +the streets with his tongue out and wouldn’t have roused all the dogs in +the town. He broke my window-frame.” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +V +</p> +<p> +He found Kirillov still pacing up and down his room so preoccupied that +he had forgotten the arrival of Shatov’s wife, and heard what he said +without understanding him. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes!” he recollected suddenly, as though tearing himself with an +effort and only for an instant from some absorbing idea, “yes … an +old woman.… A wife or an old woman? Stay a minute: a wife and an old +woman, is that it? I remember. I’ve been, the old woman will come, only +not just now. Take the pillow. Is there anything else? Yes.… Stay, do +you have moments of the eternal harmony, Shatov?” +</p> +<p> +“You know, Kirillov, you mustn’t go on staying up every night.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov came out of his reverie and, strange to say, spoke far more +coherently than he usually did; it was clear that he had formulated it +long ago and perhaps written it down. +</p> +<p> +“There are seconds—they come five or six at a time—when you suddenly +feel the presence of the eternal harmony perfectly attained. It’s +something not earthly—I don’t mean in the sense that it’s heavenly—but +in that sense that man cannot endure it in his earthly aspect. He must +be physically changed or die. This feeling is clear and unmistakable; +it’s as though you apprehend all nature and suddenly say, ‘Yes, that’s +right.’ God, when He created the world, said at the end of each day +of creation, ‘Yes, it’s right, it’s good.’ It … it’s not being deeply +moved, but simply joy. You don’t forgive anything because there is no +more need of forgiveness. It’s not that you love—oh, there’s something +in it higher than love—what’s most awful is that it’s terribly clear +and such joy. If it lasted more than five seconds, the soul could +not endure it and must perish. In those five seconds I live through a +lifetime, and I’d give my whole life for them, because they are worth +it. To endure ten seconds one must be physically changed. I think man +ought to give up having children—what’s the use of children, what’s the +use of evolution when the goal has been attained? In the gospel it is +written that there will be no child-bearing in the resurrection, but +that men will be like the angels of the Lord. That’s a hint. Is your +wife bearing a child?” +</p> +<p> +“Kirillov, does this often happen?” +</p> +<p> +“Once in three days, or once a week.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t you have fits, perhaps?” +</p> +<p> +“No.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, you will. Be careful, Kirillov. I’ve heard that’s just how fits +begin. An epileptic described exactly that sensation before a fit, word +for word as you’ve done. He mentioned five seconds, too, and said that +more could not be endured. Remember Mahomet’s pitcher from which no drop +of water was spilt while he circled Paradise on his horse. That was a +case of five seconds too; that’s too much like your eternal harmony, and +Mahomet was an epileptic. Be careful, Kirillov, it’s epilepsy!” +</p> +<p> +“It won’t have time,” Kirillov smiled gently. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VI +</p> +<p> +The night was passing. Shatov was sent hither and thither, abused, +called back. Marie was reduced to the most abject terror for life. She +screamed that she wanted to live, that “she must, she must,” and was +afraid to die. “I don’t want to, I don’t want to!” she repeated. If +Arina Prohorovna had not been there, things would have gone very badly. +By degrees she gained complete control of the patient—who began to obey +every word, every order from her like a child. Arina Prohorovna ruled by +sternness not by kindness, but she was first-rate at her work. It began +to get light … Arina Prohorovna suddenly imagined that Shatov had just +run out on to the stairs to say his prayers and began laughing. Marie +laughed too, spitefully, malignantly, as though such laughter relieved +her. At last they drove Shatov away altogether. A damp, cold morning +dawned. He pressed his face to the wall in the corner just as he had +done the evening before when Erkel came. He was trembling like a leaf, +afraid to think, but his mind caught at every thought as it does in +dreams. +</p> +<p> +He was continually being carried away by day-dreams, which snapped off +short like a rotten thread. From the room came no longer groans but +awful animal cries, unendurable, incredible. He tried to stop up his +ears, but could not, and he fell on his knees, repeating unconsciously, +“Marie, Marie!” Then suddenly he heard a cry, a new cry, which made +Shatov start and jump up from his knees, the cry of a baby, a weak +discordant cry. He crossed himself and rushed into the room. Arina +Prohorovna held in her hands a little red wrinkled creature, screaming, +and moving its little arms and legs, fearfully helpless, and looking +as though it could be blown away by a puff of wind, but screaming and +seeming to assert its full right to live. Marie was lying as though +insensible, but a minute later she opened her eyes, and bent a strange, +strange look on Shatov: it was something quite new, that look. What it +meant exactly he was not able to understand yet, but he had never known +such a look on her face before. +</p> +<p> +“Is it a boy? Is it a boy?” she asked Arina Prohorovna in an exhausted +voice. +</p> +<p> +“It is a boy,” the latter shouted in reply, as she bound up the child. +</p> +<p> +When she had bound him up and was about to lay him across the bed +between the two pillows, she gave him to Shatov for a minute to hold. +Marie signed to him on the sly as though afraid of Arina Prohorovna. He +understood at once and brought the baby to show her. +</p> +<p> +“How … pretty he is,” she whispered weakly with a smile. +</p> +<p> +“Foo, what does he look like,” Arina Prohorovna laughed gaily in +triumph, glancing at Shatov’s face. “What a funny face!” +</p> +<p> +“You may be merry, Arina Prohorovna.… It’s a great joy,” Shatov +faltered with an expression of idiotic bliss, radiant at the phrase +Marie had uttered about the child. +</p> +<p> +“Where does the great joy come in?” said Arina Prohorovna +good-humouredly, bustling about, clearing up, and working like a +convict. +</p> +<p> +“The mysterious coming of a new creature, a great and inexplicable +mystery; and what a pity it is, Arina Prohorovna, that you don’t +understand it.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov spoke in an incoherent, stupefied and ecstatic way. Something +seemed to be tottering in his head and welling up from his soul apart +from his own will. +</p> +<p> +“There were two and now there’s a third human being, a new spirit, +finished and complete, unlike the handiwork of man; a new thought and a +new love … it’s positively frightening.… And there’s nothing grander +in the world.” +</p> +<p> +“Ech, what nonsense he talks! It’s simply a further development of +the organism, and there’s nothing else in it, no mystery,” said Arina +Prohorovna with genuine and good-humoured laughter. “If you talk like +that, every fly is a mystery. But I tell you what: superfluous people +ought not to be born. We must first remould everything so that they +won’t be superfluous and then bring them into the world. As it is, we +shall have to take him to the Foundling, the day after to-morrow.… +Though that’s as it should be.” +</p> +<p> +“I will never let him go to the Foundling,” Shatov pronounced +resolutely, staring at the floor. +</p> +<p> +“You adopt him as your son?” +</p> +<p> +“He is my son.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course he is a Shatov, legally he is a Shatov, and there’s no need +for you to pose as a humanitarian. Men can’t get on without fine words. +There, there, it’s all right, but look here, my friends,” she added, +having finished clearing up at last, “it’s time for me to go. I’ll come +again this morning, and again in the evening if necessary, but now, +since everything has gone off so well, I must run off to my other +patients, they’ve been expecting me long ago. I believe you got an old +woman somewhere, Shatov; an old woman is all very well, but don’t you, +her tender husband, desert her; sit beside her, you may be of use; Marya +Ignatyevna won’t drive you away, I fancy.… There, there, I was only +laughing.” +</p> +<p> +At the gate, to which Shatov accompanied her, she added to him alone. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve given me something to laugh at for the rest of my life; I shan’t +charge you anything; I shall laugh at you in my sleep! I have never seen +anything funnier than you last night.” +</p> +<p> +She went off very well satisfied. Shatov’s appearance and conversation +made it as clear as daylight that this man “was going in for being a +father and was a ninny.” She ran home on purpose to tell Virginsky about +it, though it was shorter and more direct to go to another patient. +</p> +<p> +“Marie, she told you not to go to sleep for a little time, though, I +see, it’s very hard for you,” Shatov began timidly. “I’ll sit here by +the window and take care of you, shall I?” +</p> +<p> +And he sat down, by the window behind the sofa so that she could not see +him. But before a minute had passed she called him and fretfully asked +him to arrange the pillow. He began arranging it. She looked angrily at +the wall. +</p> +<p> +“That’s not right, that’s not right.… What hands!” +</p> +<p> +Shatov did it again. +</p> +<p> +“Stoop down to me,” she said wildly, trying hard not to look at him. +</p> +<p> +He started but stooped down. +</p> +<p> +“More … not so … nearer,” and suddenly her left arm was impulsively +thrown round his neck and he felt her warm moist kiss on his forehead. +</p> +<p> +“Marie!” +</p> +<p> +Her lips were quivering, she was struggling with herself, but suddenly +she raised herself and said with flashing eyes: +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Stavrogin is a scoundrel!” And she fell back helplessly with +her face in the pillow, sobbing hysterically, and tightly squeezing +Shatov’s hand in hers. +</p> +<p> +From that moment she would not let him leave her; she insisted on his +sitting by her pillow. She could not talk much but she kept gazing at +him and smiling blissfully. She seemed suddenly to have become a silly +girl. Everything seemed transformed. Shatov cried like a boy, then +talked of God knows what, wildly, crazily, with inspiration, kissed +her hands; she listened entranced, perhaps not understanding him, but +caressingly ruffling his hair with her weak hand, smoothing it and +admiring it. He talked about Kirillov, of how they would now begin “a +new life” for good, of the existence of God, of the goodness of all men.… +She took out the child again to gaze at it rapturously. +</p> +<p> +“Marie,” he cried, as he held the child in his arms, “all the old +madness, shame, and deadness is over, isn’t it? Let us work hard and +begin a new life, the three of us, yes, yes!… Oh, by the way, what +shall we call him, Marie?” +</p> +<p> +“What shall we call him?” she repeated with surprise, and there was a +sudden look of terrible grief in her face. +</p> +<p> +She clasped her hands, looked reproachfully at Shatov and hid her face +in the pillow. +</p> +<p> +“Marie, what is it?” he cried with painful alarm. +</p> +<p> +“How could you, how could you … Oh, you ungrateful man!” +</p> +<p> +“Marie, forgive me, Marie … I only asked you what his name should be. I +don’t know.…” +</p> +<p> +“Ivan, Ivan.” She raised her flushed and tear-stained face. “How could +you suppose we should call him by another <i>horrible</i> name?” +</p> +<p> +“Marie, calm yourself; oh, what a nervous state you are in!” +</p> +<p> +“That’s rude again, putting it down to my nerves. I bet that if I’d said +his name was to be that other … horrible name, you’d have agreed +at once and not have noticed it even! Oh, men, the mean ungrateful +creatures, they are all alike!” +</p> +<p> +A minute later, of course, they were reconciled. Shatov persuaded her to +have a nap. She fell asleep but still kept his hand in hers; she waked +up frequently, looked at him, as though afraid he would go away, and +dropped asleep again. +</p> +<p> +Kirillov sent an old woman “to congratulate them,” as well as some hot +tea, some freshly cooked cutlets, and some broth and white bread for +Marya Ignatyevna. The patient sipped the broth greedily, the old woman +undid the baby’s wrappings and swaddled it afresh, Marie made Shatov +have a cutlet too. +</p> +<p> +Time was passing. Shatov, exhausted, fell asleep himself in his chair, +with his head on Marie’s pillow. So they were found by Arina Prohorovna, +who kept her word. She waked them up gaily, asked Marie some necessary +questions, examined the baby, and again forbade Shatov to leave her. +Then, jesting at the “happy couple,” with a shade of contempt and +superciliousness she went away as well satisfied as before. +</p> +<p> +It was quite dark when Shatov waked up. He made haste to light the +candle and ran for the old woman; but he had hardly begun to go down the +stairs when he was struck by the sound of the soft, deliberate steps of +someone coming up towards him. Erkel came in. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t come in,” whispered Shatov, and impulsively seizing him by the +hand he drew him back towards the gate. “Wait here, I’ll come directly, +I’d completely forgotten you, completely! Oh, how you brought it back!” +</p> +<p> +He was in such haste that he did not even run in to Kirillov’s, but +only called the old woman. Marie was in despair and indignation that “he +could dream of leaving her alone.” +</p> +<p> +“But,” he cried ecstatically, “this is the very last step! And then for +a new life and we’ll never, never think of the old horrors again!” +</p> +<p> +He somehow appeased her and promised to be back at nine o’clock; he +kissed her warmly, kissed the baby and ran down quickly to Erkel. +</p> +<p> +They set off together to Stavrogin’s park at Skvoreshniki, where, in a +secluded place at the very edge of the park where it adjoined the pine +wood, he had, eighteen months before, buried the printing press which +had been entrusted to him. It was a wild and deserted place, quite +hidden and at some distance from the Stavrogins’ house. It was two or +perhaps three miles from Filipov’s house. +</p> +<p> +“Are we going to walk all the way? I’ll take a cab.” +</p> +<p> +“I particularly beg you not to,” replied Erkel. +</p> +<p> +They insisted on that. A cabman would be a witness. +</p> +<p> +“Well … bother! I don’t care, only to make an end of it.” +</p> +<p> +They walked very fast. +</p> +<p> +“Erkel, you little boy,” cried Shatov, “have you ever been happy?” +</p> +<p> +“You seem to be very happy just now,” observed Erkel with curiosity. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0021"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER VI. A BUSY NIGHT +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +During that day Virginsky had spent two hours in running round to +see the members of the quintet and to inform them that Shatov would +certainly not give information, because his wife had come back and given +birth to a child, and no one “who knew anything of human nature” could +suppose that Shatov could be a danger at this moment. But to his +discomfiture he found none of them at home except Erkel and Lyamshin. +Erkel listened in silence, looking candidly into his eyes, and in answer +to the direct question “Would he go at six o’clock or not?” he replied +with the brightest of smiles that “of course he would go.” +</p> +<p> +Lyamshin was in bed, seriously ill, as it seemed, with his head covered +with a quilt. He was alarmed at Virginsky’s coming in, and as soon as +the latter began speaking he waved him off from under the bedclothes, +entreating him to let him alone. He listened to all he said about +Shatov, however, and seemed for some reason extremely struck by the news +that Virginsky had found no one at home. It seemed that Lyamshin +knew already (through Liputin) of Fedka’s death, and hurriedly and +incoherently told Virginsky about it, at which the latter seemed struck +in his turn. To Virginsky’s direct question, “Should they go or not?” he +began suddenly waving his hands again, entreating him to let him alone, +and saying that it was not his business, and that he knew nothing about +it. +</p> +<p> +Virginsky returned home dejected and greatly alarmed. It weighed upon +him that he had to hide it from his family; he was accustomed to tell +his wife everything; and if his feverish brain had not hatched a new +idea at that moment, a new plan of conciliation for further action, he +might have taken to his bed like Lyamshin. But this new idea sustained +him; what’s more, he began impatiently awaiting the hour fixed, and set +off for the appointed spot earlier than was necessary. It was a very +gloomy place at the end of the huge park. I went there afterwards on +purpose to look at it. How sinister it must have looked on that chill +autumn evening! It was at the edge of an old wood belonging to the +Crown. Huge ancient pines stood out as vague sombre blurs in the +darkness. It was so dark that they could hardly see each other two paces +off, but Pyotr Stepanovitch, Liputin, and afterwards Erkel, brought +lanterns with them. At some unrecorded date in the past a rather +absurd-looking grotto had for some reason been built here of rough +unhewn stones. The table and benches in the grotto had long ago decayed +and fallen. Two hundred paces to the right was the bank of the third +pond of the park. These three ponds stretched one after another for +a mile from the house to the very end of the park. One could scarcely +imagine that any noise, a scream, or even a shot, could reach the +inhabitants of the Stavrogins’ deserted house. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s +departure the previous day and Alexey Yegorytch’s absence left only five +or six people in the house, all more or less invalided, so to speak. In +any case it might be assumed with perfect confidence that if cries or +shouts for help were heard by any of the inhabitants of the isolated +house they would only have excited terror; no one would have moved from +his warm stove or snug shelf to give assistance. +</p> +<p> +By twenty past six almost all of them except Erkel, who had been told +off to fetch Shatov, had turned up at the trysting-place. This time +Pyotr Stepanovitch was not late; he came with Tolkatchenko. Tolkatchenko +looked frowning and anxious; all his assumed determination and insolent +bravado had vanished. He scarcely left Pyotr Stepanovitch’s side, and +seemed to have become all at once immensely devoted to him. He was +continually thrusting himself forward to whisper fussily to him, but the +latter scarcely answered him, or muttered something irritably to get rid +of him. +</p> +<p> +Shigalov and Virginsky had arrived rather before Pyotr Stepanovitch, and +as soon as he came they drew a little apart in profound and obviously +intentional silence. Pyotr Stepanovitch raised his lantern and examined +them with unceremonious and insulting minuteness. “They mean to speak,” +flashed through his mind. +</p> +<p> +“Isn’t Lyamshin here?” he asked Virginsky. “Who said he was ill?” +</p> +<p> +“I am here,” responded Lyamshin, suddenly coming from behind a tree. +He was in a warm greatcoat and thickly muffled in a rug, so that it was +difficult to make out his face even with a lantern. +</p> +<p> +“So Liputin is the only one not here?” +</p> +<p> +Liputin too came out of the grotto without speaking. Pyotr Stepanovitch +raised the lantern again. +</p> +<p> +“Why were you hiding in there? Why didn’t you come out?” +</p> +<p> +“I imagine we still keep the right of freedom … of our actions,” +Liputin muttered, though probably he hardly knew what he wanted to +express. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, raising his voice for the first +time above a whisper, which produced an effect, “I think you fully +understand that it’s useless to go over things again. Everything +was said and fully thrashed out yesterday, openly and directly. +But perhaps—as I see from your faces—someone wants to make some +statement; in that case I beg you to make haste. Damn it all! there’s +not much time, and Erkel may bring him in a minute.…” +</p> +<p> +“He is sure to bring him,” Tolkatchenko put in for some reason. +</p> +<p> +“If I am not mistaken, the printing press will be handed over, to begin +with?” inquired Liputin, though again he seemed hardly to understand why +he asked the question. +</p> +<p> +“Of course. Why should we lose it?” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, lifting the +lantern to his face. “But, you see, we all agreed yesterday that it was +not really necessary to take it. He need only show you the exact spot +where it’s buried; we can dig it up afterwards for ourselves. I know +that it’s somewhere ten paces from a corner of this grotto. But, damn +it all! how could you have forgotten, Liputin? It was agreed that you +should meet him alone and that we should come out afterwards.… It’s +strange that you should ask—or didn’t you mean what you said?” +</p> +<p> +Liputin kept gloomily silent. All were silent. The wind shook the tops +of the pine-trees. +</p> +<p> +“I trust, however, gentlemen, that every one will do his duty,” Pyotr +Stepanovitch rapped out impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“I know that Shatov’s wife has come back and has given birth to a +child,” Virginsky said suddenly, excited and gesticulating and scarcely +able to speak distinctly. “Knowing what human nature is, we can be sure +that now he won’t give information … because he is happy.… So I +went to every one this morning and found no one at home, so perhaps now +nothing need be done.…” +</p> +<p> +He stopped short with a catch in his breath. +</p> +<p> +“If you suddenly became happy, Mr. Virginsky,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, +stepping up to him, “would you abandon—not giving information; there’s +no question of that—but any perilous public action which you had +planned before you were happy and which you regarded as a duty and +obligation in spite of the risk and loss of happiness?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I wouldn’t abandon it! I wouldn’t on any account!” said Virginsky +with absurd warmth, twitching all over. +</p> +<p> +“You would rather be unhappy again than be a scoundrel?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes.… Quite the contrary.… I’d rather be a complete +scoundrel … that is no … not a scoundrel at all, but on the contrary +completely unhappy rather than a scoundrel.” +</p> +<p> +“Well then, let me tell you that Shatov looks on this betrayal as a +public duty. It’s his most cherished conviction, and the proof of it is +that he runs some risk himself; though, of course, they will pardon him +a great deal for giving information. A man like that will never give up +the idea. No sort of happiness would overcome him. In another day he’ll +go back on it, reproach himself, and will go straight to the police. +What’s more, I don’t see any happiness in the fact that his wife +has come back after three years’ absence to bear him a child of +Stavrogin’s.” +</p> +<p> +“But no one has seen Shatov’s letter,” Shigalov brought out all at once, +emphatically. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve seen it,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch. “It exists, and all this is +awfully stupid, gentlemen.” +</p> +<p> +“And I protest …” Virginsky cried, boiling over suddenly: “I protest +with all my might.… I want … this is what I want. I suggest that when +he arrives we all come out and question him, and if it’s true, we induce +him to repent of it; and if he gives us his word of honour, let him +go. In any case we must have a trial; it must be done after trial. We +mustn’t lie in wait for him and then fall upon him.” +</p> +<p> +“Risk the cause on his word of honour—that’s the acme of stupidity! +Damnation, how stupid it all is now, gentlemen! And a pretty part you +are choosing to play at the moment of danger!” +</p> +<p> +“I protest, I protest!” Virginsky persisted. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t bawl, anyway; we shan’t hear the signal. Shatov, gentlemen.… +(Damnation, how stupid this is now!) I’ve told you already that Shatov +is a Slavophil, that is, one of the stupidest set of people.… But, +damn it all, never mind, that’s no matter! You put me out!… Shatov is +an embittered man, gentlemen, and since he has belonged to the party, +anyway, whether he wanted to or no, I had hoped till the last minute +that he might have been of service to the cause and might have been +made use of as an embittered man. I spared him and was keeping him +in reserve, in spite of most exact instructions.… I’ve spared him a +hundred times more than he deserved! But he’s ended by betraying +us.… But, hang it all, I don’t care! You’d better try running away +now, any of you! No one of you has the right to give up the job! You can +kiss him if you like, but you haven’t the right to stake the cause on +his word of honour! That’s acting like swine and spies in government +pay!” +</p> +<p> +“Who’s a spy in government pay here?” Liputin filtered out. +</p> +<p> +“You, perhaps. You’d better hold your tongue, Liputin; you talk for the +sake of talking, as you always do. All men are spies, gentlemen, who +funk their duty at the moment of danger. There will always be some fools +who’ll run in a panic at the last moment and cry out, ‘Aie, forgive +me, and I’ll give them all away!’ But let me tell you, gentlemen, +no betrayal would win you a pardon now. Even if your sentence were +mitigated it would mean Siberia; and, what’s more, there’s no escaping +the weapons of the other side—and their weapons are sharper than the +government’s.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch was furious and said more than he meant to. With a +resolute air Shigalov took three steps towards him. “Since yesterday +evening I’ve thought over the question,” he began, speaking with his +usual pedantry and assurance. (I believe that if the earth had given way +under his feet he would not have raised his voice nor have varied one +tone in his methodical exposition.) “Thinking the matter over, I’ve come +to the conclusion that the projected murder is not merely a waste of +precious time which might be employed in a more suitable and befitting +manner, but presents, moreover, that deplorable deviation from the +normal method which has always been most prejudicial to the cause +and has delayed its triumph for scores of years, under the guidance of +shallow thinkers and pre-eminently of men of political instead of purely +socialistic leanings. I have come here solely to protest against the +projected enterprise, for the general edification, intending then +to withdraw at the actual moment, which you, for some reason I don’t +understand, speak of as a moment of danger to you. I am going—not from +fear of that danger nor from a sentimental feeling for Shatov, whom I +have no inclination to kiss, but solely because all this business from +beginning to end is in direct contradiction to my programme. As for my +betraying you and my being in the pay of the government, you can set +your mind completely at rest. I shall not betray you.” +</p> +<p> +He turned and walked away. +</p> +<p> +“Damn it all, he’ll meet them and warn Shatov!” cried Pyotr +Stepanovitch, pulling out his revolver. They heard the click of the +trigger. +</p> +<p> +“You may be confident,” said Shigalov, turning once more, “that if I +meet Shatov on the way I may bow to him, but I shall not warn him.” +</p> +<p> +“But do you know, you may have to pay for this, Mr. Fourier?” +</p> +<p> +“I beg you to observe that I am not Fourier. If you mix me up with that +mawkish theoretical twaddler you simply prove that you know nothing of +my manuscript, though it has been in your hands. As for your vengeance, +let me tell you that it’s a mistake to cock your pistol: that’s +absolutely against your interests at the present moment. But if you +threaten to shoot me to-morrow, or the day after, you’ll gain nothing by +it but unnecessary trouble. You may kill me, but sooner or later you’ll +come to my system all the same. Good-bye.” +</p> +<p> +At that instant a whistle was heard in the park, two hundred paces away +from the direction of the pond. Liputin at once answered, whistling also +as had been agreed the evening before. (As he had lost several teeth and +distrusted his own powers, he had this morning bought for a farthing +in the market a child’s clay whistle for the purpose.) Erkel had warned +Shatov on the way that they would whistle as a signal, so that the +latter felt no uneasiness. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be uneasy, I’ll avoid them and they won’t notice me at all,” +Shigalov declared in an impressive whisper; and thereupon deliberately +and without haste he walked home through the dark park. +</p> +<p> +Everything, to the smallest detail of this terrible affair, is now fully +known. To begin with, Liputin met Erkel and Shatov at the entrance +to the grotto. Shatov did not bow or offer him his hand, but at once +pronounced hurriedly in a loud voice: +</p> +<p> +“Well, where have you put the spade, and haven’t you another lantern? +You needn’t be afraid, there’s absolutely no one here, and they wouldn’t +hear at Skvoreshniki now if we fired a cannon here. This is the place, +here this very spot.” +</p> +<p> +And he stamped with his foot ten paces from the end of the grotto +towards the wood. At that moment Tolkatchenko rushed out from behind +a tree and sprang at him from behind, while Erkel seized him by the +elbows. Liputin attacked him from the front. The three of them at once +knocked him down and pinned him to the ground. At this point Pyotr +Stepanovitch darted up with his revolver. It is said that Shatov had +time to turn his head and was able to see and recognise him. Three +lanterns lighted up the scene. Shatov suddenly uttered a short and +desperate scream. But they did not let him go on screaming. Pyotr +Stepanovitch firmly and accurately put his revolver to Shatov’s +forehead, pressed it to it, and pulled the trigger. The shot seems not +to have been loud; nothing was heard at Skvoreshniki, anyway. Shigalov, +who was scarcely three paces away, of course heard it—he heard the +shout and the shot, but, as he testified afterwards, he did not turn nor +even stop. Death was almost instantaneous. Pyotr Stepanovitch was the +only one who preserved all his faculties, but I don’t think he was quite +cool. Squatting on his heels, he searched the murdered man’s pockets +hastily, though with steady hand. No money was found (his purse had been +left under Marya Ignatyevna’s pillow). Two or three scraps of paper +of no importance were found: a note from his office, the title of some +book, and an old bill from a restaurant abroad which had been preserved, +goodness knows why, for two years in his pocket. Pyotr Stepanovitch +transferred these scraps of paper to his own pocket, and suddenly +noticing that they had all gathered round, were gazing at the corpse and +doing nothing, he began rudely and angrily abusing them and urging them +on. Tolkatchenko and Erkel recovered themselves, and running to the +grotto brought instantly from it two stones which they had got ready +there that morning. These stones, which weighed about twenty pounds +each, were securely tied with cord. As they intended to throw the body +in the nearest of the three ponds, they proceeded to tie the stones to +the head and feet respectively. Pyotr Stepanovitch fastened the stones +while Tolkatchenko and Erkel only held and passed them. Erkel was +foremost, and while Pyotr Stepanovitch, grumbling and swearing, tied the +dead man’s feet together with the cord and fastened the stone to them—a +rather lengthy operation—Tolkatchenko stood holding the other stone +at arm’s-length, his whole person bending forward, as it were, +deferentially, to be in readiness to hand it without delay. It never +once occurred to him to lay his burden on the ground in the interval. +When at last both stones were tied on and Pyotr Stepanovitch got up from +the ground to scrutinise the faces of his companions, something strange +happened, utterly unexpected and surprising to almost every one. +</p> +<p> +As I have said already, all except perhaps Tolkatchenko and Erkel were +standing still doing nothing. Though Virginsky had rushed up to Shatov +with the others he had not seized him or helped to hold him. Lyamshin +had joined the group after the shot had been fired. Afterwards, +while Pyotr Stepanovitch was busy with the corpse—for perhaps ten +minutes—none of them seemed to have been fully conscious. They grouped +themselves around and seemed to have felt amazement rather than anxiety +or alarm. Liputin stood foremost, close to the corpse. Virginsky stood +behind him, peeping over his shoulder with a peculiar, as it were +unconcerned, curiosity; he even stood on tiptoe to get a better view. +Lyamshin hid behind Virginsky. He took an apprehensive peep from time to +time and slipped behind him again at once. When the stones had been tied +on and Pyotr Stepanovitch had risen to his feet, Virginsky began faintly +shuddering all over, clasped his hands, and cried out bitterly at the +top of his voice: +</p> +<p> +“It’s not the right thing, it’s not, it’s not at all!” He would perhaps +have added something more to his belated exclamation, but Lyamshin did +not let him finish: he suddenly seized him from behind and squeezed him +with all his might, uttering an unnatural shriek. There are moments of +violent emotion, of terror, for instance, when a man will cry out in a +voice not his own, unlike anything one could have anticipated from him, +and this has sometimes a very terrible effect. Lyamshin gave vent to a +scream more animal than human. Squeezing Virginsky from behind more and +more tightly and convulsively, he went on shrieking without a pause, +his mouth wide open and his eyes starting out of his head, keeping up +a continual patter with his feet, as though he were beating a drum. +Virginsky was so scared that he too screamed out like a madman, and +with a ferocity, a vindictiveness that one could never have expected of +Virginsky. He tried to pull himself away from Lyamshin, scratching and +punching him as far as he could with his arms behind him. Erkel at last +helped to pull Lyamshin away. But when, in his terror, Virginsky had +skipped ten paces away from him, Lyamshin, catching sight of Pyotr +Stepanovitch, began yelling again and flew at him. Stumbling over +the corpse, he fell upon Pyotr Stepanovitch, pressing his head to +the latter’s chest and gripping him so tightly in his arms that Pyotr +Stepanovitch, Tolkatchenko, and Liputin could all of them do nothing +at the first moment. Pyotr Stepanovitch shouted, swore, beat him on +the head with his fists. At last, wrenching himself away, he drew his +revolver and put it in the open mouth of Lyamshin, who was still yelling +and was by now tightly held by Tolkatchenko, Erkel, and Liputin. But +Lyamshin went on shrieking in spite of the revolver. At last Erkel, +crushing his silk handkerchief into a ball, deftly thrust it into his +mouth and the shriek ceased. Meantime Tolkatchenko tied his hands with +what was left of the rope. +</p> +<p> +“It’s very strange,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, scrutinising the madman +with uneasy wonder. He was evidently struck. “I expected something very +different from him,” he added thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +They left Erkel in charge of him for a time. They had to make haste to +get rid of the corpse: there had been so much noise that someone might +have heard. Tolkatchenko and Pyotr Stepanovitch took up the lanterns +and lifted the corpse by the head, while Liputin and Virginsky took the +feet, and so they carried it away. With the two stones it was a heavy +burden, and the distance was more than two hundred paces. Tolkatchenko +was the strongest of them. He advised them to keep in step, but no one +answered him and they all walked anyhow. Pyotr Stepanovitch walked +on the right and, bending forward, carried the dead man’s head on +his shoulder while with the left hand he supported the stone. As +Tolkatchenko walked more than half the way without thinking of helping +him with the stone, Pyotr Stepanovitch at last shouted at him with an +oath. It was a single, sudden shout. They all went on carrying the body +in silence, and it was only when they reached the pond that Virginsky, +stooping under his burden and seeming to be exhausted by the weight of +it, cried out again in the same loud and wailing voice: +</p> +<p> +“It’s not the right thing, no, no, it’s not the right thing!” +</p> +<p> +The place to which they carried the dead man at the extreme end of the +rather large pond, which was the farthest of the three from the house, +was one of the most solitary and unfrequented spots in the park, +especially at this late season of the year. At that end the pond was +overgrown with weeds by the banks. They put down the lantern, swung the +corpse and threw it into the pond. They heard a muffled and prolonged +splash. Pyotr Stepanovitch raised the lantern and every one followed his +example, peering curiously to see the body sink, but nothing could +be seen: weighted with the two stones, the body sank at once. The big +ripples spread over the surface of the water and quickly passed away. It +was over. +</p> +<p> +Virginsky went off with Erkel, who before giving up Lyamshin to +Tolkatchenko brought him to Pyotr Stepanovitch, reporting to the +latter that Lyamshin had come to his senses, was penitent and begged +forgiveness, and indeed had no recollection of what had happened to him. +Pyotr Stepanovitch walked off alone, going round by the farther side of +the pond, skirting the park. This was the longest way. To his surprise +Liputin overtook him before he got half-way home. +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch! Pyotr Stepanovitch! Lyamshin will give +information!” +</p> +<p> +“No, he will come to his senses and realise that he will be the first to +go to Siberia if he did. No one will betray us now. Even you won’t.” +</p> +<p> +“What about you?” +</p> +<p> +“No fear! I’ll get you all out of the way the minute you attempt to turn +traitors, and you know that. But you won’t turn traitors. Have you run a +mile and a half to tell me that?” +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch, Pyotr Stepanovitch, perhaps we shall never meet +again!” +</p> +<p> +“What’s put that into your head?” +</p> +<p> +“Only tell me one thing.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, what? Though I want you to take yourself off.” +</p> +<p> +“One question, but answer it truly: are we the only quintet in the +world, or is it true that there are hundreds of others? It’s a question +of the utmost importance to me, Pyotr Stepanovitch.” +</p> +<p> +“I see that from the frantic state you are in. But do you know, Liputin, +you are more dangerous than Lyamshin?” +</p> +<p> +“I know, I know; but the answer, your answer!” +</p> +<p> +“You are a stupid fellow! I should have thought it could make no +difference to you now whether it’s the only quintet or one of a +thousand.” +</p> +<p> +“That means it’s the only one! I was sure of it …” cried Liputin. +“I always knew it was the only one, I knew it all along.” And without +waiting for any reply he turned and quickly vanished into the darkness. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch pondered a little. +</p> +<p> +“No, no one will turn traitor,” he concluded with decision, “but the +group must remain a group and obey, or I’ll … What a wretched set they +are though!” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +He first went home, and carefully, without haste, packed his trunk. At +six o’clock in the morning there was a special train from the town. +This early morning express only ran once a week, and was only a recent +experiment. Though Pyotr Stepanovitch had told the members of the +quintet that he was only going to be away for a short time in the +neighbourhood, his intentions, as appeared later, were in reality +very different. Having finished packing, he settled accounts with his +landlady to whom he had previously given notice of his departure, and +drove in a cab to Erkel’s lodgings, near the station. And then just upon +one o’clock at night he walked to Kirillov’s, approaching as before by +Fedka’s secret way. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch was in a painful state of mind. Apart from other +extremely grave reasons for dissatisfaction (he was still unable to +learn anything of Stavrogin), he had, it seems—for I cannot assert +it for a fact—received in the course of that day, probably from +Petersburg, secret information of a danger awaiting him in the immediate +future. There are, of course, many legends in the town relating to this +period; but if any facts were known, it was only to those immediately +concerned. I can only surmise as my own conjecture that Pyotr +Stepanovitch may well have had affairs going on in other neighbourhoods +as well as in our town, so that he really may have received such a +warning. I am convinced, indeed, in spite of Liputin’s cynical and +despairing doubts, that he really had two or three other quintets; +for instance, in Petersburg and Moscow, and if not quintets at least +colleagues and correspondents, and possibly was in very curious +relations with them. Not more than three days after his departure an +order for his immediate arrest arrived from Petersburg—whether in +connection with what had happened among us, or elsewhere, I don’t know. +This order only served to increase the overwhelming, almost panic terror +which suddenly came upon our local authorities and the society of +the town, till then so persistently frivolous in its attitude, on +the discovery of the mysterious and portentous murder of the student +Shatov—the climax of the long series of senseless actions in +our midst—as well as the extremely mysterious circumstances that +accompanied that murder. But the order came too late: Pyotr Stepanovitch +was already in Petersburg, living under another name, and, learning +what was going on, he made haste to make his escape abroad.… But I am +anticipating in a shocking way. +</p> +<p> +He went in to Kirillov, looking ill-humoured and quarrelsome. Apart from +the real task before him, he felt, as it were, tempted to satisfy some +personal grudge, to avenge himself on Kirillov for something. Kirillov +seemed pleased to see him; he had evidently been expecting him a long +time with painful impatience. His face was paler than usual; there was a +fixed and heavy look in his black eyes. +</p> +<p> +“I thought you weren’t coming,” he brought out drearily from his corner +of the sofa, from which he had not, however, moved to greet him. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch stood before him and, before uttering a word, looked +intently at his face. +</p> +<p> +“Everything is in order, then, and we are not drawing back from our +resolution. Bravo!” He smiled an offensively patronising smile. “But, +after all,” he added with unpleasant jocosity, “if I am behind my time, +it’s not for you to complain: I made you a present of three hours.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want extra hours as a present from you, and you can’t make me a +present … you fool!” +</p> +<p> +“What?” Pyotr Stepanovitch was startled, but instantly controlled +himself. “What huffiness! So we are in a savage temper?” he rapped +out, still with the same offensive superciliousness. “At such a moment +composure is what you need. The best thing you can do is to consider +yourself a Columbus and me a mouse, and not to take offence at anything +I say. I gave you that advice yesterday.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want to look upon you as a mouse.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s that, a compliment? But the tea is cold—and that shows that +everything is topsy-turvy. Bah! But I see something in the window, on a +plate.” He went to the window. “Oh oh, boiled chicken and rice!… But +why haven’t you begun upon it yet? So we are in such a state of mind +that even chicken …” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve dined, and it’s not your business. Hold your tongue!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, of course; besides, it’s no consequence—though for me at the +moment it is of consequence. Only fancy, I scarcely had any dinner, and +so if, as I suppose, that chicken is not wanted now … eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Eat it if you can.” +</p> +<p> +“Thank you, and then I’ll have tea.” +</p> +<p> +He instantly settled himself at the other end of the sofa and fell upon +the chicken with extraordinary greediness; at the same time he kept a +constant watch on his victim. Kirillov looked at him fixedly with angry +aversion, as though unable to tear himself away. +</p> +<p> +“I say, though,” Pyotr Stepanovitch fired off suddenly, while he still +went on eating, “what about our business? We are not crying off, are we? +How about that document?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve decided in the night that it’s nothing to me. I’ll write it. About +the manifestoes?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, about the manifestoes too. But I’ll dictate it. Of course, that’s +nothing to you. Can you possibly mind what’s in the letter at such a +moment?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s not your business.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s not mine, of course. It need only be a few lines, though: that you +and Shatov distributed the manifestoes and with the help of Fedka, who +hid in your lodgings. This last point about Fedka and your lodgings is +very important—the most important of all, indeed. You see, I am talking +to you quite openly.” +</p> +<p> +“Shatov? Why Shatov? I won’t mention Shatov for anything.” +</p> +<p> +“What next! What is it to you? You can’t hurt him now.” +</p> +<p> +“His wife has come back to him. She has waked up and has sent to ask me +where he is.” +</p> +<p> +“She has sent to ask you where he is? H’m … that’s unfortunate. She may +send again; no one ought to know I am here.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch was uneasy. +</p> +<p> +“She won’t know, she’s gone to sleep again. There’s a midwife with her, +Arina Virginsky.” +</p> +<p> +“So that’s how it was.… She won’t overhear, I suppose? I say, you’d +better shut the front door.” +</p> +<p> +“She won’t overhear anything. And if Shatov comes I’ll hide you in +another room.” +</p> +<p> +“Shatov won’t come; and you must write that you quarrelled with him +because he turned traitor and informed the police … this evening … +and caused his death.” +</p> +<p> +“He is dead!” cried Kirillov, jumping up from the sofa. +</p> +<p> +“He died at seven o’clock this evening, or rather, at seven o’clock +yesterday evening, and now it’s one o’clock.” +</p> +<p> +“You have killed him!… And I foresaw it yesterday!” +</p> +<p> +“No doubt you did! With this revolver here.” (He drew out his revolver +as though to show it, but did not put it back again and still held it in +his right hand as though in readiness.) “You are a strange man, though, +Kirillov; you knew yourself that the stupid fellow was bound to end +like this. What was there to foresee in that? I made that as plain as +possible over and over again. Shatov was meaning to betray us; I was +watching him, and it could not be left like that. And you too had +instructions to watch him; you told me so yourself three weeks ago.…” +</p> +<p> +“Hold your tongue! You’ve done this because he spat in your face in +Geneva!” +</p> +<p> +“For that and for other things too—for many other things; not from +spite, however. Why do you jump up? Why look like that? Oh oh, so that’s +it, is it?” +</p> +<p> +He jumped up and held out his revolver before him. Kirillov had suddenly +snatched up from the window his revolver, which had been loaded and put +ready since the morning. Pyotr Stepanovitch took up his position and +aimed his weapon at Kirillov. The latter laughed angrily. +</p> +<p> +“Confess, you scoundrel, that you brought your revolver because I might +shoot you.… But I shan’t shoot you … though … though …” +</p> +<p> +And again he turned his revolver upon Pyotr Stepanovitch, as it were +rehearsing, as though unable to deny himself the pleasure of imagining +how he would shoot him. Pyotr Stepanovitch, holding his ground, waited +for him, waited for him till the last minute without pulling the +trigger, at the risk of being the first to get a bullet in his head: it +might well be expected of “the maniac.” But at last “the maniac” dropped +his hand, gasping and trembling and unable to speak. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve played your little game and that’s enough.” Pyotr Stepanovitch, +too, dropped his weapon. “I knew it was only a game; only you ran a +risk, let me tell you: I might have fired.” +</p> +<p> +And he sat down on the sofa with a fair show of composure and poured +himself out some tea, though his hand trembled a little. Kirillov laid +his revolver on the table and began walking up and down. +</p> +<p> +“I won’t write that I killed Shatov … and I won’t write anything now. +You won’t have a document!” +</p> +<p> +“I shan’t?” +</p> +<p> +“No, you won’t.” +</p> +<p> +“What meanness and what stupidity!” Pyotr Stepanovitch turned green with +resentment. “I foresaw it, though. You’ve not taken me by surprise, let +me tell you. As you please, however. If I could make you do it by force, +I would. You are a scoundrel, though.” Pyotr Stepanovitch was more and +more carried away and unable to restrain himself. “You asked us for +money out there and promised us no end of things.… I won’t go away +with nothing, however: I’ll see you put the bullet through your brains +first, anyway.” +</p> +<p> +“I want you to go away at once.” Kirillov stood firmly before him. +</p> +<p> +“No, that’s impossible.” Pyotr Stepanovitch took up his revolver again. +“Now in your spite and cowardice you may think fit to put it off and to +turn traitor to-morrow, so as to get money again; they’ll pay you for +that, of course. Damn it all, fellows like you are capable of anything! +Only don’t trouble yourself; I’ve provided for all contingencies: I am +not going till I’ve dashed your brains out with this revolver, as I did +to that scoundrel Shatov, if you are afraid to do it yourself and put +off your intention, damn you!” +</p> +<p> +“You are set on seeing my blood, too?” +</p> +<p> +“I am not acting from spite; let me tell you, it’s nothing to me. I am +doing it to be at ease about the cause. One can’t rely on men; you see +that for yourself. I don’t understand what fancy possesses you to put +yourself to death. It wasn’t my idea; you thought of it yourself before +I appeared, and talked of your intention to the committee abroad before +you said anything to me. And you know, no one has forced it out of you; +no one of them knew you, but you came to confide in them yourself, from +sentimentalism. And what’s to be done if a plan of action here, which +can’t be altered now, was founded upon that with your consent and upon +your suggestion?… your suggestion, mind that! You have put yourself +in a position in which you know too much. If you are an ass and go off +to-morrow to inform the police, that would be rather a disadvantage to +us; what do you think about it? Yes, you’ve bound yourself; you’ve given +your word, you’ve taken money. That you can’t deny.…” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch was much excited, but for some time past Kirillov +had not been listening. He paced up and down the room, lost in thought +again. +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry for Shatov,” he said, stopping before Pyotr Stepanovitch +again. +</p> +<p> +“Why so? I am sorry, if that’s all, and do you suppose …” +</p> +<p> +“Hold your tongue, you scoundrel,” roared Kirillov, making an alarming +and unmistakable movement; “I’ll kill you.” +</p> +<p> +“There, there, there! I told a lie, I admit it; I am not sorry at all. +Come, that’s enough, that’s enough.” Pyotr Stepanovitch started up +apprehensively, putting out his hand. +</p> +<p> +Kirillov subsided and began walking up and down again. +</p> +<p> +“I won’t put it off; I want to kill myself now: all are scoundrels.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s an idea; of course all are scoundrels; and since life is a +beastly thing for a decent man …” +</p> +<p> +“Fool, I am just such a scoundrel as you, as all, not a decent man. +There’s never been a decent man anywhere.” +</p> +<p> +“He’s guessed the truth at last! Can you, Kirillov, with your sense, +have failed to see till now that all men are alike, that there are none +better or worse, only some are stupider, than others, and that if all +are scoundrels (which is nonsense, though) there oughtn’t to be any +people that are not?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! Why, you are really in earnest?” Kirillov looked at him with some +wonder. “You speak with heat and simply.… Can it be that even fellows +like you have convictions?” +</p> +<p> +“Kirillov, I’ve never been able to understand why you mean to kill +yourself. I only know it’s from conviction … strong conviction. But +if you feel a yearning to express yourself, so to say, I am at your +service.… Only you must think of the time.” +</p> +<p> +“What time is it?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh oh, just two.” Pyotr Stepanovitch looked at his watch and lighted a +cigarette. +</p> +<p> +“It seems we can come to terms after all,” he reflected. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve nothing to say to you,” muttered Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“I remember that something about God comes into it … you explained it +to me once—twice, in fact. If you stopped yourself, you become God; +that’s it, isn’t it?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I become God.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch did not even smile; he waited. Kirillov looked at him +subtly. +</p> +<p> +“You are a political impostor and intriguer. You want to lead me on into +philosophy and enthusiasm and to bring about a reconciliation so as to +disperse my anger, and then, when I am reconciled with you, beg from me +a note to say I killed Shatov.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch answered with almost natural frankness. +</p> +<p> +“Well, supposing I am such a scoundrel. But at the last moments does +that matter to you, Kirillov? What are we quarrelling about? Tell me, +please. You are one sort of man and I am another—what of it? And what’s +more, we are both of us …” +</p> +<p> +“Scoundrels.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, scoundrels if you like. But you know that that’s only words.” +</p> +<p> +“All my life I wanted it not to be only words. I lived because I did not +want it to be. Even now every day I want it to be not words.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, every one seeks to be where he is best off. The fish … that is, +every one seeks his own comfort, that’s all. That’s been a commonplace +for ages and ages.” +</p> +<p> +“Comfort, do you say?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, it’s not worth while quarrelling over words.” +</p> +<p> +“No, you were right in what you said; let it be comfort. God is +necessary and so must exist.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s all right, then.” +</p> +<p> +“But I know He doesn’t and can’t.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s more likely.” +</p> +<p> +“Surely you must understand that a man with two such ideas can’t go on +living?” +</p> +<p> +“Must shoot himself, you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Surely you must understand that one might shoot oneself for that +alone? You don’t understand that there may be a man, one man out of your +thousands of millions, one man who won’t bear it and does not want to.” +</p> +<p> +“All I understand is that you seem to be hesitating.… That’s very +bad.” +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin, too, is consumed by an idea,” Kirillov said gloomily, pacing +up and down the room. He had not noticed the previous remark. +</p> +<p> +“What?” Pyotr Stepanovitch pricked up his ears. “What idea? Did he tell +you something himself?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I guessed it myself: if Stavrogin has faith, he does not believe +that he has faith. If he hasn’t faith, he does not believe that he +hasn’t.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, Stavrogin has got something else worse than that in his head,” +Pyotr Stepanovitch muttered peevishly, uneasily watching the turn the +conversation had taken and the pallor of Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“Damn it all, he won’t shoot himself!” he was thinking. “I always +suspected it; it’s a maggot in the brain and nothing more; what a rotten +lot of people!” +</p> +<p> +“You are the last to be with me; I shouldn’t like to part on bad terms +with you,” Kirillov vouchsafed suddenly. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch did not answer at once. “Damn it all, what is it +now?” he thought again. +</p> +<p> +“I assure you, Kirillov, I have nothing against you personally as a man, +and always …” +</p> +<p> +“You are a scoundrel and a false intellect. But I am just the same as +you are, and I will shoot myself while you will remain living.” +</p> +<p> +“You mean to say, I am so abject that I want to go on living.” +</p> +<p> +He could not make up his mind whether it was judicious to keep up such +a conversation at such a moment or not, and resolved “to be guided by +circumstances.” But the tone of superiority and of contempt for him, +which Kirillov had never disguised, had always irritated him, and +now for some reason it irritated him more than ever—possibly because +Kirillov, who was to die within an hour or so (Pyotr Stepanovitch still +reckoned upon this), seemed to him, as it were, already only half a man, +some creature whom he could not allow to be haughty. +</p> +<p> +“You seem to be boasting to me of your shooting yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve always been surprised at every one’s going on living,” said +Kirillov, not hearing his remark. +</p> +<p> +“H’m! Admitting that’s an idea, but …” +</p> +<p> +“You ape, you assent to get the better of me. Hold your tongue; you +won’t understand anything. If there is no God, then I am God.” +</p> +<p> +“There, I could never understand that point of yours: why are you God?” +</p> +<p> +“If God exists, all is His will and from His will I cannot escape. If +not, it’s all my will and I am bound to show self-will.” +</p> +<p> +“Self-will? But why are you bound?” +</p> +<p> +“Because all will has become mine. Can it be that no one in the whole +planet, after making an end of God and believing in his own will, will +dare to express his self-will on the most vital point? It’s like a +beggar inheriting a fortune and being afraid of it and not daring to +approach the bag of gold, thinking himself too weak to own it. I want to +manifest my self-will. I may be the only one, but I’ll do it.” +</p> +<p> +“Do it by all means.” +</p> +<p> +“I am bound to shoot myself because the highest point of my self-will is +to kill myself with my own hands.” +</p> +<p> +“But you won’t be the only one to kill yourself; there are lots of +suicides.” +</p> +<p> +“With good cause. But to do it without any cause at all, simply for +self-will, I am the only one.” +</p> +<p> +“He won’t shoot himself,” flashed across Pyotr Stepanovitch’s mind +again. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know,” he observed irritably, “if I were in your place I should +kill someone else to show my self-will, not myself. You might be of +use. I’ll tell you whom, if you are not afraid. Then you needn’t shoot +yourself to-day, perhaps. We may come to terms.” +</p> +<p> +“To kill someone would be the lowest point of self-will, and you show +your whole soul in that. I am not you: I want the highest point and I’ll +kill myself.” +</p> +<p> +“He’s come to it of himself,” Pyotr Stepanovitch muttered malignantly. +</p> +<p> +“I am bound to show my unbelief,” said Kirillov, walking about the room. +“I have no higher idea than disbelief in God. I have all the history of +mankind on my side. Man has done nothing but invent God so as to go on +living, and not kill himself; that’s the whole of universal history up +till now. I am the first one in the whole history of mankind who would +not invent God. Let them know it once for all.” +</p> +<p> +“He won’t shoot himself,” Pyotr Stepanovitch thought anxiously. +</p> +<p> +“Let whom know it?” he said, egging him on. “It’s only you and me here; +you mean Liputin?” +</p> +<p> +“Let every one know; all will know. There is nothing secret that will +not be made known. <i>He</i> said so.” +</p> +<p> +And he pointed with feverish enthusiasm to the image of the Saviour, +before which a lamp was burning. Pyotr Stepanovitch lost his temper +completely. +</p> +<p> +“So you still believe in Him, and you’ve lighted the lamp; ‘to be on the +safe side,’ I suppose?” +</p> +<p> +The other did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know, to my thinking, you believe perhaps more thoroughly than +any priest.” +</p> +<p> +“Believe in whom? In <i>Him?</i> Listen.” Kirillov stood still, gazing before +him with fixed and ecstatic look. “Listen to a great idea: there was a +day on earth, and in the midst of the earth there stood three crosses. +One on the Cross had such faith that he said to another, ‘To-day thou +shalt be with me in Paradise.’ The day ended; both died and passed away +and found neither Paradise nor resurrection. His words did not come +true. Listen: that Man was the loftiest of all on earth, He was that +which gave meaning to life. The whole planet, with everything on it, is +mere madness without that Man. There has never been any like Him before +or since, never, up to a miracle. For that is the miracle, that there +never was or never will be another like Him. And if that is so, if +the laws of nature did not spare even Him, have not spared even their +miracle and made even Him live in a lie and die for a lie, then all the +planet is a lie and rests on a lie and on mockery. So then, the very +laws of the planet are a lie and the vaudeville of devils. What is there +to live for? Answer, if you are a man.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a different matter. It seems to me you’ve mixed up two different +causes, and that’s a very unsafe thing to do. But excuse me, if you are +God? If the lie were ended and if you realised that all the falsity +comes from the belief in that former God?” +</p> +<p> +“So at last you understand!” cried Kirillov rapturously. “So it can be +understood if even a fellow like you understands. Do you understand now +that the salvation for all consists in proving this idea to every one? +Who will prove it? I! I can’t understand how an atheist could know that +there is no God and not kill himself on the spot. To recognise that +there is no God and not to recognise at the same instant that one is God +oneself is an absurdity, else one would certainly kill oneself. If you +recognise it you are sovereign, and then you won’t kill yourself but +will live in the greatest glory. But one, the first, must kill himself, +for else who will begin and prove it? So I must certainly kill myself, +to begin and prove it. Now I am only a god against my will and I am +unhappy, because I am bound to assert my will. All are unhappy because +all are afraid to express their will. Man has hitherto been so unhappy +and so poor because he has been afraid to assert his will in the +highest point and has shown his self-will only in little things, like a +schoolboy. I am awfully unhappy, for I’m awfully afraid. Terror is the +curse of man.… But I will assert my will, I am bound to believe that +I don’t believe. I will begin and will make an end of it and open the +door, and will save. That’s the only thing that will save mankind and +will re-create the next generation physically; for with his present +physical nature man can’t get on without his former God, I believe. For +three years I’ve been seeking for the attribute of my godhead and I’ve +found it; the attribute of my godhead is self-will! That’s all I can +do to prove in the highest point my independence and my new terrible +freedom. For it is very terrible. I am killing myself to prove my +independence and my new terrible freedom.” +</p> +<p> +His face was unnaturally pale, and there was a terribly heavy look in +his eyes. He was like a man in delirium. Pyotr Stepanovitch thought he +would drop on to the floor. +</p> +<p> +“Give me the pen!” Kirillov cried suddenly, quite unexpectedly, in a +positive frenzy. “Dictate; I’ll sign anything. I’ll sign that I killed +Shatov even. Dictate while it amuses me. I am not afraid of what the +haughty slaves will think! You will see for yourself that all that is +secret shall be made manifest! And you will be crushed.… I believe, I +believe!” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch jumped up from his seat and instantly handed him an +inkstand and paper, and began dictating, seizing the moment, quivering +with anxiety. +</p> +<p> +“I, Alexey Kirillov, declare …” +</p> +<p> +“Stay; I won’t! To whom am I declaring it?” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov was shaking as though he were in a fever. This declaration and +the sudden strange idea of it seemed to absorb him entirely, as though +it were a means of escape by which his tortured spirit strove for a +moment’s relief. +</p> +<p> +“To whom am I declaring it? I want to know to whom?” +</p> +<p> +“To no one, every one, the first person who reads it. Why define it? The +whole world!” +</p> +<p> +“The whole world! Bravo! And I won’t have any repentance. I don’t want +penitence and I don’t want it for the police!” +</p> +<p> +“No, of course, there’s no need of it, damn the police! Write, if you +are in earnest!” Pyotr Stepanovitch cried hysterically. +</p> +<p> +“Stay! I want to put at the top a face with the tongue out.” +</p> +<p> +“Ech, what nonsense,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch crossly, “you can express +all that without the drawing, by—the tone.” +</p> +<p> +“By the tone? That’s true. Yes, by the tone, by the tone of it. Dictate, +the tone.” +</p> +<p> +“I, Alexey Kirillov,” Pyotr Stepanovitch dictated firmly and +peremptorily, bending over Kirillov’s shoulder and following every +letter which the latter formed with a hand trembling with excitement, +“I, Kirillov, declare that to-day, the —th October, at about eight +o’clock in the evening, I killed the student Shatov in the park for +turning traitor and giving information of the manifestoes and of Fedka, +who has been lodging with us for ten days in Filipov’s house. I am +shooting myself to-day with my revolver, not because I repent and am +afraid of you, but because when I was abroad I made up my mind to put an +end to my life.” +</p> +<p> +“Is that all?” cried Kirillov with surprise and indignation.</p> + +<p>“Not +another word,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, waving his hand, attempting to +snatch the document from him. +</p> +<p> +“Stay.” Kirillov put his hand firmly on the paper. “Stay, it’s nonsense! +I want to say with whom I killed him. Why Fedka? And what about the +fire? I want it all and I want to be abusive in tone, too, in tone!” +</p> +<p> +“Enough, Kirillov, I assure you it’s enough,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch +almost imploringly, trembling lest he should tear up the paper; “that +they may believe you, you must say it as obscurely as possible, just +like that, simply in hints. You must only give them a peep of the truth, +just enough to tantalise them. They’ll tell a story better than ours, +and of course they’ll believe themselves more than they would us; and +you know, it’s better than anything—better than anything! Let me have +it, it’s splendid as it is; give it to me, give it to me!” +</p> +<p> +And he kept trying to snatch the paper. Kirillov listened open-eyed and +appeared to be trying to reflect, but he seemed beyond understanding +now. +</p> +<p> +“Damn it all,” Pyotr Stepanovitch cried all at once, ill-humouredly, “he +hasn’t signed it! Why are you staring like that? Sign!” +</p> +<p> +“I want to abuse them,” muttered Kirillov. He took the pen, however, and +signed. “I want to abuse them.” +</p> +<p> +“Write <i>‘Vive la république,’</i> and that will be enough.” +</p> +<p> +“Bravo!” Kirillov almost bellowed with delight. “<i>‘Vive la république +démocratique sociale et universelle ou la mort!’</i> No, no, that’s not it. +<i>‘Liberté, égalité, fraternité ou la mort.’</i> There, that’s better, that’s +better.” He wrote it gleefully under his signature. +</p> +<p> +“Enough, enough,” repeated Pyotr Stepanovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Stay, a little more. I’ll sign it again in French, you know. ‘<i>De +Kirillov, gentilhomme russe et citoyen du monde.</i>’ Ha ha!” He went off +in a peal of laughter. “No, no, no; stay. I’ve found something better +than all. Eureka! <i>‘Gentilhomme, séminariste russe et citoyen du monde +civilisé!’</i> That’s better than any.…” He jumped up from the sofa +and suddenly, with a rapid gesture, snatched up the revolver from the +window, ran with it into the next room, and closed the door behind him. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch stood for a moment, pondering and gazing at the door. +</p> +<p> +“If he does it at once, perhaps he’ll do it, but if he begins thinking, +nothing will come of it.” +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile he took up the paper, sat down, and looked at it again. The +wording of the document pleased him again. +</p> +<p> +“What’s needed for the moment? What’s wanted is to throw them all off +the scent and keep them busy for a time. The park? There’s no park in +the town and they’ll guess its Skvoreshniki of themselves. But while +they are arriving at that, time will be passing; then the search will +take time too; then when they find the body it will prove that the story +is true, and it will follow that’s it all true, that it’s true about +Fedka too. And Fedka explains the fire, the Lebyadkins; so that it was +all being hatched here, at Filipov’s, while they overlooked it and saw +nothing—that will quite turn their heads! They will never think of +the quintet; Shatov and Kirillov and Fedka and Lebyadkin, and why they +killed each other—that will be another question for them. Oh, damn it +all, I don’t hear the shot!” +</p> +<p> +Though he had been reading and admiring the wording of it, he had been +listening anxiously all the time, and he suddenly flew into a rage. He +looked anxiously at his watch; it was getting late and it was fully ten +minutes since Kirillov had gone out.… Snatching up the candle, he went +to the door of the room where Kirillov had shut himself up. He was just +at the door when the thought struck him that the candle had burnt out, +that it would not last another twenty minutes, and that there was no +other in the room. He took hold of the handle and listened warily; he +did not hear the slightest sound. He suddenly opened the door and lifted +up the candle: something uttered a roar and rushed at him. He slammed +the door with all his might and pressed his weight against it; but all +sounds died away and again there was deathlike stillness. +</p> +<p> +He stood for a long while irresolute, with the candle in his hand. He +had been able to see very little in the second he held the door open, +but he had caught a glimpse of the face of Kirillov standing at the +other end of the room by the window, and the savage fury with which the +latter had rushed upon him. Pyotr Stepanovitch started, rapidly set the +candle on the table, made ready his revolver, and retreated on tiptoe to +the farthest corner of the room, so that if Kirillov opened the door and +rushed up to the table with the revolver he would still have time to be +the first to aim and fire. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch had by now lost all faith in the suicide. “He was +standing in the middle of the room, thinking,” flashed like a whirlwind +through Pyotr Stepanovitch’s mind, “and the room was dark and horrible +too.… He roared and rushed at me. There are two possibilities: either +I interrupted him at the very second when he was pulling the trigger +or … or he was standing planning how to kill me. Yes, that’s it, he was +planning it.… He knows I won’t go away without killing him if he funks +it himself—so that he would have to kill me first to prevent my killing +him.… And again, again there is silence. I am really frightened: he +may open the door all of a sudden.… The nuisance of it is that he +believes in God like any priest.… He won’t shoot himself for +anything! There are lots of these people nowadays ‘who’ve come to it of +themselves.’ A rotten lot! Oh, damn it, the candle, the candle! It’ll go +out within a quarter of an hour for certain.… I must put a stop to it; +come what may, I must put a stop to it.… Now I can kill him.… With +that document here no one would think of my killing him. I can put him +in such an attitude on the floor with an unloaded revolver in his hand +that they’d be certain he’d done it himself.… Ach, damn it! how is one +to kill him? If I open the door he’ll rush out again and shoot me first. +Damn it all, he’ll be sure to miss!” +</p> +<p> +He was in agonies, trembling at the necessity of action and his own +indecision. At last he took up the candle and again approached the door +with the revolver held up in readiness; he put his left hand, in which +he held the candle, on the doorhandle. But he managed awkwardly: +the handle clanked, there was a rattle and a creak. “He will fire +straightway,” flashed through Pyotr Stepanovitch’s mind. With his foot +he flung the door open violently, raised the candle, and held out the +revolver; but no shot nor cry came from within.… There was no one in +the room. +</p> +<p> +He started. The room led nowhere. There was no exit, no means of +escape from it. He lifted the candle higher and looked about him more +attentively: there was certainly no one. He called Kirillov’s name in a +low voice, then again louder; no one answered. +</p> +<p> +“Can he have got out by the window?” The casement in one window was, in +fact, open. “Absurd! He couldn’t have got away through the casement.” +Pyotr Stepanovitch crossed the room and went up to the window. “He +couldn’t possibly.” All at once he turned round quickly and was aghast +at something extraordinary. +</p> +<p> +Against the wall facing the windows on the right of the door stood a +cupboard. On the right side of this cupboard, in the corner formed by +the cupboard and the wall, stood Kirillov, and he was standing in a very +strange way; motionless, perfectly erect, with his arms held stiffly at +his sides, his head raised and pressed tightly back against the wall in +the very corner, he seemed to be trying to conceal and efface himself. +Everything seemed to show that he was hiding, yet somehow it was not +easy to believe it. Pyotr Stepanovitch was standing a little sideways +to the corner, and could only see the projecting parts of the figure. +He could not bring himself to move to the left to get a full view of +Kirillov and solve the mystery. His heart began beating violently, and +he felt a sudden rush of blind fury: he started from where he stood, +and, shouting and stamping with his feet, he rushed to the horrible +place. +</p> +<p> +But when he reached Kirillov he stopped short again, still more +overcome, horror-stricken. What struck him most was that, in spite of +his shout and his furious rush, the figure did not stir, did not move +in a single limb—as though it were of stone or of wax. The pallor of +the face was unnatural, the black eyes were quite unmoving and were +staring away at a point in the distance. Pyotr Stepanovitch lowered the +candle and raised it again, lighting up the figure from all points of +view and scrutinising it. He suddenly noticed that, although Kirillov +was looking straight before him, he could see him and was perhaps +watching him out of the corner of his eye. Then the idea occurred to him +to hold the candle right up to the wretch’s face, to scorch him and see +what he would do. He suddenly fancied that Kirillov’s chin twitched and +that something like a mocking smile passed over his lips—as though +he had guessed Pyotr Stepanovitch’s thought. He shuddered and, beside +himself, clutched violently at Kirillov’s shoulder. +</p> +<p> +Then something happened so hideous and so soon over that Pyotr +Stepanovitch could never afterwards recover a coherent impression of +it. He had hardly touched Kirillov when the latter bent down quickly and +with his head knocked the candle out of Pyotr Stepanovitch’s hand; the +candlestick fell with a clang on the ground and the candle went out. At +the same moment he was conscious of a fearful pain in the little finger +of his left hand. He cried out, and all that he could remember was that, +beside himself, he hit out with all his might and struck three blows +with the revolver on the head of Kirillov, who had bent down to him +and had bitten his finger. At last he tore away his finger and rushed +headlong to get out of the house, feeling his way in the dark. He was +pursued by terrible shouts from the room. +</p> +<p> +“Directly, directly, directly, directly.” Ten times. But he still ran +on, and was running into the porch when he suddenly heard a loud shot. +Then he stopped short in the dark porch and stood deliberating for five +minutes; at last he made his way back into the house. But he had to +get the candle. He had only to feel on the floor on the right of the +cupboard for the candlestick; but how was he to light the candle? There +suddenly came into his mind a vague recollection: he recalled that +when he had run into the kitchen the day before to attack Fedka he had +noticed in passing a large red box of matches in a corner on a shelf. +Feeling with his hands, he made his way to the door on the left leading +to the kitchen, found it, crossed the passage, and went down the steps. +On the shelf, on the very spot where he had just recalled seeing it, he +felt in the dark a full unopened box of matches. He hurriedly went up +the steps again without striking a light, and it was only when he was +near the cupboard, at the spot where he had struck Kirillov with the +revolver and been bitten by him, that he remembered his bitten finger, +and at the same instant was conscious that it was unbearably painful. +Clenching his teeth, he managed somehow to light the candle-end, set it +in the candlestick again, and looked about him: near the open casement, +with his feet towards the right-hand corner, lay the dead body of +Kirillov. The shot had been fired at the right temple and the bullet +had come out at the top on the left, shattering the skull. There were +splashes of blood and brains. The revolver was still in the suicide’s +hand on the floor. Death must have been instantaneous. After a careful +look round, Pyotr Stepanovitch got up and went out on tiptoe, closed the +door, left the candle on the table in the outer room, thought a moment, +and resolved not to put it out, reflecting that it could not possibly +set fire to anything. Looking once more at the document left on the +table, he smiled mechanically and then went out of the house, still for +some reason walking on tiptoe. He crept through Fedka’s hole again and +carefully replaced the posts after him. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +Precisely at ten minutes to six Pyotr Stepanovitch and Erkel were +walking up and down the platform at the railway-station beside a rather +long train. Pyotr Stepanovitch was setting off and Erkel was saying +good-bye to him. The luggage was in, and his bag was in the seat he had +taken in a second-class carriage. The first bell had rung already; they +were waiting for the second. Pyotr Stepanovitch looked about him, openly +watching the passengers as they got into the train. But he did not meet +anyone he knew well; only twice he nodded to acquaintances—a merchant +whom he knew slightly, and then a young village priest who was going +to his parish two stations away. Erkel evidently wanted to speak of +something of importance in the last moments, though possibly he did not +himself know exactly of what, but he could not bring himself to begin! +He kept fancying that Pyotr Stepanovitch seemed anxious to get rid of +him and was impatient for the last bell. +</p> +<p> +“You look at every one so openly,” he observed with some timidity, as +though he would have warned him. +</p> +<p> +“Why not? It would not do for me to conceal myself at present. It’s too +soon. Don’t be uneasy. All I am afraid of is that the devil might send +Liputin this way; he might scent me out and race off here.” +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch, they are not to be trusted,” Erkel brought out +resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“Liputin?” +</p> +<p> +“None of them, Pyotr Stepanovitch.” +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense! they are all bound by what happened yesterday. There isn’t +one who would turn traitor. People won’t go to certain destruction +unless they’ve lost their reason.” +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch, but they will lose their reason.” Evidently that +idea had already occurred to Pyotr Stepanovitch too, and so Erkel’s +observation irritated him the more. +</p> +<p> +“You are not in a funk too, are you, Erkel? I rely on you more than on +any of them. I’ve seen now what each of them is worth. Tell them to-day +all I’ve told you. I leave them in your charge. Go round to each of them +this morning. Read them my written instructions to-morrow, or the day +after, when you are all together and they are capable of listening +again … and believe me, they will be by to-morrow, for they’ll be in an +awful funk, and that will make them as soft as wax.… The great thing +is that you shouldn’t be downhearted.” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, Pyotr Stepanovitch, it would be better if you weren’t going away.” +</p> +<p> +“But I am only going for a few days; I shall be back in no time.” +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch,” Erkel brought out warily but resolutely, “what if +you were going to Petersburg? Of course, I understand that you are only +doing what’s necessary for the cause.” +</p> +<p> +“I expected as much from you, Erkel. If you have guessed that I am going +to Petersburg you can realise that I couldn’t tell them yesterday, at +that moment, that I was going so far for fear of frightening them. You +saw for yourself what a state they were in. But you understand that I +am going for the cause, for work of the first importance, for the common +cause, and not to save my skin, as Liputin imagines.” +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch, what if you were going abroad? I should +understand … I should understand that you must be careful of yourself +because you are everything and we are nothing. I shall understand, Pyotr +Stepanovitch.” The poor boy’s voice actually quivered. +</p> +<p> +“Thank you, Erkel.… Aie, you’ve touched my bad finger.” (Erkel had +pressed his hand awkwardly; the bad finger was discreetly bound up +in black silk.) “But I tell you positively again that I am going to +Petersburg only to sniff round, and perhaps shall only be there for +twenty-four hours and then back here again at once. When I come back I +shall stay at Gaganov’s country place for the sake of appearances. If +there is any notion of danger, I should be the first to take the lead +and share it. If I stay longer in Petersburg I’ll let you know at once +… in the way we’ve arranged, and you’ll tell them.” The second bell +rang. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, then there’s only five minutes before the train starts. I don’t +want the group here to break up, you know. I am not afraid; don’t be +anxious about me. I have plenty of such centres, and it’s not much +consequence; but there’s no harm in having as many centres as possible. +But I am quite at ease about you, though I am leaving you almost alone +with those idiots. Don’t be uneasy; they won’t turn traitor, they won’t +have the pluck.… Ha ha, you going to-day too?” he cried suddenly in a +quite different, cheerful voice to a very young man, who came up gaily +to greet him. “I didn’t know you were going by the express too. Where +are you off to … your mother’s?” +</p> +<p> +The mother of the young man was a very wealthy landowner in a +neighbouring province, and the young man was a distant relation of Yulia +Mihailovna’s and had been staying about a fortnight in our town. +</p> +<p> +“No, I am going farther, to R——. I’ve eight hours to live through in +the train. Off to Petersburg?” laughed the young man. +</p> +<p> +“What makes you suppose I must be going to Petersburg?” said Pyotr +Stepanovitch, laughing even more openly. +</p> +<p> +The young man shook his gloved finger at him. +</p> +<p> +“Well, you’ve guessed right,” Pyotr Stepanovitch whispered to him +mysteriously. “I am going with letters from Yulia Mihailovna and have to +call on three or four personages, as you can imagine—bother them all, +to speak candidly. It’s a beastly job!” +</p> +<p> +“But why is she in such a panic? Tell me,” the young man whispered too. +“She wouldn’t see even me yesterday. I don’t think she has anything to +fear for her husband, quite the contrary; he fell down so creditably at +the fire—ready to sacrifice his life, so to speak.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, there it is,” laughed Pyotr Stepanovitch. “You see, she is +afraid that people may have written from here already … that is, some +gentlemen.… The fact is, Stavrogin is at the bottom of it, or rather +Prince K.… Ech, it’s a long story; I’ll tell you something about it on +the journey if you like—as far as my chivalrous feelings will allow +me, at least.… This is my relation, Lieutenant Erkel, who lives down +here.” +</p> +<p> +The young man, who had been stealthily glancing at Erkel, touched his +hat; Erkel made a bow. +</p> +<p> +“But I say, Verhovensky, eight hours in the train is an awful ordeal. +Berestov, the colonel, an awfully funny fellow, is travelling with me in +the first class. He is a neighbour of ours in the country, and his wife +is a Garin (<i>née</i> de Garine), and you know he is a very decent fellow. +He’s got ideas too. He’s only been here a couple of days. He’s +passionately fond of whist; couldn’t we get up a game, eh? I’ve already +fixed on a fourth—Pripuhlov, our merchant from T——with a beard, a +millionaire—I mean it, a real millionaire; you can take my word for +it.… I’ll introduce you; he is a very interesting money-bag. We shall +have a laugh.” +</p> +<p> +“I shall be delighted, and I am awfully fond of cards in the train, but +I am going second class.” +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense, that’s no matter. Get in with us. I’ll tell them directly to +move you to the first class. The chief guard would do anything I tell +him. What have you got?… a bag? a rug?” +</p> +<p> +“First-rate. Come along!” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch took his bag, his rug, and his book, and at once and +with alacrity transferred himself to the first class. Erkel helped him. +The third bell rang. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Erkel.” Hurriedly, and with a preoccupied air, Pyotr Stepanovitch +held out his hand from the window for the last time. “You see, I am +sitting down to cards with them.” +</p> +<p> +“Why explain, Pyotr Stepanovitch? I understand, I understand it all!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, au revoir,” Pyotr Stepanovitch turned away suddenly on his +name being called by the young man, who wanted to introduce him to his +partners. And Erkel saw nothing more of Pyotr Stepanovitch. +</p> +<p> +He returned home very sad. Not that he was alarmed at Pyotr +Stepanovitch’s leaving them so suddenly, but … he had turned away from +him so quickly when that young swell had called to him and … he might +have said something different to him, not “Au revoir,” or … or at +least have pressed his hand more warmly. That last was bitterest of all. +Something else was beginning to gnaw in his poor little heart, something +which he could not understand himself yet, something connected with the +evening before. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0022"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER VII. STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +I am persuaded that Stepan Trofimovitch was terribly frightened as +he felt the time fixed for his insane enterprise drawing near. I am +convinced that he suffered dreadfully from terror, especially on the +night before he started—that awful night. Nastasya mentioned afterwards +that he had gone to bed late and fallen asleep. But that proves nothing; +men sentenced to death sleep very soundly, they say, even the night +before their execution. Though he set off by daylight, when a nervous +man is always a little more confident (and the major, Virginsky’s +relative, used to give up believing in God every morning when the night +was over), yet I am convinced he could never, without horror, have +imagined himself alone on the high road in such a position. No doubt +a certain desperation in his feelings softened at first the terrible +sensation of sudden solitude in which he at once found himself as soon +as he had left Nastasya, and the corner in which he had been warm and +snug for twenty years. But it made no difference; even with the clearest +recognition of all the horrors awaiting him he would have gone out to +the high road and walked along it! There was something proud in the +undertaking which allured him in spite of everything. Oh, he might have +accepted Varvara Petrovna’s luxurious provision and have remained living +on her charity, “<i>comme un</i> humble dependent.” But he had not accepted her +charity and was not remaining! And here he was leaving her of himself, +and holding aloft the “standard of a great idea, and going to die for it +on the open road.” That is how he must have been feeling; that’s how his +action must have appeared to him. +</p> +<p> +Another question presented itself to me more than once. Why did he run +away, that is, literally run away on foot, rather than simply drive +away? I put it down at first to the impracticability of fifty years and +the fantastic bent of his mind under the influence of strong emotion. +I imagined that the thought of posting tickets and horses (even if +they had bells) would have seemed too simple and prosaic to him; a +pilgrimage, on the other hand, even under an umbrella, was ever so much +more picturesque and in character with love and resentment. But now that +everything is over, I am inclined to think that it all came about in a +much simpler way. To begin with, he was afraid to hire horses because +Varvara Petrovna might have heard of it and prevented him from going by +force; which she certainly would have done, and he certainly would have +given in, and then farewell to the great idea forever. Besides, to take +tickets for anywhere he must have known at least where he was going. But +to think about that was the greatest agony to him at that moment; he +was utterly unable to fix upon a place. For if he had to fix on any +particular town his enterprise would at once have seemed in his own eyes +absurd and impossible; he felt that very strongly. What should he do in +that particular town rather than in any other? Look out for <i>ce marchand</i>? +But what <i>marchand</i>? At that point his second and most terrible question +cropped up. In reality there was nothing he dreaded more than <i>ce +marchand</i>, whom he had rushed off to seek so recklessly, though, of +course, he was terribly afraid of finding him. No, better simply the +high road, better simply to set off for it, and walk along it and to +think of nothing so long as he could put off thinking. The high road is +something very very long, of which one cannot see the end—like human +life, like human dreams. There is an idea in the open road, but what +sort of idea is there in travelling with posting tickets? Posting +tickets mean an end to ideas. <i>Vive la grande route</i> and then as God +wills. +</p> +<p> +After the sudden and unexpected interview with Liza which I have +described, he rushed on, more lost in forgetfulness than ever. The high +road passed half a mile from Skvoreshniki and, strange to say, he was +not at first aware that he was on it. Logical reasoning or even distinct +consciousness was unbearable to him at this moment. A fine rain kept +drizzling, ceasing, and drizzling again; but he did not even notice +the rain. He did not even notice either how he threw his bag over his +shoulder, nor how much more comfortably he walked with it so. He must +have walked like that for nearly a mile or so when he suddenly stood +still and looked round. The old road, black, marked with wheel-ruts +and planted with willows on each side, ran before him like an endless +thread; on the right hand were bare plains from which the harvest had +long ago been carried; on the left there were bushes and in the distance +beyond them a copse. +</p> +<p> +And far, far away a scarcely perceptible line of the railway, running +aslant, and on it the smoke of a train, but no sound was heard. Stepan +Trofimovitch felt a little timid, but only for a moment. He heaved a +vague sigh, put down his bag beside a willow, and sat down to rest. +As he moved to sit down he was conscious of being chilly and wrapped +himself in his rug; noticing at the same time that it was raining, he +put up his umbrella. He sat like that for some time, moving his lips +from time to time and firmly grasping the umbrella handle. Images of all +sorts passed in feverish procession before him, rapidly succeeding one +another in his mind. +</p> +<p> +“Lise, Lise,” he thought, “and with her <i>ce Maurice</i>.… Strange +people.… But what was the strange fire, and what were they talking +about, and who were murdered? I fancy Nastasya has not found out yet and +is still waiting for me with my coffee … cards? Did I really lose men +at cards? H’m! Among us in Russia in the times of serfdom, so called.… +My God, yes—Fedka!” +</p> +<p> +He started all over with terror and looked about him. “What if that +Fedka is in hiding somewhere behind the bushes? They say he has a +regular band of robbers here on the high road. Oh, mercy, I … I’ll +tell him the whole truth then, that I was to blame … and that I’ve +been miserable about him <i>for ten years</i>. More miserable than he was as +a soldier, and … I’ll give him my purse. H’m! <i>J’ai en tout quarante +roubles; il prendra les roubles et il me tuera tout de même.</i>” +</p> +<p> +In his panic he for some reason shut up the umbrella and laid it down +beside him. A cart came into sight on the high road in the distance +coming from the town. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Grace à Dieu</i>, that’s a cart and it’s coming at a walking pace; that +can’t be dangerous. The wretched little horses here … I always said +that breed … It was Pyotr Ilyitch though, he talked at the club +about horse-breeding and I trumped him, <i>et puis</i> … but what’s that +behind?… I believe there’s a woman in the cart. A peasant and a woman, +<i>cela commence à être rassurant.</i> The woman behind and the man in front— +<i>c’est très rassurant.</i> There’s a cow behind the cart tied by the horns, +<i>c’est rassurant au plus haut degré.</i>” +</p> +<p> +The cart reached him; it was a fairly solid peasant cart. The woman was +sitting on a tightly stuffed sack and the man on the front of the cart +with his legs hanging over towards Stepan Trofimovitch. A red cow was, +in fact, shambling behind, tied by the horns to the cart. The man +and the woman gazed open-eyed at Stepan Trofimovitch, and Stepan +Trofimovitch gazed back at them with equal wonder, but after he had let +them pass twenty paces, he got up hurriedly all of a sudden and walked +after them. In the proximity of the cart it was natural that he +should feel safer, but when he had overtaken it he became oblivious +of everything again and sank back into his disconnected thoughts and +fancies. He stepped along with no suspicion, of course, that for the +two peasants he was at that instant the most mysterious and interesting +object that one could meet on the high road. +</p> +<p> +“What sort may you be, pray, if it’s not uncivil to ask?” the woman +could not resist asking at last when Stepan Trofimovitch glanced +absent-mindedly at her. She was a woman of about seven and twenty, +sturdily built, with black eyebrows, rosy cheeks, and a friendly smile +on her red lips, between which gleamed white even teeth. +</p> +<p> +“You … you are addressing me?” muttered Stepan Trofimovitch with +mournful wonder. +</p> +<p> +“A merchant, for sure,” the peasant observed confidently. He was a +well-grown man of forty with a broad and intelligent face, framed in a +reddish beard. +</p> +<p> +“No, I am not exactly a merchant, I … I … <i>moi c’est autre chose.</i>” +Stepan Trofimovitch parried the question somehow, and to be on the safe +side he dropped back a little from the cart, so that he was walking on a +level with the cow. +</p> +<p> +“Must be a gentleman,” the man decided, hearing words not Russian, and +he gave a tug at the horse. +</p> +<p> +“That’s what set us wondering. You are out for a walk seemingly?” the +woman asked inquisitively again. +</p> +<p> +“You … you ask me?” +</p> +<p> +“Foreigners come from other parts sometimes by the train; your boots +don’t seem to be from hereabouts.…” +</p> +<p> +“They are army boots,” the man put in complacently and significantly. +</p> +<p> +“No, I am not precisely in the army, I …” +</p> +<p> +“What an inquisitive woman!” Stepan Trofimovitch mused with vexation. +“And how they stare at me … <i>mais enfin</i>. In fact, it’s strange that I +feel, as it were, conscience-stricken before them, and yet I’ve done +them no harm.” +</p> +<p> +The woman was whispering to the man. +</p> +<p> +“If it’s no offence, we’d give you a lift if so be it’s agreeable.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch suddenly roused himself. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, my friends, I accept it with pleasure, for I’m very tired; +but how am I to get in?” +</p> +<p> +“How wonderful it is,” he thought to himself, “that I’ve been walking +so long beside that cow and it never entered my head to ask them for a +lift. This ‘real life’ has something very original about it.” +</p> +<p> +But the peasant had not, however, pulled up the horse. +</p> +<p> +“But where are you bound for?” he asked with some mistrustfulness. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch did not understand him at once. +</p> +<p> +“To Hatovo, I suppose?” +</p> +<p> +“Hatov? No, not to Hatov’s exactly … And I don’t know him though I’ve +heard of him.” +</p> +<p> +“The village of Hatovo, the village, seven miles from here.” +</p> +<p> +“A village? <i>C’est charmant,</i> to be sure I’ve heard of it.…” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch was still walking, they had not yet taken him into +the cart. A guess that was a stroke of genius flashed through his mind. +</p> +<p> +“You think perhaps that I am … I’ve got a passport and I am a +professor, that is, if you like, a teacher … but a head teacher. I am a +head teacher. <i>Oui, c’est comme ça qu’on peut traduire.</i> I should be very +glad of a lift and I’ll buy you … I’ll buy you a quart of vodka for +it.” +</p> +<p> +“It’ll be half a rouble, sir; it’s a bad road.” +</p> +<p> +“Or it wouldn’t be fair to ourselves,” put in the woman. +</p> +<p> +“Half a rouble? Very good then, half a rouble. <i>C’est encore mieux; j’ai +en tout quarante roubles mais</i> …” +</p> +<p> +The peasant stopped the horse and by their united efforts Stepan +Trofimovitch was dragged into the cart, and seated on the sack by the +woman. He was still pursued by the same whirl of ideas. Sometimes he was +aware himself that he was terribly absent-minded, and that he was not +thinking of what he ought to be thinking of and wondered at it. This +consciousness of abnormal weakness of mind became at moments very +painful and even humiliating to him. +</p> +<p> +“How … how is this you’ve got a cow behind?” he suddenly asked the +woman. +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean, sir, as though you’d never seen one,” laughed the +woman. +</p> +<p> +“We bought it in the town,” the peasant put in. “Our cattle died last +spring … the plague. All the beasts have died round us, all of them. +There aren’t half of them left, it’s heartbreaking.” +</p> +<p> +And again he lashed the horse, which had got stuck in a rut. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that does happen among you in Russia … in general we Russians … +Well, yes, it happens,” Stepan Trofimovitch broke off. +</p> +<p> +“If you are a teacher, what are you going to Hatovo for? Maybe you are +going on farther.” +</p> +<p> +“I … I’m not going farther precisely.… <i>C’est-à-dire,</i> I’m going to a +merchant’s.” +</p> +<p> +“To Spasov, I suppose?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, to Spasov. But that’s no matter.” +</p> +<p> +“If you are going to Spasov and on foot, it will take you a week in your +boots,” laughed the woman. +</p> +<p> +“I dare say, I dare say, no matter, <i>mes amis</i>, no matter.” Stepan +Trofimovitch cut her short impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“Awfully inquisitive people; but the woman speaks better than he does, +and I notice that since February 19,* their language has altered a +little, and … and what business is it of mine whether I’m going to +Spasov or not? Besides, I’ll pay them, so why do they pester me.” +</p> + +<pre> + *February 19, 1861, the day of the Emancipation of the Serfs, is +meant.—Translator’s note. +</pre> + +<p> +“If you are going to Spasov, you must take the steamer,” the peasant +persisted. +</p> +<p> +“That’s true indeed,” the woman put in with animation, “for if you +drive along the bank it’s twenty-five miles out of the way.” +</p> +<p> +“Thirty-five.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ll just catch the steamer at Ustyevo at two o’clock tomorrow,” the +woman decided finally. But Stepan Trofimovitch was obstinately silent. +His questioners, too, sank into silence. The peasant tugged at his horse +at rare intervals; the peasant woman exchanged brief remarks with him. +Stepan Trofimovitch fell into a doze. He was tremendously surprised when +the woman, laughing, gave him a poke and he found himself in a rather +large village at the door of a cottage with three windows. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve had a nap, sir?” +</p> +<p> +“What is it? Where am I? Ah, yes! Well … never mind,” sighed Stepan +Trofimovitch, and he got out of the cart. +</p> +<p> +He looked about him mournfully; the village scene seemed strange to him +and somehow terribly remote. +</p> + +<p> +“And the half-rouble, I was forgetting it!” he said to the peasant, +turning to him with an excessively hurried gesture; he was evidently by +now afraid to part from them. +</p> +<p> +“We’ll settle indoors, walk in,” the peasant invited him. +</p> +<p> +“It’s comfortable inside,” the woman said reassuringly. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch mounted the shaky steps. “How can it be?” he +murmured in profound and apprehensive perplexity. He went into the +cottage, however. <i>“Elle l’a voulu”</i> he felt a stab at his heart and again +he became oblivious of everything, even of the fact that he had gone +into the cottage. +</p> +<p> +It was a light and fairly clean peasant’s cottage, with three windows +and two rooms; not exactly an inn, but a cottage at which people +who knew the place were accustomed to stop on their way through the +village. Stepan Trofimovitch, quite unembarrassed, went to the foremost +corner; forgot to greet anyone, sat down and sank into thought. +Meanwhile a sensation of warmth, extremely agreeable after three hours +of travelling in the damp, was suddenly diffused throughout his person. +Even the slight shivers that spasmodically ran down his spine—such as +always occur in particularly nervous people when they are feverish and +have suddenly come into a warm room from the cold—became all at once +strangely agreeable. He raised his head and the delicious fragrance of +the hot pancakes with which the woman of the house was busy at the stove +tickled his nostrils. With a childlike smile he leaned towards the woman +and suddenly said: +</p> +<p> +“What’s that? Are they pancakes? <i>Mais … c’est charmant.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Would you like some, sir?” the woman politely offered him at once. +</p> +<p> +“I should like some, I certainly should, and … may I ask you for some +tea too,” said Stepan Trofimovitch, reviving. +</p> +<p> +“Get the samovar? With the greatest pleasure.” +</p> +<p> +On a large plate with a big blue pattern on it were served the +pancakes—regular peasant pancakes, thin, made half of wheat, covered +with fresh hot butter, most delicious pancakes. Stepan Trofimovitch +tasted them with relish. +</p> +<p> +“How rich they are and how good! And if one could only have <i>un doigt +d’eau de vie</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s a drop of vodka you would like, sir, isn’t it?” +</p> +<p> +“Just so, just so, a little, <i>un tout petit rien</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Five farthings’ worth, I suppose?” +</p> +<p> +“Five, yes, five, five, five, <i>un tout petit rien</i>,” Stepan Trofimovitch +assented with a blissful smile. +</p> +<p> +Ask a peasant to do anything for you, and if he can, and will, he +will serve you with care and friendliness; but ask him to fetch you +vodka—and his habitual serenity and friendliness will pass at once into +a sort of joyful haste and alacrity; he will be as keen in your +interest as though you were one of his family. The peasant who fetches +vodka—even though you are going to drink it and not he and he knows +that beforehand—seems, as it were, to be enjoying part of your future +gratification. Within three minutes (the tavern was only two paces +away), a bottle and a large greenish wineglass were set on the table +before Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Is that all for me!” He was extremely surprised. “I’ve always had vodka +but I never knew you could get so much for five farthings.” +</p> +<p> +He filled the wineglass, got up and with a certain solemnity crossed the +room to the other corner where his fellow-traveller, the black-browed +peasant woman, who had shared the sack with him and bothered him with +her questions, had ensconced herself. The woman was taken aback, and +began to decline, but after having said all that was prescribed by +politeness, she stood up and drank it decorously in three sips, as women +do, and, with an expression of intense suffering on her face, gave back +the wineglass and bowed to Stepan Trofimovitch. He returned the bow with +dignity and returned to the table with an expression of positive pride +on his countenance. +</p> +<p> +All this was done on the inspiration of the moment: a second before he +had no idea that he would go and treat the peasant woman. +</p> +<p> +“I know how to get on with peasants to perfection, to perfection, and +I’ve always told them so,” he thought complacently, pouring out the rest +of the vodka; though there was less than a glass left, it warmed and +revived him, and even went a little to his head. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Je suis malade tout à fait, mais ce n’est pas trop mauvais d’être +malade.”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Would you care to purchase?” a gentle feminine voice asked close by +him. +</p> +<p> +He raised his eyes and to his surprise saw a lady—<i>une dame et elle en +avait l’air,</i> somewhat over thirty, very modest in appearance, dressed not +like a peasant, in a dark gown with a grey shawl on her shoulders. +There was something very kindly in her face which attracted Stepan +Trofimovitch immediately. She had only just come back to the cottage, +where her things had been left on a bench close by the place where +Stepan Trofimovitch had seated himself. Among them was a portfolio, +at which he remembered he had looked with curiosity on going in, and a +pack, not very large, of American leather. From this pack she took out +two nicely bound books with a cross engraved on the cover, and offered +them to Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Et … mais je crois que c’est l’Evangile </i>… with the greatest +pleasure.… Ah, now I understand.… <i>Vous êtes ce qu’on appelle</i> a +gospel-woman; I’ve read more than once.… Half a rouble?” +</p> +<p> +“Thirty-five kopecks,” answered the gospel-woman. “With the greatest +pleasure. <i>Je n’ai rien contre l’Evangile,</i> and I’ve been wanting to +re-read it for a long time.…” +</p> +<p> +The idea occurred to him at the moment that he had not read the gospel +for thirty years at least, and at most had recalled some passages of it, +seven years before, when reading Renan’s “Vie de Jésus.” As he had no +small change he pulled out his four ten-rouble notes—all that he +had. The woman of the house undertook to get change, and only then +he noticed, looking round, that a good many people had come into the +cottage, and that they had all been watching him for some time past, and +seemed to be talking about him. They were talking too of the fire in the +town, especially the owner of the cart who had only just returned from +the town with the cow. They talked of arson, of the Shpigulin men. +</p> +<p> +“He said nothing to me about the fire when he brought me along, although +he talked of everything,” struck Stepan Trofimovitch for some reason. +</p> +<p> +“Master, Stepan Trofimovitch, sir, is it you I see? Well, I never should +have thought it!… Don’t you know me?” exclaimed a middle-aged man who +looked like an old-fashioned house-serf, wearing no beard and dressed +in an overcoat with a wide turn-down collar. Stepan Trofimovitch was +alarmed at hearing his own name. +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me,” he muttered, “I don’t quite remember you.” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t remember me. I am Anisim, Anisim Ivanov. I used to be in the +service of the late Mr. Gaganov, and many’s the time I’ve seen you, sir, +with Varvara Petrovna at the late Avdotya Sergyevna’s. I used to go to +you with books from her, and twice I brought you Petersburg sweets from +her.…” +</p> +<p> +“Why, yes, I remember you, Anisim,” said Stepan Trofimovitch, smiling. +“Do you live here?” +</p> +<p> +“I live near Spasov, close to the V—— Monastery, in the service +of Marta Sergyevna, Avdotya Sergyevna’s sister. Perhaps your honour +remembers her; she broke her leg falling out of her carriage on her +way to a ball. Now her honour lives near the monastery, and I am in her +service. And now as your honour sees, I am on my way to the town to see +my kinsfolk.” +</p> +<p> +“Quite so, quite so.” +</p> +<p> +“I felt so pleased when I saw you, you used to be so kind to me,” +Anisim smiled delightedly. “But where are you travelling to, sir, all by +yourself as it seems.… You’ve never been a journey alone, I fancy?” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch looked at him in alarm. +</p> +<p> +“You are going, maybe, to our parts, to Spasov?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I am going to Spasov. <i>Il me semble que tout le monde va à +Spassof.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t say it’s to Fyodor Matveyevitch’s? They will be pleased to +see you. He had such a respect for you in old days; he often speaks of +you now.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, to Fyodor Matveyevitch’s.” +</p> +<p> +“To be sure, to be sure. The peasants here are wondering; they make out +they met you, sir, walking on the high road. They are a foolish lot.” +</p> +<p> +“I … I … Yes, you know, Anisim, I made a wager, you know, like an +Englishman, that I would go on foot and I …” +</p> +<p> +The perspiration came out on his forehead. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure, to be sure.” Anisim listened with merciless curiosity. But +Stepan Trofimovitch could bear it no longer. He was so disconcerted that +he was on the point of getting up and going out of the cottage. But the +samovar was brought in, and at the same moment the gospel-woman, who +had been out of the room, returned. With the air of a man clutching at a +straw he turned to her and offered her tea. Anisim submitted and walked +away. +</p> +<p> +The peasants certainly had begun to feel perplexed: “What sort of person +is he? He was found walking on the high road, he says he is a teacher, +he is dressed like a foreigner, and has no more sense than a little +child; he answers queerly as though he had run away from someone, and +he’s got money!” An idea was beginning to gain ground that information +must be given to the authorities, “especially as things weren’t quite +right in the town.” But Anisim set all that right in a minute. Going +into the passage he explained to every one who cared to listen that +Stepan Trofimovitch was not exactly a teacher but “a very learned man +and busy with very learned studies, and was a landowner of the district +himself, and had been living for twenty-two years with her excellency, +the general’s widow, the stout Madame Stavrogin, and was by way of being +the most important person in her house, and was held in the greatest +respect by every one in the town. He used to lose by fifties and +hundreds in an evening at the club of the nobility, and in rank he was +a councillor, which was equal to a lieutenant-colonel in the army, which +was next door to being a colonel. As for his having money, he had +so much from the stout Madame Stavrogin that there was no reckoning +it”—and so on and so on. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mais c’est une dame et très comme il faut,”</i> thought Stepan +Trofimovitch, as he recovered from Anisim’s attack, gazing with +agreeable curiosity at his neighbour, the gospel pedlar, who was, +however, drinking the tea from a saucer and nibbling at a piece of +sugar. “<i>Ce petit morceau de sucre, ce n’est rien.</i>… There is something +noble and independent about her, and at the same time—gentle. <i>Le comme +il faut tout pur,</i> but rather in a different style.” +</p> +<p> +He soon learned from her that her name was Sofya Matveyevna Ulitin and +she lived at K——, that she had a sister there, a widow; that she was a +widow too, and that her husband, who was a sub-lieutenant risen from the +ranks, had been killed at Sevastopol. +</p> +<p> +“But you are still so young, <i>vous n’avez pas trente ans</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Thirty-four,” said Sofya Matveyevna, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“What, you understand French?” +</p> +<p> +“A little. I lived for four years after that in a gentleman’s family, +and there I picked it up from the children.” +</p> +<p> +She told him that being left a widow at eighteen she was for some time +in Sevastopol as a nurse, and had afterwards lived in various places, +and now she travelled about selling the gospel. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Mais, mon Dieu,</i> wasn’t it you who had a strange adventure in our town, +a very strange adventure?” +</p> +<p> +She flushed; it turned out that it had been she. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Ces vauriens, ces malheureux,”</i> he began in a voice quivering with +indignation; miserable and hateful recollections stirred painfully in +his heart. For a minute he seemed to sink into oblivion. +</p> +<p> +“Bah, but she’s gone away again,” he thought, with a start, noticing +that she was not by his side. “She keeps going out and is busy about +something; I notice that she seems upset too.… <i>Bah, je deviens +egoiste!</i>” +</p> +<p> +He raised his eyes and saw Anisim again, but this time in the most +menacing surroundings. The whole cottage was full of peasants, and it +was evidently Anisim who had brought them all in. Among them were the +master of the house, and the peasant with the cow, two other peasants +(they turned out to be cab-drivers), another little man, half drunk, +dressed like a peasant but clean-shaven, who seemed like a townsman +ruined by drink and talked more than any of them. And they were all +discussing him, Stepan Trofimovitch. The peasant with the cow insisted +on his point that to go round by the lake would be thirty-five miles out +of the way, and that he certainly must go by steamer. The half-drunken +man and the man of the house warmly retorted: +</p> +<p> +“Seeing that, though of course it will be nearer for his honour on +the steamer over the lake; that’s true enough, but maybe according to +present arrangements the steamer doesn’t go there, brother.” +</p> +<p> +“It does go, it does, it will go for another week,” cried Anisim, more +excited than any of them. +</p> +<p> +“That’s true enough, but it doesn’t arrive punctually, seeing it’s late +in the season, and sometimes it’ll stay three days together at Ustyevo.” +</p> +<p> +“It’ll be there to-morrow at two o’clock punctually. You’ll be at Spasov +punctually by the evening,” cried Anisim, eager to do his best for +Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mais qu’est-ce qu’il a cet homme,”</i> thought Stepan Trofimovitch, +trembling and waiting in terror for what was in store for him. +</p> +<p> +The cab-drivers, too, came forward and began bargaining with him; they +asked three roubles to Ustyevo. The others shouted that that was not too +much, that that was the fare, and that they had been driving from here +to Ustyevo all the summer for that fare. +</p> +<p> +“But … it’s nice here too.… And I don’t want …” Stepan Trofimovitch +mumbled in protest. +</p> +<p> +“Nice it is, sir, you are right there, it’s wonderfully nice at Spasov +now and Fyodor Matveyevitch will be so pleased to see you.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Mon Dieu, mes amis,</i> all this is such a surprise to me.” +</p> +<p> +At last Sofya Matveyevna came back. But she sat down on the bench +looking dejected and mournful. +</p> +<p> +“I can’t get to Spasov!” she said to the woman of the cottage. +</p> +<p> +“Why, you are bound to Spasov, too, then?” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, +starting. +</p> +<p> +It appeared that a lady had the day before told her to wait at Hatovo +and had promised to take her to Spasov, and now this lady had not turned +up after all. +</p> +<p> +“What am I to do now?” repeated Sofya Matveyevna. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Mais, ma chère et nouvelle amie,</i> I can take you just as well as the +lady to that village, whatever it is, to which I’ve hired horses, and +to-morrow—well, to-morrow, we’ll go on together to Spasov.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, are you going to Spasov too?” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Mais que faire, et je suis enchanté!</i> I shall take you with the greatest +pleasure; you see they want to take me, I’ve engaged them already. +Which of you did I engage?” Stepan Trofimovitch suddenly felt an intense +desire to go to Spasov. +</p> +<p> +Within a quarter of an hour they were getting into a covered trap, he +very lively and quite satisfied, she with her pack beside him, with a +grateful smile on her face. Anisim helped them in. +</p> +<p> +“A good journey to you, sir,” said he, bustling officiously round the +trap, “it has been a treat to see you.” +</p> +<p> +“Good-bye, good-bye, my friend, good-bye.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ll see Fyodor Matveyevitch, sir …” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my friend, yes … Fyodor Petrovitch … only good-bye.” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +“You see, my friend … you’ll allow me to call myself your friend, +n’est-ce pas?” Stepan Trofimovitch began hurriedly as soon as the trap +started. “You see I … <i>J’aime le peuple, c’est indispensable, mais il me +semble que je ne m’avais jamais vu de près. Stasie … cela va sans dire +qu’elle est aussi du peuple, mais le vrai peuple,</i> that is, the real +ones, who are on the high road, it seems to me they care for nothing, +but where exactly I am going … But let bygones be bygones. I fancy I am +talking at random, but I believe it’s from being flustered.” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t seem quite well.” Sofya Matveyevna watched him keenly though +respectfully. +</p> +<p> +“No, no, I must only wrap myself up, besides there’s a fresh wind, very +fresh in fact, but … let us forget that. That’s not what I really meant +to say. <i>Chère et incomparable amie,</i> I feel that I am almost happy, and +it’s your doing. Happiness is not good for me for it makes me rush to +forgive all my enemies at once.…” +</p> +<p> +“Why, that’s a very good thing, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Not always, <i>chère innocente. L’Evangile … voyez-vous, désormais nous +prêcherons ensemble</i> and I will gladly sell your beautiful little books. +Yes, I feel that that perhaps is an idea, <i>quelque chose de très nouveau +dans ce genre.</i> The peasants are religious, <i>c’est admis,</i> but they don’t +yet know the gospel. I will expound it to them.… By verbal explanation +one might correct the mistakes in that remarkable book, which I am of +course prepared to treat with the utmost respect. I will be of service +even on the high road. I’ve always been of use, I always told <i>them</i> so <i>et +à cette chère ingrate.</i>… Oh, we will forgive, we will forgive, first +of all we will forgive all and always.… We will hope that we too shall +be forgiven. Yes, for all, every one of us, have wronged one another, +all are guilty!” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a very good saying, I think, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes.… I feel that I am speaking well. I shall speak to them very +well, but what was the chief thing I meant to say? I keep losing the +thread and forgetting.… Will you allow me to remain with you? I +feel that the look in your eyes and … I am surprised in fact at your +manners. You are simple-hearted, you call me ‘sir,’ and turn your cup +upside down on your saucer … and that horrid lump of sugar; but there’s +something charming about you, and I see from your features.… Oh, +don’t blush and don’t be afraid of me as a man. <i>Chère et incomparable, +pour moi une femme c’est tout.</i> I can’t live without a woman, but only +at her side, only at her side … I am awfully muddled, awfully. I can’t +remember what I meant to say. Oh, blessed is he to whom God always sends +a woman and … and I fancy, indeed, that I am in a sort of ecstasy. +There’s a lofty idea in the open road too! That’s what I meant to say, +that’s it—about the idea. Now I’ve remembered it, but I kept losing it +before. And why have they taken us farther. It was nice there too, but +here—<i>cela devien trop froid. A propos, j’ai en tout quarante roubles +et voilà cet argent,</i> take it, take it, I can’t take care of it, I shall +lose it or it will be taken away from me.… I seem to be sleepy, I’ve +a giddiness in my head. Yes, I am giddy, I am giddy, I am giddy. Oh, how +kind you are, what’s that you are wrapping me up in?” +</p> +<p> +“You are certainly in a regular fever and I’ve covered you with my rug; +only about the money, I’d rather.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, for God’s sake, <i>n’en parlons plus parce que cela me fait mal.</i> Oh, +how kind you are!” +</p> +<p> +He ceased speaking, and with strange suddenness dropped into a feverish +shivery sleep. The road by which they drove the twelve miles was not a +smooth one, and their carriage jolted cruelly. Stepan Trofimovitch woke +up frequently, quickly raised his head from the little pillow which +Sofya Matveyevna had slipped under it, clutched her by the hand and +asked “Are you here?” as though he were afraid she had left him. He told +her, too, that he had dreamed of gaping jaws full of teeth, and that he +had very much disliked it. Sofya Matveyevna was in great anxiety about +him. +</p> +<p> +They were driven straight up to a large cottage with a frontage of +four windows and other rooms in the yard. Stepan Trofimovitch waked up, +hurriedly went in and walked straight into the second room, which was +the largest and best in the house. An expression of fussiness came into +his sleepy face. He spoke at once to the landlady, a tall, thick-set +woman of forty with very dark hair and a slight moustache, and explained +that he required the whole room for himself, and that the door was to be +shut and no one else was to be admitted, “<i>parce que nous avons à parler. +Oui, j’ai beaucoup à vous dire, chère amie.</i> I’ll pay you, I’ll pay you,” +he said with a wave of dismissal to the landlady. +</p> +<p> +Though he was in a hurry, he seemed to articulate with difficulty. The +landlady listened grimly, and was silent in token of consent, but there +was a feeling of something menacing about her silence. He did not notice +this, and hurriedly (he was in a terrible hurry) insisted on her going +away and bringing them their dinner as quickly as possible, without a +moment’s delay. +</p> +<p> +At that point the moustached woman could contain herself no longer. +</p> +<p> +“This is not an inn, sir; we don’t provide dinners for travellers. We +can boil you some crayfish or set the samovar, but we’ve nothing more. +There won’t be fresh fish till to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +But Stepan Trofimovitch waved his hands, repeating with wrathful +impatience: “I’ll pay, only make haste, make haste.” +</p> +<p> +They settled on fish, soup, and roast fowl; the landlady declared that +fowl was not to be procured in the whole village; she agreed, however, +to go in search of one, but with the air of doing him an immense favour. +</p> +<p> +As soon as she had gone Stepan Trofimovitch instantly sat down on the +sofa and made Sofya Matveyevna sit down beside him. There were several +arm-chairs as well as a sofa in the room, but they were of a most +uninviting appearance. The room was rather a large one, with a corner, +in which there was a bed, partitioned off. It was covered with old and +tattered yellow paper, and had horrible lithographs of mythological +subjects on the walls; in the corner facing the door there was a long +row of painted ikons and several sets of brass ones. The whole room with +its strangely ill-assorted furniture was an unattractive mixture of the +town element and of peasant traditions. But he did not even glance at it +all, nor look out of the window at the vast lake, the edge of which was +only seventy feet from the cottage. +</p> +<p> +“At last we are by ourselves and we will admit no one! I want to tell +you everything, everything from the very beginning.” +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna checked him with great uneasiness. +</p> +<p> +“Are you aware, Stepan Trofimovitch?…” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Comment, vous savez déjà mon nom?”</i> He smiled with delight. +</p> +<p> +“I heard it this morning from Anisim Ivanovitch when you were talking to +him. But I venture to tell you for my part …” +</p> +<p> +And she whispered hurriedly to him, looking nervously at the closed +door for fear anyone should overhear—that here in this village, it was +dreadful. That though all the peasants were fishermen, they made their +living chiefly by charging travellers every summer whatever they +thought fit. The village was not on the high road but an out-of-the-way +one, and people only called there because the steamers stopped there, +and that when the steamer did not call—and if the weather was in the +least unfavourable, it would not—then numbers of travellers would be +waiting there for several days, and all the cottages in the village +would be occupied, and that was just the villagers’ opportunity, for +they charged three times its value for everything—and their landlord +here was proud and stuck up because he was, for these parts, very rich; +he had a net which had cost a thousand roubles. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch looked almost reproachfully at Sofya Matveyevna’s +extremely excited face, and several times he made a motion to stop her. +But she persisted and said all she had to say: she said she had been +there before already in the summer “with a very genteel lady from the +town,” and stayed there too for two whole days till the steamer came, +and what they had to put up with did not bear thinking of. “Here, Stepan +Trofimovitch, you’ve been pleased to ask for this room for yourself +alone.… I only speak to warn you.… In the other room there are +travellers already. An elderly man and a young man and a lady with +children, and by to-morrow before two o’clock the whole house will be +filled up, for since the steamer hasn’t been here for two days it will +be sure to come to-morrow. So for a room apart and for ordering dinner, +and for putting out the other travellers, they’ll charge you a price +unheard of even in the capital.…” +</p> +<p> +But he was in distress, in real distress. “<i>Assez, mon enfant,</i> I beseech +you, <i>nous avons notre argent—et après, le bon Dieu.</i> And I am surprised +that, with the loftiness of your ideas, you … <i>Assez, assez, vous me +tourmentez,</i>” he articulated hysterically, “we have all our future before +us, and you … you fill me with alarm for the future.” +</p> +<p> +He proceeded at once to unfold his whole story with such haste that at +first it was difficult to understand him. It went on for a long time. +The soup was served, the fowl was brought in, followed at last by the +samovar, and still he talked on. He told it somewhat strangely and +hysterically, and indeed he was ill. It was a sudden, extreme effort +of his intellectual faculties, which was bound in his overstrained +condition, of course—Sofya Matveyevna foresaw it with distress all +the time he was talking—to result immediately afterwards in extreme +exhaustion. He began his story almost with his childhood, when, “with +fresh heart, he ran about the meadows; it was an hour before he reached +his two marriages and his life in Berlin. I dare not laugh, however. It +really was for him a matter of the utmost importance, and to adopt the +modern jargon, almost a question of struggling for existence.” He saw +before him the woman whom he had already elected to share his new life, +and was in haste to consecrate her, so to speak. His genius must not be +hidden from her.… Perhaps he had formed a very exaggerated estimate +of Sofya Matveyevna, but he had already chosen her. He could not exist +without a woman. He saw clearly from her face that she hardly understood +him, and could not grasp even the most essential part. “<i>Ce n’est rien, +nous attendrons,</i> and meanwhile she can feel it intuitively.… My +friend, I need nothing but your heart!” he exclaimed, interrupting his +narrative, “and that sweet enchanting look with which you are gazing at +me now. Oh, don’t blush! I’ve told you already …” The poor woman who +had fallen into his hands found much that was obscure, especially when +his autobiography almost passed into a complete dissertation on the fact +that no one had been ever able to understand Stepan Trofimovitch, +and that “men of genius are wasted in Russia.” It was all “so very +intellectual,” she reported afterwards dejectedly. She listened in +evident misery, rather round-eyed. When Stepan Trofimovitch fell into +a humorous vein and threw off witty sarcasms at the expense of our +advanced and governing classes, she twice made grievous efforts to laugh +in response to his laughter, but the result was worse than tears, so +that Stepan Trofimovitch was at last embarrassed by it himself and +attacked “the nihilists and modern people” with all the greater wrath +and zest. At this point he simply alarmed her, and it was not until he +began upon the romance of his life that she felt some slight relief, +though that too was deceptive. A woman is always a woman even if she is +a nun. She smiled, shook her head and then blushed crimson and dropped +her eyes, which roused Stepan Trofimovitch to absolute ecstasy and +inspiration so much that he began fibbing freely. Varvara Petrovna +appeared in his story as an enchanting brunette (who had been the rage +of Petersburg and many European capitals) and her husband “had been +struck down on the field of Sevastopol” simply because he had felt +unworthy of her love, and had yielded her to his rival, that is, Stepan +Trofimovitch.… “Don’t be shocked, my gentle one, my Christian,” he +exclaimed to Sofya Matveyevna, almost believing himself in all that he +was telling, “it was something so lofty, so subtle, that we never spoke +of it to one another all our lives.” As the story went on, the cause +of this position of affairs appeared to be a blonde lady (if not Darya +Pavlovna I don’t know of whom Stepan Trofimovitch could have been +thinking), this blonde owed everything to the brunette, and had grown up +in her house, being a distant relation. The brunette observing at last +the love of the blonde girl to Stepan Trofimovitch, kept her feelings +locked up in her heart. The blonde girl, noticing on her part the love +of the brunette to Stepan Trofimovitch, also locked her feelings in her +own heart. And all three, pining with mutual magnanimity, kept silent in +this way for twenty years, locking their feelings in their hearts. “Oh, +what a passion that was, what a passion that was!” he exclaimed with a +stifled sob of genuine ecstasy. “I saw the full blooming of her beauty” +(of the brunette’s, that is), “I saw daily with an ache in my heart +how she passed by me as though ashamed she was so fair” (once he said +“ashamed she was so fat”). At last he had run away, casting off all this +feverish dream of twenty years—<i>vingt ans</i>—and now here he was on the +high road.… +</p> +<p> +Then in a sort of delirium be began explaining to Sofya Matveyevna the +significance of their meeting that day, “so chance an encounter and +so fateful for all eternity.” Sofya Matveyevna got up from the sofa in +terrible confusion at last. He had positively made an attempt to drop on +his knees before her, which made her cry. It was beginning to get dark. +They had been for some hours shut up in the room.… +</p> +<p> +“No, you’d better let me go into the other room,” she faltered, “or else +there’s no knowing what people may think.…” +</p> +<p> +She tore herself away at last; he let her go, promising her to go to bed +at once. As they parted he complained that he had a bad headache. Sofya +Matveyevna had on entering the cottage left her bag and things in the +first room, meaning to spend the night with the people of the house; but +she got no rest. +</p> +<p> +In the night Stepan Trofimovitch was attacked by the malady with which +I and all his friends were so familiar—the summer cholera, which was +always the outcome of any nervous strain or moral shock with him. Poor +Sofya Matveyevna did not sleep all night. As in waiting on the invalid +she was obliged pretty often to go in and out of the cottage through the +landlady’s room, the latter, as well as the travellers who were sleeping +there, grumbled and even began swearing when towards morning she set +about preparing the samovar. Stepan Trofimovitch was half unconscious +all through the attack; at times he had a vision of the samovar being +set, of someone giving him something to drink (raspberry tea), and +putting something warm to his stomach and his chest. But he felt almost +every instant that she was here, beside him; that it was she going out +and coming in, lifting him off the bed and settling him in it again. +Towards three o’clock in the morning he began to be easier; he sat up, +put his legs out of bed and thinking of nothing he fell on the floor +at her feet. This was a very different matter from the kneeling of the +evening; he simply bowed down at her feet and kissed the hem of her +dress. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t, sir, I am not worth it,” she faltered, trying to get him back on +to the bed. +</p> +<p> +“My saviour,” he cried, clasping his hands reverently before her. “<i>Vous +êtes noble comme une marquise!</i> I—I am a wretch. Oh, I’ve been dishonest +all my life.…” +</p> +<p> +“Calm yourself!” Sofya Matveyevna implored him. +</p> +<p> +“It was all lies that I told you this evening—to glorify myself, to +make it splendid, from pure wantonness—all, all, every word, oh, I am a +wretch, I am a wretch!” +</p> +<p> +The first attack was succeeded in this way by a second—an attack +of hysterical remorse. I have mentioned these attacks already when I +described his letters to Varvara Petrovna. He suddenly recalled Lise +and their meeting the previous morning. “It was so awful, and there must +have been some disaster and I didn’t ask, didn’t find out! I thought +only of myself. Oh, what’s the matter with her? Do you know what’s the +matter with her?” he besought Sofya Matveyevna. +</p> +<p> +Then he swore that “he would never change,” that he would go back to +her (that is, Varvara Petrovna). “We” (that is, he and Sofya Matveyevna) +“will go to her steps every day when she is getting into her carriage +for her morning drive, and we will watch her in secret.… Oh, I wish +her to smite me on the other cheek; it’s a joy to wish it! I shall turn +her my other cheek <i>comme dans votre livre!</i> Only now for the first time +I understand what is meant by … turning the other cheek. I never +understood before!” +</p> +<p> +The two days that followed were among the most terrible in Sofya +Matveyevna’s life; she remembers them with a shudder to this day. Stepan +Trofimovitch became so seriously ill that he could not go on board the +steamer, which on this occasion arrived punctually at two o’clock in the +afternoon. She could not bring herself to leave him alone, so she +did not leave for Spasov either. From her account he was positively +delighted at the steamer’s going without him. +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s a good thing, that’s capital!” he muttered in his bed. +“I’ve been afraid all the time that we should go. Here it’s so nice, +better than anywhere.… You won’t leave me? Oh, you have not left me!” +</p> +<p> +It was by no means so nice “here”, however. He did not care to hear of +her difficulties; his head was full of fancies and nothing else. He +looked upon his illness as something transitory, a trifling ailment, and +did not think about it at all; he thought of nothing but how they would +go and sell “these books.” He asked her to read him the gospel. +</p> +<p> +“I haven’t read it for a long time … in the original. Some one may ask +me about it and I shall make a mistake; I ought to prepare myself after +all.” +</p> +<p> +She sat down beside him and opened the book. +</p> +<p> +“You read beautifully,” he interrupted her after the first line. “I see, +I see I was not mistaken,” he added obscurely but ecstatically. He was, +in fact, in a continual state of enthusiasm. She read the Sermon on the +Mount. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Assez, assez, mon enfant,</i> enough.… Don’t you think that that is +enough?” +</p> +<p> +And he closed his eyes helplessly. He was very weak, but had not yet +lost consciousness. Sofya Matveyevna was getting up, thinking that he +wanted to sleep. But he stopped her. +</p> +<p> +“My friend, I’ve been telling lies all my life. Even when I told the +truth I never spoke for the sake of the truth, but always for my own +sake. I knew it before, but I only see it now.… Oh, where are those +friends whom I have insulted with my friendship all my life? And all, +all! <i>Savez-vous </i>… perhaps I am telling lies now; no doubt I am telling +lies now. The worst of it is that I believe myself when I am lying. The +hardest thing in life is to live without telling lies … and without +believing in one’s lies. Yes, yes, that’s just it.… But wait a bit, +that can all come afterwards.… We’ll be together, together,” he added +enthusiastically. +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch,” Sofya Matveyevna asked timidly, “hadn’t I better +send to the town for the doctor?” +</p> +<p> +He was tremendously taken aback. +</p> +<p> +“What for? <i>Est-ce que je suis si malade? Mais rien de sérieux.</i> What need +have we of outsiders? They may find, besides—and what will happen then? +No, no, no outsiders and we’ll be together.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you know,” he said after a pause, “read me something more, just the +first thing you come across.” +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna opened the Testament and began reading. +</p> +<p> +“Wherever it opens, wherever it happens to open,” he repeated. +</p> +<p> +“‘And unto the angel of the church of the Laodiceans …’” +</p> +<p> +“What’s that? What is it? Where is that from?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s from the Revelation.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Oh, je m’en souviens, oui, l’Apocalypse. Lisez, lisez,</i> I am trying our +future fortunes by the book. I want to know what has turned up. Read on +from there.…” +</p> +<p> + “‘And unto the angel of the church of the Laodiceans write: These things + saith the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the beginning of the + creation of God; +</p> +<p> + “‘I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot; + I would thou wert cold or hot. +</p> +<p> + “‘So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, + I will spue thee out of my mouth. +</p> +<p> + “‘Because thou sayest, I am rich and increased with goods, + and have need of nothing: and thou knowest not that thou art wretched, + and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked.’” +</p> +<p> +“That too … and that’s in your book too!” he exclaimed, with flashing +eyes and raising his head from the pillow. “I never knew that grand +passage! You hear, better be cold, better be cold than lukewarm, than +only lukewarm. Oh, I’ll prove it! Only don’t leave me, don’t leave me +alone! We’ll prove it, we’ll prove it!” +</p> +<p> +“I won’t leave you, Stepan Trofimovitch. I’ll never leave you!” She took +his hand, pressed it in both of hers, and laid it against her heart, +looking at him with tears in her eyes. (“I felt very sorry for him at +that moment,” she said, describing it afterwards.) +</p> +<p> +His lips twitched convulsively. +</p> +<p> +“But, Stepan Trofimovitch, what are we to do though? Oughtn’t we to let +some of your friends know, or perhaps your relations?” +</p> +<p> +But at that he was so dismayed that she was very sorry that she had +spoken of it again. Trembling and shaking, he besought her to fetch no +one, not to do anything. He kept insisting, “No one, no one! We’ll be +alone, by ourselves, alone, <i>nous partirons ensemble.</i>” +</p> +<p> +Another difficulty was that the people of the house too began to be +uneasy; they grumbled, and kept pestering Sofya Matveyevna. She paid +them and managed to let them see her money. This softened them for the +time, but the man insisted on seeing Stepan Trofimovitch’s “papers.” +The invalid pointed with a supercilious smile to his little bag. Sofya +Matveyevna found in it the certificate of his having resigned his post +at the university, or something of the kind, which had served him as +a passport all his life. The man persisted, and said that “he must be +taken somewhere, because their house wasn’t a hospital, and if he were +to die there might be a bother. We should have no end of trouble.” Sofya +Matveyevna tried to speak to him of the doctor, but it appeared that +sending to the town would cost so much that she had to give up all +idea of the doctor. She returned in distress to her invalid. Stepan +Trofimovitch was getting weaker and weaker. +</p> +<p> +“Now read me another passage.… About the pigs,” he said suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“What?” asked Sofya Matveyevna, very much alarmed. +</p> +<p> +“About the pigs … that’s there too … <i>ces cochons.</i> I remember the +devils entered into swine and they all were drowned. You must read me +that; I’ll tell you why afterwards. I want to remember it word for word. +I want it word for word.” +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna knew the gospel well and at once found the passage in +St. Luke which I have chosen as the motto of my record. I quote it here +again: +</p> +<p> + “‘And there was there one herd of many swine feeding on the mountain; + and they besought him that he would suffer them to enter into them. And + he suffered them. +</p> +<p> + “‘Then went the devils out of the man and entered into the swine; + and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the lake, and were + choked. +</p> +<p> + “‘When they that fed them saw what was done, they fled, and went and + told it in the city and in the country. +</p> +<p> + “‘Then they went out to see what was done; and came to Jesus and found + the man, out of whom the devils were departed, sitting at the feet of + Jesus, clothed, and in his right mind; and they were afraid.’” +</p> +<p> +“My friend,” said Stepan Trofimovitch in great excitement “<i>savez-vous,</i> +that wonderful and … extraordinary passage has been a stumbling-block +to me all my life … <i>dans ce livre</i>.… so much so that I remembered +those verses from childhood. Now an idea has occurred to me; <i>une +comparaison.</i> A great number of ideas keep coming into my mind now. You +see, that’s exactly like our Russia, those devils that come out of the +sick man and enter into the swine. They are all the sores, all the foul +contagions, all the impurities, all the devils great and small that have +multiplied in that great invalid, our beloved Russia, in the course of +ages and ages. <i>Oui, cette Russie que j’aimais toujours.</i> But a great +idea and a great Will will encompass it from on high, as with that +lunatic possessed of devils … and all those devils will come forth, all +the impurity, all the rottenness that was putrefying on the surface … +and they will beg of themselves to enter into swine; and indeed maybe +they have entered into them already! They are we, we and those … and +Petrusha and <i>les autres avec lui </i>… and I perhaps at the head of them, +and we shall cast ourselves down, possessed and raving, from the rocks +into the sea, and we shall all be drowned—and a good thing too, for +that is all we are fit for. But the sick man will be healed and +‘will sit at the feet of Jesus,’ and all will look upon him with +astonishment.… My dear, <i>vous comprendrez après,</i> but now it excites me +very much.… <i>Vous comprendrez après. Nous comprendrons ensemble.</i>” +</p> +<p> +He sank into delirium and at last lost consciousness. So it went on all +the following day. Sofya Matveyevna sat beside him, crying. She scarcely +slept at all for three nights, and avoided seeing the people of the +house, who were, she felt, beginning to take some steps. Deliverance +only came on the third day. In the morning Stepan Trofimovitch returned +to consciousness, recognised her, and held out his hand to her. She +crossed herself hopefully. He wanted to look out of the window. <i>“Tiens, +un lac!”</i> he said. “Good heavens, I had not seen it before!…” At that +moment there was the rumble of a carriage at the cottage door and a +great hubbub in the house followed. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +It was Varvara Petrovna herself. She had arrived, with Darya Pavlovna, +in a closed carriage drawn by four horses, with two footmen. The marvel +had happened in the simplest way: Anisim, dying of curiosity, went to +Varvara Petrovna’s the day after he reached the town and gossiped to +the servants, telling them he had met Stepan Trofimovitch alone in a +village, that the latter had been seen by peasants walking by himself +on the high road, and that he had set off for Spasov by way of Ustyevo +accompanied by Sofya Matveyevna. As Varvara Petrovna was, for her +part, in terrible anxiety and had done everything she could to find her +fugitive friend, she was at once told about Anisim. When she had heard +his story, especially the details of the departure for Ustyevo in a cart +in the company of some Sofya Matveyevna, she instantly got ready and set +off post-haste for Ustyevo herself. +</p> +<p> +Her stern and peremptory voice resounded through the cottage; even the +landlord and his wife were intimidated. She had only stopped to question +them and make inquiries, being persuaded that Stepan Trofimovitch must +have reached Spasov long before. Learning that he was still here and +ill, she entered the cottage in great agitation. +</p> +<p> +“Well, where is he? Ah, that’s you!” she cried, seeing Sofya Matveyevna, +who appeared at that very instant in the doorway of the next room. “I +can guess from your shameless face that it’s you. Go away, you vile +hussy! Don’t let me find a trace of her in the house! Turn her out, or +else, my girl, I’ll get you locked up for good. Keep her safe for a time +in another house. She’s been in prison once already in the town; she can +go back there again. And you, my good man, don’t dare to let anyone in +while I am here, I beg of you. I am Madame Stavrogin, and I’ll take the +whole house. As for you, my dear, you’ll have to give me a full account +of it all.” +</p> +<p> +The familiar sounds overwhelmed Stepan Trofimovitch. He began to +tremble. But she had already stepped behind the screen. With flashing +eyes she drew up a chair with her foot, and, sinking back in it, she +shouted to Dasha: +</p> +<p> +“Go away for a time! Stay in the other room. Why are you so inquisitive? +And shut the door properly after you.” +</p> +<p> +For some time she gazed in silence with a sort of predatory look into +his frightened face. +</p> +<p> +“Well, how are you getting on, Stepan Trofimovitch? So you’ve been +enjoying yourself?” broke from her with ferocious irony. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Chère,”</i> Stepan Trofimovitch faltered, not knowing what he was saying, +“I’ve learnt to know real life in Russia … <i>et je prêcherai l’Evangile.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, shameless, ungrateful man!” she wailed suddenly, clasping her +hands. “As though you had not disgraced me enough, you’ve taken up +with … oh, you shameless old reprobate!” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Chère …”</i> His voice failed him and he could not articulate a syllable +but simply gazed with eyes wide with horror. +</p> +<p> +“Who is she?” +</p> +<p> +“<i>C’est un ange; c’était plus qu’un ange pour moi.</i> She’s been all +night … Oh, don’t shout, don’t frighten her, <i>chère, chère </i>…” +</p> +<p> +With a loud noise, Varvara Petrovna pushed back her chair, uttering a +loud cry of alarm. +</p> +<p> +“Water, water!” +</p> +<p> +Though he returned to consciousness, she was still shaking with terror, +and, with pale cheeks, looked at his distorted face. It was only then, +for the first time, that she guessed the seriousness of his illness. +</p> +<p> +“Darya,” she whispered suddenly to Darya Pavlovna, “send at once for the +doctor, for Salzfish; let Yegorytch go at once. Let him hire horses here +and get another carriage from the town. He must be here by night.” +</p> +<p> +Dasha flew to do her bidding. Stepan Trofimovitch still gazed at her +with the same wide-open, frightened eyes; his blanched lips quivered. +</p> +<p> +“Wait a bit, Stepan Trofimovitch, wait a bit, my dear!” she said, +coaxing him like a child. “There, there, wait a bit! Darya will come +back and … My goodness, the landlady, the landlady, you come, anyway, +my good woman!” +</p> +<p> +In her impatience she ran herself to the landlady. +</p> +<p> +“Fetch that woman back at once, this minute. Bring her back, bring her +back!” +</p> +<p> +Fortunately Sofya Matveyevna had not yet had time to get away and was +only just going out of the gate with her pack and her bag. She was +brought back. She was so panic-stricken that she was trembling in every +limb. Varvara Petrovna pounced on her like a hawk on a chicken, seized +her by the hand and dragged her impulsively to Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Here, here she is, then. I’ve not eaten her. You thought I’d eaten +her.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch clutched Varvara Petrovna’s hand, raised it to his +eyes, and burst into tears, sobbing violently and convulsively. +</p> +<p> +“There, calm yourself, there, there, my dear, there, poor dear man! +Ach, mercy on us! Calm yourself, will you?” she shouted frantically. +“Oh, you bane of my life!” +</p> +<p> +“My dear,” Stepan Trofimovitch murmured at last, addressing Sofya +Matveyevna, “stay out there, my dear, I want to say something here.…” +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna hurried out at once. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Chérie … chérie …”</i> he gasped. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t talk for a bit, Stepan Trofimovitch, wait a little till you’ve +rested. Here’s some water. Do wait, will you!” +</p> +<p> +She sat down on the chair again. Stepan Trofimovitch held her hand +tight. For a long while she would not allow him to speak. He raised her +hand to his lips and fell to kissing it. She set her teeth and looked +away into the corner of the room. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Je vous aimais,”</i> broke from him at last. She had never heard such words +from him, uttered in such a voice. +</p> +<p> +“H’m!” she growled in response. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Je vous aimais toute ma vie … vingt ans!”</i> +</p> +<p> +She remained silent for two or three minutes. +</p> +<p> +“And when you were getting yourself up for Dasha you sprinkled yourself +with scent,” she said suddenly, in a terrible whisper. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch was dumbfounded. +</p> +<p> +“You put on a new tie …” +</p> +<p> +Again silence for two minutes. +</p> +<p> +“Do you remember the cigar?” +</p> +<p> +“My friend,” he faltered, overcome with horror. +</p> +<p> +“That cigar at the window in the evening … the moon was shining … +after the arbour … at Skvoreshniki? Do you remember, do you remember?” +She jumped up from her place, seized his pillow by the corners and shook +it with his head on it. “Do you remember, you worthless, worthless, +ignoble, cowardly, worthless man, always worthless!” she hissed in her +furious whisper, restraining herself from speaking loudly. At last +she left him and sank on the chair, covering her face with her hands. +“Enough!” she snapped out, drawing herself up. “Twenty years have +passed, there’s no calling them back. I am a fool too.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Je vous aimais.”</i> He clasped his hands again. +</p> +<p> +“Why do you keep on with your <i>aimais</i> and <i>aimais</i>? Enough!” she cried, +leaping up again. “And if you don’t go to sleep at once I’ll … You need +rest; go to sleep, go to sleep at once, shut your eyes. Ach, mercy on +us, perhaps he wants some lunch! What do you eat? What does he eat? Ach, +mercy on us! Where is that woman? Where is she?” +</p> +<p> +There was a general bustle again. But Stepan Trofimovitch faltered in a +weak voice that he really would like to go to sleep <i>une heure,</i> and then +<i>un bouillon, un thé.… enfin il est si heureux.</i> He lay back and really +did seem to go to sleep (he probably pretended to). Varvara Petrovna +waited a little, and stole out on tiptoe from behind the partition. +</p> +<p> +She settled herself in the landlady’s room, turned out the landlady and +her husband, and told Dasha to bring her <i>that</i> woman. There followed an +examination in earnest. +</p> +<p> +“Tell me all about it, my good girl. Sit down beside me; that’s right. +Well?” +</p> +<p> +“I met Stepan Trofimovitch …” +</p> +<p> +“Stay, hold your tongue! I warn you that if you tell lies or conceal +anything, I’ll ferret it out. Well?” +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch and I … as soon as I came to Hatovo …” Sofya +Matveyevna began almost breathlessly. +</p> +<p> +“Stay, hold your tongue, wait a bit! Why do you gabble like that? To +begin with, what sort of creature are you?” +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna told her after a fashion, giving a very brief account +of herself, however, beginning with Sevastopol. Varvara Petrovna +listened in silence, sitting up erect in her chair, looking sternly +straight into the speaker’s eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Why are you so frightened? Why do you look at the ground? I like people +who look me straight in the face and hold their own with me. Go on.” +</p> +<p> +She told of their meeting, of her books, of how Stepan Trofimovitch had +regaled the peasant woman with vodka … “That’s right, that’s right, +don’t leave out the slightest detail,” Varvara Petrovna encouraged her. +</p> +<p> +At last she described how they had set off, and how Stepan Trofimovitch +had gone on talking, “really ill by that time,” and here had given an +account of his life from the very beginning, talking for some hours. +“Tell me about his life.” +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna suddenly stopped and was completely nonplussed. +</p> +<p> +“I can’t tell you anything about that, madam,” she brought out, almost +crying; “besides, I could hardly understand a word of it.” +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense! You must have understood something.” +</p> +<p> +“He told a long time about a distinguished lady with black hair.” Sofya +Matveyevna flushed terribly though she noticed Varvara Petrovna’s fair +hair and her complete dissimilarity with the “brunette” of the story. +</p> +<p> +“Black-haired? What exactly? Come, speak!” +</p> +<p> +“How this grand lady was deeply in love with his honour all her life +long and for twenty years, but never dared to speak, and was shamefaced +before him because she was a very stout lady.…” +</p> +<p> +“The fool!” Varvara Petrovna rapped out thoughtfully but resolutely. +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna was in tears by now. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know how to tell any of it properly, madam, because I was in a +great fright over his honour; and I couldn’t understand, as he is such +an intellectual gentleman.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s not for a goose like you to judge of his intellect. Did he offer +you his hand?” +</p> +<p> +The speaker trembled. +</p> +<p> +“Did he fall in love with you? Speak! Did he offer you his hand?” +Varvara Petrovna shouted peremptorily. +</p> +<p> +“That was pretty much how it was,” she murmured tearfully. “But I took +it all to mean nothing, because of his illness,” she added firmly, +raising her eyes. +</p> +<p> +“What is your name?” +</p> +<p> +“Sofya Matveyevna, madam.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, let me tell you, Sofya Matveyevna, that he is a wretched +and worthless little man.… Good Lord! Do you look upon me as a wicked +woman?” +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna gazed open-eyed. +</p> +<p> +“A wicked woman, a tyrant? Who has ruined his life?” +</p> +<p> +“How can that be when you are crying yourself, madam?” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna actually had tears in her eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Well, sit down, sit down, don’t be frightened. Look me straight in the +face again. Why are you blushing? Dasha, come here. Look at her. What do +you think of her? Her heart is pure.…” +</p> +<p> +And to the amazement and perhaps still greater alarm of Sofya +Matveyevna, she suddenly patted her on the cheek. +</p> +<p> +“It’s only a pity she is a fool. Too great a fool for her age. That’s +all right, my dear, I’ll look after you. I see that it’s all nonsense. +Stay near here for the time. A room shall be taken for you and you shall +have food and everything else from me … till I ask for you.” +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna stammered in alarm that she must hurry on. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve no need to hurry. I’ll buy all your books, and meantime you stay +here. Hold your tongue; don’t make excuses. If I hadn’t come you would +have stayed with him all the same, wouldn’t you?” +</p> +<p> +“I wouldn’t have left him on any account,” Sofya Matveyevna brought out +softly and firmly, wiping her tears. +</p> +<p> +It was late at night when Doctor Salzfish was brought. He was a very +respectable old man and a practitioner of fairly wide experience who had +recently lost his post in the service in consequence of some quarrel +on a point of honour with his superiors. Varvara Petrovna instantly +and actively took him under her protection. He examined the patient +attentively, questioned him, and cautiously pronounced to Varvara +Petrovna that “the sufferer’s” condition was highly dubious in +consequence of complications, and that they must be prepared “even for +the worst.” Varvara Petrovna, who had during twenty years got +accustomed to expecting nothing serious or decisive to come from Stepan +Trofimovitch, was deeply moved and even turned pale. “Is there really no +hope?” +</p> +<p> +“Can there ever be said to be absolutely no hope? But …” She did not go +to bed all night, and felt that the morning would never come. As soon +as the patient opened his eyes and returned to consciousness (he was +conscious all the time, however, though he was growing weaker every +hour), she went up to him with a very resolute air. +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch, one must be prepared for anything. I’ve sent for a +priest. You must do what is right.…” +</p> +<p> +Knowing his convictions, she was terribly afraid of his refusing. He +looked at her with surprise. +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense, nonsense!” she vociferated, thinking he was already refusing. +“This is no time for whims. You have played the fool enough.” +</p> +<p> +“But … am I really so ill, then?” +</p> +<p> +He agreed thoughtfully. And indeed I was much surprised to learn from +Varvara Petrovna afterwards that he showed no fear of death at all. +Possibly it was that he simply did not believe it, and still looked upon +his illness as a trifling one. +</p> +<p> +He confessed and took the sacrament very readily. Every one, Sofya +Matveyevna, and even the servants, came to congratulate him on taking +the sacrament. They were all moved to tears looking at his sunken and +exhausted face and his blanched and quivering lips. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Oui, mes amis,</i> and I only wonder that you … take so much trouble. I +shall most likely get up to-morrow, and we will … set off.… <i>Toute +cette cérémonie</i> … for which, of course, I feel every proper respect … +was …” +</p> +<p> +“I beg you, father, to remain with the invalid,” said Varvara Petrovna +hurriedly, stopping the priest, who had already taken off his vestments. +“As soon as tea has been handed, I beg you to begin to speak of +religion, to support his faith.” +</p> +<p> +The priest spoke; every one was standing or sitting round the sick-bed. +</p> +<p> +“In our sinful days,” the priest began smoothly, with a cup of tea in +his hand, “faith in the Most High is the sole refuge of the race of man +in all the trials and tribulations of life, as well as its hope for that +eternal bliss promised to the righteous.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch seemed to revive, a subtle smile strayed on his +lips. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mon père, je vous remercie et vous êtes bien bon, mais …”</i> +</p> +<p> +“No <i>mais</i> about it, no <i>mais</i> at all!” exclaimed Varvara Petrovna, +bounding up from her chair. “Father,” she said, addressing the priest, +“he is a man who … he is a man who … You will have to confess him +again in another hour! That’s the sort of man he is.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch smiled faintly. +</p> +<p> +“My friends,” he said, “God is necessary to me, if only because He is +the only being whom one can love eternally.” +</p> +<p> +Whether he was really converted, or whether the stately ceremony of +the administration of the sacrament had impressed him and stirred the +artistic responsiveness of his temperament or not, he firmly and, I +am told, with great feeling uttered some words which were in flat +contradiction with many of his former convictions. +</p> +<p> +“My immortality is necessary if only because God will not be guilty +of injustice and extinguish altogether the flame of love for Him once +kindled in my heart. And what is more precious than love? Love is higher +than existence, love is the crown of existence; and how is it possible +that existence should not be under its dominance? If I have once loved +Him and rejoiced in my love, is it possible that He should extinguish me +and my joy and bring me to nothingness again? If there is a God, then I +am immortal. <i>Voilà ma profession de foi.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“There is a God, Stepan Trofimovitch, I assure you there is,” Varvara +Petrovna implored him. “Give it up, drop all your foolishness for once +in your life!” (I think she had not quite understood his <i>profession de +foi</i>.) +</p> +<p> +“My friend,” he said, growing more and more animated, though his voice +broke frequently, “as soon as I understood … that turning of the cheek, +I … understood something else as well. <i>J’ai menti toute ma vie,</i> all my +life, all! I should like … but that will do to-morrow.… To-morrow we +will all set out.” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna burst into tears. He was looking about for someone. +</p> +<p> +“Here she is, she is here!” She seized Sofya Matveyevna by the hand and +led her to him. He smiled tenderly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I should dearly like to live again!” he exclaimed with an +extraordinary rush of energy. “Every minute, every instant of life ought +to be a blessing to man … they ought to be, they certainly ought to be! +It’s the duty of man to make it so; that’s the law of his nature, which +always exists even if hidden.… Oh, I wish I could see Petrusha … and +all of them … Shatov …” +</p> +<p> +I may remark that as yet no one had heard of Shatov’s fate—not Varvara +Petrovna nor Darya Pavlovna, nor even Salzfish, who was the last to come +from the town. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch became more and more excited, feverishly so, beyond +his strength. +</p> +<p> +“The mere fact of the ever present idea that there exists something +infinitely more just and more happy than I am fills me through and +through with tender ecstasy—and glorifies me—oh, whoever I may be, +whatever I have done! What is far more essential for man than personal +happiness is to know and to believe at every instant that there is +somewhere a perfect and serene happiness for all men and for +everything.… The one essential condition of human existence is that +man should always be able to bow down before something infinitely great. +If men are deprived of the infinitely great they will not go on living +and will die of despair. The Infinite and the Eternal are as essential +for man as the little planet on which he dwells. My friends, all, all: +hail to the Great Idea! The Eternal, Infinite Idea! It is essential to +every man, whoever he may be, to bow down before what is the Great Idea. +Even the stupidest man needs something great. Petrusha … oh, how I want +to see them all again! They don’t know, they don’t know that that same +Eternal, Grand Idea lies in them all!” +</p> +<p> +Doctor Salzfish was not present at the ceremony. Coming in suddenly, he +was horrified, and cleared the room, insisting that the patient must not +be excited. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch died three days later, but by that time he was +completely unconscious. He quietly went out like a candle that is burnt +down. After having the funeral service performed, Varvara Petrovna +took the body of her poor friend to Skvoreshniki. His grave is in the +precincts of the church and is already covered with a marble slab. The +inscription and the railing will be added in the spring. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna’s absence from town had lasted eight days. Sofya +Matveyevna arrived in the carriage with her and seems to have settled +with her for good. I may mention that as soon as Stepan Trofimovitch +lost consciousness (the morning that he received the sacrament) Varvara +Petrovna promptly asked Sofya Matveyevna to leave the cottage again, and +waited on the invalid herself unassisted to the end, but she sent for +her at once when he had breathed his last. Sofya Matveyevna was terribly +alarmed by Varvara Petrovna’s proposition, or rather command, that she +should settle for good at Skvoreshniki, but the latter refused to listen +to her protests. +</p> +<p> +“That’s all nonsense! I will go with you to sell the gospel. I have no +one in the world now.” +</p> +<p> +“You have a son, however,” Salzfish observed. +</p> +<p> +“I have no son!” Varvara Petrovna snapped out—and it was like a +prophecy. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0023"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER VIII. CONCLUSION +</h2> +<p> +ALL THE CRIMES AND VILLAINIES THAT had been perpetrated were discovered +with extraordinary rapidity, much more quickly than Pyotr Stepanovitch +had expected. To begin with, the luckless Marya Ignatyevna waked up +before daybreak on the night of her husband’s murder, missed him and +flew into indescribable agitation, not seeing him beside her. The woman +who had been hired by Anna Prohorovna, and was there for the night, +could not succeed in calming her, and as soon as it was daylight ran +to fetch Arina Prohorovna herself, assuring the invalid that the latter +knew where her husband was, and when he would be back. Meantime Arina +Prohorovna was in some anxiety too; she had already heard from her +husband of the deed perpetrated that night at Skvoreshniki. He had +returned home about eleven o’clock in a terrible state of mind and +body; wringing his hands, he flung himself face downwards on his bed and +shaking with convulsive sobs kept repeating, “It’s not right, it’s not +right, it’s not right at all!” He ended, of course, by confessing it all +to Arina Prohorovna—but to no one else in the house. She left him on +his bed, sternly impressing upon him that “if he must blubber he must do +it in his pillow so as not to be overheard, and that he would be a fool +if he showed any traces of it next day.” She felt somewhat anxious, +however, and began at once to clear things up in case of emergency; +she succeeded in hiding or completely destroying all suspicious papers, +books, manifestoes perhaps. At the same time she reflected that she, her +sister, her aunt, her sister-in-law the student, and perhaps even her +long-eared brother had really nothing much to be afraid of. When the +nurse ran to her in the morning she went without a second thought to +Marya Ignatyevna’s. She was desperately anxious, moreover, to find out +whether what her husband had told her that night in a terrified and +frantic whisper, that was almost like delirium, was true—that is, +whether Pyotr Stepanovitch had been right in his reckoning that Kirillov +would sacrifice himself for the general benefit. +</p> +<p> +But she arrived at Marya Ignatyevna’s too late: when the latter had sent +off the woman and was left alone, she was unable to bear the suspense; +she got out of bed, and throwing round her the first garment she could +find, something very light and unsuitable for the weather, I believe, +she ran down to Kirillov’s lodge herself, thinking that he perhaps would +be better able than anyone to tell her something about her husband. The +terrible effect on her of what she saw there may well be imagined. It +is remarkable that she did not read Kirillov’s last letter, which lay +conspicuously on the table, overlooking it, of course, in her fright. +She ran back to her room, snatched up her baby, and went with it out of +the house into the street. It was a damp morning, there was a fog. +She met no passers-by in such an out-of-the-way street. She ran on +breathless through the wet, cold mud, and at last began knocking at the +doors of the houses. In the first house no one came to the door, in the +second they were so long in coming that she gave it up impatiently and +began knocking at a third door. This was the house of a merchant called +Titov. Here she wailed and kept declaring incoherently that her husband +was murdered, causing a great flutter in the house. Something was +known about Shatov and his story in the Titov household; they were +horror-stricken that she should be running about the streets in such +attire and in such cold with the baby scarcely covered in her arms, +when, according to her story, she had only been confined the day before. +They thought at first that she was delirious, especially as they could +not make out whether it was Kirillov who was murdered or her husband. +Seeing that they did not believe her she would have run on farther, +but they kept her by force, and I am told she screamed and struggled +terribly. They went to Filipov’s, and within two hours Kirillov’s +suicide and the letter he had left were known to the whole town. The +police came to question Marya Ignatyevna, who was still conscious, and +it appeared at once that she had not read Kirillov’s letter, and they +could not find out from her what had led her to conclude that her +husband had been murdered. She only screamed that if Kirillov was +murdered, then her husband was murdered, they were together. Towards +midday she sank into a state of unconsciousness from which she never +recovered, and she died three days later. The baby had caught cold and +died before her. +</p> +<p> +Arina Prohorovna not finding Marya Ignatyevna and the baby, and guessing +something was wrong, was about to run home, but she checked herself at +the gate and sent the nurse to inquire of the gentleman at the lodge +whether Marya Ignatyevna was not there and whether he knew anything +about her. The woman came back screaming frantically. Persuading her not +to scream and not to tell anyone by the time-honoured argument that “she +would get into trouble,” she stole out of the yard. +</p> +<p> +It goes without saying that she was questioned the same morning as +having acted as midwife to Marya Ignatyevna; but they did not get much +out of her. She gave a very cool and sensible account of all she had +herself heard and seen at Shatov’s, but as to what had happened she +declared that she knew nothing, and could not understand it. +</p> +<p> +It may well be imagined what an uproar there was in the town. A new +“sensation,” another murder! But there was another element in this +case: it was clear that a secret society of murderers, incendiaries, and +revolutionists did exist, did actually exist. Liza’s terrible death, the +murder of Stavrogin’s wife, Stavrogin himself, the fire, the ball for +the benefit of the governesses, the laxity of manners and morals in +Yulia Mihailovna’s circle.… Even in the disappearance of Stepan +Trofimovitch people insisted on scenting a mystery. All sorts of things +were whispered about Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. By the end of the day +people knew of Pyotr Stepanovitch’s absence too, and, strange to say, +less was said of him than of anyone. What was talked of most all that +day was “the senator.” There was a crowd almost all day at Filipov’s +house. The police certainly were led astray by Kirillov’s letter. They +believed that Kirillov had murdered Shatov and had himself committed +suicide. Yet, though the authorities were thrown into perplexity, +they were not altogether hoodwinked. The word “park,” for instance, so +vaguely inserted in Kirillov’s letter, did not puzzle anyone as Pyotr +Stepanovitch had expected it would. The police at once made a rush +for Skvoreshniki, not simply because it was the only park in the +neighbourhood but also led thither by a sort of instinct because all the +horrors of the last few days were connected directly or indirectly with +Skvoreshniki. That at least is my theory. (I may remark that +Varvara Petrovna had driven off early that morning in chase of Stepan +Trofimovitch, and knew nothing of what had happened in the town.) +</p> +<p> +The body was found in the pond that evening. What led to the discovery +of it was the finding of Shatov’s cap at the scene of the murder, where +it had been with extraordinary carelessness overlooked by the murderers. +The appearance of the body, the medical examination and certain +deductions from it roused immediate suspicions that Kirillov must have +had accomplices. It became evident that a secret society really did +exist of which Shatov and Kirillov were members and which was connected +with the manifestoes. Who were these accomplices? No one even thought of +any member of the quintet that day. It was ascertained that Kirillov +had lived like a hermit, and in so complete a seclusion that it had been +possible, as stated in the letter, for Fedka to lodge with him for so +many days, even while an active search was being made for him. The chief +thing that worried every one was the impossibility of discovering a +connecting-link in this chaos. +</p> +<p> +There is no saying what conclusions and what disconnected theories our +panic-stricken townspeople would have reached, if the whole mystery had +not been suddenly solved next day, thanks to Lyamshin. +</p> +<p> +He broke down. He behaved as even Pyotr Stepanovitch had towards the end +begun to fear he would. Left in charge of Tolkatchenko, and afterwards +of Erkel, he spent all the following day lying in his bed with his face +turned to the wall, apparently calm, not uttering a word, and scarcely +answering when he was spoken to. This is how it was that he heard +nothing all day of what was happening in the town. But Tolkatchenko, +who was very well informed about everything, took into his head by +the evening to throw up the task of watching Lyamshin which Pyotr +Stepanovitch had laid upon him, and left the town, that is, to put it +plainly, made his escape; the fact is, they lost their heads as Erkel +had predicted they would. I may mention, by the way, that Liputin had +disappeared the same day before twelve o’clock. But things fell out so +that his disappearance did not become known to the authorities till +the evening of the following day, when, the police went to question his +family, who were panic-stricken at his absence but kept quiet from fear +of consequences. But to return to Lyamshin: as soon as he was left alone +(Erkel had gone home earlier, relying on Tolkatchenko) he ran out of +his house, and, of course, very soon learned the position of affairs. +Without even returning home he too tried to run away without knowing +where he was going. But the night was so dark and to escape was so +terrible and difficult, that after going through two or three streets, +he returned home and locked himself up for the whole night. I believe +that towards morning he attempted to commit suicide but did not succeed. +He remained locked up till midday—and then suddenly he ran to the +authorities. He is said to have crawled on his knees, to have sobbed and +shrieked, to have kissed the floor crying out that he was not worthy to +kiss the boots of the officials standing before him. They soothed him, +were positively affable to him. His examination lasted, I am told, for +three hours. He confessed everything, everything, told every detail, +everything he knew, every point, anticipating their questions, hurried +to make a clean breast of it all, volunteering unnecessary information +without being asked. It turned out that he knew enough, and presented +things in a fairly true light: the tragedy of Shatov and Kirillov, the +fire, the death of the Lebyadkins, and the rest of it were relegated +to the background. Pyotr Stepanovitch, the secret society, the +organisation, and the network were put in the first place. When asked +what was the object of so many murders and scandals and dastardly +outrages, he answered with feverish haste that “it was with the idea of +systematically undermining the foundations, systematically destroying +society and all principles; with the idea of nonplussing every one and +making hay of everything, and then, when society was tottering, sick +and out of joint, cynical and sceptical though filled with an intense +eagerness for self-preservation and for some guiding idea, suddenly to +seize it in their hands, raising the standard of revolt and relying on a +complete network of quintets, which were actively, meanwhile, gathering +recruits and seeking out the weak spots which could be attacked.” +In conclusion, he said that here in our town Pyotr Stepanovitch had +organised only the first experiment in such systematic disorder, so to +speak, as a programme for further activity, and for all the quintets—and +that this was his own (Lyamshin’s) idea, his own theory, “and that he +hoped they would remember it and bear in mind how openly and properly +he had given his information, and therefore might be of use hereafter.” +Being asked definitely how many quintets there were, he answered that +there were immense numbers of them, that all Russia was overspread with +a network, and although he brought forward no proofs, I believe his +answer was perfectly sincere. He produced only the programme of the +society, printed abroad, and the plan for developing a system of future +activity roughly sketched in Pyotr Stepanovitch’s own handwriting. It +appeared that Lyamshin had quoted the phrase about “undermining the +foundation,” word for word from this document, not omitting a single +stop or comma, though he had declared that it was all his own theory. +Of Yulia Mihailovna he very funnily and quite without provocation +volunteered the remark, that “she was innocent and had been made a +fool of.” But, strange to say, he exonerated Nikolay Stavrogin from +all share in the secret society, from any collaboration with Pyotr +Stepanovitch. (Lyamshin had no conception of the secret and very absurd +hopes that Pyotr Stepanovitch was resting on Stavrogin.) According to +his story Nikolay Stavrogin had nothing whatever to do with the death of +the Lebyadkins, which had been planned by Pyotr Stepanovitch alone +and with the subtle aim of implicating the former in the crime, and +therefore making him dependent on Pyotr Stepanovitch; but instead of +the gratitude on which Pyotr Stepanovitch had reckoned with shallow +confidence, he had roused nothing but indignation and even despair in +“the generous heart of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch.” He wound up, by a hint, +evidently intentional, volunteered hastily, that Stavrogin was perhaps +a very important personage, but that there was some secret about that, +that he had been living among us, so to say, incognito, that he had some +commission, and that very possibly he would come back to us again +from Petersburg. (Lyamshin was convinced that Stavrogin had gone +to Petersburg), but in quite a different capacity and in different +surroundings, in the suite of persons of whom perhaps we should soon +hear, and that all this he had heard from Pyotr Stepanovitch, “Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch’s secret enemy.” +</p> +<p> +Here I will note that two months later, Lyamshin admitted that he had +exonerated Stavrogin on purpose, hoping that he would protect him and +would obtain for him a mitigation in the second degree of his sentence, +and that he would provide him with money and letters of introduction +in Siberia. From this confession it is evident that he had an +extraordinarily exaggerated conception of Stavrogin’s powers. +</p> +<p> +On the same day, of course, the police arrested Virginsky and in their +zeal took his whole family too. (Arina Prohorovna, her sister, aunt, and +even the girl student were released long ago; they say that Shigalov too +will be set free very shortly because he cannot be classed with any of +the other prisoners. But all that is so far only gossip.) Virginsky at +once pleaded guilty. He was lying ill with fever when he was arrested. +I am told that he seemed almost relieved; “it was a load off his heart,” +he is reported to have said. It is rumoured that he is giving his +evidence without reservation, but with a certain dignity, and has not +given up any of his “bright hopes,” though at the same time he curses +the political method (as opposed to the Socialist one), in which he +had been unwittingly and heedlessly carried “by the vortex of combined +circumstances.” His conduct at the time of the murder has been put in +a favourable light, and I imagine that he too may reckon on some +mitigation of his sentence. That at least is what is asserted in the +town. +</p> +<p> +But I doubt whether there is any hope for mercy in Erkel’s case. Ever +since his arrest he has been obstinately silent, or has misrepresented +the facts as far as he could. Not one word of regret has been wrung +from him so far. Yet even the sternest of the judges trying him has +been moved to some compassion by his youth, by his helplessness, by the +unmistakable evidence that he is nothing but a fanatical victim of a +political impostor, and, most of all, by his conduct to his mother, +to whom, as it appears, he used to send almost the half of his small +salary. His mother is now in the town; she is a delicate and ailing +woman, aged beyond her years; she weeps and positively grovels on the +ground imploring mercy for her son. Whatever may happen, many among us +feel sorry for Erkel. +</p> +<p> +Liputin was arrested in Petersburg, where he had been living for a +fortnight. His conduct there sounds almost incredible and is difficult +to explain. He is said to have had a passport in a forged name and quite +a large sum of money upon him, and had every possibility of escaping +abroad, yet instead of going he remained in Petersburg. He spent some +time hunting for Stavrogin and Pyotr Stepanovitch. Suddenly he took to +drinking and gave himself up to a debauchery that exceeded all bounds, +like a man who had lost all reason and understanding of his position. He +was arrested in Petersburg drunk in a brothel. There is a rumour that he +has not by any means lost heart, that he tells lies in his evidence and +is preparing for the approaching trial hopefully (?) and, as it +were, triumphantly. He even intends to make a speech at the trial. +Tolkatchenko, who was arrested in the neighbourhood ten days after his +flight, behaves with incomparably more decorum; he does not shuffle +or tell lies, he tells all he knows, does not justify himself, blames +himself with all modesty, though he, too, has a weakness for rhetoric; +he tells readily what he knows, and when knowledge of the peasantry and +the revolutionary elements among them is touched upon, he positively +attitudinises and is eager to produce an effect. He, too, is meaning, I +am told, to make a speech at the trial. Neither he nor Liputin seem very +much afraid, curious as it seems. +</p> +<p> +I repeat that the case is not yet over. Now, three months afterwards, +local society has had time to rest, has recovered, has got over it, has +an opinion of its own, so much so that some people positively look +upon Pyotr Stepanovitch as a genius or at least as possessed of “some +characteristics of a genius.” “Organisation!” they say at the club, +holding up a finger. But all this is very innocent and there are not +many people who talk like that. Others, on the other hand, do not deny +his acuteness, but point out that he was utterly ignorant of real life, +that he was terribly theoretical, grotesquely and stupidly one-sided, +and consequently shallow in the extreme. As for his moral qualities all +are agreed; about that there are no two opinions. +</p> +<p> +I do not know whom to mention next so as not to forget anyone. Mavriky +Nikolaevitch has gone away for good, I don’t know where. Old Madame +Drozdov has sunk into dotage.… I have still one very gloomy story to +tell, however. I will confine myself to the bare facts. +</p> +<p> +On her return from Ustyevo, Varvara Petrovna stayed at her town house. +All the accumulated news broke upon her at once and gave her a terrible +shock. She shut herself up alone. It was evening; every one was tired +and went to bed early. +</p> +<p> +In the morning a maid with a mysterious air handed a note to Darya +Pavlovna. The note had, so she said, arrived the evening before, but +late, when all had gone to bed, so that she had not ventured to wake +her. It had not come by post, but had been put in Alexey Yegorytch’s +hand in Skvoreshniki by some unknown person. And Alexey Yegorytch had +immediately set off and put it into her hands himself and had then +returned to Skvoreshniki. +</p> +<p> +For a long while Darya Pavlovna gazed at the letter with a beating +heart, and dared not open it. She knew from whom it came: the writer was +Nikolay Stavrogin. She read what was written on the envelope: “To Alexey +Yegorytch, to be given secretly to Darya Pavlovna.” +</p> +<p> +Here is the letter word for word, without the slightest correction of +the defects in style of a Russian aristocrat who had never mastered the +Russian grammar in spite of his European education. +</p> +<p> +“Dear Darya Pavlovna,—At one time you expressed a wish to be my nurse +and made me promise to send for you when I wanted you. I am going away +in two days and shall not come back. Will you go with me? +</p> +<p> +“Last year, like Herzen, I was naturalised as a citizen of the canton +of Uri, and that nobody knows. There I’ve already bought a little house. +I’ve still twelve thousand roubles left; we’ll go and live there for +ever. I don’t want to go anywhere else ever. +</p> +<p> +“It’s a very dull place, a narrow valley, the mountains restrict both +vision and thought. It’s very gloomy. I chose the place because there +was a little house to be sold. If you don’t like it I’ll sell it and buy +another in some other place. +</p> +<p> +“I am not well, but I hope to get rid of hallucinations in that air. +It’s physical, and as for the moral you know everything; but do you know +all? +</p> +<p> +“I’ve told you a great deal of my life, but not all. Even to you! +Not all. By the way, I repeat that in my conscience I feel myself +responsible for my wife’s death. I haven’t seen you since then, that’s +why I repeat it. I feel guilty about Lizaveta Nikolaevna too; but you +know about that; you foretold almost all that. +</p> +<p> +“Better not come to me. My asking you to is a horrible meanness. And why +should you bury your life with me? You are dear to me, and when I was +miserable it was good to be beside you; only with you I could speak +of myself aloud. But that proves nothing. You defined it yourself, ‘a +nurse’—it’s your own expression; why sacrifice so much? Grasp this, +too, that I have no pity for you since I ask you, and no respect for +you since I reckon on you. And yet I ask you and I reckon on you. In +any case I need your answer for I must set off very soon. In that case I +shall go alone. +</p> +<p> +“I expect nothing of Uri; I am simply going. I have not chosen a gloomy +place on purpose. I have no ties in Russia—everything is as alien to +me there as everywhere. It’s true that I dislike living there more than +anywhere; but I can’t hate anything even there! +</p> +<p> +“I’ve tried my strength everywhere. You advised me to do this ‘that I +might learn to know myself.’ As long as I was experimenting for myself +and for others it seemed infinite, as it has all my life. Before your +eyes I endured a blow from your brother; I acknowledged my marriage in +public. But to what to apply my strength, that is what I’ve never seen, +and do not see now in spite of all your praises in Switzerland, which +I believed in. I am still capable, as I always was, of desiring to do +something good, and of feeling pleasure from it; at the same time I +desire evil and feel pleasure from that too. But both feelings are +always too petty, and are never very strong. My desires are too weak; +they are not enough to guide me. On a log one may cross a river but not +on a chip. I say this that you may not believe that I am going to Uri +with hopes of any sort. +</p> +<p> +“As always I blame no one. I’ve tried the depths of debauchery and +wasted my strength over it. But I don’t like vice and I didn’t want it. +You have been watching me of late. Do you know that I looked upon our +iconoclasts with spite, from envy of their hopes? But you had no need to +be afraid. I could not have been one of them for I never shared anything +with them. And to do it for fun, from spite I could not either, not +because I am afraid of the ridiculous—I cannot be afraid of the +ridiculous—but because I have, after all, the habits of a gentleman and +it disgusted me. But if I had felt more spite and envy of them I might +perhaps have joined them. You can judge how hard it has been for me, and +how I’ve struggled from one thing to another. +</p> +<p> +“Dear friend! Great and tender heart which I divined! Perhaps you dream +of giving me so much love and lavishing on me so much that is beautiful +from your beautiful soul, that you hope to set up some aim for me at +last by it? No, it’s better for you to be more cautious, my love will +be as petty as I am myself and you will be unhappy. Your brother told me +that the man who loses connection with his country loses his gods, that +is, all his aims. One may argue about everything endlessly, but from me +nothing has come but negation, with no greatness of soul, no force. +Even negation has not come from me. Everything has always been petty and +spiritless. Kirillov, in the greatness of his soul, could not compromise +with an idea, and shot himself; but I see, of course, that he was +great-souled because he had lost his reason. I can never lose my reason, +and I can never believe in an idea to such a degree as he did. I cannot +even be interested in an idea to such a degree. I can never, never shoot +myself. +</p> +<p> +“I know I ought to kill myself, to brush myself off the earth like a +nasty insect; but I am afraid of suicide, for I am afraid of showing +greatness of soul. I know that it will be another sham again—the last +deception in an endless series of deceptions. What good is there in +deceiving oneself? Simply to play at greatness of soul? Indignation and +shame I can never feel, therefore not despair. +</p> +<p> +“Forgive me for writing so much. I wrote without noticing. A hundred +pages would be too little and ten lines would be enough. Ten lines would +be enough to ask you to be a nurse. Since I left Skvoreshniki I’ve been +living at the sixth station on the line, at the stationmaster’s. I got +to know him in the time of debauchery five years ago in Petersburg. No +one knows I am living there. Write to him. I enclose the address. +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Stavrogin.” +</p> +<p> +Darya Pavlovna went at once and showed the letter to Varvara Petrovna. +She read it and asked Dasha to go out of the room so that she might read +it again alone; but she called her back very quickly. +</p> +<p> +“Are you going?” she asked almost timidly. +</p> +<p> +“I am going,” answered Dasha. +</p> +<p> +“Get ready! We’ll go together.” +</p> +<p> +Dasha looked at her inquiringly. +</p> +<p> +“What is there left for me to do here? What difficulty will it make? +I’ll be naturalised in Uri, too, and live in the valley.… Don’t be +uneasy, I won’t be in the way.” +</p> +<p> +They began packing quickly to be in time to catch the midday train. +But in less than half an hour’s time Alexey Yegorytch arrived from +Skvoreshniki. He announced that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had suddenly +arrived that morning by the early train, and was now at Skvoreshniki but +“in such a state that his honour did not answer any questions, walked +through all the rooms and shut himself up in his own wing.…” +</p> +<p> +“Though I received no orders I thought it best to come and inform you,” +Alexey Yegorytch concluded with a very significant expression. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna looked at him searchingly and did not question him. The +carriage was got ready instantly. Varvara Petrovna set off with Dasha. +They say that she kept crossing herself on the journey. +</p> +<p> +In Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s wing of the house all the doors were open +and he was nowhere to be seen. +</p> +<p> +“Wouldn’t he be upstairs?” Fomushka ventured. +</p> +<p> +It was remarkable that several servants followed Varvara Petrovna while +the others all stood waiting in the drawing-room. They would never have +dared to commit such a breach of etiquette before. Varvara Petrovna saw +it and said nothing. +</p> +<p> +They went upstairs. There there were three rooms; but they found no one +there. +</p> +<p> +“Wouldn’t his honour have gone up there?” someone suggested, pointing +to the door of the loft. And in fact, the door of the loft which was +always closed had been opened and was standing ajar. The loft was right +under the roof and was reached by a long, very steep and narrow wooden +ladder. There was a sort of little room up there too. +</p> +<p> +“I am not going up there. Why should he go up there?” said Varvara +Petrovna, turning terribly pale as she looked at the servants. They +gazed back at her and said nothing. Dasha was trembling. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna rushed up the ladder; Dasha followed, but she had +hardly entered the loft when she uttered a scream and fell senseless. +</p> +<p> +The citizen of the canton of Uri was hanging there behind the door. On +the table lay a piece of paper with the words in pencil: “No one is to +blame, I did it myself.” Beside it on the table lay a hammer, a piece +of soap, and a large nail—obviously an extra one in case of need. The +strong silk cord upon which Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had hanged himself +had evidently been chosen and prepared beforehand and was thickly +smeared with soap. Everything proved that there had been premeditation +and consciousness up to the last moment. +</p> +<p> +At the inquest our doctors absolutely and emphatically rejected all idea +of insanity. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +THE END +</p> + + +<div style="height: 6em;"><br><br><br><br><br><br></div> + + + + + + + + + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 8117 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/8117-h/8117-h.htm~ b/8117-h/8117-h.htm~ new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8e7dfaf --- /dev/null +++ b/8117-h/8117-h.htm~ @@ -0,0 +1,33586 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> +<title> + The Possessed (or, The Devils), + by Fyodor Dostoevsky +</title> +<meta charset="utf-8"> + +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body { text-align:justify;} + p { margin:15%; margin-top: 0.75em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; } + p.centered { text-align: center;} + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; } + hr.full { width: 100%; } + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + .play { margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; text-align: justify; font-size: 100%; } + img {border: 0;} + HR { width: 33%; text-align: center; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;} + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 1%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: left; + color: gray; + } /* page numbers */ + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 10%; margin-left: 1%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; + margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 5%; margin-bottom: .75em; font-size: 110%;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent {font-style: italic; font-size: 100%; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + table.centered { margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 10px;} + pre { font-family: Times,serif; font-style: italic; font-size: 100%; margin-left: 25%;} + --> +</style> + +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 8117 ***</div> + + + +<br><br> + +<h1> + THE POSSESSED<br><br> + + or, The Devils +</h1><br><br> +<h3> +A Novel In Three Parts +</h3><br><br> + +<h2> +By Fyodor Dostoevsky +</h2><br><br> + +<h3> +Translated From The Russian By Constance Garnett +</h3><br><br> + +<h3>1916</h3> + +<br> +<br> +<hr> +<br> +<br> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table class="centered"> +<tr><td> + + <a href="#H2_PART1"> +<b>PART I.</b> </a></td><td> +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0001"> +CHAPTER I. </a></td><td>INTRODUCTORY +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0002"> +CHAPTER II. </a></td><td>PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0003"> +CHAPTER III. </a></td><td>THE SINS OF OTHERS +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0004"> +CHAPTER IV. </a></td><td>THE CRIPPLE +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0005"> +CHAPTER V. </a></td><td>THE SUBTLE SERPENT +</td></tr><tr><td> + + </td><td> </td></tr><tr><td> + + <a href="#H2_PART2"> +<b>PART II.</b> </a></td><td> +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0006"> +CHAPTER I. </a></td><td>NIGHT +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0007"> +CHAPTER II. </a></td><td>NIGHT (continued) +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0008"> +CHAPTER III. </a></td><td>THE DUEL +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0009"> +CHAPTER IV. </a></td><td>ALL IN EXPECTATION +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0010"> +CHAPTER V. </a></td><td>ON THE EVE OF THE FETE +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0011"> +CHAPTER VI. </a></td><td>PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0012"> +CHAPTER VII. </a></td><td>A MEETING +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0013"> +CHAPTER VIII. </a></td><td>IVAN THE TSAREVITCH +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0014"> +CHAPTER IX. </a></td><td>A RAID AT STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0015"> +CHAPTER X. </a></td><td>FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING +</td></tr><tr><td> + + </td><td> </td></tr><tr><td> + + <a href="#H2_PART3"> +<b>PART III.</b> </a></td><td> +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0016"> +CHAPTER I. </a></td><td>THE FETE—FIRST PART +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0017"> +CHAPTER II. </a></td><td>THE END OF THE FETE +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0018"> +CHAPTER III. </a></td><td>A ROMANCE ENDED +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0019"> +CHAPTER IV. </a></td><td>THE LAST RESOLUTION +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0020"> +CHAPTER V. </a></td><td>A WANDERER +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0021"> +CHAPTER VI. </a></td><td>A BUSY NIGHT +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0022"> +CHAPTER VII. </a></td><td>STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING +</td></tr><tr><td> + <a href="#H2CH0023"> +CHAPTER VIII. </a></td><td>CONCLUSION +</td></tr><tr><td> +</td><td></td></tr> +</table> + +<br> +<br> +<hr> +<br> +<br> + +<a id="H2_TOC"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + + +<pre> + “Strike me dead, the track has vanished, + Well, what now? We’ve lost the way, + Demons have bewitched our horses, + Led us in the wilds astray. + + “What a number! Whither drift they? + What’s the mournful dirge they sing? + Do they hail a witch’s marriage + Or a goblin’s burying?” + + <b>A. Pushkin.</b> +</pre> +<br><br> +<pre> + “And there was one herd of many swine feeding on this + mountain; and they besought him that he would suffer them to + enter into them. And he suffered them. + + “Then went the devils out of the man and entered into the + swine; and the herd ran violently down a steep place into + the lake and were choked. + + “When they that fed them saw what was done, they fled, and + went and told it in the city and in the country. + + “Then they went out to see what was done; and came to Jesus + and found the man, out of whom the devils were departed, + sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind; + and they were afraid.” + + <b>Luke, ch. viii. 32-37.</b> +</pre> + +<br> +<br> +<hr> +<br> +<br> + +<a id="H2_PART1"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + + + +<h2> + PART I +</h2> +<a id="H2CH0001"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY +</h2> +<p> +SOME DETAILS OF THE BIOGRAPHY OF THAT HIGHLY RESPECTED GENTLEMAN STEPAN +TROFIMOVITCH VERHOVENSKY. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +IN UNDERTAKING to describe the recent and strange incidents in our town, +till lately wrapped in uneventful obscurity, I find myself forced in +absence of literary skill to begin my story rather far back, that is +to say, with certain biographical details concerning that talented and +highly-esteemed gentleman, Stepan Trofimovitch Verhovensky. I trust that +these details may at least serve as an introduction, while my projected +story itself will come later. +</p> +<p> +I will say at once that Stepan Trofimovitch had always filled a +particular rôle among us, that of the progressive patriot, so to say, +and he was passionately fond of playing the part—so much so that I +really believe he could not have existed without it. Not that I would +put him on a level with an actor at a theatre, God forbid, for I really +have a respect for him. This may all have been the effect of habit, or +rather, more exactly of a generous propensity he had from his earliest +years for indulging in an agreeable day-dream in which he figured as +a picturesque public character. He fondly loved, for instance, his +position as a “persecuted” man and, so to speak, an “exile.” There is a +sort of traditional glamour about those two little words that fascinated +him once for all and, exalting him gradually in his own opinion, raised +him in the course of years to a lofty pedestal very gratifying to +vanity. In an English satire of the last century, Gulliver, returning +from the land of the Lilliputians where the people were only three or +four inches high, had grown so accustomed to consider himself a giant +among them, that as he walked along the streets of London he could not +help crying out to carriages and passers-by to be careful and get out of +his way for fear he should crush them, imagining that they were little +and he was still a giant. He was laughed at and abused for it, and rough +coachmen even lashed at the giant with their whips. But was that just? +What may not be done by habit? Habit had brought Stepan Trofimovitch +almost to the same position, but in a more innocent and inoffensive +form, if one may use such expressions, for he was a most excellent man. +</p> +<p> +I am even inclined to suppose that towards the end he had been entirely +forgotten everywhere; but still it cannot be said that his name had +never been known. It is beyond question that he had at one time belonged +to a certain distinguished constellation of celebrated leaders of +the last generation, and at one time—though only for the briefest +moment—his name was pronounced by many hasty persons of that day almost +as though it were on a level with the names of Tchaadaev, of Byelinsky, +of Granovsky, and of Herzen, who had only just begun to write abroad. +But Stepan Trofimovitch’s activity ceased almost at the moment it began, +owing, so to say, to a “vortex of combined circumstances.” And would you +believe it? It turned out afterwards that there had been no “vortex” and +even no “circumstances,” at least in that connection. I only learned +the other day to my intense amazement, though on the most unimpeachable +authority, that Stepan Trofimovitch had lived among us in our province +not as an “exile” as we were accustomed to believe, and had never even +been under police supervision at all. Such is the force of imagination! +All his life he sincerely believed that in certain spheres he was a +constant cause of apprehension, that every step he took was watched +and noted, and that each one of the three governors who succeeded one +another during twenty years in our province came with special and uneasy +ideas concerning him, which had, by higher powers, been impressed upon +each before everything else, on receiving the appointment. Had anyone +assured the honest man on the most irrefutable grounds that he had +nothing to be afraid of, he would certainly have been offended. Yet +Stepan Trofimovitch was a most intelligent and gifted man, even, so to +say, a man of science, though indeed, in science … well, in fact he +had not done such great things in science. I believe indeed he had done +nothing at all. But that’s very often the case, of course, with men of +science among us in Russia. +</p> +<p> +He came back from abroad and was brilliant in the capacity of lecturer +at the university, towards the end of the forties. He only had time +to deliver a few lectures, I believe they were about the Arabs; he +maintained, too, a brilliant thesis on the political and Hanseatic +importance of the German town Hanau, of which there was promise in the +epoch between 1413 and 1428, and on the special and obscure reasons +why that promise was never fulfilled. This dissertation was a cruel +and skilful thrust at the Slavophils of the day, and at once made him +numerous and irreconcilable enemies among them. Later on—after he had +lost his post as lecturer, however—he published (by way of revenge, +so to say, and to show them what a man they had lost) in a progressive +monthly review, which translated Dickens and advocated the views of +George Sand, the beginning of a very profound investigation into the +causes, I believe, of the extraordinary moral nobility of certain +knights at a certain epoch or something of that nature. +</p> +<p> +Some lofty and exceptionally noble idea was maintained in it, anyway. +It was said afterwards that the continuation was hurriedly forbidden and +even that the progressive review had to suffer for having printed the +first part. That may very well have been so, for what was not possible +in those days? Though, in this case, it is more likely that there +was nothing of the kind, and that the author himself was too lazy to +conclude his essay. He cut short his lectures on the Arabs because, +somehow and by someone (probably one of his reactionary enemies) a +letter had been seized giving an account of certain circumstances, in +consequence of which someone had demanded an explanation from him. I +don’t know whether the story is true, but it was asserted that at the +same time there was discovered in Petersburg a vast, unnatural, and +illegal conspiracy of thirty people which almost shook society to its +foundations. It was said that they were positively on the point of +translating Fourier. As though of design a poem of Stepan Trofimovitch’s +was seized in Moscow at that very time, though it had been written six +years before in Berlin in his earliest youth, and manuscript copies had +been passed round a circle consisting of two poetical amateurs and one +student. This poem is lying now on my table. No longer ago than last +year I received a recent copy in his own handwriting from Stepan +Trofimovitch himself, signed by him, and bound in a splendid red leather +binding. It is not without poetic merit, however, and even a certain +talent. It’s strange, but in those days (or to be more exact, in the +thirties) people were constantly composing in that style. I find it +difficult to describe the subject, for I really do not understand it. +It is some sort of an allegory in lyrical-dramatic form, recalling the +second part of Faust. The scene opens with a chorus of women, followed +by a chorus of men, then a chorus of incorporeal powers of some sort, +and at the end of all a chorus of spirits not yet living but very +eager to come to life. All these choruses sing about something very +indefinite, for the most part about somebody’s curse, but with a tinge +of the higher humour. But the scene is suddenly changed. There begins a +sort of “festival of life” at which even insects sing, a tortoise +comes on the scene with certain sacramental Latin words, and even, if +I remember aright, a mineral sings about something that is a quite +inanimate object. In fact, they all sing continually, or if they +converse, it is simply to abuse one another vaguely, but again with +a tinge of higher meaning. At last the scene is changed again; a +wilderness appears, and among the rocks there wanders a civilized young +man who picks and sucks certain herbs. Asked by a fairy why he sucks +these herbs, he answers that, conscious of a superfluity of life in +himself, he seeks forgetfulness, and finds it in the juice of these +herbs, but that his great desire is to lose his reason at once (a desire +possibly superfluous). Then a youth of indescribable beauty rides in on +a black steed, and an immense multitude of all nations follow him. +The youth represents death, for whom all the peoples are yearning. And +finally, in the last scene we are suddenly shown the Tower of Babel, and +certain athletes at last finish building it with a song of new hope, and +when at length they complete the topmost pinnacle, the lord (of Olympia, +let us say) takes flight in a comic fashion, and man, grasping the +situation and seizing his place, at once begins a new life with new +insight into things. Well, this poem was thought at that time to be +dangerous. Last year I proposed to Stepan Trofimovitch to publish it, +on the ground of its perfect harmlessness nowadays, but he declined +the suggestion with evident dissatisfaction. My view of its complete +harmlessness evidently displeased him, and I even ascribe to it a +certain coldness on his part, which lasted two whole months. +</p> +<p> +And what do you think? Suddenly, almost at the time I proposed printing +it here, our poem was published abroad in a collection of revolutionary +verse, without the knowledge of Stepan Trofimovitch. He was at +first alarmed, rushed to the governor, and wrote a noble letter in +self-defence to Petersburg. He read it to me twice, but did not send +it, not knowing to whom to address it. In fact he was in a state of +agitation for a whole month, but I am convinced that in the secret +recesses of his heart he was enormously flattered. He almost took the +copy of the collection to bed with him, and kept it hidden under his +mattress in the daytime; he positively would not allow the women to turn +his bed, and although he expected every day a telegram, he held his head +high. No telegram came. Then he made friends with me again, which is a +proof of the extreme kindness of his gentle and unresentful heart. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +Of course I don’t assert that he had never suffered for his convictions +at all, but I am fully convinced that he might have gone on lecturing +on his Arabs as long as he liked, if he had only given the necessary +explanations. But he was too lofty, and he proceeded with peculiar haste +to assure himself that his career was ruined forever “by the vortex of +circumstance.” And if the whole truth is to be told the real cause of +the change in his career was the very delicate proposition which had +been made before and was then renewed by Varvara Petrovna Stavrogin, a +lady of great wealth, the wife of a lieutenant-general, that he should +undertake the education and the whole intellectual development of her +only son in the capacity of a superior sort of teacher and friend, to +say nothing of a magnificent salary. This proposal had been made to +him the first time in Berlin, at the moment when he was first left a +widower. His first wife was a frivolous girl from our province, whom he +married in his early and unthinking youth, and apparently he had had a +great deal of trouble with this young person, charming as she was, +owing to the lack of means for her support; and also from other, more +delicate, reasons. She died in Paris after three years’ separation +from him, leaving him a son of five years old; “the fruit of our first, +joyous, and unclouded love,” were the words the sorrowing father once +let fall in my presence. +</p> +<p> +The child had, from the first, been sent back to Russia, where he was +brought up in the charge of distant cousins in some remote region. +Stepan Trofimovitch had declined Varvara Petrovna’s proposal on that +occasion and had quickly married again, before the year was over, a +taciturn Berlin girl, and, what makes it more strange, there was no +particular necessity for him to do so. But apart from his marriage there +were, it appears, other reasons for his declining the situation. He was +tempted by the resounding fame of a professor, celebrated at that time, +and he, in his turn, hastened to the lecturer’s chair for which he had +been preparing himself, to try his eagle wings in flight. But now with +singed wings he naturally remembered the proposition which even then had +made him hesitate. The sudden death of his second wife, who did not live +a year with him, settled the matter decisively. To put it plainly it was +all brought about by the passionate sympathy and priceless, so to +speak, classic friendship of Varvara Petrovna, if one may use such +an expression of friendship. He flung himself into the arms of this +friendship, and his position was settled for more than twenty years. I +use the expression “flung himself into the arms of,” but God forbid that +anyone should fly to idle and superfluous conclusions. These embraces +must be understood only in the most loftily moral sense. The most +refined and delicate tie united these two beings, both so remarkable, +forever. +</p> +<p> +The post of tutor was the more readily accepted too, as the property—a +very small one—left to Stepan Trofimovitch by his first wife was close +to Skvoreshniki, the Stavrogins’ magnificent estate on the outskirts of +our provincial town. Besides, in the stillness of his study, far from +the immense burden of university work, it was always possible to devote +himself to the service of science, and to enrich the literature of his +country with erudite studies. These works did not appear. But on the +other hand it did appear possible to spend the rest of his life, more +than twenty years, “a reproach incarnate,” so to speak, to his native +country, in the words of a popular poet: +</p> +<p> +<i>Reproach incarnate thou didst stand</i> +<i>Erect before thy Fatherland,</i> +<i>O Liberal idealist!</i> +</p> +<p> +But the person to whom the popular poet referred may perhaps have had +the right to adopt that pose for the rest of his life if he had wished +to do so, though it must have been tedious. Our Stepan Trofimovitch was, +to tell the truth, only an imitator compared with such people; moreover, +he had grown weary of standing erect and often lay down for a while. +But, to do him justice, the “incarnation of reproach” was preserved even +in the recumbent attitude, the more so as that was quite sufficient for +the province. You should have seen him at our club when he sat down to +cards. His whole figure seemed to exclaim “Cards! Me sit down to whist +with you! Is it consistent? Who is responsible for it? Who has shattered +my energies and turned them to whist? Ah, perish, Russia!” and he would +majestically trump with a heart. +</p> +<p> +And to tell the truth he dearly loved a game of cards, which led him, +especially in later years, into frequent and unpleasant skirmishes with +Varvara Petrovna, particularly as he was always losing. But of that +later. I will only observe that he was a man of tender conscience (that +is, sometimes) and so was often depressed. In the course of his twenty +years’ friendship with Varvara Petrovna he used regularly, three or +four times a year, to sink into a state of “patriotic grief,” as it +was called among us, or rather really into an attack of spleen, but our +estimable Varvara Petrovna preferred the former phrase. Of late years +his grief had begun to be not only patriotic, but at times alcoholic +too; but Varvara Petrovna’s alertness succeeded in keeping him all his +life from trivial inclinations. And he needed someone to look after him +indeed, for he sometimes behaved very oddly: in the midst of his exalted +sorrow he would begin laughing like any simple peasant. There were +moments when he began to take a humorous tone even about himself. But +there was nothing Varvara Petrovna dreaded so much as a humorous tone. +She was a woman of the classic type, a female Mæcenas, invariably +guided only by the highest considerations. The influence of this exalted +lady over her poor friend for twenty years is a fact of the first +importance. I shall need to speak of her more particularly, which I now +proceed to do. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +There are strange friendships. The two friends are always ready to fly +at one another, and go on like that all their lives, and yet they cannot +separate. Parting, in fact, is utterly impossible. The one who has begun +the quarrel and separated will be the first to fall ill and even die, +perhaps, if the separation comes off. I know for a positive fact that +several times Stepan Trofimovitch has jumped up from the sofa and +beaten the wall with his fists after the most intimate and emotional +<i>tête-à-tête</i> with Varvara Petrovna. +</p> +<p> +This proceeding was by no means an empty symbol; indeed, on one +occasion, he broke some plaster off the wall. It may be asked how I come +to know such delicate details. What if I were myself a witness of it? +What if Stepan Trofimovitch himself has, on more than one occasion, +sobbed on my shoulder while he described to me in lurid colours all his +most secret feelings. (And what was there he did not say at such times!) +But what almost always happened after these tearful outbreaks was that +next day he was ready to crucify himself for his ingratitude. He would +send for me in a hurry or run over to see me simply to assure me that +Varvara Petrovna was “an angel of honour and delicacy, while he was very +much the opposite.” He did not only run to confide in me, but, on more +than one occasion, described it all to her in the most eloquent letter, +and wrote a full signed confession that no longer ago than the day +before he had told an outsider that she kept him out of vanity, that +she was envious of his talents and erudition, that she hated him and was +only afraid to express her hatred openly, dreading that he would leave +her and so damage her literary reputation, that this drove him to +self-contempt, and he was resolved to die a violent death, and that he +was waiting for the final word from her which would decide everything, +and so on and so on in the same style. You can fancy after this what +an hysterical pitch the nervous outbreaks of this most innocent of +all fifty-year-old infants sometimes reached! I once read one of these +letters after some quarrel between them, arising from a trivial matter, +but growing venomous as it went on. I was horrified and besought him not +to send it. +</p> +<p> +“I must … more honourable … duty … I shall die if I don’t confess +everything, everything!” he answered almost in delirium, and he did send +the letter. +</p> +<p> +That was the difference between them, that Varvara Petrovna never would +have sent such a letter. It is true that he was passionately fond of +writing, he wrote to her though he lived in the same house, and during +hysterical interludes he would write two letters a day. I know for a +fact that she always read these letters with the greatest attention, +even when she received two a day, and after reading them she put them +away in a special drawer, sorted and annotated; moreover, she pondered +them in her heart. But she kept her friend all day without an answer, +met him as though there were nothing the matter, exactly as though +nothing special had happened the day before. By degrees she broke him in +so completely that at last he did not himself dare to allude to what had +happened the day before, and only glanced into her eyes at times. But +she never forgot anything, while he sometimes forgot too quickly, and +encouraged by her composure he would not infrequently, if friends came +in, laugh and make jokes over the champagne the very same day. With what +malignancy she must have looked at him at such moments, while he noticed +nothing! Perhaps in a week’s time, a month’s time, or even six months +later, chancing to recall some phrase in such a letter, and then the +whole letter with all its attendant circumstances, he would suddenly +grow hot with shame, and be so upset that he fell ill with one of his +attacks of “summer cholera.” These attacks of a sort of “summer cholera” +were, in some cases, the regular consequence of his nervous agitations +and were an interesting peculiarity of his physical constitution. +</p> +<p> +No doubt Varvara Petrovna did very often hate him. But there was one +thing he had not discerned up to the end: that was that he had become +for her a son, her creation, even, one may say, her invention; he had +become flesh of her flesh, and she kept and supported him not simply +from “envy of his talents.” And how wounded she must have been by such +suppositions! An inexhaustible love for him lay concealed in her heart +in the midst of continual hatred, jealousy, and contempt. She would not +let a speck of dust fall upon him, coddled him up for twenty-two years, +would not have slept for nights together if there were the faintest +breath against his reputation as a poet, a learned man, and a public +character. She had invented him, and had been the first to believe in +her own invention. He was, after a fashion, her day-dream.… But in +return she exacted a great deal from him, sometimes even slavishness. It +was incredible how long she harboured resentment. I have two anecdotes +to tell about that. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +On one occasion, just at the time when the first rumours of the +emancipation of the serfs were in the air, when all Russia was exulting +and making ready for a complete regeneration, Varvara Petrovna was +visited by a baron from Petersburg, a man of the highest connections, +and very closely associated with the new reform. Varvara Petrovna prized +such visits highly, as her connections in higher circles had grown +weaker and weaker since the death of her husband, and had at last ceased +altogether. The baron spent an hour drinking tea with her. There was no +one else present but Stepan Trofimovitch, whom Varvara Petrovna invited +and exhibited. The baron had heard something about him before or +affected to have done so, but paid little attention to him at tea. +Stepan Trofimovitch of course was incapable of making a social blunder, +and his manners were most elegant. Though I believe he was by no means +of exalted origin, yet it happened that he had from earliest childhood +been brought up in a Moscow household—of high rank, and consequently +was well bred. He spoke French like a Parisian. Thus the baron was to +have seen from the first glance the sort of people with whom Varvara +Petrovna surrounded herself, even in provincial seclusion. But things +did not fall out like this. When the baron positively asserted the +absolute truth of the rumours of the great reform, which were then +only just beginning to be heard, Stepan Trofimovitch could not contain +himself, and suddenly shouted “Hurrah!” and even made some gesticulation +indicative of delight. His ejaculation was not over-loud and quite +polite, his delight was even perhaps premeditated, and his gesture +purposely studied before the looking-glass half an hour before tea. But +something must have been amiss with it, for the baron permitted himself +a faint smile, though he, at once, with extraordinary courtesy, put in +a phrase concerning the universal and befitting emotion of all Russian +hearts in view of the great event. Shortly afterwards he took his +leave and at parting did not forget to hold out two fingers to Stepan +Trofimovitch. On returning to the drawing-room Varvara Petrovna was +at first silent for two or three minutes, and seemed to be looking for +something on the table. Then she turned to Stepan Trofimovitch, and with +pale face and flashing eyes she hissed in a whisper: +</p> +<p> +“I shall never forgive you for that!” +</p> +<p> +Next day she met her friend as though nothing had happened, she never +referred to the incident, but thirteen years afterwards, at a tragic +moment, she recalled it and reproached him with it, and she turned pale, +just as she had done thirteen years before. Only twice in the course of +her life did she say to him: +</p> +<p> +“I shall never forgive you for that!” +</p> +<p> +The incident with the baron was the second time, but the first incident +was so characteristic and had so much influence on the fate of Stepan +Trofimovitch that I venture to refer to that too. +</p> +<p> +It was in 1855, in spring-time, in May, just after the news had reached +Skvoreshniki of the death of Lieutenant-General Stavrogin, a frivolous +old gentleman who died of a stomach ailment on the way to the Crimea, +where he was hastening to join the army on active service. Varvara +Petrovna was left a widow and put on deep mourning. She could not, it is +true, deplore his death very deeply, since, for the last four years, +she had been completely separated from him owing to incompatibility of +temper, and was giving him an allowance. (The Lieutenant-General himself +had nothing but one hundred and fifty serfs and his pay, besides his +position and his connections. All the money and Skvoreshniki belonged to +Varvara Petrovna, the only daughter of a very rich contractor.) Yet she +was shocked by the suddenness of the news, and retired into complete +solitude. Stepan Trofimovitch, of course, was always at her side. +</p> +<p> +May was in its full beauty. The evenings were exquisite. The wild cherry +was in flower. The two friends walked every evening in the garden and +used to sit till nightfall in the arbour, and pour out their thoughts +and feelings to one another. They had poetic moments. Under the +influence of the change in her position Varvara Petrovna talked more +than usual. She, as it were, clung to the heart of her friend, and this +continued for several evenings. A strange idea suddenly came over Stepan +Trofimovitch: “Was not the inconsolable widow reckoning upon him, and +expecting from him, when her mourning was over, the offer of his hand?” +A cynical idea, but the very loftiness of a man’s nature sometimes +increases a disposition to cynical ideas if only from the many-sidedness +of his culture. He began to look more deeply into it, and thought it +seemed like it. He pondered: “Her fortune is immense, of course, but …” +Varvara Petrovna certainly could not be called a beauty. She was a +tall, yellow, bony woman with an extremely long face, suggestive of a +horse. Stepan Trofimovitch hesitated more and more, he was tortured by +doubts, he positively shed tears of indecision once or twice (he wept +not infrequently). In the evenings, that is to say in the arbour, his +countenance involuntarily began to express something capricious and +ironical, something coquettish and at the same time condescending. This +is apt to happen as it were by accident, and the more gentlemanly the +man the more noticeable it is. Goodness only knows what one is to think +about it, but it’s most likely that nothing had begun working in her +heart that could have fully justified Stepan Trofimovitch’s suspicions. +Moreover, she would not have changed her name, Stavrogin, for his +name, famous as it was. Perhaps there was nothing in it but the play +of femininity on her side; the manifestation of an unconscious feminine +yearning so natural in some extremely feminine types. However, I won’t +answer for it; the depths of the female heart have not been explored to +this day. But I must continue. +</p> +<p> +It is to be supposed that she soon inwardly guessed the significance of +her friend’s strange expression; she was quick and observant, and he was +sometimes extremely guileless. But the evenings went on as before, and +their conversations were just as poetic and interesting. And behold +on one occasion at nightfall, after the most lively and poetical +conversation, they parted affectionately, warmly pressing each other’s +hands at the steps of the lodge where Stepan Trofimovitch slept. Every +summer he used to move into this little lodge which stood adjoining the +huge seignorial house of Skvoreshniki, almost in the garden. He had only +just gone in, and in restless hesitation taken a cigar, and not having +yet lighted it, was standing weary and motionless before the open +window, gazing at the light feathery white clouds gliding around the +bright moon, when suddenly a faint rustle made him start and turn +round. Varvara Petrovna, whom he had left only four minutes earlier, +was standing before him again. Her yellow face was almost blue. Her lips +were pressed tightly together and twitching at the corners. For ten full +seconds she looked him in the eyes in silence with a firm relentless +gaze, and suddenly whispered rapidly: +</p> +<p> +“I shall never forgive you for this!” +</p> +<p> +When, ten years later, Stepan Trofimovitch, after closing the doors, +told me this melancholy tale in a whisper, he vowed that he had been so +petrified on the spot that he had not seen or heard how Varvara Petrovna +had disappeared. As she never once afterwards alluded to the incident +and everything went on as though nothing had happened, he was all his +life inclined to the idea that it was all an hallucination, a symptom +of illness, the more so as he was actually taken ill that very night +and was indisposed for a fortnight, which, by the way, cut short the +interviews in the arbour. +</p> +<p> +But in spite of his vague theory of hallucination he seemed every day, +all his life, to be expecting the continuation, and, so to say, the +<i>dénouement</i> of this affair. He could not believe that that was the end of +it! And if so he must have looked strangely sometimes at his friend. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +V +</p> +<p> +She had herself designed the costume for him which he wore for the rest +of his life. It was elegant and characteristic; a long black frock-coat, +buttoned almost to the top, but stylishly cut; a soft hat (in summer a +straw hat) with a wide brim, a white batiste cravat with a full bow +and hanging ends, a cane with a silver knob; his hair flowed on to his +shoulders. It was dark brown, and only lately had begun to get a little +grey. He was clean-shaven. He was said to have been very handsome in his +youth. And, to my mind, he was still an exceptionally impressive figure +even in old age. Besides, who can talk of old age at fifty-three? +From his special pose as a patriot, however, he did not try to appear +younger, but seemed rather to pride himself on the solidity of his +age, and, dressed as described, tall and thin with flowing hair, he +looked almost like a patriarch, or even more like the portrait of the +poet Kukolnik, engraved in the edition of his works published in 1830 or +thereabouts. This resemblance was especially striking when he sat in the +garden in summertime, on a seat under a bush of flowering lilac, with +both hands propped on his cane and an open book beside him, musing +poetically over the setting sun. In regard to books I may remark that +he came in later years rather to avoid reading. But that was only quite +towards the end. The papers and magazines ordered in great profusion by +Varvara Petrovna he was continually reading. He never lost interest in +the successes of Russian literature either, though he always maintained +a dignified attitude with regard to them. He was at one time engrossed +in the study of our home and foreign politics, but he soon gave up the +undertaking with a gesture of despair. It sometimes happened that he +would take De Tocqueville with him into the garden while he had a Paul +de Kock in his pocket. But these are trivial matters. +</p> +<p> +I must observe in parenthesis about the portrait of Kukolnik; the +engraving had first come into the hands of Varvara Petrovna when she was +a girl in a high-class boarding-school in Moscow. She fell in love with +the portrait at once, after the habit of all girls at school who fall +in love with anything they come across, as well as with their teachers, +especially the drawing and writing masters. What is interesting in this, +though, is not the characteristics of girls but the fact that even at +fifty Varvara Petrovna kept the engraving among her most intimate and +treasured possessions, so that perhaps it was only on this account that +she had designed for Stepan Trofimovitch a costume somewhat like the +poet’s in the engraving. But that, of course, is a trifling matter too. +</p> +<p> +For the first years or, more accurately, for the first half of the time +he spent with Varvara Petrovna, Stepan Trofimovitch was still planning a +book and every day seriously prepared to write it. But during the later +period he must have forgotten even what he had done. More and more +frequently he used to say to us: +</p> +<p> +“I seem to be ready for work, my materials are collected, yet the work +doesn’t get done! Nothing is done!” +</p> +<p> +And he would bow his head dejectedly. No doubt this was calculated +to increase his prestige in our eyes as a martyr to science, but he +himself was longing for something else. “They have forgotten me! I’m +no use to anyone!” broke from him more than once. This intensified +depression took special hold of him towards the end of the fifties. +Varvara Petrovna realised at last that it was a serious matter. Besides, +she could not endure the idea that her friend was forgotten and useless. +To distract him and at the same time to renew his fame she carried him +off to Moscow, where she had fashionable acquaintances in the +literary and scientific world; but it appeared that Moscow too was +unsatisfactory. +</p> +<p> +It was a peculiar time; something new was beginning, quite unlike the +stagnation of the past, something very strange too, though it was felt +everywhere, even at Skvoreshniki. Rumours of all sorts reached us. The +facts were generally more or less well known, but it was evident that +in addition to the facts there were certain ideas accompanying them, +and what’s more, a great number of them. And this was perplexing. It was +impossible to estimate and find out exactly what was the drift of these +ideas. Varvara Petrovna was prompted by the feminine composition of her +character to a compelling desire to penetrate the secret of them. +She took to reading newspapers and magazines, prohibited publications +printed abroad and even the revolutionary manifestoes which were just +beginning to appear at the time (she was able to procure them all); but +this only set her head in a whirl. She fell to writing letters; she got +few answers, and they grew more incomprehensible as time went on. Stepan +Trofimovitch was solemnly called upon to explain “these ideas” to +her once for all, but she remained distinctly dissatisfied with his +explanations. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch’s view of the general movement was supercilious in +the extreme. In his eyes all it amounted to was that he was forgotten +and of no use. At last his name was mentioned, at first in periodicals +published abroad as that of an exiled martyr, and immediately afterwards +in Petersburg as that of a former star in a celebrated constellation. +He was even for some reason compared with Radishtchev. Then someone +printed the statement that he was dead and promised an obituary notice +of him. Stepan Trofimovitch instantly perked up and assumed an air of +immense dignity. All his disdain for his contemporaries evaporated and +he began to cherish the dream of joining the movement and showing his +powers. Varvara Petrovna’s faith in everything instantly revived and she +was thrown into a violent ferment. It was decided to go to Petersburg +without a moment’s delay, to find out everything on the spot, to go into +everything personally, and, if possible, to throw themselves heart and +soul into the new movement. Among other things she announced that she +was prepared to found a magazine of her own, and henceforward to devote +her whole life to it. Seeing what it had come to, Stepan Trofimovitch +became more condescending than ever, and on the journey began to behave +almost patronisingly to Varvara Petrovna—which she at once laid up in +her heart against him. She had, however, another very important reason +for the trip, which was to renew her connections in higher spheres. +It was necessary, as far as she could, to remind the world of her +existence, or at any rate to make an attempt to do so. The ostensible +object of the journey was to see her only son, who was just finishing +his studies at a Petersburg lyceum. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VI +</p> +<p> +They spent almost the whole winter season in Petersburg. But by Lent +everything burst like a rainbow-coloured soap-bubble. +</p> +<p> +Their dreams were dissipated, and the muddle, far from being cleared +up, had become even more revoltingly incomprehensible. To begin with, +connections with the higher spheres were not established, or only on a +microscopic scale, and by humiliating exertions. In her mortification +Varvara Petrovna threw herself heart and soul into the “new ideas,” and +began giving evening receptions. She invited literary people, and they +were brought to her at once in multitudes. Afterwards they came of +themselves without invitation, one brought another. Never had she seen +such literary men. They were incredibly vain, but quite open in their +vanity, as though they were performing a duty by the display of it. +Some (but by no means all) of them even turned up intoxicated, seeming, +however, to detect in this a peculiar, only recently discovered, merit. +They were all strangely proud of something. On every face was written +that they had only just discovered some extremely important secret. They +abused one another, and took credit to themselves for it. It was rather +difficult to find out what they had written exactly, but among them +there were critics, novelists, dramatists, satirists, and exposers of +abuses. Stepan Trofimovitch penetrated into their very highest circle +from which the movement was directed. Incredible heights had to be +scaled to reach this group; but they gave him a cordial welcome, though, +of course, no one of them had ever heard of him or knew anything about +him except that he “represented an idea.” His manœuvres among them +were so successful that he got them twice to Varvara Petrovna’s salon +in spite of their Olympian grandeur. These people were very serious and +very polite; they behaved nicely; the others were evidently afraid of +them; but it was obvious that they had no time to spare. Two or three +former literary celebrities who happened to be in Petersburg, and with +whom Varvara Petrovna had long maintained a most refined correspondence, +came also. But to her surprise these genuine and quite indubitable +celebrities were stiller than water, humbler than the grass, and some +of them simply hung on to this new rabble, and were shamefully cringing +before them. At first Stepan Trofimovitch was a success. People caught +at him and began to exhibit him at public literary gatherings. The first +time he came on to the platform at some public reading in which he was +to take part, he was received with enthusiastic clapping which lasted +for five minutes. He recalled this with tears nine years afterwards, +though rather from his natural artistic sensibility than from gratitude. +“I swear, and I’m ready to bet,” he declared (but only to me, and in +secret), “that not one of that audience knew anything whatever about +me.” A noteworthy admission. He must have had a keen intelligence since +he was capable of grasping his position so clearly even on the platform, +even in such a state of exaltation; it also follows that he had not +a keen intelligence if, nine years afterwards, he could not recall +it without mortification. He was made to sign two or three collective +protests (against what he did not know); he signed them. Varvara +Petrovna too was made to protest against some “disgraceful action” and +she signed too. The majority of these new people, however, though they +visited Varvara Petrovna, felt themselves for some reason called upon +to regard her with contempt, and with undisguised irony. Stepan +Trofimovitch hinted to me at bitter moments afterwards that it was from +that time she had been envious of him. She saw, of course, that she +could not get on with these people, yet she received them eagerly, +with all the hysterical impatience of her sex, and, what is more, she +expected something. At her parties she talked little, although she could +talk, but she listened the more. They talked of the abolition of the +censorship, and of phonetic spelling, of the substitution of the Latin +characters for the Russian alphabet, of someone’s having been sent into +exile the day before, of some scandal, of the advantage of splitting +Russia into nationalities united in a free federation, of the abolition +of the army and the navy, of the restoration of Poland as far as +the Dnieper, of the peasant reforms, and of the manifestoes, of the +abolition of the hereditary principle, of the family, of children, and +of priests, of women’s rights, of Kraevsky’s house, for which no one +ever seemed able to forgive Mr. Kraevsky, and so on, and so on. It was +evident that in this mob of new people there were many impostors, but +undoubtedly there were also many honest and very attractive people, in +spite of some surprising characteristics in them. The honest ones were +far more difficult to understand than the coarse and dishonest, but it +was impossible to tell which was being made a tool of by the other. +When Varvara Petrovna announced her idea of founding a magazine, people +flocked to her in even larger numbers, but charges of being a capitalist +and an exploiter of labour were showered upon her to her face. The +rudeness of these accusations was only equalled by their unexpectedness. +The aged General Ivan Ivanovitch Drozdov, an old friend and comrade +of the late General Stavrogin’s, known to us all here as an extremely +stubborn and irritable, though very estimable, man (in his own way, of +course), who ate a great deal, and was dreadfully afraid of atheism, +quarrelled at one of Varvara Petrovna’s parties with a distinguished +young man. The latter at the first word exclaimed, “You must be a +general if you talk like that,” meaning that he could find no word of +abuse worse than “general.” +</p> +<p> +Ivan Ivanovitch flew into a terrible passion: “Yes, sir, I am a general, +and a lieutenant-general, and I have served my Tsar, and you, sir, are a +puppy and an infidel!” +</p> +<p> +An outrageous scene followed. Next day the incident was exposed in +print, and they began getting up a collective protest against Varvara +Petrovna’s disgraceful conduct in not having immediately turned +the general out. In an illustrated paper there appeared a malignant +caricature in which Varvara Petrovna, Stepan Trofimovitch, and General +Drozdov were depicted as three reactionary friends. There were verses +attached to this caricature written by a popular poet especially for the +occasion. I may observe, for my own part, that many persons of general’s +rank certainly have an absurd habit of saying, “I have served my +Tsar” … just as though they had not the same Tsar as all the rest of us, +their simple fellow-subjects, but had a special Tsar of their own. +</p> +<p> +It was impossible, of course, to remain any longer in Petersburg, all +the more so as Stepan Trofimovitch was overtaken by a complete fiasco. +He could not resist talking of the claims of art, and they laughed +at him more loudly as time went on. At his last lecture he thought to +impress them with patriotic eloquence, hoping to touch their hearts, +and reckoning on the respect inspired by his “persecution.” He did +not attempt to dispute the uselessness and absurdity of the word +“fatherland,” acknowledged the pernicious influence of religion, but +firmly and loudly declared that boots were of less consequence than +Pushkin; of much less, indeed. He was hissed so mercilessly that he +burst into tears, there and then, on the platform. Varvara Petrovna took +him home more dead than alive. <i>“On m’a traité comme un vieux bonnet +de coton,”</i> he babbled senselessly. She was looking after him all night, +giving him laurel-drops and repeating to him till daybreak, “You will +still be of use; you will still make your mark; you will be appreciated +… in another place.” +</p> +<p> +Early next morning five literary men called on Varvara Petrovna, three +of them complete strangers, whom she had never set eyes on before. With +a stern air they informed her that they had looked into the question of +her magazine, and had brought her their decision on the subject. Varvara +Petrovna had never authorised anyone to look into or decide anything +concerning her magazine. Their decision was that, having founded the +magazine, she should at once hand it over to them with the capital to +run it, on the basis of a co-operative society. She herself was to +go back to Skvoreshniki, not forgetting to take with her Stepan +Trofimovitch, who was “out of date.” From delicacy they agreed to +recognise the right of property in her case, and to send her every year +a sixth part of the net profits. What was most touching about it +was that of these five men, four certainly were not actuated by any +mercenary motive, and were simply acting in the interests of the +“cause.” +</p> +<p> +“We came away utterly at a loss,” Stepan Trofimovitch used to say +afterwards. “I couldn’t make head or tail of it, and kept muttering, I +remember, to the rumble of the train: +</p> +<pre> + ‘Vyek, and vyek, and Lyov Kambek, + Lyov Kambek and vyek, and vyek.’ +</pre> +<p> +and goodness knows what, all the way to Moscow. It was only in Moscow +that I came to myself—as though we really might find something +different there.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, my friends!” he would exclaim to us sometimes with fervour, “you +cannot imagine what wrath and sadness overcome your whole soul when a +great idea, which you have long cherished as holy, is caught up by the +ignorant and dragged forth before fools like themselves into the street, +and you suddenly meet it in the market unrecognisable, in the mud, +absurdly set up, without proportion, without harmony, the plaything of +foolish louts! No! In our day it was not so, and it was not this for +which we strove. No, no, not this at all. I don’t recognise it.… Our +day will come again and will turn all the tottering fabric of to-day +into a true path. If not, what will happen?…” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VII +</p> +<p> +Immediately on their return from Petersburg Varvara Petrovna sent her +friend abroad to “recruit”; and, indeed, it was necessary for them to +part for a time, she felt that. Stepan Trofimovitch was delighted to go. +</p> +<p> +“There I shall revive!” he exclaimed. “There, at last, I shall set to +work!” But in the first of his letters from Berlin he struck his usual +note: +</p> +<p> +“My heart is broken!” he wrote to Varvara Petrovna. “I can forget +nothing! Here, in Berlin, everything brings back to me my old past, my +first raptures and my first agonies. Where is she? Where are they both? +Where are you two angels of whom I was never worthy? Where is my son, my +beloved son? And last of all, where am I, where is my old self, strong +as steel, firm as a rock, when now some Andreev, our orthodox clown with +a beard, <i>peut briser mon existence en deux</i>”—and so on. +</p> +<p> +As for Stepan Trofimovitch’s son, he had only seen him twice in his +life, the first time when he was born and the second time lately in +Petersburg, where the young man was preparing to enter the university. +The boy had been all his life, as we have said already, brought up by +his aunts (at Varvara Petrovna’s expense) in a remote province, nearly +six hundred miles from Skvoreshniki. As for Andreev, he was nothing +more or less than our local shopkeeper, a very eccentric fellow, a +self-taught archæologist who had a passion for collecting Russian +antiquities and sometimes tried to outshine Stepan Trofimovitch in +erudition and in the progressiveness of his opinions. This worthy +shopkeeper, with a grey beard and silver-rimmed spectacles, still owed +Stepan Trofimovitch four hundred roubles for some acres of timber he had +bought on the latter’s little estate (near Skvoreshniki). Though Varvara +Petrovna had liberally provided her friend with funds when she sent him +to Berlin, yet Stepan Trofimovitch had, before starting, particularly +reckoned on getting that four hundred roubles, probably for his secret +expenditure, and was ready to cry when Andreev asked leave to defer +payment for a month, which he had a right to do, since he had brought +the first installments of the money almost six months in advance to meet +Stepan Trofimovitch’s special need at the time. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna read this first letter greedily, and underlining in +pencil the exclamation: “Where are they both?” numbered it and put it +away in a drawer. He had, of course, referred to his two deceased wives. +The second letter she received from Berlin was in a different strain: +</p> +<p> +“I am working twelve hours out of the twenty-four.” (“Eleven would be +enough,” muttered Varvara Petrovna.) “I’m rummaging in the libraries, +collating, copying, rushing about. I’ve visited the professors. I have +renewed my acquaintance with the delightful Dundasov family. What a +charming creature Lizaveta Nikolaevna is even now! She sends you her +greetings. Her young husband and three nephews are all in Berlin. I +sit up talking till daybreak with the young people and we have almost +Athenian evenings, Athenian, I mean, only in their intellectual subtlety +and refinement. Everything is in noble style; a great deal of music, +Spanish airs, dreams of the regeneration of all humanity, ideas +of eternal beauty, of the Sistine Madonna, light interspersed with +darkness, but there are spots even on the sun! Oh, my friend, my noble, +faithful friend! In heart I am with you and am yours; with you alone, +always, <i>en tout pays</i>, even in <i>le pays de Makar et de ses veaux</i>, of +which we often used to talk in agitation in Petersburg, do you remember, +before we came away. I think of it with a smile. Crossing the frontier I +felt myself in safety, a sensation, strange and new, for the first time +after so many years”—and so on and so on. +</p> +<p> +“Come, it’s all nonsense!” Varvara Petrovna commented, folding up that +letter too. “If he’s up till daybreak with his Athenian nights, he isn’t +at his books for twelve hours a day. Was he drunk when he wrote it? +That Dundasov woman dares to send me greetings! But there, let him amuse +himself!” +</p> +<p> +The phrase “<i>dans le pays de Makar et de ses veaux</i>” meant: “wherever +Makar may drive his calves.” Stepan Trofimovitch sometimes purposely +translated Russian proverbs and traditional sayings into French in the +most stupid way, though no doubt he was able to understand and translate +them better. But he did it from a feeling that it was chic, and thought +it witty. +</p> +<p> +But he did not amuse himself for long. He could not hold out for four +months, and was soon flying back to Skvoreshniki. His last letters +consisted of nothing but outpourings of the most sentimental love for +his absent friend, and were literally wet with tears. There are natures +extremely attached to home like lap-dogs. The meeting of the friends was +enthusiastic. Within two days everything was as before and even duller +than before. “My friend,” Stepan Trofimovitch said to me a fortnight +after, in dead secret, “I have discovered something awful for me … +something new: <i>je suis un simple</i> dependent, <i>et rien de plus! Mais +r-r-rien de plus.</i>” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VIII +</p> +<p> +After this we had a period of stagnation which lasted nine years. +The hysterical outbreaks and sobbings on my shoulder that recurred at +regular intervals did not in the least mar our prosperity. I wonder that +Stepan Trofimovitch did not grow stout during this period. His nose was +a little redder, and his manner had gained in urbanity, that was all. By +degrees a circle of friends had formed around him, although it was never +a very large one. Though Varvara Petrovna had little to do with the +circle, yet we all recognised her as our patroness. After the lesson she +had received in Petersburg, she settled down in our town for good. In +winter she lived in her town house and spent the summer on her estate +in the neighbourhood. She had never enjoyed so much consequence and +prestige in our provincial society as during the last seven years of +this period, that is up to the time of the appointment of our present +governor. Our former governor, the mild Ivan Ossipovitch, who will never +be forgotten among us, was a near relation of Varvara Petrovna’s, and +had at one time been under obligations to her. His wife trembled at the +very thought of displeasing her, while the homage paid her by provincial +society was carried almost to a pitch that suggested idolatry. So Stepan +Trofimovitch, too, had a good time. He was a member of the club, lost at +cards majestically, and was everywhere treated with respect, though +many people regarded him only as a “learned man.” Later on, when Varvara +Petrovna allowed him to live in a separate house, we enjoyed greater +freedom than before. Twice a week we used to meet at his house. We were +a merry party, especially when he was not sparing of the champagne. The +wine came from the shop of the same Andreev. The bill was paid twice +a year by Varvara Petrovna, and on the day it was paid Stepan +Trofimovitch almost invariably suffered from an attack of his “summer +cholera.” +</p> +<p> +One of the first members of our circle was Liputin, an elderly +provincial official, and a great liberal, who was reputed in the town +to be an atheist. He had married for the second time a young and pretty +wife with a dowry, and had, besides, three grown-up daughters. He +brought up his family in the fear of God, and kept a tight hand over +them. He was extremely stingy, and out of his salary had bought himself +a house and amassed a fortune. He was an uncomfortable sort of man, and +had not been in the service. He was not much respected in the town, and +was not received in the best circles. Moreover, he was a scandal-monger, +and had more than once had to smart for his back-biting, for which he +had been badly punished by an officer, and again by a country gentleman, +the respectable head of a family. But we liked his wit, his inquiring +mind, his peculiar, malicious liveliness. Varvara Petrovna disliked him, +but he always knew how to make up to her. +</p> +<p> +Nor did she care for Shatov, who became one of our circle during the +last years of this period. Shatov had been a student and had been +expelled from the university after some disturbance. In his childhood he +had been a student of Stepan Trofimovitch’s and was by birth a serf of +Varvara Petrovna’s, the son of a former valet of hers, Pavel Fyodoritch, +and was greatly indebted to her bounty. She disliked him for his pride +and ingratitude and could never forgive him for not having come straight +to her on his expulsion from the university. On the contrary he had not +even answered the letter she had expressly sent him at the time, and +preferred to be a drudge in the family of a merchant of the new style, +with whom he went abroad, looking after his children more in the +position of a nurse than of a tutor. He was very eager to travel at the +time. The children had a governess too, a lively young Russian lady, who +also became one of the household on the eve of their departure, and +had been engaged chiefly because she was so cheap. Two months later the +merchant turned her out of the house for “free thinking.” Shatov took +himself off after her and soon afterwards married her in Geneva. +They lived together about three weeks, and then parted as free people +recognising no bonds, though, no doubt, also through poverty. He +wandered about Europe alone for a long time afterwards, living God knows +how; he is said to have blacked boots in the street, and to have been a +porter in some dockyard. At last, a year before, he had returned to his +native place among us and settled with an old aunt, whom he buried a +month later. His sister Dasha, who had also been brought up by Varvara +Petrovna, was a favourite of hers, and treated with respect and +consideration in her house. He saw his sister rarely and was not on +intimate terms with her. In our circle he was always sullen, and never +talkative; but from time to time, when his convictions were touched +upon, he became morbidly irritable and very unrestrained in his +language. +</p> +<p> +“One has to tie Shatov up and then argue with him,” Stepan Trofimovitch +would sometimes say in joke, but he liked him. +</p> +<p> +Shatov had radically changed some of his former socialistic convictions +abroad and had rushed to the opposite extreme. He was one of those +idealistic beings common in Russia, who are suddenly struck by some +overmastering idea which seems, as it were, to crush them at once, and +sometimes forever. They are never equal to coping with it, but put +passionate faith in it, and their whole life passes afterwards, as it +were, in the last agonies under the weight of the stone that has fallen +upon them and half crushed them. In appearance Shatov was in complete +harmony with his convictions: he was short, awkward, had a shock of +flaxen hair, broad shoulders, thick lips, very thick overhanging white +eyebrows, a wrinkled forehead, and a hostile, obstinately downcast, as +it were shamefaced, expression in his eyes. His hair was always in a +wild tangle and stood up in a shock which nothing could smooth. He was +seven- or eight-and-twenty. +</p> +<p> +“I no longer wonder that his wife ran away from him,” Varvara Petrovna +enunciated on one occasion after gazing intently at him. He tried to be +neat in his dress, in spite of his extreme poverty. He refrained again +from appealing to Varvara Petrovna, and struggled along as best he +could, doing various jobs for tradespeople. At one time he served in a +shop, at another he was on the point of going as an assistant clerk on a +freight steamer, but he fell ill just at the time of sailing. It is +hard to imagine what poverty he was capable of enduring without thinking +about it at all. After his illness Varvara Petrovna sent him a hundred +roubles, anonymously and in secret. He found out the secret, however, +and after some reflection took the money and went to Varvara Petrovna to +thank her. She received him with warmth, but on this occasion, too, +he shamefully disappointed her. He only stayed five minutes, staring +blankly at the ground and smiling stupidly in profound silence, and +suddenly, at the most interesting point, without listening to what +she was saying, he got up, made an uncouth sideways bow, helpless +with confusion, caught against the lady’s expensive inlaid work-table, +upsetting it on the floor and smashing it to atoms, and walked out +nearly dead with shame. Liputin blamed him severely afterwards for +having accepted the hundred roubles and having even gone to thank +Varvara Petrovna for them, instead of having returned the money with +contempt, because it had come from his former despotic mistress. He +lived in solitude on the outskirts of the town, and did not like any +of us to go and see him. He used to turn up invariably at Stepan +Trofimovitch’s evenings, and borrowed newspapers and books from him. +</p> +<p> +There was another young man who always came, one Virginsky, a clerk in +the service here, who had something in common with Shatov, though on +the surface he seemed his complete opposite in every respect. He was a +“family man” too. He was a pathetic and very quiet young man though +he was thirty; he had considerable education though he was chiefly +self-taught. He was poor, married, and in the service, and supported the +aunt and sister of his wife. His wife and all the ladies of his family +professed the very latest convictions, but in rather a crude form. +It was a case of “an idea dragged forth into the street,” as Stepan +Trofimovitch had expressed it upon a former occasion. They got it +all out of books, and at the first hint coming from any of our little +progressive corners in Petersburg they were prepared to throw anything +overboard, so soon as they were advised to do so. Madame Virginsky +practised as a midwife in the town. She had lived a long while +in Petersburg as a girl. Virginsky himself was a man of rare +single-heartedness, and I have seldom met more honest fervour. +</p> +<p> +“I will never, never, abandon these bright hopes,” he used to say to me +with shining eyes. Of these “bright hopes” he always spoke quietly, in +a blissful half-whisper, as it were secretly. He was rather tall, but +extremely thin and narrow-shouldered, and had extraordinarily lank hair +of a reddish hue. All Stepan Trofimovitch’s condescending gibes at +some of his opinions he accepted mildly, answered him sometimes very +seriously, and often nonplussed him. Stepan Trofimovitch treated him +very kindly, and indeed he behaved like a father to all of us. “You are +all half-hearted chickens,” he observed to Virginsky in joke. “All +who are like you, though in you, Virginsky, I have not observed that +narrow-mindedness I found in Petersburg, <i>chez ces séminaristes</i>. But +you’re a half-hatched chicken all the same. Shatov would give anything +to hatch out, but he’s half-hatched too.” +</p> +<p> +“And I?” Liputin inquired. +</p> +<p> +“You’re simply the golden mean which will get on anywhere in its own +way.” Liputin was offended. +</p> +<p> +The story was told of Virginsky, and it was unhappily only too true, +that before his wife had spent a year in lawful wedlock with him she +announced that he was superseded and that she preferred Lebyadkin. This +Lebyadkin, a stranger to the town, turned out afterwards to be a very +dubious character, and not a retired captain as he represented himself +to be. He could do nothing but twist his moustache, drink, and chatter +the most inept nonsense that can possibly be imagined. This fellow, who +was utterly lacking in delicacy, at once settled in his house, glad to +live at another man’s expense, ate and slept there and came, in the end, +to treating the master of the house with condescension. It was asserted +that when Virginsky’s wife had announced to him that he was superseded +he said to her: +</p> +<p> +“My dear, hitherto I have only loved you, but now I respect you,” but I +doubt whether this renunciation, worthy of ancient Rome, was ever really +uttered. On the contrary they say that he wept violently. A fortnight +after he was superseded, all of them, in a “family party,” went one day +for a picnic to a wood outside the town to drink tea with their friends. +Virginsky was in a feverishly lively mood and took part in the dances. +But suddenly, without any preliminary quarrel, he seized the giant +Lebyadkin with both hands, by the hair, just as the latter was dancing +a can-can solo, pushed him down, and began dragging him along with +shrieks, shouts, and tears. The giant was so panic-stricken that he did +not attempt to defend himself, and hardly uttered a sound all the time +he was being dragged along. But afterwards he resented it with all the +heat of an honourable man. Virginsky spent a whole night on his knees +begging his wife’s forgiveness. But this forgiveness was not granted, as +he refused to apologise to Lebyadkin; moreover, he was upbraided for the +meanness of his ideas and his foolishness, the latter charge based on +the fact that he knelt down in the interview with his wife. The captain +soon disappeared and did not reappear in our town till quite lately, +when he came with his sister, and with entirely different aims; but +of him later. It was no wonder that the poor young husband sought our +society and found comfort in it. But he never spoke of his home-life to +us. On one occasion only, returning with me from Stepan Trofimovitch’s, +he made a remote allusion to his position, but clutching my hand at once +he cried ardently: +</p> +<p> +“It’s of no consequence. It’s only a personal incident. It’s no +hindrance to the ‘cause,’ not the slightest!” +</p> +<p> +Stray guests visited our circle too; a Jew, called Lyamshin, and a +Captain Kartusov came. An old gentleman of inquiring mind used to come +at one time, but he died. Liputin brought an exiled Polish priest called +Slontsevsky, and for a time we received him on principle, but afterwards +we didn’t keep it up. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IX +</p> +<p> +At one time it was reported about the town that our little circle was a +hotbed of nihilism, profligacy, and godlessness, and the rumour gained +more and more strength. And yet we did nothing but indulge in the most +harmless, agreeable, typically Russian, light-hearted liberal chatter. +“The higher liberalism” and the “higher liberal,” that is, a liberal +without any definite aim, is only possible in Russia. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch, like every witty man, needed a listener, and, +besides that, he needed the consciousness that he was fulfilling the +lofty duty of disseminating ideas. And finally he had to have someone +to drink champagne with, and over the wine to exchange light-hearted +views of a certain sort, about Russia and the “Russian spirit,” about +God in general, and the “Russian God” in particular, to repeat for the +hundredth time the same Russian scandalous stories that every one knew +and every one repeated. We had no distaste for the gossip of the town +which often, indeed, led us to the most severe and loftily moral +verdicts. We fell into generalising about humanity, made stern +reflections on the future of Europe and mankind in general, +authoritatively predicted that after Cæsarism France would at once sink +into the position of a second-rate power, and were firmly convinced that +this might terribly easily and quickly come to pass. We had long ago +predicted that the Pope would play the part of a simple archbishop in +a united Italy, and were firmly convinced that this thousand-year-old +question had, in our age of humanitarianism, industry, and railways, +become a trifling matter. But, of course, “Russian higher liberalism” +could not look at the question in any other way. Stepan Trofimovitch +sometimes talked of art, and very well, though rather abstractly. He +sometimes spoke of the friends of his youth—all names noteworthy in +the history of Russian progress. He talked of them with emotion and +reverence, though sometimes with envy. If we were very much bored, the +Jew, Lyamshin (a little post-office clerk), a wonderful performer on +the piano, sat down to play, and in the intervals would imitate a pig, +a thunderstorm, a confinement with the first cry of the baby, and so on, +and so on; it was only for this that he was invited, indeed. If we had +drunk a great deal—and that did happen sometimes, though not often—we +flew into raptures, and even on one occasion sang the “Marseillaise” in +chorus to the accompaniment of Lyamshin, though I don’t know how it +went off. The great day, the nineteenth of February, we welcomed +enthusiastically, and for a long time beforehand drank toasts in its +honour. But that was long ago, before the advent of Shatov or Virginsky, +when Stepan Trofimovitch was still living in the same house with Varvara +Petrovna. For some time before the great day Stepan Trofimovitch +fell into the habit of muttering to himself well-known, though rather +far-fetched, lines which must have been written by some liberal +landowner of the past: +</p> +<p> +<i>“The peasant with his axe is coming,</i> +<i>Something terrible will happen.”</i> +</p> +<p> +Something of that sort, I don’t remember the exact words. Varvara +Petrovna overheard him on one occasion, and crying, “Nonsense, +nonsense!” she went out of the room in a rage. Liputin, who happened to +be present, observed malignantly to Stepan Trofimovitch: +</p> +<p> +“It’ll be a pity if their former serfs really do some mischief to +<i>messieurs les</i> landowners to celebrate the occasion,” and he drew his +forefinger round his throat. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Cher ami,</i>” Stepan Trofimovitch observed, “believe me that—this (he +repeated the gesture) will never be of any use to our landowners nor to +any of us in general. We shall never be capable of organising anything +even without our heads, though our heads hinder our understanding more +than anything.” +</p> +<p> +I may observe that many people among us anticipated that something +extraordinary, such as Liputin predicted, would take place on the day +of the emancipation, and those who held this view were the so-called +“authorities” on the peasantry and the government. I believe Stepan +Trofimovitch shared this idea, so much so that almost on the eve of the +great day he began asking Varvara Petrovna’s leave to go abroad; in fact +he began to be uneasy. But the great day passed, and some time +passed after it, and the condescending smile reappeared on Stepan +Trofimovitch’s lips. In our presence he delivered himself of some +noteworthy thoughts on the character of the Russian in general, and the +Russian peasant in particular. +</p> +<p> +“Like hasty people we have been in too great a hurry with our peasants,” +he said in conclusion of a series of remarkable utterances. “We have +made them the fashion, and a whole section of writers have for several +years treated them as though they were newly discovered curiosities. We +have put laurel-wreaths on lousy heads. The Russian village has given us +only ‘Kamarinsky’ in a thousand years. A remarkable Russian poet who was +also something of a wit, seeing the great Rachel on the stage for the +first time cried in ecstasy, ‘I wouldn’t exchange Rachel for a peasant!’ +I am prepared to go further. I would give all the peasants in Russia +for one Rachel. It’s high time to look things in the face more +soberly, and not to mix up our national rustic pitch with <i>bouquet de +l’Impératrice.</i>” +</p> +<p> +Liputin agreed at once, but remarked that one had to perjure oneself and +praise the peasant all the same for the sake of being progressive, that +even ladies in good society shed tears reading “Poor Anton,” and that +some of them even wrote from Paris to their bailiffs that they were, +henceforward, to treat the peasants as humanely as possible. +</p> +<p> +It happened, and as ill-luck would have it just after the rumours of the +Anton Petrov affair had reached us, that there was some disturbance +in our province too, only about ten miles from Skvoreshniki, so that a +detachment of soldiers was sent down in a hurry. +</p> +<p> +This time Stepan Trofimovitch was so much upset that he even frightened +us. He cried out at the club that more troops were needed, that they +ought to be telegraphed for from another province; he rushed off to the +governor to protest that he had no hand in it, begged him not to allow +his name on account of old associations to be brought into it, and +offered to write about his protest to the proper quarter in Petersburg. +Fortunately it all passed over quickly and ended in nothing, but I was +surprised at Stepan Trofimovitch at the time. +</p> +<p> +Three years later, as every one knows, people were beginning to talk +of nationalism, and “public opinion” first came upon the scene. Stepan +Trofimovitch laughed a great deal. +</p> +<p> +“My friends,” he instructed us, “if our nationalism has ‘dawned’ as +they keep repeating in the papers—it’s still at school, at some German +‘Peterschule,’ sitting over a German book and repeating its everlasting +German lesson, and its German teacher will make it go down on its knees +when he thinks fit. I think highly of the German teacher. But nothing +has happened and nothing of the kind has dawned and everything is going +on in the old way, that is, as ordained by God. To my thinking that +should be enough for Russia, <i>pour notre Sainte Russie</i>. Besides, all this +Slavism and nationalism is too old to be new. Nationalism, if you like, +has never existed among us except as a distraction for gentlemen’s +clubs, and Moscow ones at that. I’m not talking of the days of Igor, of +course. And besides it all comes of idleness. Everything in Russia comes +of idleness, everything good and fine even. It all springs from the +charming, cultured, whimsical idleness of our gentry! I’m ready to +repeat it for thirty thousand years. We don’t know how to live by our +own labour. And as for the fuss they’re making now about the ‘dawn’ +of some sort of public opinion, has it so suddenly dropped from heaven +without any warning? How is it they don’t understand that before we +can have an opinion of our own we must have work, our own work, our own +initiative in things, our own experience. Nothing is to be gained for +nothing. If we work we shall have an opinion of our own. But as we +never shall work, our opinions will be formed for us by those who have +hitherto done the work instead of us, that is, as always, Europe, the +everlasting Germans—our teachers for the last two centuries. Moreover, +Russia is too big a tangle for us to unravel alone without the Germans, +and without hard work. For the last twenty years I’ve been sounding the +alarm, and the summons to work. I’ve given up my life to that appeal, +and, in my folly I put faith in it. Now I have lost faith in it, but I +sound the alarm still, and shall sound it to the tomb. I will pull at +the bell-ropes until they toll for my own requiem!” +</p> +<p> +“Alas! We could do nothing but assent. We applauded our teacher and with +what warmth, indeed! And, after all, my friends, don’t we still hear +to-day, every hour, at every step, the same “charming,” “clever,” +“liberal,” old Russian nonsense? Our teacher believed in God. +</p> +<p> +“I can’t understand why they make me out an infidel here,” he used to +say sometimes. “I believe in God, <i>mais distinguons</i>, I believe in Him as +a Being who is conscious of Himself in me only. I cannot believe as my +Nastasya (the servant) or like some country gentleman who believes ‘to +be on the safe side,’ or like our dear Shatov—but no, Shatov doesn’t +come into it. Shatov believes ‘on principle,’ like a Moscow Slavophil. +As for Christianity, for all my genuine respect for it, I’m not a +Christian. I am more of an antique pagan, like the great Goethe, or +like an ancient Greek. The very fact that Christianity has failed to +understand woman is enough, as George Sand has so splendidly shown in +one of her great novels. As for the bowings, fasting and all the rest +of it, I don’t understand what they have to do with me. However busy the +informers may be here, I don’t care to become a Jesuit. In the year 1847 +Byelinsky, who was abroad, sent his famous letter to Gogol, and warmly +reproached him for believing in some sort of God. <i>Entre nous soit dit,</i> I +can imagine nothing more comic than the moment when Gogol (the Gogol of +that period!) read that phrase, and … the whole letter! But dismissing +the humorous aspect, and, as I am fundamentally in agreement, I point to +them and say—these were men! They knew how to love their people, they +knew how to suffer for them, they knew how to sacrifice everything for +them, yet they knew how to differ from them when they ought, and did not +filch certain ideas from them. Could Byelinsky have sought salvation +in Lenten oil, or peas with radish!…” But at this point Shatov +interposed. +</p> +<p> +“Those men of yours never loved the people, they didn’t suffer for them, +and didn’t sacrifice anything for them, though they may have amused +themselves by imagining it!” he growled sullenly, looking down, and +moving impatiently in his chair. +</p> +<p> +“They didn’t love the people!” yelled Stepan Trofimovitch. “Oh, how they +loved Russia!” +</p> +<p> +“Neither Russia nor the people!” Shatov yelled too, with flashing eyes. +“You can’t love what you don’t know and they had no conception of the +Russian people. All of them peered at the Russian people through their +fingers, and you do too; Byelinsky especially: from that very letter to +Gogol one can see it. Byelinsky, like the Inquisitive Man in Krylov’s +fable, did not notice the elephant in the museum of curiosities, but +concentrated his whole attention on the French Socialist beetles; he did +not get beyond them. And yet perhaps he was cleverer than any of you. +You’ve not only overlooked the people, you’ve taken up an attitude of +disgusting contempt for them, if only because you could not imagine any +but the French people, the Parisians indeed, and were ashamed that the +Russians were not like them. That’s the naked truth. And he who has +no people has no God. You may be sure that all who cease to understand +their own people and lose their connection with them at once lose to +the same extent the faith of their fathers, and become atheistic or +indifferent. I’m speaking the truth! This is a fact which will be +realised. That’s why all of you and all of us now are either beastly +atheists or careless, dissolute imbeciles, and nothing more. And you +too, Stepan Trofimovitch, I don’t make an exception of you at all! In +fact, it is on your account I am speaking, let me tell you that!” +</p> +<p> +As a rule, after uttering such monologues (which happened to him pretty +frequently) Shatov snatched up his cap and rushed to the door, in the +full conviction that everything was now over, and that he had cut short +all friendly relations with Stepan Trofimovitch forever. But the latter +always succeeded in stopping him in time. +</p> +<p> +“Hadn’t we better make it up, Shatov, after all these endearments,” he +would say, benignly holding out his hand to him from his arm-chair. +</p> +<p> +Shatov, clumsy and bashful, disliked sentimentality. Externally he was +rough, but inwardly, I believe, he had great delicacy. Although he often +went too far, he was the first to suffer for it. Muttering something +between his teeth in response to Stepan Trofimovitch’s appeal, and +shuffling with his feet like a bear, he gave a sudden and unexpected +smile, put down his cap, and sat down in the same chair as before, with +his eyes stubbornly fixed on the ground. Wine was, of course, brought +in, and Stepan Trofimovitch proposed some suitable toast, for instance +the memory of some leading man of the past. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0002"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER II. PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING. +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +THERE WAS ANOTHER being in the world to whom Varvara Petrovna was as +much attached as she was to Stepan Trofimovitch, her only son, Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch Stavrogin. It was to undertake his education that Stepan +Trofimovitch had been engaged. The boy was at that time eight years old, +and his frivolous father, General Stavrogin, was already living apart +from Varvara Petrovna, so that the child grew up entirely in his +mother’s care. To do Stepan Trofimovitch justice, he knew how to win his +pupil’s heart. The whole secret of this lay in the fact that he was a +child himself. I was not there in those days, and he continually felt +the want of a real friend. He did not hesitate to make a friend of this +little creature as soon as he had grown a little older. It somehow came +to pass quite naturally that there seemed to be no discrepancy of age +between them. More than once he awaked his ten- or eleven-year-old +friend at night, simply to pour out his wounded feelings and weep before +him, or to tell him some family secret, without realising that this was +an outrageous proceeding. They threw themselves into each other’s arms +and wept. The boy knew that his mother loved him very much, but I doubt +whether he cared much for her. She talked little to him and did not +often interfere with him, but he was always morbidly conscious of her +intent, searching eyes fixed upon him. Yet the mother confided his whole +instruction and moral education to Stepan Trofimovitch. At that time her +faith in him was unshaken. One can’t help believing that the tutor had +rather a bad influence on his pupil’s nerves. When at sixteen he was +taken to a lyceum he was fragile-looking and pale, strangely quiet and +dreamy. (Later on he was distinguished by great physical strength.) +One must assume too that the friends went on weeping at night, throwing +themselves in each other’s arms, though their tears were not always due +to domestic difficulties. Stepan Trofimovitch succeeded in reaching +the deepest chords in his pupil’s heart, and had aroused in him a vague +sensation of that eternal, sacred yearning which some elect souls can +never give up for cheap gratification when once they have tasted and +known it. (There are some connoisseurs who prize this yearning more than +the most complete satisfaction of it, if such were possible.) But in any +case it was just as well that the pupil and the preceptor were, though +none too soon, parted. +</p> +<p> +For the first two years the lad used to come home from the lyceum +for the holidays. While Varvara Petrovna and Stepan Trofimovitch were +staying in Petersburg he was sometimes present at the literary evenings +at his mother’s, he listened and looked on. He spoke little, and was +quiet and shy as before. His manner to Stepan Trofimovitch was as +affectionately attentive as ever, but there was a shade of reserve in +it. He unmistakably avoided distressing, lofty subjects or reminiscences +of the past. By his mother’s wish he entered the army on completing +the school course, and soon received a commission in one of the most +brilliant regiments of the Horse Guards. He did not come to show himself +to his mother in his uniform, and his letters from Petersburg began to +be infrequent. Varvara Petrovna sent him money without stint, though +after the emancipation the revenue from her estate was so diminished +that at first her income was less than half what it had been before. She +had, however, a considerable sum laid by through years of economy. +She took great interest in her son’s success in the highest Petersburg +society. Where she had failed, the wealthy young officer with +expectations succeeded. He renewed acquaintances which she had hardly +dared to dream of, and was welcomed everywhere with pleasure. But very +soon rather strange rumours reached Varvara Petrovna. The young man +had suddenly taken to riotous living with a sort of frenzy. Not that he +gambled or drank too much; there was only talk of savage recklessness, +of running over people in the street with his horses, of brutal conduct +to a lady of good society with whom he had a liaison and whom he +afterwards publicly insulted. There was a callous nastiness about this +affair. It was added, too, that he had developed into a regular bully, +insulting people for the mere pleasure of insulting them. Varvara +Petrovna was greatly agitated and distressed. Stepan Trofimovitch +assured her that this was only the first riotous effervescence of a too +richly endowed nature, that the storm would subside and that this was +only like the youth of Prince Harry, who caroused with Falstaff, Poins, +and Mrs. Quickly, as described by Shakespeare. +</p> +<p> +This time Varvara Petrovna did not cry out, “Nonsense, nonsense!” as she +was very apt to do in later years in response to Stepan Trofimovitch. On +the contrary she listened very eagerly, asked him to explain this theory +more exactly, took up Shakespeare herself and with great attention read +the immortal chronicle. But it did not comfort her, and indeed she did +not find the resemblance very striking. With feverish impatience she +awaited answers to some of her letters. She had not long to wait for +them. The fatal news soon reached her that “Prince Harry” had been +involved in two duels almost at once, was entirely to blame for both of +them, had killed one of his adversaries on the spot and had maimed the +other and was awaiting his trial in consequence. The case ended in his +being degraded to the ranks, deprived of the rights of a nobleman, and +transferred to an infantry line regiment, and he only escaped worse +punishment by special favour. +</p> +<p> +In 1863 he somehow succeeded in distinguishing himself; he received a +cross, was promoted to be a non-commissioned officer, and rose +rapidly to the rank of an officer. During this period Varvara Petrovna +despatched perhaps hundreds of letters to the capital, full of prayers +and supplications. She even stooped to some humiliation in this +extremity. After his promotion the young man suddenly resigned his +commission, but he did not come back to Skvoreshniki again, and gave up +writing to his mother altogether. They learned by roundabout means that +he was back in Petersburg, but that he was not to be met in the same +society as before; he seemed to be in hiding. They found out that he was +living in strange company, associating with the dregs of the population +of Petersburg, with slip-shod government clerks, discharged military +men, beggars of the higher class, and drunkards of all sorts—that he +visited their filthy families, spent days and nights in dark slums and +all sorts of low haunts, that he had sunk very low, that he was in rags, +and that apparently he liked it. He did not ask his mother for money, +he had his own little estate—once the property of his father, General +Stavrogin, which yielded at least some revenue, and which, it was +reported, he had let to a German from Saxony. At last his mother +besought him to come to her, and “Prince Harry” made his appearance +in our town. I had never set eyes on him before, but now I got a very +distinct impression of him. He was a very handsome young man of +five-and-twenty, and I must own I was impressed by him. I had expected +to see a dirty ragamuffin, sodden with drink and debauchery. He was on +the contrary, the most elegant gentleman I had ever met, extremely well +dressed, with an air and manner only to be found in a man accustomed to +culture and refinement. I was not the only person surprised. It was a +surprise to all the townspeople to whom, of course, young Stavrogin’s +whole biography was well known in its minutest details, though one could +not imagine how they had got hold of them, and, what was still more +surprising, half of their stories about him turned out to be true. +</p> +<p> +All our ladies were wild over the new visitor. They were sharply divided +into two parties, one of which adored him while the other half regarded +him with a hatred that was almost blood-thirsty: but both were crazy +about him. Some of them were particularly fascinated by the idea that he +had perhaps a fateful secret hidden in his soul; others were positively +delighted at the fact that he was a murderer. It appeared too that +he had had a very good education and was indeed a man of considerable +culture. No great acquirements were needed, of course, to astonish us. +But he could judge also of very interesting everyday affairs, and, what +was of the utmost value, he judged of them with remarkable good sense. I +must mention as a peculiar fact that almost from the first day we all of +us thought him a very sensible fellow. He was not very talkative, he was +elegant without exaggeration, surprisingly modest, and at the same time +bold and self-reliant, as none of us were. Our dandies gazed at him with +envy, and were completely eclipsed by him. His face, too, impressed me. +His hair was of a peculiarly intense black, his light-coloured eyes were +peculiarly light and calm, his complexion was peculiarly soft and white, +the red in his cheeks was too bright and clear, his teeth were like +pearls, and his lips like coral—one would have thought that he must +be a paragon of beauty, yet at the same time there seemed something +repellent about him. It was said that his face suggested a mask; so much +was said though, among other things they talked of his extraordinary +physical strength. He was rather tall. Varvara Petrovna looked at him +with pride, yet with continual uneasiness. He spent about six months +among us—listless, quiet, rather morose. He made his appearance in +society, and with unfailing propriety performed all the duties demanded +by our provincial etiquette. He was related, on his father’s side, to +the governor, and was received by the latter as a near kinsman. But a +few months passed and the wild beast showed his claws. +</p> +<p> +I may observe by the way, in parenthesis, that Ivan Ossipovitch, our +dear mild governor, was rather like an old woman, though he was of good +family and highly connected—which explains the fact that he remained so +long among us, though he steadily avoided all the duties of his office. +From his munificence and hospitality he ought rather to have been a +marshal of nobility of the good old days than a governor in such busy +times as ours. It was always said in the town that it was not he, but +Varvara Petrovna who governed the province. Of course this was said +sarcastically; however, it was certainly a falsehood. And, indeed, much +wit was wasted on the subject among us. On the contrary, in later years, +Varvara Petrovna purposely and consciously withdrew from anything like +a position of authority, and, in spite of the extraordinary respect +in which she was held by the whole province, voluntarily confined her +influence within strict limits set up by herself. Instead of these +higher responsibilities she suddenly took up the management of her +estate, and, within two or three years, raised the revenue from it +almost to what it had yielded in the past. Giving up her former romantic +impulses (trips to Petersburg, plans for founding a magazine, and so +on) she began to be careful and to save money. She kept even Stepan +Trofimovitch at a distance, allowing him to take lodgings in another +house (a change for which he had long been worrying her under various +pretexts). Little by little Stepan Trofimovitch began to call her a +prosaic woman, or more jestingly, “My prosaic friend.” I need hardly say +he only ventured on such jests in an extremely respectful form, and on +rare, and carefully chosen, occasions. +</p> +<p> +All of us in her intimate circle felt—Stepan Trofimovitch more acutely +than any of us—that her son had come to her almost, as it were, as a +new hope, and even as a sort of new aspiration. Her passion for her son +dated from the time of his successes in Petersburg society, and grew +more intense from the moment that he was degraded in the army. Yet she +was evidently afraid of him, and seemed like a slave in his presence. +It could be seen that she was afraid of something vague and mysterious +which she could not have put into words, and she often stole searching +glances at “Nicolas,” scrutinising him reflectively … and behold—the +wild beast suddenly showed his claws. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +Suddenly, apropos of nothing, our prince was guilty of incredible +outrages upon various persons and, what was most striking these outrages +were utterly unheard of, quite inconceivable, unlike anything commonly +done, utterly silly and mischievous, quite unprovoked and objectless. +One of the most respected of our club members, on our committee of +management, Pyotr Pavlovitch Gaganov, an elderly man of high rank in the +service, had formed the innocent habit of declaring vehemently on all +sorts of occasions: “No, you can’t lead me by the nose!” Well, there +is no harm in that. But one day at the club, when he brought out this +phrase in connection with some heated discussion in the midst of a +little group of members (all persons of some consequence) Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, who was standing on one side, alone and unnoticed, +suddenly went up to Pyotr Pavlovitch, took him unexpectedly and firmly +with two fingers by the nose, and succeeded in leading him two or three +steps across the room. He could have had no grudge against Mr. Gaganov. +It might be thought to be a mere schoolboy prank, though, of course, a +most unpardonable one. Yet, describing it afterwards, people said that +he looked almost dreamy at the very instant of the operation, “as though +he had gone out of his mind,” but that was recalled and reflected upon +long afterwards. In the excitement of the moment all they recalled was +the minute after, when he certainly saw it all as it really was, and far +from being confused smiled gaily and maliciously “without the slightest +regret.” There was a terrific outcry; he was surrounded. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch kept turning round, looking about him, answering nobody, +and glancing curiously at the persons exclaiming around him. At last he +seemed suddenly, as it were, to sink into thought again—so at least it +was reported—frowned, went firmly up to the affronted Pyotr Pavlovitch, +and with evident vexation said in a rapid mutter: +</p> +<p> +“You must forgive me, of course … I really don’t know what suddenly +came over me … it’s silly.” +</p> +<p> +The carelessness of his apology was almost equivalent to a fresh insult. +The outcry was greater than ever. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch shrugged his +shoulders and went away. All this was very stupid, to say nothing of its +gross indecency— +</p> +<p> +A calculated and premeditated indecency as it seemed at first sight—and +therefore a premeditated and utterly brutal insult to our whole society. +So it was taken to be by every one. We began by promptly and unanimously +striking young Stavrogin’s name off the list of club members. Then it +was decided to send an appeal in the name of the whole club to the +governor, begging him at once (without waiting for the case to be +formally tried in court) to use “the administrative power entrusted to +him” to restrain this dangerous ruffian, “this duelling bully from the +capital, and so protect the tranquillity of all the gentry of our town +from injurious encroachments.” It was added with angry resentment that +“a law might be found to control even Mr. Stavrogin.” This phrase was +prepared by way of a thrust at the governor on account of Varvara +Petrovna. They elaborated it with relish. As ill luck would have it, +the governor was not in the town at the time. He had gone to a little +distance to stand godfather to the child of a very charming lady, +recently left a widow in an interesting condition. But it was known that +he would soon be back. In the meanwhile they got up a regular ovation +for the respected and insulted gentleman; people embraced and kissed +him; the whole town called upon him. It was even proposed to give a +subscription dinner in his honour, and they only gave up the idea at +his earnest request—reflecting possibly at last that the man had, +after all, been pulled by the nose and that that was really nothing +to congratulate him upon. Yet, how had it happened? How could it have +happened? It is remarkable that no one in the whole town put down this +savage act to madness. They must have been predisposed to expect such +actions from Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, even when he was sane. For my part +I don’t know to this day how to explain it, in spite of the event that +quickly followed and apparently explained everything, and conciliated +every one. I will add also that, four years later, in reply to a +discreet question from me about the incident at the club, Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch answered, frowning: “I wasn’t quite well at the time.” +But there is no need to anticipate events. +</p> +<p> +The general outburst of hatred with which every one fell upon the +“ruffian and duelling bully from the capital” also struck me as curious. +They insisted on seeing an insolent design and deliberate intention to +insult our whole society at once. The truth was no one liked the fellow, +but, on the contrary, he had set every one against him—and one wonders +how. Up to the last incident he had never quarrelled with anyone, nor +insulted anyone, but was as courteous as a gentleman in a fashion-plate, +if only the latter were able to speak. I imagine that he was hated for +his pride. Even our ladies, who had begun by adoring him, railed against +him now, more loudly than the men. Varvara Petrovna was dreadfully +overwhelmed. She confessed afterwards to Stepan Trofimovitch that she +had had a foreboding of all this long before, that every day for the +last six months she had been expecting “just something of that sort,” +a remarkable admission on the part of his own mother. “It’s begun!” she +thought to herself with a shudder. The morning after the incident at the +club she cautiously but firmly approached the subject with her son, but +the poor woman was trembling all over in spite of her firmness. She had +not slept all night and even went out early to Stepan Trofimovitch’s +lodgings to ask his advice, and shed tears there, a thing which she had +never been known to do before anyone. She longed for “Nicolas” to say +something to her, to deign to give some explanation. Nikolay, who was +always so polite and respectful to his mother, listened to her for some +time scowling, but very seriously. He suddenly got up without saying +a word, kissed her hand and went away. That very evening, as though by +design, he perpetrated another scandal. It was of a more harmless and +ordinary character than the first. Yet, owing to the state of the public +mind, it increased the outcry in the town. +</p> +<p> +Our friend Liputin turned up and called on Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +immediately after the latter’s interview with his mother, and earnestly +begged for the honour of his company at a little party he was giving for +his wife’s birthday that evening. Varvara Petrovna had long watched with +a pang at her heart her son’s taste for such low company, but she had +not dared to speak of it to him. He had made several acquaintances +besides Liputin in the third rank of our society, and even in lower +depths—he had a propensity for making such friends. He had never been +in Liputin’s house before, though he had met the man himself. He guessed +that Liputin’s invitation now was the consequence of the previous day’s +scandal, and that as a local liberal he was delighted at the scandal, +genuinely believing that that was the proper way to treat stewards at +the club, and that it was very well done. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch smiled +and promised to come. +</p> +<p> +A great number of guests had assembled. The company was not very +presentable, but very sprightly. Liputin, vain and envious, only +entertained visitors twice a year, but on those occasions he did +it without stint. The most honoured of the invited guests, Stepan +Trofimovitch, was prevented by illness from being present. Tea was +handed, and there were refreshments and vodka in plenty. Cards were +played at three tables, and while waiting for supper the young people +got up a dance. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch led out Madame Liputin—a very +pretty little woman who was dreadfully shy of him—took two turns round +the room with her, sat down beside her, drew her into conversation and +made her laugh. Noticing at last how pretty she was when she laughed, he +suddenly, before all the company, seized her round the waist and +kissed her on the lips two or three times with great relish. The poor +frightened lady fainted. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch took his hat and went +up to the husband, who stood petrified in the middle of the general +excitement. Looking at him he, too, became confused and muttering +hurriedly “Don’t be angry,” went away. Liputin ran after him in the +entry, gave him his fur-coat with his own hands, and saw him down the +stairs, bowing. But next day a rather amusing sequel followed this +comparatively harmless prank—a sequel from which Liputin gained some +credit, and of which he took the fullest possible advantage. +</p> +<p> +At ten o’clock in the morning Liputin’s servant Agafya, an +easy-mannered, lively, rosy-cheeked peasant woman of thirty, made +her appearance at Stavrogin’s house, with a message for Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch. She insisted on seeing “his honour himself.” He had a +very bad headache, but he went out. Varvara Petrovna succeeded in being +present when the message was given. +</p> +<p> +“Sergay Vassilyevitch” (Liputin’s name), Agafya rattled off briskly, +“bade me first of all give you his respectful greetings and ask after +your health, what sort of night your honour spent after yesterday’s +doings, and how your honour feels now after yesterday’s doings?” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch smiled. +</p> +<p> +“Give him my greetings and thank him, and tell your master from me, +Agafya, that he’s the most sensible man in the town.” +</p> +<p> +“And he told me to answer that,” Agafya caught him up still more +briskly, “that he knows that without your telling him, and wishes you +the same.” +</p> +<p> +“Really! But how could he tell what I should say to you?” +</p> +<p> +“I can’t say in what way he could tell, but when I had set off and had +gone right down the street, I heard something, and there he was, running +after me without his cap. ‘I say, Agafya, if by any chance he says to +you, “Tell your master that he has more sense than all the town,” you +tell him at once, don’t forget, “The master himself knows that very +well, and wishes you the same.”’” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +At last the interview with the governor took place too. Our dear, mild, +Ivan Ossipovitch had only just returned and only just had time to hear +the angry complaint from the club. There was no doubt that something +must be done, but he was troubled. The hospitable old man seemed also +rather afraid of his young kinsman. He made up his mind, however, to +induce him to apologise to the club and to his victim in satisfactory +form, and, if required, by letter, and then to persuade him to leave us +for a time, travelling, for instance, to improve his mind, in Italy, or +in fact anywhere abroad. In the waiting-room in which on this occasion +he received Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch (who had been at other times +privileged as a relation to wander all over the house unchecked), +Alyosha Telyatnikov, a clerk of refined manners, who was also a member +of the governor’s household, was sitting in a corner opening envelopes +at a table, and in the next room, at the window nearest to the door, a +stout and sturdy colonel, a former friend and colleague of the governor, +was sitting alone reading the Golos, paying no attention, of course, +to what was taking place in the waiting-room; in fact, he had his back +turned. Ivan Ossipovitch approached the subject in a roundabout way, +almost in a whisper, but kept getting a little muddled. Nikolay looked +anything but cordial, not at all as a relation should. He was pale and +sat looking down and continually moving his eyebrows as though trying to +control acute pain. +</p> +<p> +“You have a kind heart and a generous one, Nicolas,” the old man put in +among other things, “you’re a man of great culture, you’ve grown up in +the highest circles, and here too your behaviour has hitherto been a +model, which has been a great consolation to your mother, who is so +precious to all of us.… And now again everything has appeared in such +an unaccountable light, so detrimental to all! I speak as a friend of +your family, as an old man who loves you sincerely and a relation, at +whose words you cannot take offence.… Tell me, what drives you to such +reckless proceedings so contrary to all accepted rules and habits? What +can be the meaning of such acts which seem almost like outbreaks of +delirium?” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay listened with vexation and impatience. All at once there was a +gleam of something sly and mocking in his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“I’ll tell you what drives me to it,” he said sullenly, and looking +round him he bent down to Ivan Ossipovitch’s ear. The refined Alyosha +Telyatnikov moved three steps farther away towards the window, and the +colonel coughed over the Golos. Poor Ivan Ossipovitch hurriedly and +trustfully inclined his ear; he was exceedingly curious. And then +something utterly incredible, though on the other side only too +unmistakable, took place. The old man suddenly felt that, instead of +telling him some interesting secret, Nikolay had seized the upper +part of his ear between his teeth and was nipping it rather hard. He +shuddered, and breath failed him. +</p> +<p> +“Nicolas, this is beyond a joke!” he moaned mechanically in a voice not +his own. +</p> +<p> +Alyosha and the colonel had not yet grasped the situation, besides they +couldn’t see, and fancied up to the end that the two were whispering +together; and yet the old man’s desperate face alarmed them. They looked +at one another with wide-open eyes, not knowing whether to rush to his +assistance as agreed or to wait. Nikolay noticed this perhaps, and bit +the harder. +</p> +<p> +“Nicolas! Nicolas!” his victim moaned again, “come … you’ve had your +joke, that’s enough!” +</p> +<p> +In another moment the poor governor would certainly have died of terror; +but the monster had mercy on him, and let go his ear. The old man’s +deadly terror lasted for a full minute, and it was followed by a sort of +fit. Within half an hour Nikolay was arrested and removed for the time +to the guard-room, where he was confined in a special cell, with a +special sentinel at the door. This decision was a harsh one, but +our mild governor was so angry that he was prepared to take the +responsibility even if he had to face Varvara Petrovna. To the general +amazement, when this lady arrived at the governor’s in haste and in +nervous irritation to discuss the matter with him at once, she was +refused admittance, whereupon, without getting out of the carriage, she +returned home, unable to believe her senses. +</p> +<p> +And at last everything was explained! At two o’clock in the morning +the prisoner, who had till then been calm and had even slept, suddenly +became noisy, began furiously beating on the door with his fists,—with +unnatural strength wrenched the iron grating off the door, broke the +window, and cut his hands all over. When the officer on duty ran with +a detachment of men and the keys and ordered the cell to be opened +that they might rush in and bind the maniac, it appeared that he was +suffering from acute brain fever. He was taken home to his mother. +</p> +<p> +Everything was explained at once. All our three doctors gave it as their +opinion that the patient might well have been in a delirious state for +three days before, and that though he might have apparently been in +possession of full consciousness and cunning, yet he might have been +deprived of common sense and will, which was indeed borne out by the +facts. So it turned out that Liputin had guessed the truth sooner than +any one. Ivan Ossipovitch, who was a man of delicacy and feeling, +was completely abashed. But what was striking was that he, too, had +considered Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch capable of any mad action even when +in the full possession of his faculties. At the club, too, people were +ashamed and wondered how it was they had failed to “see the elephant” +and had missed the only explanation of all these marvels: there were, +of course, sceptics among them, but they could not long maintain their +position. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay was in bed for more than two months. A famous doctor was +summoned from Moscow for a consultation; the whole town called on +Varvara Petrovna. She forgave them. When in the spring Nikolay had +completely recovered and assented without discussion to his mother’s +proposal that he should go for a tour to Italy, she begged him further +to pay visits of farewell to all the neighbours, and so far as possible +to apologise where necessary. Nikolay agreed with great alacrity. It +became known at the club that he had had a most delicate explanation +with Pyotr Pavlovitch Gaganov, at the house of the latter, who had been +completely satisfied with his apology. As he went round to pay these +calls Nikolay was very grave and even gloomy. Every one appeared to +receive him sympathetically, but everybody seemed embarrassed and glad +that he was going to Italy. Ivan Ossipovitch was positively tearful, but +was, for some reason, unable to bring himself to embrace him, even +at the final leave-taking. It is true that some of us retained the +conviction that the scamp had simply been making fun of us, and that the +illness was neither here nor there. He went to see Liputin too. +</p> +<p> +“Tell me,” he said, “how could you guess beforehand what I should say +about your sense and prime Agafya with an answer to it?” +</p> +<p> +“Why,” laughed Liputin, “it was because I recognised that you were a +clever man, and so I foresaw what your answer would be.” +</p> +<p> +“Anyway, it was a remarkable coincidence. But, excuse me, did you +consider me a sensible man and not insane when you sent Agafya?” +</p> +<p> +“For the cleverest and most rational, and I only pretended to believe +that you were insane.… And you guessed at once what was in my mind, +and sent a testimonial to my wit through Agafya.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, there you’re a little mistaken. I really was … unwell …” +muttered Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, frowning. “Bah!” he cried, “do you +suppose I’m capable of attacking people when I’m in my senses? What +object would there be in it?” +</p> +<p> +Liputin shrank together and didn’t know what to answer. Nikolay turned +pale or, at least, so it seemed to Liputin. +</p> +<p> +“You have a very peculiar way of looking at things, anyhow,” Nikolay +went on, “but as for Agafya, I understand, of course, that you simply +sent her to be rude to me.” +</p> +<p> +“I couldn’t challenge you to a duel, could I?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no, of course! I seem to have heard that you’re not fond of +duels.…” +</p> +<p> +“Why borrow from the French?” said Liputin, doubling up again. +</p> +<p> +“You’re for nationalism, then?” +</p> +<p> +Liputin shrank into himself more than ever. +</p> +<p> +“Bah, bah! What do I see?” cried Nicolas, noticing a volume of Considérant +in the most conspicuous place on the table. “You don’t mean to say +you’re a Fourierist! I’m afraid you must be! And isn’t this too +borrowing from the French?” he laughed, tapping the book with his +finger. +</p> +<p> +“No, that’s not taken from the French,” Liputin cried with positive +fury, jumping up from his chair. “That is taken from the universal +language of humanity, not simply from the French. From the language of +the universal social republic and harmony of mankind, let me tell you! +Not simply from the French!” +</p> +<p> +“Foo! hang it all! There’s no such language!” laughed Nikolay. +</p> +<p> +Sometimes a trifle will catch the attention and exclusively absorb it +for a time. Most of what I have to tell of young Stavrogin will come +later. But I will note now as a curious fact that of all the impressions +made on him by his stay in our town, the one most sharply imprinted +on his memory was the unsightly and almost abject figure of the little +provincial official, the coarse and jealous family despot, the miserly +money-lender who picked up the candle-ends and scraps left from dinner, +and was at the same time a passionate believer in some visionary future +“social harmony,” who at night gloated in ecstasies over fantastic +pictures of a future phalanstery, in the approaching realisation of +which, in Russia, and in our province, he believed as firmly as in his +own existence. And that in the very place where he had saved up to +buy himself a “little home,” where he had married for the second time, +getting a dowry with his bride, where perhaps, for a hundred miles round +there was not one man, himself included, who was the very least like a +future member “of the universal human republic and social harmony.” +</p> +<p> +“God knows how these people come to exist!” Nikolay wondered, recalling +sometimes the unlooked-for Fourierist. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +Our prince travelled for over three years, so that he was almost +forgotten in the town. We learned from Stepan Trofimovitch that he +had travelled all over Europe, that he had even been in Egypt and had +visited Jerusalem, and then had joined some scientific expedition to +Iceland, and he actually did go to Iceland. It was reported too that he +had spent one winter attending lectures in a German university. He did +not write often to his mother, twice a year, or even less, but Varvara +Petrovna was not angry or offended at this. She accepted submissively +and without repining the relations that had been established once for +all between her son and herself. She fretted for her “Nicolas” and +dreamed of him continually. She kept her dreams and lamentations to +herself. She seemed to have become less intimate even with Stepan +Trofimovitch. She was forming secret projects, and seemed to have become +more careful about money than ever. She was more than ever given to +saving money and being angry at Stepan Trofimovitch’s losses at cards. +</p> +<p> +At last, in the April of this year, she received a letter from Paris +from Praskovya Ivanovna Drozdov, the widow of the general and the +friend of Varvara Petrovna’s childhood. Praskovya Ivanovna, whom Varvara +Petrovna had not seen or corresponded with for eight years, wrote, +informing her that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had become very intimate +with them and a great friend of her only daughter, Liza, and that he was +intending to accompany them to Switzerland, to Verney-Montreux, +though in the household of Count K. (a very influential personage in +Petersburg), who was now staying in Paris. He was received like a son +of the family, so that he almost lived at the count’s. The letter was +brief, and the object of it was perfectly clear, though it contained +only a plain statement of the above-mentioned facts without drawing any +inferences from them. Varvara Petrovna did not pause long to consider; +she made up her mind instantly, made her preparations, and taking with +her her protégée, Dasha (Shatov’s sister), she set off in the middle of +April for Paris, and from there went on to Switzerland. She returned in +July, alone, leaving Dasha with the Drozdovs. She brought us the news +that the Drozdovs themselves had promised to arrive among us by the end +of August. +</p> +<p> +The Drozdovs, too, were landowners of our province, but the official +duties of General Ivan Ivanovitch Drozdov (who had been a friend +of Varvara Petrovna’s and a colleague of her husband’s) had always +prevented them from visiting their magnificent estate. On the death of +the general, which had taken place the year before, the inconsolable +widow had gone abroad with her daughter, partly in order to try the +grape-cure which she proposed to carry out at Verney-Montreux during the +latter half of the summer. On their return to Russia they intended to +settle in our province for good. She had a large house in the town which +had stood empty for many years with the windows nailed up. They were +wealthy people. Praskovya Ivanovna had been, in her first marriage, a +Madame Tushin, and like her school-friend, Varvara Petrovna, was the +daughter of a government contractor of the old school, and she too had +been an heiress at her marriage. Tushin, a retired cavalry captain, was +also a man of means, and of some ability. At his death he left a snug +fortune to his only daughter Liza, a child of seven. Now that Lizaveta +Nikolaevna was twenty-two her private fortune might confidently be +reckoned at 200,000 roubles, to say nothing of the property—which was +bound to come to her at the death of her mother, who had no children by +her second marriage. Varvara Petrovna seemed to be very well satisfied +with her expedition. In her own opinion she had succeeded in coming to +a satisfactory understanding with Praskovya Ivanovna, and immediately +on her arrival she confided everything to Stepan Trofimovitch. She was +positively effusive with him as she had not been for a very long time. +</p> +<p> +“Hurrah!” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, and snapped his fingers. +</p> +<p> +He was in a perfect rapture, especially as he had spent the whole time +of his friend’s absence in extreme dejection. On setting off she had not +even taken leave of him properly, and had said nothing of her plan to +“that old woman,” dreading, perhaps, that he might chatter about it. +She was cross with him at the time on account of a considerable gambling +debt which she had suddenly discovered. But before she left Switzerland +she had felt that on her return she must make up for it to her forsaken +friend, especially as she had treated him very curtly for a long time +past. Her abrupt and mysterious departure had made a profound and +poignant impression on the timid heart of Stepan Trofimovitch, and to +make matters worse he was beset with other difficulties at the same +time. He was worried by a very considerable money obligation, which had +weighed upon him for a long time and which he could never hope to meet +without Varvara Petrovna’s assistance. Moreover, in the May of this +year, the term of office of our mild and gentle Ivan Ossipovitch came to +an end. He was superseded under rather unpleasant circumstances. Then, +while Varvara Petrovna was still away, there followed the arrival of +our new governor, Andrey Antonovitch von Lembke, and with that a change +began at once to be perceptible in the attitude of almost the whole +of our provincial society towards Varvara Petrovna, and consequently +towards Stepan Trofimovitch. He had already had time anyway to make some +disagreeable though valuable observations, and seemed very apprehensive +alone without Varvara Petrovna. He had an agitating suspicion that he +had already been mentioned to the governor as a dangerous man. He knew +for a fact that some of our ladies meant to give up calling on Varvara +Petrovna. Of our governor’s wife (who was only expected to arrive in the +autumn) it was reported that though she was, so it was heard, proud, +she was a real aristocrat, and “not like that poor Varvara Petrovna.” +Everybody seemed to know for a fact, and in the greatest detail, that +our governor’s wife and Varvara Petrovna had met already in society and +had parted enemies, so that the mere mention of Madame von Lembke’s name +would, it was said, make a painful impression on Varvara Petrovna. +The confident and triumphant air of Varvara Petrovna, the contemptuous +indifference with which she heard of the opinions of our provincial +ladies and the agitation in local society, revived the flagging spirits +of Stepan Trofimovitch and cheered him up at once. With peculiar, +gleefully-obsequious humour, he was beginning to describe the new +governor’s arrival. +</p> +<p> +“You are no doubt aware, <i>excellente amie</i>,” he said, jauntily +and coquettishly drawling his words, “what is meant by a Russian +administrator, speaking generally, and what is meant by a new Russian +administrator, that is the newly-baked, newly-established … <i>ces +interminables mots Russes!</i> But I don’t think you can know in practice +what is meant by administrative ardour, and what sort of thing that is.” +</p> +<p> +“Administrative ardour? I don’t know what that is.” +</p> +<p> +“Well … <i>Vous savez chez nous … En un mot,</i> set the most insignificant +nonentity to sell miserable tickets at a railway station, and the +nonentity will at once feel privileged to look down on you like a +Jupiter, <i>pour montrer son pouvoir</i> when you go to take a ticket. ‘Now +then,’ he says, ‘I shall show you my power’ … and in them it comes to a +genuine, administrative ardour. <i>En un mot,</i> I’ve read that some verger +in one of our Russian churches abroad—<i>mais c’est très curieux</i>—drove, +literally drove a distinguished English family, <i>les dames charmantes</i>, +out of the church before the beginning of the Lenten service … <i>vous +savez ces chants et le livre de Job</i> … on the simple pretext that +‘foreigners are not allowed to loaf about a Russian church, and that +they must come at the time fixed.…’ And he sent them into fainting +fits.… That verger was suffering from an attack of administrative +ardour, <i>et il a montré son pouvoir</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Cut it short if you can, Stepan Trofimovitch.” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. von Lembke is making a tour of the province now. <i>En un mot,</i> this +Andrey Antonovitch, though he is a russified German and of the Orthodox +persuasion, and even—I will say that for him—a remarkably handsome man +of about forty …” +</p> +<p> +“What makes you think he’s a handsome man? He has eyes like a sheep’s.” +</p> +<p> +“Precisely so. But in this I yield, of course, to the opinion of our +ladies.” +</p> +<p> +“Let’s get on, Stepan Trofimovitch, I beg you! By the way, you’re +wearing a red neck-tie. Is it long since you’ve taken to it?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve … I’ve only put it on to-day.” +</p> +<p> +“And do you take your constitutional? Do you go for a four-mile walk +every day as the doctor told you to?” +</p> +<p> +“N-not … always.” +</p> +<p> +“I knew you didn’t! I felt sure of that when I was in Switzerland!” she +cried irritably. “Now you must go not four but six miles a day! You’ve +grown terribly slack, terribly, terribly! You’re not simply getting old, +you’re getting decrepit.… You shocked me when I first saw you just +now, in spite of your red tie, <i>quelle idee rouge</i>! Go on about Von +Lembke if you’ve really something to tell me, and do finish some time, I +entreat you, I’m tired.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>En un mot,</i> I only wanted to say that he is one of those administrators +who begin to have power at forty, who, till they’re forty, have been +stagnating in insignificance and then suddenly come to the front through +suddenly acquiring a wife, or some other equally desperate means.… +That is, he has gone away now … that is, I mean to say, it was at once +whispered in both his ears that I am a corrupter of youth, and a hot-bed +of provincial atheism.… He began making inquiries at once.” +</p> +<p> +“Is that true?” +</p> +<p> +“I took steps about it, in fact. When he was ‘informed’ that you ‘ruled +the province,’ <i>vous savez,</i> he allowed himself to use the expression that +‘there shall be nothing of that sort in the future.’” +</p> +<p> +“Did he say that?” +</p> +<p> +“That ‘there shall be nothing of the sort in future,’ and, <i>avec cette +morgue</i>.… His wife, Yulia Mihailovna, we shall behold at the end of +August, she’s coming straight from Petersburg.” +</p> +<p> +“From abroad. We met there.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Vraiment?”</i> +</p> +<p> +“In Paris and in Switzerland. She’s related to the Drozdovs.” +</p> +<p> +“Related! What an extraordinary coincidence! They say she is ambitious +and … supposed to have great connections.” +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense! Connections indeed! She was an old maid without a farthing +till she was five-and-forty. But now she’s hooked her Von Lembke, +and, of course, her whole object is to push him forward. They’re both +intriguers.” +</p> +<p> +“And they say she’s two years older than he is?” +</p> +<p> +“Five. Her mother used to wear out her skirts on my doorsteps in Moscow; +she used to beg for an invitation to our balls as a favour when my +husband was living. And this creature used to sit all night alone in a +corner without dancing, with her turquoise fly on her forehead, so that +simply from pity I used to have to send her her first partner at two +o’clock in the morning. She was five-and-twenty then, and they used to +rig her out in short skirts like a little girl. It was improper to have +them about at last.” +</p> +<p> +“I seem to see that fly.” +</p> +<p> +“I tell you, as soon as I arrived I was in the thick of an intrigue. You +read Madame Drozdov’s letter, of course. What could be clearer? What did +I find? That fool Praskovya herself—she always was a fool—looked at +me as much as to ask why I’d come. You can fancy how surprised I was. +I looked round, and there was that Lembke woman at her tricks, and that +cousin of hers—old Drozdov’s nephew—it was all clear. You may be sure +I changed all that in a twinkling, and Praskovya is on my side again, +but what an intrigue!” +</p> +<p> +“In which you came off victor, however. Bismarck!” +</p> +<p> +“Without being a Bismarck I’m equal to falseness and stupidity wherever +I meet it, falseness, and Praskovya’s folly. I don’t know when I’ve met +such a flabby woman, and what’s more her legs are swollen, and she’s +a good-natured simpleton, too. What can be more foolish than a +good-natured simpleton?” +</p> +<p> +“A spiteful fool, <i>ma bonne amie,</i> a spiteful fool is still more foolish,” +Stepan Trofimovitch protested magnanimously. +</p> +<p> +“You’re right, perhaps. Do you remember Liza?” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Charmante enfant!”</i> +</p> +<p> +“But she’s not an <i>enfant</i> now, but a woman, and a woman of character. +She’s a generous, passionate creature, and what I like about her, she +stands up to that confiding fool, her mother. There was almost a row +over that cousin.” +</p> +<p> +“Bah, and of course he’s no relation of Lizaveta Nikolaevna’s at +all.… Has he designs on her?” +</p> +<p> +“You see, he’s a young officer, not by any means talkative, modest in +fact. I always want to be just. I fancy he is opposed to the intrigue +himself, and isn’t aiming at anything, and it was only the Von Lembke’s +tricks. He had a great respect for Nicolas. You understand, it all +depends on Liza. But I left her on the best of terms with Nicolas, +and he promised he would come to us in November. So it’s only the Von +Lembke who is intriguing, and Praskovya is a blind woman. She suddenly +tells me that all my suspicions are fancy. I told her to her face she +was a fool. I am ready to repeat it at the day of judgment. And if it +hadn’t been for Nicolas begging me to leave it for a time, I wouldn’t +have come away without unmasking that false woman. She’s been trying +to ingratiate herself with Count K. through Nicolas. She wants to +come between mother and son. But Liza’s on our side, and I came to an +understanding with Praskovya. Do you know that Karmazinov is a relation +of hers?” +</p> +<p> +“What? A relation of Madame von Lembke?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, of hers. Distant.” +</p> +<p> +“Karmazinov, the novelist?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, the writer. Why does it surprise you? Of course he considers +himself a great man. Stuck-up creature! She’s coming here with him. Now +she’s making a fuss of him out there. She’s got a notion of setting up a +sort of literary society here. He’s coming for a month, he wants to sell +his last piece of property here. I very nearly met him in Switzerland, +and was very anxious not to. Though I hope he will deign to recognise +me. He wrote letters to me in the old days, he has been in my house. +I should like you to dress better, Stepan Trofimovitch; you’re growing +more slovenly every day.… Oh, how you torment me! What are you reading +now?” +</p> +<p> +“I … I …” +</p> +<p> +“I understand. The same as ever, friends and drinking, the club and +cards, and the reputation of an atheist. I don’t like that reputation, +Stepan Trofimovitch; I don’t care for you to be called an atheist, +particularly now. I didn’t care for it in old days, for it’s all nothing +but empty chatter. It must be said at last.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mais, ma chère …”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Listen, Stepan Trofimovitch, of course I’m ignorant compared with you +on all learned subjects, but as I was travelling here I thought a great +deal about you. I’ve come to one conclusion.” +</p> +<p> +“What conclusion?” +</p> +<p> +“That you and I are not the wisest people in the world, but that there +are people wiser than we are.” +</p> +<p> +“Witty and apt. If there are people wiser than we are, then there are +people more right than we are, and we may be mistaken, you mean? <i>Mais, +ma bonne amie,</i> granted that I may make a mistake, yet have I not the +common, human, eternal, supreme right of freedom of conscience? I have +the right not to be bigoted or superstitious if I don’t wish to, and for +that I shall naturally be hated by certain persons to the end of time. +<i>Et puis, comme on trouve toujours plus de moines que de raison,</i> and as I +thoroughly agree with that …” +</p> +<p> +“What, what did you say?” +</p> +<p> +“I said, <i>on trouve toujours plus de moines que de raison,</i> and as I +thoroughly …” +</p> +<p> +“I’m sure that’s not your saying. You must have taken it from +somewhere.” +</p> +<p> +“It was Pascal said that.” +</p> +<p> +“Just as I thought … it’s not your own. Why don’t you ever say anything +like that yourself, so shortly and to the point, instead of dragging +things out to such a length? That’s much better than what you said just +now about administrative ardour …” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Ma foi, chère …” </i>why? In the first place probably because I’m not +a Pascal after all, <i>et puis</i> … secondly, we Russians never can say +anything in our own language.… We never have said anything hitherto, +at any rate.…” +</p> +<p> +“H’m! That’s not true, perhaps. Anyway, you’d better make a note of such +phrases, and remember them, you know, in case you have to talk.… +Ach, Stephan Trofimovitch. I have come to talk to you seriously, quite +seriously.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Chère, chère amie!”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Now that all these Von Lembkes and Karmazinovs.… Oh, my goodness, how +you have deteriorated!… Oh, my goodness, how you do torment me!… +I should have liked these people to feel a respect for you, for they’re +not worth your little finger—but the way you behave!… What will they +see? What shall I have to show them? Instead of nobly standing as an +example, keeping up the tradition of the past, you surround yourself +with a wretched rabble, you have picked up impossible habits, you’ve +grown feeble, you can’t do without wine and cards, you read nothing +but Paul de Kock, and write nothing, while all of them write; all your +time’s wasted in gossip. How can you bring yourself to be friends with a +wretched creature like your inseparable Liputin?” +</p> +<p> +“Why is he <i>mine</i> and <i>inseparable</i>?” Stepan Trofimovitch protested +timidly. +</p> +<p> +“Where is he now?” Varvara Petrovna went on, sharply and sternly. +</p> +<p> +“He … he has an infinite respect for you, and he’s gone to S——k, to +receive an inheritance left him by his mother.” +</p> +<p> +“He seems to do nothing but get money. And how’s Shatov? Is he just the +same?” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Irascible, mais bon.”</i> +</p> +<p> +“I can’t endure your Shatov. He’s spiteful and he thinks too much of +himself.” +</p> +<p> +“How is Darya Pavlovna?” +</p> +<p> +“You mean Dasha? What made you think of her?” Varvara Petrovna looked +at him inquisitively. “She’s quite well. I left her with the Drozdovs. I +heard something about your son in Switzerland. Nothing good.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Oh, c’est un histoire bien bête! Je vous attendais, ma bonne amie, pour +vous raconter …”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Enough, Stepan Trofimovitch. Leave me in peace. I’m worn out. We +shall have time to talk to our heart’s content, especially of what’s +unpleasant. You’ve begun to splutter when you laugh, it’s a sign of +senility! And what a strange way of laughing you’ve taken to!… Good +Heavens, what a lot of bad habits you’ve fallen into! Karmazinov won’t +come and see you! And people are only too glad to make the most of +anything as it is.… You’ve betrayed yourself completely now. Well, +come, that’s enough, that’s enough, I’m tired. You really might have +mercy upon one!” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch “had mercy,” but he withdrew in great perturbation. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +V +</p> +<p> +Our friend certainly had fallen into not a few bad habits, especially of +late. He had obviously and rapidly deteriorated; and it was true that +he had become slovenly. He drank more and had become more tearful and +nervous; and had grown too impressionable on the artistic side. His +face had acquired a strange facility for changing with extraordinary +quickness, from the most solemn expression, for instance, to the most +absurd, and even foolish. He could not endure solitude, and was always +craving for amusement. One had always to repeat to him some gossip, some +local anecdote, and every day a new one. If no one came to see him for +a long time he wandered disconsolately about the rooms, walked to the +window, puckering up his lips, heaved deep sighs, and almost fell to +whimpering at last. He was always full of forebodings, was afraid of +something unexpected and inevitable; he had become timorous; he began to +pay great attention to his dreams. +</p> +<p> +He spent all that day and evening in great depression, he sent for me, +was very much agitated, talked a long while, gave me a long account of +things, but all rather disconnected. Varvara Petrovna had known for a +long time that he concealed nothing from me. It seemed to me at last +that he was worried about something particular, and was perhaps unable +to form a definite idea of it himself. As a rule when we met <i>tête-à-tête</i> +and he began making long complaints to me, a bottle was almost always +brought in after a little time, and things became much more comfortable. +This time there was no wine, and he was evidently struggling all the +while against the desire to send for it. +</p> +<p> +“And why is she always so cross?” he complained every minute, like a +child. <i>“Tous les hommes de génie et de progrès en Russie étaient, +sont, et seront toujours des</i> gamblers <i>et des</i> drunkards <i>qui boivent</i> in +outbreaks … and I’m not such a gambler after all, and I’m not such a +drunkard. She reproaches me for not writing anything. Strange +idea!… She asks why I lie down? She says I ought to stand, ‘an example +and reproach.’ <i>Mais, entre nous soit dit,</i> what is a man to do who is +destined to stand as a ‘reproach,’ if not to lie down? Does she +understand that?” +</p> +<p> +And at last it became clear to me what was the chief particular trouble +which was worrying him so persistently at this time. Many times that +evening he went to the looking-glass, and stood a long while before +it. At last he turned from the looking-glass to me, and with a sort +of strange despair, said: “<i>Mon cher, je suis un</i> broken-down man.” Yes, +certainly, up to that time, up to that very day there was one thing only +of which he had always felt confident in spite of the “new views,” and +of the “change in Varvara Petrovna’s ideas,” that was, the conviction +that still he had a fascination for her feminine heart, not simply as an +exile or a celebrated man of learning, but as a handsome man. For twenty +years this soothing and flattering opinion had been rooted in his mind, +and perhaps of all his convictions this was the hardest to part with. +Had he any presentiment that evening of the colossal ordeal which was +preparing for him in the immediate future? +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VI +</p> +<p> +I will now enter upon the description of that almost forgotten incident +with which my story properly speaking begins. +</p> +<p> +At last at the very end of August the Drozdovs returned. Their arrival +made a considerable sensation in local society, and took place shortly +before their relation, our new governor’s wife, made her long-expected +appearance. But of all these interesting events I will speak later. +For the present I will confine myself to saying that Praskovya Ivanovna +brought Varvara Petrovna, who was expecting her so impatiently, a most +perplexing problem: Nikolay had parted from them in July, and, +meeting Count K. on the Rhine, had set off with him and his family for +Petersburg. (N.B.—The Count’s three daughters were all of marriageable +age.) +</p> +<p> +“Lizaveta is so proud and obstinate that I could get nothing out of +her,” Praskovya Ivanovna said in conclusion. “But I saw for myself that +something had happened between her and Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. I don’t +know the reasons, but I fancy, my dear Varvara Petrovna, that you +will have to ask your Darya Pavlovna for them. To my thinking Liza +was offended. I’m glad. I can tell you that I’ve brought you back your +favourite at last and handed her over to you; it’s a weight off my +mind.” +</p> +<p> +These venomous words were uttered with remarkable irritability. It was +evident that the “flabby” woman had prepared them and gloated beforehand +over the effect they would produce. But Varvara Petrovna was not the +woman to be disconcerted by sentimental effects and enigmas. She sternly +demanded the most precise and satisfactory explanations. Praskovya +Ivanovna immediately lowered her tone and even ended by dissolving into +tears and expressions of the warmest friendship. This irritable but +sentimental lady, like Stepan Trofimovitch, was forever yearning for +true friendship, and her chief complaint against her daughter Lizaveta +Nikolaevna was just that “her daughter was not a friend to her.” +</p> +<p> +But from all her explanations and outpourings nothing certain could be +gathered but that there actually had been some sort of quarrel between +Liza and Nikolay, but of the nature of the quarrel Praskovya Ivanovna +was obviously unable to form a definite idea. As for her imputations +against Darya Pavlovna, she not only withdrew them completely in the +end, but even particularly begged Varvara Petrovna to pay no attention +to her words, because “they had been said in irritation.” In fact, it +had all been left very far from clear—suspicious, indeed. According to +her account the quarrel had arisen from Liza’s “obstinate and ironical +character.” “Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch is proud, too, and though he +was very much in love, yet he could not endure sarcasm, and began to be +sarcastic himself. Soon afterwards we made the acquaintance of a +young man, the nephew, I believe, of your ‘Professor’ and, indeed, the +surname’s the same.” +</p> +<p> +“The son, not the nephew,” Varvara Petrovna corrected her. +</p> +<p> +Even in old days Praskovya Ivanovna had been always unable to recall +Stepan Trofimovitch’s name, and had always called him the “Professor.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, his son, then; so much the better. Of course, it’s all the same +to me. An ordinary young man, very lively and free in his manners, but +nothing special in him. Well, then, Liza herself did wrong, she +made friends with the young man with the idea of making Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch jealous. I don’t see much harm in that; it’s the way of +girls, quite usual, even charming in them. Only instead of being jealous +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch made friends with the young man himself, just as +though he saw nothing and didn’t care. This made Liza furious. The young +man soon went away (he was in a great hurry to get somewhere) and +Liza took to picking quarrels with Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch at every +opportunity. She noticed that he used sometimes to talk to Dasha; and, +well, she got in such a frantic state that even my life wasn’t worth +living, my dear. The doctors have forbidden my being irritated, and I +was so sick of their lake they make such a fuss about, it simply gave me +toothache, I had such rheumatism. It’s stated in print that the Lake of +Geneva does give people the toothache. It’s a feature of the place. Then +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch suddenly got a letter from the countess and he +left us at once. He packed up in one day. They parted in a friendly way, +and Liza became very cheerful and frivolous, and laughed a great deal +seeing him off; only that was all put on. When he had gone she became +very thoughtful, and she gave up speaking of him altogether and wouldn’t +let me mention his name. And I should advise you, dear Varvara Petrovna, +not to approach the subject with Liza, you’ll only do harm. But if you +hold your tongue she’ll begin to talk of it herself, and then you’ll +learn more. I believe they’ll come together again, if only Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch doesn’t put off coming, as he promised.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll write to him at once. If that’s how it was, there was nothing in +the quarrel; all nonsense! And I know Darya too well. It’s nonsense!” +</p> +<p> +“I’m sorry for what I said about Dashenka, I did wrong. Their +conversations were quite ordinary and they talked out loud, too. But it +all upset me so much at the time, my dear. And Liza, I saw, got on with +her again as affectionately as before.…” +</p> +<p> +That very day Varvara Petrovna wrote to Nikolay, and begged him to come, +if only one month, earlier than the date he had fixed. But yet she still +felt that there was something unexplained and obscure in the matter. +She pondered over it all the evening and all night. Praskovya’s opinion +seemed to her too innocent and sentimental. “Praskovya has always +been too sentimental from the old schooldays upwards,” she reflected. +“Nicolas is not the man to run away from a girl’s taunts. There’s some +other reason for it, if there really has been a breach between them. +That officer’s here though, they’ve brought him with them. As a relation +he lives in their house. And, as for Darya, Praskovya was in too much +haste to apologise. She must have kept something to herself, which she +wouldn’t tell me.” +</p> +<p> +By the morning Varvara Petrovna had matured a project for putting a stop +once for all to one misunderstanding at least; a project amazing in its +unexpectedness. What was in her heart when she conceived it? It would +be hard to decide and I will not undertake to explain beforehand all +the incongruities of which it was made up. I simply confine myself as +chronicler to recording events precisely as they happened, and it is not +my fault if they seem incredible. Yet I must once more testify that by +the morning there was not the least suspicion of Dasha left in Varvara +Petrovna’s mind, though in reality there never had been any—she had +too much confidence in her. Besides, she could not admit the idea that +“Nicolas” could be attracted by her Darya. Next morning when Darya +Pavlovna was pouring out tea at the table Varvara Petrovna looked for a +long while intently at her and, perhaps for the twentieth time since the +previous day, repeated to herself: “It’s all nonsense!” +</p> +<p> +All she noticed was that Dasha looked rather tired, and that she was +even quieter and more apathetic than she used to be. After their morning +tea, according to their invariable custom, they sat down to needlework. +Varvara Petrovna demanded from her a full account of her impressions +abroad, especially of nature, of the inhabitants, of the towns, the +customs, their arts and commerce—of everything she had time to observe. +She asked no questions about the Drozdovs or how she had got on with +them. Dasha, sitting beside her at the work-table helping her with the +embroidery, talked for half an hour in her even, monotonous, but rather +weak voice. +</p> +<p> +“Darya!” Varvara Petrovna interrupted suddenly, “is there nothing +special you want to tell me?” +</p> +<p> +“No, nothing,” said Dasha, after a moment’s thought, and she glanced at +Varvara Petrovna with her light-coloured eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing on your soul, on your heart, or your conscience?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing,” Dasha repeated, quietly, but with a sort of sullen firmness. +</p> +<p> +“I knew there wasn’t! Believe me, Darya, I shall never doubt you. Now +sit still and listen. In front of me, on that chair. I want to see the +whole of you. That’s right. Listen, do you want to be married?” +</p> +<p> +Dasha responded with a long, inquiring, but not greatly astonished look. +</p> +<p> +“Stay, hold your tongue. In the first place there is a very great +difference in age, but of course you know better than anyone what +nonsense that is. You’re a sensible girl, and there must be no mistakes +in your life. Besides, he’s still a handsome man … In short, Stepan +Trofimovitch, for whom you have always had such a respect. Well?” +</p> +<p> +Dasha looked at her still more inquiringly, and this time not simply +with surprise; she blushed perceptibly. +</p> +<p> +“Stay, hold your tongue, don’t be in a hurry! Though you will have money +under my will, yet when I die, what will become of you, even if you have +money? You’ll be deceived and robbed of your money, you’ll be lost in +fact. But married to him you’re the wife of a distinguished man. Look at +him on the other hand. Though I’ve provided for him, if I die what will +become of him? But I could trust him to you. Stay, I’ve not finished. +He’s frivolous, shilly-shally, cruel, egoistic, he has low habits. But +mind you think highly of him, in the first place because there are many +worse. I don’t want to get you off my hands by marrying you to a rascal, +you don’t imagine anything of that sort, do you? And, above all, because +I ask you, you’ll think highly of him,”— +</p> +<p> +She broke off suddenly and irritably. “Do you hear? Why won’t you say +something?” +</p> +<p> +Dasha still listened and did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“Stay, wait a little. He’s an old woman, but you know, that’s all the +better for you. Besides, he’s a pathetic old woman. He doesn’t deserve +to be loved by a woman at all, but he deserves to be loved for his +helplessness, and you must love him for his helplessness. You understand +me, don’t you? Do you understand me?” +</p> +<p> +Dasha nodded her head affirmatively. +</p> +<p> +“I knew you would. I expected as much of you. He will love you because +he ought, he ought; he ought to adore you.” Varvara Petrovna almost +shrieked with peculiar exasperation. “Besides, he will be in love with +you without any ought about it. I know him. And another thing, I shall +always be here. You may be sure I shall always be here. He will complain +of you, he’ll begin to say things against you behind your back, he’ll +whisper things against you to any stray person he meets, he’ll be for +ever whining and whining; he’ll write you letters from one room to +another, two a day, but he won’t be able to get on without you all the +same, and that’s the chief thing. Make him obey you. If you can’t make +him you’ll be a fool. He’ll want to hang himself and threaten, to—don’t +you believe it. It’s nothing but nonsense. Don’t believe it; but still +keep a sharp look-out, you never can tell, and one day he may hang +himself. It does happen with people like that. It’s not through strength +of will but through weakness that people hang themselves, and so +never drive him to an extreme, that’s the first rule in married life. +Remember, too, that he’s a poet. Listen, Dasha, there’s no greater +happiness than self-sacrifice. And besides, you’ll be giving me great +satisfaction and that’s the chief thing. Don’t think I’ve been talking +nonsense. I understand what I’m saying. I’m an egoist, you be an egoist, +too. Of course I’m not forcing you. It’s entirely for you to decide. +As you say, so it shall be. Well, what’s the good of sitting like this. +Speak!” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t mind, Varvara Petrovna, if I really must be married,” said +Dasha firmly. +</p> +<p> +“Must? What are you hinting at?” Varvara Petrovna looked sternly and +intently at her. +</p> +<p> +Dasha was silent, picking at her embroidery canvas with her needle. +</p> +<p> +“Though you’re a clever girl, you’re talking nonsense; though it is true +that I have certainly set my heart on marrying you, yet it’s not because +it’s necessary, but simply because the idea has occurred to me, and only +to Stepan Trofimovitch. If it had not been for Stepan Trofimovitch, I +should not have thought of marrying you yet, though you are twenty.… +Well?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll do as you wish, Varvara Petrovna.” +</p> +<p> +“Then you consent! Stay, be quiet. Why are you in such a hurry? I +haven’t finished. In my will I’ve left you fifteen thousand roubles. +I’ll give you that at once, on your wedding-day. You will give eight +thousand of it to him; that is, not to him but to me. He has a debt of +eight thousand. I’ll pay it, but he must know that it is done with your +money. You’ll have seven thousand left in your hands. Never let him +touch a farthing of it. Don’t pay his debts ever. If once you pay them, +you’ll never be free of them. Besides, I shall always be here. You +shall have twelve hundred roubles a year from me, with extras, fifteen +hundred, besides board and lodging, which shall be at my expense, just +as he has it now. Only you must set up your own servants. Your yearly +allowance shall be paid to you all at once straight into your hands. But +be kind, and sometimes give him something, and let his friends come to +see him once a week, but if they come more often, turn them out. But +I shall be here, too. And if I die, your pension will go on till his +death, do you hear, till his death, for it’s his pension, not yours. +And besides the seven thousand you’ll have now, which you ought to keep +untouched if you’re not foolish, I’ll leave you another eight thousand +in my will. And you’ll get nothing more than that from me, it’s right +that you should know it. Come, you consent, eh? Will you say something +at last?” +</p> +<p> +“I have told you already, Varvara Petrovna.” +</p> +<p> +“Remember that you’re free to decide. As you like, so it shall be.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, may I ask, Varvara Petrovna, has Stepan Trofimovitch said +anything yet?” +</p> +<p> +“No, he hasn’t said anything, he doesn’t know … but he will speak +directly.” +</p> +<p> +She jumped up at once and threw on a black shawl. Dasha flushed a little +again, and watched her with questioning eyes. Varvara Petrovna turned +suddenly to her with a face flaming with anger. +</p> +<p> +“You’re a fool!” She swooped down on her like a hawk. “An ungrateful +fool! What’s in your mind? Can you imagine that I’d compromise you, in +any way, in the smallest degree. Why, he shall crawl on his knees to +ask you, he must be dying of happiness, that’s how it shall be arranged. +Why, you know that I’d never let you suffer. Or do you suppose he’ll +take you for the sake of that eight thousand, and that I’m hurrying off +to sell you? You’re a fool, a fool! You’re all ungrateful fools. Give me +my umbrella!” +</p> +<p> +And she flew off to walk by the wet brick pavements and the wooden +planks to Stepan Trofimovitch’s. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VII +</p> +<p> +It was true that she would never have let Dasha suffer; on the contrary, +she considered now that she was acting as her benefactress. The most +generous and legitimate indignation was glowing in her soul, when, as +she put on her shawl, she caught fixed upon her the embarrassed and +mistrustful eyes of her protégée. She had genuinely loved the girl from +her childhood upwards. Praskovya Ivanovna had with justice called Darya +Pavlovna her favourite. Long ago Varvara Petrovna had made up her mind +once for all that “Darya’s disposition was not like her brother’s” (not, +that is, like Ivan Shatov’s), that she was quiet and gentle, and capable +of great self-sacrifice; that she was distinguished by a power of +devotion, unusual modesty, rare reasonableness, and, above all, by +gratitude. Till that time Dasha had, to all appearances, completely +justified her expectations. +</p> +<p> +“In that life there will be no mistakes,” said Varvara Petrovna when the +girl was only twelve years old, and as it was characteristic of her to +attach herself doggedly and passionately to any dream that fascinated +her, any new design, any idea that struck her as noble, she made up her +mind at once to educate Dasha as though she were her own daughter. She +at once set aside a sum of money for her, and sent for a governess, Miss +Criggs, who lived with them until the girl was sixteen, but she was +for some reason suddenly dismissed. Teachers came for her from the High +School, among them a real Frenchman, who taught Dasha French. He, too, +was suddenly dismissed, almost turned out of the house. A poor lady, a +widow of good family, taught her to play the piano. Yet her chief tutor +was Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +In reality he first discovered Dasha. He began teaching the quiet child +even before Varvara Petrovna had begun to think about her. I repeat +again, it was wonderful how children took to him. Lizaveta Nikolaevna +Tushin had been taught by him from the age of eight till eleven (Stepan +Trofimovitch took no fees, of course, for his lessons, and would not on +any account have taken payment from the Drozdovs). But he fell in love +with the charming child and used to tell her poems of a sort about the +creation of the world, about the earth, and the history of humanity. +His lectures about the primitive peoples and primitive man were more +interesting than the Arabian Nights. Liza, who was ecstatic over these +stories, used to mimic Stepan Trofimovitch very funnily at home. He +heard of this and once peeped in on her unawares. Liza, overcome +with confusion, flung herself into his arms and shed tears; Stepan +Trofimovitch wept too with delight. But Liza soon after went away, and +only Dasha was left. When Dasha began to have other teachers, Stepan +Trofimovitch gave up his lessons with her, and by degrees left off +noticing her. Things went on like this for a long time. Once when she +was seventeen he was struck by her prettiness. It happened at Varvara +Petrovna’s table. He began to talk to the young girl, was much pleased +with her answers, and ended by offering to give her a serious and +comprehensive course of lessons on the history of Russian literature. +Varvara Petrovna approved, and thanked him for his excellent idea, +and Dasha was delighted. Stepan Trofimovitch proceeded to make special +preparations for the lectures, and at last they began. They began +with the most ancient period. The first lecture went off enchantingly. +Varvara Petrovna was present. When Stepan Trofimovitch had finished, and +as he was going informed his pupil that the next time he would deal with +“The Story of the Expedition of Igor,” Varvara Petrovna suddenly got up +and announced that there would be no more lessons. Stepan Trofimovitch +winced, but said nothing, and Dasha flushed crimson. It put a stop to +the scheme, however. This had happened just three years before Varvara +Petrovna’s unexpected fancy. +</p> +<p> +Poor Stepan Trofimovitch was sitting alone free from all misgivings. +Plunged in mournful reveries he had for some time been looking out of +the window to see whether any of his friends were coming. But nobody +would come. It was drizzling. It was turning cold, he would have to have +the stove heated. He sighed. Suddenly a terrible apparition flashed upon +his eyes: +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna in such weather and at such an unexpected hour to see +him! And on foot! He was so astounded that he forgot to put on his +coat, and received her as he was, in his everlasting pink-wadded +dressing-jacket. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Ma bonne amie!”</i> he cried faintly, to greet her. “You’re alone; I’m +glad; I can’t endure your friends. How you do smoke! Heavens, what an +atmosphere! You haven’t finished your morning tea and it’s nearly twelve +o’clock. It’s your idea of bliss—disorder! You take pleasure in dirt. +What’s that torn paper on the floor? Nastasya, Nastasya! What is +your Nastasya about? Open the window, the casement, the doors, fling +everything wide open. And we’ll go into the drawing-room. I’ve come to +you on a matter of importance. And you sweep up, my good woman, for once +in your life.” +</p> +<p> +“They make such a muck!” Nastasya whined in a voice of plaintive +exasperation. +</p> +<p> +“Well, you must sweep, sweep it up fifteen times a day! You’ve a +wretched drawing-room” (when they had gone into the drawing-room). “Shut +the door properly. She’ll be listening. You must have it repapered. +Didn’t I send a paperhanger to you with patterns? Why didn’t you choose +one? Sit down, and listen. Do sit down, I beg you. Where are you off to? +Where are you off to? Where are you off to?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll be back directly,” Stepan Trofimovitch cried from the next room. +“Here I am again.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah,—you’ve changed your coat.” She scanned him mockingly. (He had +flung his coat on over the dressing-jacket.) “Well, certainly that’s +more suited to our subject. Do sit down, I entreat you.” +</p> +<p> +She told him everything at once, abruptly and impressively. She hinted at +the eight thousand of which he stood in such terrible need. She told him +in detail of the dowry. Stepan Trofimovitch sat trembling, opening +his eyes wider and wider. He heard it all, but he could not realise it +clearly. He tried to speak, but his voice kept breaking. All he knew +was that everything would be as she said, that to protest and refuse to +agree would be useless, and that he was a married man irrevocably. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mais, ma bonne amie!</i> … for the third time, and at my age … and to +such a child.” He brought out at last, <i>“Mais, c’est une enfant!”</i> +</p> +<p> +“A child who is twenty years old, thank God. Please don’t roll your +eyes, I entreat you, you’re not on the stage. You’re very clever and +learned, but you know nothing at all about life. You will always want a +nurse to look after you. I shall die, and what will become of you? +She will be a good nurse to you; she’s a modest girl, strong-willed, +reasonable; besides, I shall be here too, I shan’t die directly. She’s +fond of home, she’s an angel of gentleness. This happy thought came to +me in Switzerland. Do you understand if I tell you myself that she is +an angel of gentleness!” she screamed with sudden fury. “Your house is +dirty, she will bring in order, cleanliness. Everything will shine like +a mirror. Good gracious, do you expect me to go on my knees to you with +such a treasure, to enumerate all the advantages, to court you! Why, you +ought to be on your knees.… Oh, you shallow, shallow, faint-hearted +man!” +</p> +<p> +“But … I’m an old man!” +</p> +<p> +“What do your fifty-three years matter! Fifty is the middle of life, +not the end of it. You are a handsome man and you know it yourself. You +know, too, what a respect she has for you. If I die, what will become of +her? But married to you she’ll be at peace, and I shall be at peace. You +have renown, a name, a loving heart. You receive a pension which I look +upon as an obligation. You will save her perhaps, you will save her! In +any case you will be doing her an honour. You will form her for life, +you will develop her heart, you will direct her ideas. How many people +come to grief nowadays because their ideas are wrongly directed. By that +time your book will be ready, and you will at once set people talking +about you again.” +</p> +<p> +“I am, in fact,” he muttered, at once flattered by Varvara Petrovna’s +adroit insinuations. “I was just preparing to sit down to my ‘Tales from +Spanish History.’” +</p> +<p> +“Well, there you are. It’s just come right.” +</p> +<p> +“But … she? Have you spoken to her?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t worry about her. And there’s no need for you to be inquisitive. +Of course, you must ask her yourself, entreat her to do you the honour, +you understand? But don’t be uneasy. I shall be here. Besides, you love +her.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch felt giddy. The walls were going round. There was +one terrible idea underlying this to which he could not reconcile +himself. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Excellente amie,”</i> his voice quivered suddenly. “I could never have +conceived that you would make up your mind to give me in marriage to +another … woman.” +</p> +<p> +“You’re not a girl, Stepan Trofimovitch. Only girls are given in +marriage. You are taking a wife,” Varvara Petrovna hissed malignantly. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Oui, j’ai pris un mot pour un autre. Mais c’est égal.”</i> He gazed at her +with a hopeless air. +</p> +<p> +“I see that <i>c’est égal</i>,” she muttered contemptuously through her teeth. +“Good heavens! Why he’s going to faint. Nastasya, Nastasya, water!” +</p> +<p> +But water was not needed. He came to himself. Varvara Petrovna took up +her umbrella. +</p> +<p> +“I see it’s no use talking to you now.…” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Oui, oui, je suis incapable.”</i> +</p> +<p> +“But by to-morrow you’ll have rested and thought it over. Stay at home. +If anything happens let me know, even if it’s at night. Don’t write +letters, I shan’t read them. To-morrow I’ll come again at this time +alone, for a final answer, and I trust it will be satisfactory. Try to +have nobody here and no untidiness, for the place isn’t fit to be seen. +Nastasya, Nastasya!” +</p> +<p> +The next day, of course, he consented, and, indeed, he could do nothing +else. There was one circumstance … +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VIII +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch’s estate, as we used to call it (which consisted +of fifty souls, reckoning in the old fashion, and bordered on +Skvoreshniki), was not really his at all, but his first wife’s, and +so belonged now to his son Pyotr Stepanovitch Verhovensky. Stepan +Trofimovitch was simply his trustee, and so, when the nestling was +full-fledged, he had given his father a formal authorisation to manage +the estate. This transaction was a profitable one for the young man. He +received as much as a thousand roubles a year by way of revenue from the +estate, though under the new regime it could not have yielded more than +five hundred, and possibly not that. God knows how such an arrangement +had arisen. The whole sum, however, was sent the young man by Varvara +Petrovna, and Stepan Trofimovitch had nothing to do with a single rouble +of it. On the other hand, the whole revenue from the land remained in +his pocket, and he had, besides, completely ruined the estate, letting +it to a mercenary rogue, and without the knowledge of Varvara Petrovna +selling the timber which gave the estate its chief value. He had some +time before sold the woods bit by bit. It was worth at least +eight thousand, yet he had only received five thousand for it. But +he sometimes lost too much at the club, and was afraid to ask Varvara +Petrovna for the money. She clenched her teeth when she heard at last of +everything. And now, all at once, his son announced that he was +coming himself to sell his property for what he could get for it, and +commissioned his father to take steps promptly to arrange the sale. It +was clear that Stepan Trofimovitch, being a generous and disinterested +man, felt ashamed of his treatment of <i>ce cher enfant</i> (whom he had seen +for the last time nine years before as a student in Petersburg). The +estate might originally have been worth thirteen or fourteen thousand. +Now it was doubtful whether anyone would give five for it. No doubt +Stepan Trofimovitch was fully entitled by the terms of the trust to sell +the wood, and taking into account the incredibly large yearly revenue of +a thousand roubles which had been sent punctually for so many years, +he could have put up a good defence of his management. But Stepan +Trofimovitch was a generous man of exalted impulses. A wonderfully fine +inspiration occurred to his mind: when Petrusha returned, to lay on the +table before him the maximum price of fifteen thousand roubles without +a hint at the sums that had been sent him hitherto, and warmly and with +tears to press <i>ce cher fils</i> to his heart, and so to make an end of all +accounts between them. He began cautiously and indirectly unfolding +this picture before Varvara Petrovna. He hinted that this would add a +peculiarly noble note to their friendship … to their “idea.” This +would set the parents of the last generation—and people of the last +generation generally—in such a disinterested and magnanimous light in +comparison with the new frivolous and socialistic younger generation. He +said a great deal more, but Varvara Petrovna was obstinately silent. At +last she informed him airily that she was prepared to buy their estate, +and to pay for it the maximum price, that is, six or seven thousand +(though four would have been a fair price for it). Of the remaining +eight thousand which had vanished with the woods she said not a word. +</p> +<p> +This conversation took place a month before the match was proposed to +him. Stepan Trofimovitch was overwhelmed, and began to ponder. There +might in the past have been a hope that his son would not come, +after all—an outsider, that is to say, might have hoped so. Stepan +Trofimovitch as a father would have indignantly rejected the +insinuation that he could entertain such a hope. Anyway queer rumours +had hitherto been reaching us about Petrusha. To begin with, on +completing his studies at the university six years before, he had hung +about in Petersburg without getting work. Suddenly we got the news that +he had taken part in issuing some anonymous manifesto and that he +was implicated in the affair. Then he suddenly turned up abroad in +Switzerland at Geneva—he had escaped, very likely. +</p> +<p> +“It’s surprising to me,” Stepan Trofimovitch commented, greatly +disconcerted. “Petrusha, <i>c’est une si pauvre tête!</i> He’s good, +noble-hearted, very sensitive, and I was so delighted with him in +Petersburg, comparing him with the young people of to-day. But <i>c’est un +pauvre sire, tout de même</i>.… And you know it all comes from that +same half-bakedness, that sentimentality. They are fascinated, not by +realism, but by the emotional ideal side of socialism, by the religious +note in it, so to say, by the poetry of it … second-hand, of course. +And for me, for me, think what it means! I have so many enemies here and +more still <i>there</i>, they’ll put it down to the father’s influence. Good +God! Petrusha a revolutionist! What times we live in!” +</p> +<p> +Very soon, however, Petrusha sent his exact address from Switzerland for +money to be sent him as usual; so he could not be exactly an exile. +And now, after four years abroad, he was suddenly making his appearance +again in his own country, and announced that he would arrive shortly, +so there could be no charge against him. What was more, someone seemed +to be interested in him and protecting him. He wrote now from the south +of Russia, where he was busily engaged in some private but important +business. All this was capital, but where was his father to get that +other seven or eight thousand, to make up a suitable price for the +estate? And what if there should be an outcry, and instead of that +imposing picture it should come to a lawsuit? Something told Stepan +Trofimovitch that the sensitive Petrusha would not relinquish anything +that was to his interest. “Why is it—as I’ve noticed,” Stepan +Trofimovitch whispered to me once, “why is it that all these desperate +socialists and communists are at the same time such incredible +skinflints, so avaricious, so keen over property, and, in fact, the +more socialistic, the more extreme they are, the keener they are over +property … why is it? Can that, too, come from sentimentalism?” I +don’t know whether there is any truth in this observation of Stepan +Trofimovitch’s. I only know that Petrusha had somehow got wind of the +sale of the woods and the rest of it, and that Stepan Trofimovitch was +aware of the fact. I happened, too, to read some of Petrusha’s letters +to his father. He wrote extremely rarely, once a year, or even less +often. Only recently, to inform him of his approaching visit, he had +sent two letters, one almost immediately after the other. All his +letters were short, dry, consisting only of instructions, and as the +father and son had, since their meeting in Petersburg, adopted the +fashionable “thou” and “thee,” Petrusha’s letters had a striking +resemblance to the missives that used to be sent by landowners of the +old school from the town to their serfs whom they had left in charge of +their estates. And now suddenly this eight thousand which would solve +the difficulty would be wafted to him by Varvara Petrovna’s proposition. +And at the same time she made him distinctly feel that it never could +be wafted to him from anywhere else. Of course Stepan Trofimovitch +consented. +</p> +<p> +He sent for me directly she had gone and shut himself up for the whole +day, admitting no one else. He cried, of course, talked well and talked +a great deal, contradicted himself continually, made a casual pun, and +was much pleased with it. Then he had a slight attack of his “summer +cholera”—everything in fact followed the usual course. Then he brought +out the portrait of his German bride, now twenty years deceased, and +began plaintively appealing to her: “Will you forgive me?” In fact he +seemed somehow distracted. Our grief led us to get a little drunk. He +soon fell into a sweet sleep, however. Next morning he tied his cravat +in masterly fashion, dressed with care, and went frequently to look at +himself in the glass. He sprinkled his handkerchief with scent, only a +slight dash of it, however, and as soon as he saw Varvara Petrovna out +of the window he hurriedly took another handkerchief and hid the scented +one under the pillow. +</p> +<p> +“Excellent!” Varvara Petrovna approved, on receiving his consent. “In +the first place you show a fine decision, and secondly you’ve listened +to the voice of reason, to which you generally pay so little heed in +your private affairs. There’s no need of haste, however,” she added, +scanning the knot of his white tie, “for the present say nothing, and I +will say nothing. It will soon be your birthday; I will come to see you +with her. Give us tea in the evening, and please without wine or other +refreshments, but I’ll arrange it all myself. Invite your friends, but +we’ll make the list together. You can talk to her the day before, if +necessary. And at your party we won’t exactly announce it, or make an +engagement of any sort, but only hint at it, and let people know without +any sort of ceremony. And then the wedding a fortnight later, as far +as possible without any fuss.… You two might even go away for a time +after the wedding, to Moscow, for instance. I’ll go with you, too, +perhaps … The chief thing is, keep quiet till then.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch was surprised. He tried to falter that he could +not do like that, that he must talk it over with his bride. But Varvara +Petrovna flew at him in exasperation. +</p> +<p> +“What for? In the first place it may perhaps come to nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“Come to nothing!” muttered the bridegroom, utterly dumbfoundered. +</p> +<p> +“Yes. I’ll see.… But everything shall be as I’ve told you, and don’t +be uneasy. I’ll prepare her myself. There’s really no need for you. +Everything necessary shall be said and done, and there’s no need for you +to meddle. Why should you? In what character? Don’t come and don’t write +letters. And not a sight or sound of you, I beg. I will be silent too.” +</p> +<p> +She absolutely refused to explain herself, and went away, obviously +upset. Stepan Trofimovitch’s excessive readiness evidently impressed +her. Alas! he was utterly unable to grasp his position, and the question +had not yet presented itself to him from certain other points of view. +On the contrary a new note was apparent in him, a sort of conquering and +jaunty air. He swaggered. +</p> +<p> +“I do like that!” he exclaimed, standing before me, and flinging wide +his arms. “Did you hear? She wants to drive me to refusing at last. Why, +I may lose patience, too, and … refuse! ‘Sit still, there’s no need +for you to go to her.’ But after all, why should I be married? Simply +because she’s taken an absurd fancy into her heart. But I’m a serious +man, and I can refuse to submit to the idle whims of a giddy-woman! I +have duties to my son and … and to myself! I’m making a sacrifice. Does +she realise that? I have agreed, perhaps, because I am weary of life +and nothing matters to me. But she may exasperate me, and then it will +matter. I shall resent it and refuse. <i>Et enfin, le ridicule</i> … what will +they say at the club? What will … what will … Laputin say? ‘Perhaps +nothing will come of it’—what a thing to say! That beats everything. +That’s really … what is one to say to that?… <i>Je suis un forçat, un +Badinguet, un</i> man pushed to the wall.…” +</p> +<p> +And at the same time a sort of capricious complacency, something +frivolous and playful, could be seen in the midst of all these plaintive +exclamations. In the evening we drank too much again. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0003"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER III. THE SINS OF OTHERS +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +ABOUT A WEEK had passed, and the position had begun to grow more +complicated. +</p> +<p> +I may mention in passing that I suffered a great deal during that +unhappy week, as I scarcely left the side of my affianced friend, in the +capacity of his most intimate confidant. What weighed upon him most +was the feeling of shame, though we saw no one all that week, and sat +indoors alone. But he was even ashamed before me, and so much so that +the more he confided to me the more vexed he was with me for it. He was +so morbidly apprehensive that he expected that every one knew about it +already, the whole town, and was afraid to show himself, not only at the +club, but even in his circle of friends. He positively would not go out +to take his constitutional till well after dusk, when it was quite dark. +</p> +<p> +A week passed and he still did not know whether he were betrothed or +not, and could not find out for a fact, however much he tried. He had +not yet seen his future bride, and did not know whether she was to be +his bride or not; did not, in fact, know whether there was anything +serious in it at all. Varvara Petrovna, for some reason, resolutely +refused to admit him to her presence. In answer to one of his first +letters to her (and he wrote a great number of them) she begged him +plainly to spare her all communications with him for a time, because +she was very busy, and having a great deal of the utmost importance to +communicate to him she was waiting for a more free moment to do so, and +that she would let him know <i>in time</i> when he could come to see her. She +declared she would send back his letters unopened, as they were “simple +self-indulgence.” I read that letter myself—he showed it me. +</p> +<p> +Yet all this harshness and indefiniteness were nothing compared with +his chief anxiety. That anxiety tormented him to the utmost and without +ceasing. He grew thin and dispirited through it. It was something of +which he was more ashamed than of anything else, and of which he would +not on any account speak, even to me; on the contrary, he lied on +occasion, and shuffled before me like a little boy; and at the same time +he sent for me himself every day, could not stay two hours without me, +needing me as much as air or water. +</p> +<p> +Such conduct rather wounded my vanity. I need hardly say that I had +long ago privately guessed this great secret of his, and saw through it +completely. It was my firmest conviction at the time that the revelation +of this secret, this chief anxiety of Stepan Trofimovitch’s would not +have redounded to his credit, and, therefore, as I was still young, I +was rather indignant at the coarseness of his feelings and the ugliness +of some of his suspicions. In my warmth—and, I must confess, in my +weariness of being his confidant—I perhaps blamed him too much. I was +so cruel as to try and force him to confess it all to me himself, though +I did recognise that it might be difficult to confess some things. He, +too, saw through me; that is, he clearly perceived that I saw through +him, and that I was angry with him indeed, and he was angry with me +too for being angry with him and seeing through him. My irritation was +perhaps petty and stupid; but the unrelieved solitude of two friends +together is sometimes extremely prejudicial to true friendship. From a +certain point of view he had a very true understanding of some aspects +of his position, and defined it, indeed, very subtly on those points +about which he did not think it necessary to be secret. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, how different she was then!” he would sometimes say to me about +Varvara Petrovna. “How different she was in the old days when we used to +talk together.… Do you know that she could talk in those days! Can +you believe that she had ideas in those days, original ideas! Now, +everything has changed! She says all that’s only old-fashioned twaddle. +She despises the past.… Now she’s like some shopman or cashier, she +has grown hard-hearted, and she’s always cross.…” +</p> +<p> +“Why is she cross now if you are carrying out her orders?” I answered. +</p> +<p> +He looked at me subtly. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Cher ami</i>; if I had not agreed she would have been dreadfully angry, +dread-ful-ly! But yet less than now that I have consented.” +</p> +<p> +He was pleased with this saying of his, and we emptied a bottle between +us that evening. But that was only for a moment, next day he was worse +and more ill-humoured than ever. +</p> +<p> +But what I was most vexed with him for was that he could not bring +himself to call on the Drozdovs, as he should have done on their +arrival, to renew the acquaintance of which, so we heard they were +themselves desirous, since they kept asking about him. It was a source +of daily distress to him. He talked of Lizaveta Nikolaevna with an +ecstasy which I was at a loss to understand. No doubt he remembered in +her the child whom he had once loved. But besides that, he imagined for +some unknown reason that he would at once find in her company a solace +for his present misery, and even the solution of his more serious +doubts. He expected to meet in Lizaveta Nikolaevna an extraordinary +being. And yet he did not go to see her though he meant to do so every +day. The worst of it was that I was desperately anxious to be presented +to her and to make her acquaintance, and I could look to no one but +Stepan Trofimovitch to effect this. I was frequently meeting her, in the +street of course, when she was out riding, wearing a riding-habit and +mounted on a fine horse, and accompanied by her cousin, so-called, a +handsome officer, the nephew of the late General Drozdov—and these +meetings made an extraordinary impression on me at the time. My +infatuation lasted only a moment, and I very soon afterwards recognised +the impossibility of my dreams myself—but though it was a fleeting +impression it was a very real one, and so it may well be imagined +how indignant I was at the time with my poor friend for keeping so +obstinately secluded. +</p> +<p> +All the members of our circle had been officially informed from the +beginning that Stepan Trofimovitch would see nobody for a time, and +begged them to leave him quite alone. He insisted on sending round a +circular notice to this effect, though I tried to dissuade him. I +went round to every one at his request and told everybody that Varvara +Petrovna had given “our old man” (as we all used to call Stepan +Trofimovitch among ourselves) a special job, to arrange in order some +correspondence lasting over many years; that he had shut himself up to +do it and I was helping him. Liputin was the only one I did not have +time to visit, and I kept putting it off—to tell the real truth I was +afraid to go to him. I knew beforehand that he would not believe one +word of my story, that he would certainly imagine that there was some +secret at the bottom of it, which they were trying to hide from him +alone, and as soon as I left him he would set to work to make inquiries +and gossip all over the town. While I was picturing all this to myself +I happened to run across him in the street. It turned out that he had +heard all about it from our friends, whom I had only just informed. But, +strange to say, instead of being inquisitive and asking questions about +Stepan Trofimovitch, he interrupted me, when I began apologising for not +having come to him before, and at once passed to other subjects. It is +true that he had a great deal stored up to tell me. He was in a state +of great excitement, and was delighted to have got hold of me for a +listener. He began talking of the news of the town, of the arrival +of the governor’s wife, “with new topics of conversation,” of an +opposition party already formed in the club, of how they were all in a +hubbub over the new ideas, and how charmingly this suited him, and so +on. He talked for a quarter of an hour and so amusingly that I could not +tear myself away. Though I could not endure him, yet I must admit he had +the gift of making one listen to him, especially when he was very angry +at something. This man was, in my opinion, a regular spy from his very +nature. At every moment he knew the very latest gossip and all the +trifling incidents of our town, especially the unpleasant ones, and it +was surprising to me how he took things to heart that were sometimes +absolutely no concern of his. It always seemed to me that the leading +feature of his character was envy. When I told Stepan Trofimovitch the +same evening of my meeting Liputin that morning and our conversation, +the latter to my amazement became greatly agitated, and asked me the +wild question: “Does Liputin know or not?” +</p> +<p> +I began trying to prove that there was no possibility of his finding it +out so soon, and that there was nobody from whom he could hear it. But +Stepan Trofimovitch was not to be shaken. “Well, you may believe it or +not,” he concluded unexpectedly at last, “but I’m convinced that he not +only knows every detail of ‘our’ position, but that he knows something +else besides, something neither you nor I know yet, and perhaps never +shall, or shall only know when it’s too late, when there’s no turning +back!…” +</p> +<p> +I said nothing, but these words suggested a great deal. For five whole +days after that we did not say one word about Liputin; it was clear to +me that Stepan Trofimovitch greatly regretted having let his tongue run +away with him, and having revealed such suspicions before me. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +One morning, on the seventh or eighth day after Stepan Trofimovitch had +consented to become “engaged,” about eleven o’clock, when I was hurrying +as usual to my afflicted friend, I had an adventure on the way. +</p> +<p> +I met Karmazinov, “the great writer,” as Liputin called him. I had read +Karmazinov from a child. His novels and tales were well known to the +past and even to the present generation. I revelled in them; they were +the great enjoyment of my childhood and youth. Afterwards I grew rather +less enthusiastic over his work. I did not care so much for the novels +with a purpose which he had been writing of late as for his first, +early works, which were so full of spontaneous poetry, and his latest +publications I had not liked at all. Speaking generally, if I may +venture to express my opinion on so delicate a subject, all these +talented gentlemen of the middling sort who are sometimes in their +lifetime accepted almost as geniuses, pass out of memory quite suddenly +and without a trace when they die, and what’s more, it often happens +that even during their lifetime, as soon as a new generation grows up +and takes the place of the one in which they have flourished, they are +forgotten and neglected by every one in an incredibly short time. This +somehow happens among us quite suddenly, like the shifting of the scenes +on the stage. Oh, it’s not at all the same as with Pushkin, Gogol, +Molière, Voltaire, all those great men who really had a new original +word to say! It’s true, too, that these talented gentlemen of the +middling sort in the decline of their venerable years usually write +themselves out in the most pitiful way, though they don’t observe the +fact themselves. It happens not infrequently that a writer who has been +for a long time credited with extraordinary profundity and expected +to exercise a great and serious influence on the progress of society, +betrays in the end such poverty, such insipidity in his fundamental +ideas that no one regrets that he succeeded in writing himself out so +soon. But the old grey-beards don’t notice this, and are angry. Their +vanity sometimes, especially towards the end of their career, reaches +proportions that may well provoke wonder. God knows what they begin +to take themselves for—for gods at least! People used to say about +Karmazinov that his connections with aristocratic society and powerful +personages were dearer to him than his own soul, people used to say that +on meeting you he would be cordial, that he would fascinate and enchant +you with his open-heartedness, especially if you were of use to him in +some way, and if you came to him with some preliminary recommendation. +But that before any stray prince, any stray countess, anyone that he +was afraid of, he would regard it as his sacred duty to forget your +existence with the most insulting carelessness, like a chip of wood, +like a fly, before you had even time to get out of his sight; he +seriously considered this the best and most aristocratic style. In spite +of the best of breeding and perfect knowledge of good manners he is, +they say, vain to such an hysterical pitch that he cannot conceal his +irritability as an author even in those circles of society where little +interest is taken in literature. If anyone were to surprise him by being +indifferent, he would be morbidly chagrined, and try to revenge himself. +</p> +<p> +A year before, I had read an article of his in a review, written with +an immense affectation of naïve poetry, and psychology too. He described +the wreck of some steamer on the English coast, of which he had been +the witness, and how he had seen the drowning people saved, and the +dead bodies brought ashore. All this rather long and verbose article +was written solely with the object of self-display. One seemed to read +between the lines: “Concentrate yourselves on me. Behold what I was like +at those moments. What are the sea, the storm, the rocks, the splinters +of wrecked ships to you? I have described all that sufficiently to you +with my mighty pen. Why look at that drowned woman with the dead child +in her dead arms? Look rather at me, see how I was unable to bear that +sight and turned away from it. Here I stood with my back to it; here +I was horrified and could not bring myself to look; I blinked my +eyes—isn’t that interesting?” When I told Stepan Trofimovitch my +opinion of Karmazinov’s article he quite agreed with me. +</p> +<p> +When rumours had reached us of late that Karmazinov was coming to the +neighbourhood I was, of course, very eager to see him, and, if possible, +to make his acquaintance. I knew that this might be done through Stepan +Trofimovitch, they had once been friends. And now I suddenly met him at +the cross-roads. I knew him at once. He had been pointed out to me two +or three days before when he drove past with the governor’s wife. He +was a short, stiff-looking old man, though not over fifty-five, with a +rather red little face, with thick grey locks of hair clustering under +his chimney-pot hat, and curling round his clean little pink ears. +His clean little face was not altogether handsome with its thin, long, +crafty-looking lips, with its rather fleshy nose, and its sharp, shrewd +little eyes. He was dressed somewhat shabbily in a sort of cape such as +would be worn in Switzerland or North Italy at that time of year. But, +at any rate, all the minor details of his costume, the little studs, +and collar, the buttons, the tortoise-shell lorgnette on a narrow black +ribbon, the signet-ring, were all such as are worn by persons of the +most irreproachable good form. I am certain that in summer he must have +worn light prunella shoes with mother-of-pearl buttons at the side. +When we met he was standing still at the turning and looking about him, +attentively. Noticing that I was looking at him with interest, he asked +me in a sugary, though rather shrill voice: +</p> +<p> +“Allow me to ask, which is my nearest way to Bykovy Street?” +</p> +<p> +“To Bykovy Street? Oh, that’s here, close by,” I cried in great +excitement. “Straight on along this street and the second turning to the +left.” +</p> +<p> +“Very much obliged to you.” +</p> +<p> +A curse on that minute! I fancy I was shy, and looked cringing. He +instantly noticed all that, and of course realised it all at once; that +is, realised that I knew who he was, that I had read him and revered +him from a child, and that I was shy and looked at him cringingly. He +smiled, nodded again, and walked on as I had directed him. I don’t know +why I turned back to follow him; I don’t know why I ran for ten paces +beside him. He suddenly stood still again. +</p> +<p> +“And could you tell me where is the nearest cab-stand?” he shouted out +to me again. +</p> +<p> +It was a horrid shout! A horrid voice! +</p> +<p> +“A cab-stand? The nearest cab-stand is … by the Cathedral; there are +always cabs standing there,” and I almost turned to run for a cab for +him. I almost believe that that was what he expected me to do. Of +course I checked myself at once, and stood still, but he had noticed +my movement and was still watching me with the same horrid smile. Then +something happened which I shall never forget. +</p> +<p> +He suddenly dropped a tiny bag, which he was holding in his left +hand; though indeed it was not a bag, but rather a little box, or more +probably some part of a pocket-book, or to be more accurate a little +reticule, rather like an old-fashioned lady’s reticule, though I really +don’t know what it was. I only know that I flew to pick it up. +</p> +<p> +I am convinced that I did not really pick it up, but my first motion +was unmistakable. I could not conceal it, and, like a fool, I turned +crimson. The cunning fellow at once got all that could be got out of the +circumstance. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t trouble, I’ll pick it up,” he pronounced charmingly; that is, +when he was quite sure that I was not going to pick up the reticule, he +picked it up as though forestalling me, nodded once more, and went his +way, leaving me to look like a fool. It was as good as though I had +picked it up myself. For five minutes I considered myself utterly +disgraced forever, but as I reached Stepan Trofimovitch’s house I +suddenly burst out laughing; the meeting struck me as so amusing that I +immediately resolved to entertain Stepan Trofimovitch with an account of +it, and even to act the whole scene to him. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +But this time to my surprise I found an extraordinary change in him. He +pounced on me with a sort of avidity, it is true, as soon as I went in, +and began listening to me, but with such a distracted air that at first +he evidently did not take in my words. But as soon as I pronounced the +name of Karmazinov he suddenly flew into a frenzy. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t speak of him! Don’t pronounce that name!” he exclaimed, almost in +a fury. “Here, look, read it! Read it!” +</p> +<p> +He opened the drawer and threw on the table three small sheets of paper, +covered with a hurried pencil scrawl, all from Varvara Petrovna. The +first letter was dated the day before yesterday, the second had come +yesterday, and the last that day, an hour before. Their contents were +quite trivial, and all referred to Karmazinov and betrayed the vain +and fussy uneasiness of Varvara Petrovna and her apprehension that +Karmazinov might forget to pay her a visit. Here is the first one dating +from two days before. (Probably there had been one also three days +before, and possibly another four days before as well.) +</p> +<p> +“If he deigns to visit you to-day, not a word about me, I beg. Not the +faintest hint. Don’t speak of me, don’t mention me.—V. S.” +</p> +<p> +The letter of the day before: +</p> +<p> +“If he decides to pay you a visit this morning, I think the most +dignified thing would be not to receive him. That’s what I think about +it; I don’t know what you think.—V. S.” +</p> +<p> +To-day’s, the last: +</p> +<p> +“I feel sure that you’re in a regular litter and clouds of tobacco +smoke. I’m sending you Marya and Fomushka. They’ll tidy you up in half +an hour. And don’t hinder them, but go and sit in the kitchen while they +clear up. I’m sending you a Bokhara rug and two china vases. I’ve long +been meaning to make you a present of them, and I’m sending you my +Teniers, too, for a time! You can put the vases in the window and hang +the Teniers on the right under the portrait of Goethe; it will be more +conspicuous there and it’s always light there in the morning. If he does +turn up at last, receive him with the utmost courtesy but try and talk +of trifling matters, of some intellectual subject, and behave as though +you had seen each other lately. Not a word about me. Perhaps I may look +in on you in the evening.—V. S. +</p> +<p> +“P.S.—If he does not come to-day he won’t come at all.” +</p> +<p> +I read and was amazed that he was in such excitement over such trifles. +Looking at him inquiringly, I noticed that he had had time while I was +reading to change the everlasting white tie he always wore, for a red +one. His hat and stick lay on the table. He was pale, and his hands were +positively trembling. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t care a hang about her anxieties,” he cried frantically, in +response to my inquiring look. “<i>Je m’en fiche!</i> She has the face to be +excited about Karmazinov, and she does not answer my letters. Here is +my unopened letter which she sent me back yesterday, here on the table +under the book, under <i>L’Homme qui rit</i>. What is it to me that she’s +wearing herself out over Nikolay! <i>Je m’en fiche, et je proclame ma +liberté! Au diable le Karmazinov! Au diable la Lembke!</i> I’ve hidden the +vases in the entry, and the Teniers in the chest of drawers, and I have +demanded that she is to see me at once. Do you hear. I’ve insisted! +I’ve sent her just such a scrap of paper, a pencil scrawl, unsealed, by +Nastasya, and I’m waiting. I want Darya Pavlovna to speak to me with +her own lips, before the face of Heaven, or at least before you. <i>Vous me +seconderez, n’est-ce pas, comme ami et témoin.</i> I don’t want to have +to blush, to lie, I don’t want secrets, I won’t have secrets in this +matter. Let them confess everything to me openly, frankly, honourably +and then … then perhaps I may surprise the whole generation by my +magnanimity.… Am I a scoundrel or not, my dear sir?” he concluded +suddenly, looking menacingly at me, as though I’d considered him a +scoundrel. +</p> +<p> +I offered him a sip of water; I had never seen him like this before. All +the while he was talking he kept running from one end of the room to +the other, but he suddenly stood still before me in an extraordinary +attitude. +</p> +<p> +“Can you suppose,” he began again with hysterical haughtiness, looking +me up and down, “can you imagine that I, Stepan Verhovensky, cannot find +in myself the moral strength to take my bag—my beggar’s bag—and laying +it on my feeble shoulders to go out at the gate and vanish forever, +when honour and the great principle of independence demand it! It’s +not the first time that Stepan Verhovensky has had to repel despotism by +moral force, even though it be the despotism of a crazy woman, that +is, the most cruel and insulting despotism which can exist on earth, +although you have, I fancy, forgotten yourself so much as to laugh at +my phrase, my dear sir! Oh, you don’t believe that I can find the moral +strength in myself to end my life as a tutor in a merchant’s family, or +to die of hunger in a ditch! Answer me, answer at once; do you believe +it, or don’t you believe it?” +</p> +<p> +But I was purposely silent. I even affected to hesitate to wound him by +answering in the negative, but to be unable to answer affirmatively. In +all this nervous excitement of his there was something which really did +offend me, and not personally, oh, no! But … I will explain later on. +He positively turned pale. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you are bored with me, G——v (this is my surname), and you +would like … not to come and see me at all?” he said in that tone of +pale composure which usually precedes some extraordinary outburst. I +jumped up in alarm. At that moment Nastasya came in, and, without a +word, handed Stepan Trofimovitch a piece of paper, on which something +was written in pencil. He glanced at it and flung it to me. On the +paper, in Varvara Petrovna’s hand three words were written: “Stay at +home.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch snatched up his hat and stick in silence and went +quickly out of the room. Mechanically I followed him. Suddenly voices +and sounds of rapid footsteps were heard in the passage. He stood still, +as though thunder-struck. +</p> +<p> +“It’s Liputin; I am lost!” he whispered, clutching at my arm. +</p> +<p> +At the same instant Liputin walked into the room. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +Why he should be lost owing to Liputin I did not know, and indeed I +did not attach much significance to the words; I put it all down to his +nerves. His terror, however, was remarkable, and I made up my mind to +keep a careful watch on him. +</p> +<p> +The very appearance of Liputin as he came in assured us that he had on +this occasion a special right to come in, in spite of the prohibition. +He brought with him an unknown gentleman, who must have been a new +arrival in the town. In reply to the senseless stare of my petrified +friend, he called out immediately in a loud voice: +</p> +<p> +“I’m bringing you a visitor, a special one! I make bold to intrude on +your solitude. Mr. Kirillov, a very distinguished civil engineer. And +what’s more he knows your son, the much esteemed Pyotr Stepanovitch, +very intimately; and he has a message from him. He’s only just arrived.” +</p> +<p> +“The message is your own addition,” the visitor observed curtly. +“There’s no message at all. But I certainly do know Verhovensky. I left +him in the X. province, ten days ahead of us.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch mechanically offered his hand and motioned him to +sit down. He looked at me, he looked at Liputin, and then as though +suddenly recollecting himself sat down himself, though he still kept his +hat and stick in his hands without being aware of it. +</p> +<p> +“Bah, but you were going out yourself! I was told that you were quite +knocked up with work.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I’m ill, and you see, I meant to go for a walk, I …” Stepan +Trofimovitch checked himself, quickly flung his hat and stick on the +sofa and—turned crimson. +</p> +<p> +Meantime, I was hurriedly examining the visitor. He was a young man, +about twenty-seven, decently dressed, well made, slender and dark, with +a pale, rather muddy-coloured face and black lustreless eyes. He seemed +rather thoughtful and absent-minded, spoke jerkily and ungrammatically, +transposing words in rather a strange way, and getting muddled if he +attempted a sentence of any length. Liputin was perfectly aware of +Stepan Trofimovitch’s alarm, and was obviously pleased at it. He sat +down in a wicker chair which he dragged almost into the middle of the +room, so as to be at an equal distance between his host and the visitor, +who had installed themselves on sofas on opposite sides of the room. His +sharp eyes darted inquisitively from one corner of the room to another. +</p> +<p> +“It’s.… a long while since I’ve seen Petrusha.… You met abroad?” +Stepan Trofimovitch managed to mutter to the visitor. +</p> +<p> +“Both here and abroad.” +</p> +<p> +“Alexey Nilitch has only just returned himself after living four years +abroad,” put in Liputin. “He has been travelling to perfect himself in +his speciality and has come to us because he has good reasons to expect +a job on the building of our railway bridge, and he’s now waiting for an +answer about it. He knows the Drozdovs and Lizaveta Nikolaevna, through +Pyotr Stepanovitch.” +</p> +<p> +The engineer sat, as it were, with a ruffled air, and listened with +awkward impatience. It seemed to me that he was angry about something. +</p> +<p> +“He knows Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch too.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you know Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch?” inquired Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“I know him too.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s … it’s a very long time since I’ve seen Petrusha, and … I feel +I have so little right to call myself a father … <i>c’est le mot;</i> I … how +did you leave him?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, I left him … he comes himself,” replied Mr. Kirillov, in +haste to be rid of the question again. He certainly was angry. +</p> +<p> +“He’s coming! At last I … you see, it’s very long since I’ve seen +Petrusha!” Stepan Trofimovitch could not get away from this phrase. “Now +I expect my poor boy to whom … to whom I have been so much to blame! +That is, I mean to say, when I left him in Petersburg, I … in short, I +looked on him as a nonentity, <i>quelque chose dans ce genre.</i> He was a very +nervous boy, you know, emotional, and … very timid. When he said his +prayers going to bed he used to bow down to the ground, and make the +sign of the cross on his pillow that he might not die in the night.… +<i>Je m’en souviens. Enfin,</i> no artistic feeling whatever, not a sign of +anything higher, of anything fundamental, no embryo of a future +ideal … <i>c’était comme un petit idiot,</i> but I’m afraid I am incoherent; +excuse me … you came upon me …” +</p> +<p> +“You say seriously that he crossed his pillow?” the engineer asked +suddenly with marked curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, he used to …” +</p> +<p> +“All right. I just asked. Go on.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch looked interrogatively at Liputin. +</p> +<p> +“I’m very grateful to you for your visit. But I must confess I’m … +not in a condition … just now … But allow me to ask where you are +lodging.” +</p> +<p> +“At Filipov’s, in Bogoyavlensky Street.” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, that’s where Shatov lives,” I observed involuntarily. +</p> +<p> +“Just so, in the very same house,” cried Liputin, “only Shatov lodges +above, in the attic, while he’s down below, at Captain Lebyadkin’s. He +knows Shatov too, and he knows Shatov’s wife. He was very intimate with +her, abroad.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Comment!</i> Do you really know anything about that unhappy marriage <i>de ce +pauvre ami</i> and that woman,” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, carried away +by sudden feeling. “You are the first man I’ve met who has known her +personally; and if only …” +</p> +<p> +“What nonsense!” the engineer snapped out, flushing all over. “How you +add to things, Liputin! I’ve not seen Shatov’s wife; I’ve only once seen +her in the distance and not at all close.… I know Shatov. Why do you +add things of all sorts?” +</p> +<p> +He turned round sharply on the sofa, clutched his hat, then laid it down +again, and settling himself down once more as before, fixed his angry +black eyes on Stepan Trofimovitch with a sort of defiance. I was at a +loss to understand such strange irritability. +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me,” Stepan Trofimovitch observed impressively. “I understand +that it may be a very delicate subject.…” +</p> +<p> +“No sort of delicate subject in it, and indeed it’s shameful, and I +didn’t shout at you that it’s nonsense, but at Liputin, because he adds +things. Excuse me if you took it to yourself. I know Shatov, but I don’t +know his wife at all … I don’t know her at all!” +</p> +<p> +“I understand. I understand. And if I insisted, it’s only because I’m +very fond of our poor friend, <i>notre irascible ami</i>, and have always +taken an interest in him.… In my opinion that man changed his former, +possibly over-youthful but yet sound ideas, too abruptly. And now he +says all sorts of things about <i>notre Sainte Russie</i> to such a degree that +I’ve long explained this upheaval in his whole constitution, I can only +call it that, to some violent shock in his family life, and, in fact, to +his unsuccessful marriage. I, who know my poor Russia like the fingers +on my hand, and have devoted my whole life to the Russian people, I can +assure you that he does not know the Russian people, and what’s more …” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know the Russian people at all, either, and I haven’t time to +study them,” the engineer snapped out again, and again he turned sharply +on the sofa. Stepan Trofimovitch was pulled up in the middle of his +speech. +</p> +<p> +“He is studying them, he is studying them,” interposed Liputin. “He +has already begun the study of them, and is writing a very interesting +article dealing with the causes of the increase of suicide in Russia, +and, generally speaking, the causes that lead to the increase or +decrease of suicide in society. He has reached amazing results.” +</p> +<p> +The engineer became dreadfully excited. “You have no right at all,” he +muttered wrathfully. “I’m not writing an article. I’m not going to do +silly things. I asked you confidentially, quite by chance. There’s +no article at all. I’m not publishing, and you haven’t the right …” +Liputin was obviously enjoying himself. +</p> +<p> +“I beg your pardon, perhaps I made a mistake in calling your literary +work an article. He is only collecting observations, and the essence of +the question, or, so to say, its moral aspect he is not touching at all. +And, indeed, he rejects morality itself altogether, and holds with the +last new principle of general destruction for the sake of ultimate +good. He demands already more than a hundred million heads for the +establishment of common sense in Europe; many more than they demanded at +the last Peace Congress. Alexey Nilitch goes further than anyone in that +sense.” The engineer listened with a pale and contemptuous smile. For +half a minute every one was silent. +</p> +<p> +“All this is stupid, Liputin,” Mr. Kirillov observed at last, with a +certain dignity. “If I by chance had said some things to you, and you +caught them up again, as you like. But you have no right, for I never +speak to anyone. I scorn to talk.… If one has a conviction then it’s +clear to me.… But you’re doing foolishly. I don’t argue about things +when everything’s settled. I can’t bear arguing. I never want to +argue.…” +</p> +<p> +“And perhaps you are very wise,” Stepan Trofimovitch could not resist +saying. +</p> +<p> +“I apologise to you, but I am not angry with anyone here,” the visitor +went on, speaking hotly and rapidly. “I have seen few people for four +years. For four years I have talked little and have tried to see no one, +for my own objects which do not concern anyone else, for four years. +Liputin found this out and is laughing. I understand and don’t mind. I’m +not ready to take offence, only annoyed at his liberty. And if I don’t +explain my ideas to you,” he concluded unexpectedly, scanning us all +with resolute eyes, “it’s not at all that I’m afraid of your giving +information to the government; that’s not so; please do not imagine +nonsense of that sort.” +</p> +<p> +No one made any reply to these words. We only looked at each other. Even +Liputin forgot to snigger. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, I’m very sorry”—Stepan Trofimovitch got up resolutely from +the sofa—“but I feel ill and upset. Excuse me.” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, that’s for us to go.” Mr. Kirillov started, snatching up his cap. +“It’s a good thing you told us. I’m so forgetful.” +</p> +<p> +He rose, and with a good-natured air went up to Stepan Trofimovitch, +holding out his hand. +</p> +<p> +“I’m sorry you’re not well, and I came.” +</p> +<p> +“I wish you every success among us,” answered Stepan Trofimovitch, +shaking hands with him heartily and without haste. “I understand that, +if as you say you have lived so long abroad, cutting yourself off +from people for objects of your own and forgetting Russia, you must +inevitably look with wonder on us who are Russians to the backbone, and +we must feel the same about you. <i>Mais cela passera.</i> I’m only puzzled at +one thing: you want to build our bridge and at the same time you declare +that you hold with the principle of universal destruction. They won’t +let you build our bridge.” +</p> +<p> +“What! What’s that you said? Ach, I say!” Kirillov cried, much struck, +and he suddenly broke into the most frank and good-humoured laughter. +For a moment his face took a quite childlike expression, which I thought +suited him particularly. Liputin rubbed his hand with delight at Stepan +Trofimovitch’s witty remark. I kept wondering to myself why Stepan +Trofimovitch was so frightened of Liputin, and why he had cried out “I +am lost” when he heard him coming. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +V +</p> +<p> +We were all standing in the doorway. It was the moment when hosts and +guests hurriedly exchange the last and most cordial words, and then +part to their mutual gratification. +</p> +<p> +“The reason he’s so cross to-day,” Liputin dropped all at once, as it +were casually, when he was just going out of the room, “is because he +had a disturbance to-day with Captain Lebyadkin over his sister. Captain +Lebyadkin thrashes that precious sister of his, the mad girl, every day +with a whip, a real Cossack whip, every morning and evening. So Alexey +Nilitch has positively taken the lodge so as not to be present. Well, +good-bye.” +</p> +<p> +“A sister? An invalid? With a whip?” Stepan Trofimovitch cried out, as +though he had suddenly been lashed with a whip himself. “What sister? +What Lebyadkin?” All his former terror came back in an instant. +</p> +<p> +“Lebyadkin! Oh, that’s the retired captain; he used only to call himself +a lieutenant before.…” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, what is his rank to me? What sister? Good heavens!… You say +Lebyadkin? But there used to be a Lebyadkin here.…” +</p> +<p> +“That’s the very man. ‘Our’ Lebyadkin, at Virginsky’s, you remember?” +</p> +<p> +“But he was caught with forged papers?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, now he’s come back. He’s been here almost three weeks and under +the most peculiar circumstances.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, but he’s a scoundrel?” +</p> +<p> +“As though no one could be a scoundrel among us,” Liputin grinned +suddenly, his knavish little eyes seeming to peer into Stepan +Trofimovitch’s soul. +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens! I didn’t mean that at all … though I quite agree with +you about that, with you particularly. But what then, what then? What +did you mean by that? You certainly meant something by that.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, it’s all so trivial.… This captain to all appearances went away +from us at that time; not because of the forged papers, but simply to +look for his sister, who was in hiding from him somewhere, it seems; +well, and now he’s brought her and that’s the whole story. Why do you +seem frightened, Stepan Trofimovitch? I only tell this from his drunken +chatter though, he doesn’t speak of it himself when he’s sober. He’s an +irritable man, and, so to speak, æsthetic in a military style; only he +has bad taste. And this sister is lame as well as mad. She seems to +have been seduced by someone, and Mr. Lebyadkin has, it seems, for many +years received a yearly grant from the seducer by way of compensation +for the wound to his honour, so it would seem at least from his chatter, +though I believe it’s only drunken talk. It’s simply his brag. Besides, +that sort of thing is done much cheaper. But that he has a sum of money +is perfectly certain. Ten days ago he was walking barefoot, and now I’ve +seen hundreds in his hands. His sister has fits of some sort every day, +she shrieks and he ‘keeps her in order’ with the whip. You must inspire +a woman with respect, he says. What I can’t understand is how Shatov +goes on living above him. Alexey Nilitch has only been three days with +them. They were acquainted in Petersburg, and now he’s taken the lodge +to get away from the disturbance.” +</p> +<p> +“Is this all true?” said Stepan Trofimovitch, addressing the engineer. +</p> +<p> +“You do gossip a lot, Liputin,” the latter muttered wrathfully. +</p> +<p> +“Mysteries, secrets! Where have all these mysteries and secrets among us +sprung from?” Stepan Trofimovitch could not refrain from exclaiming. +</p> +<p> +The engineer frowned, flushed red, shrugged his shoulders and went out +of the room. +</p> +<p> +“Alexey Nilitch positively snatched the whip out of his hand, broke it +and threw it out of the window, and they had a violent quarrel,” added +Liputin. +</p> +<p> +“Why are you chattering, Liputin; it’s stupid. What for?” Alexey Nilitch +turned again instantly. +</p> +<p> +“Why be so modest and conceal the generous impulses of one’s soul; that +is, of your soul? I’m not speaking of my own.” +</p> +<p> +“How stupid it is … and quite unnecessary. Lebyadkin’s stupid and quite +worthless—and no use to the cause, and … utterly mischievous. Why do +you keep babbling all sorts of things? I’m going.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, what a pity!” cried Liputin with a candid smile, “or I’d have +amused you with another little story, Stepan Trofimovitch. I came, +indeed, on purpose to tell you, though I dare say you’ve heard it +already. Well, till another time, Alexey Nilitch is in such a hurry. +Good-bye for the present. The story concerns Varvara Petrovna. She +amused me the day before yesterday; she sent for me on purpose. It’s +simply killing. Good-bye.” +</p> +<p> +But at this Stepan Trofimovitch absolutely would not let him go. He +seized him by the shoulders, turned him sharply back into the room, and +sat him down in a chair. Liputin was positively scared. +</p> +<p> +“Why, to be sure,” he began, looking warily at Stepan Trofimovitch from +his chair, “she suddenly sent for me and asked me ‘confidentially’ my +private opinion, whether Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch is mad or in his right +mind. Isn’t that astonishing?” +</p> +<p> +“You’re out of your mind!” muttered Stepan Trofimovitch, and suddenly, +as though he were beside himself: “Liputin, you know perfectly well that +you only came here to tell me something insulting of that sort and … +something worse!” +</p> +<p> +In a flash, I recalled his conjecture that Liputin knew not only more +than we did about our affair, but something else which we should never +know. +</p> +<p> +“Upon my word, Stepan Trofimovitch,” muttered Liputin, seeming greatly +alarmed, “upon my word …” +</p> +<p> +“Hold your tongue and begin! I beg you, Mr. Kirillov, to come back too, +and be present. I earnestly beg you! Sit down, and you, Liputin, begin +directly, simply and without any excuses.” +</p> +<p> +“If I had only known it would upset you so much I wouldn’t have begun at +all. And of course I thought you knew all about it from Varvara Petrovna +herself.” +</p> +<p> +“You didn’t think that at all. Begin, begin, I tell you.” +</p> +<p> +“Only do me the favour to sit down yourself, or how can I sit here +when you are running about before me in such excitement. I can’t speak +coherently.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch restrained himself and sank impressively into an +easy chair. The engineer stared gloomily at the floor. Liputin looked at +them with intense enjoyment, +</p> +<p> +“How am I to begin?… I’m too overwhelmed.…” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VI +</p> +<p> +“The day before yesterday a servant was suddenly sent to me: ‘You are +asked to call at twelve o’clock,’ said he. Can you fancy such a thing? I +threw aside my work, and precisely at midday yesterday I was ringing at +the bell. I was let into the drawing room; I waited a minute—she came +in; she made me sit down and sat down herself, opposite. I sat down, and +I couldn’t believe it; you know how she has always treated me. She +began at once without beating about the bush, you know her way. ‘You +remember,’ she said, ‘that four years ago when Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +was ill he did some strange things which made all the town wonder +till the position was explained. One of those actions concerned you +personally. When Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch recovered he went at my request +to call on you. I know that he talked to you several times before, too. +Tell me openly and candidly what you … (she faltered a little at this +point) what you thought of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch then … what was your +view of him altogether … what idea you were able to form of him at that +time … and still have?’ +</p> +<p> +“Here she was completely confused, so that she paused for a whole +minute, and suddenly flushed. I was alarmed. She began again—touchingly +is not quite the word, it’s not applicable to her—but in a very +impressive tone: +</p> +<p> +“‘I want you,’ she said, ‘to understand me clearly and without mistake. +I’ve sent for you now because I look upon you as a keen-sighted and +quick-witted man, qualified to make accurate observations.’ (What +compliments!) ‘You’ll understand too,’ she said, ‘that I am a mother +appealing to you.… Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch has suffered some +calamities and has passed through many changes of fortune in his life. +All that,’ she said, ‘might well have affected the state of his mind. +I’m not speaking of madness, of course,’ she said, ‘that’s quite out +of the question!’ (This was uttered proudly and resolutely.) ‘But there +might be something strange, something peculiar, some turn of thought, a +tendency to some particular way of looking at things.’ (Those were her +exact words, and I admired, Stepan Trofimovitch, the exactness with +which Varvara Petrovna can put things. She’s a lady of superior +intellect!) ‘I have noticed in him, anyway,’ she said, ‘a perpetual +restlessness and a tendency to peculiar impulses. But I am a mother +and you are an impartial spectator, and therefore qualified with your +intelligence to form a more impartial opinion. I implore you, in fact’ +(yes, that word, ‘implore’ was uttered!), ‘to tell me the whole truth, +without mincing matters. And if you will give me your word never to +forget that I have spoken to you in confidence, you may reckon upon my +always being ready to seize every opportunity in the future to show my +gratitude.’ Well, what do you say to that?” +</p> +<p> +“You have … so amazed me …” faltered Stepan Trofimovitch, “that I +don’t believe you.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, observe, observe,” cried Liputin, as though he had not heard +Stepan Trofimovitch, “observe what must be her agitation and uneasiness +if she stoops from her grandeur to appeal to a man like me, and even +condescends to beg me to keep it secret. What do you call that? +Hasn’t she received some news of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, something +unexpected?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know … of news of any sort … I haven’t seen her for some +days, but … but I must say …” lisped Stepan Trofimovitch, evidently +hardly able to think clearly, “but I must say, Liputin, that if it +was said to you in confidence, and here you’re telling it before every +one …” +</p> +<p> +“Absolutely in confidence! But God strike me dead if I … But as for +telling it here … what does it matter? Are we strangers, even Alexey +Nilitch?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t share that attitude. No doubt we three here will keep the +secret, but I’m afraid of the fourth, you, and wouldn’t trust you in +anything.…” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by that? Why it’s more to my interest than anyone’s, +seeing I was promised eternal gratitude! What I wanted was to point +out in this connection one extremely strange incident, rather to +say, psychological than simply strange. Yesterday evening, under the +influence of my conversation with Varvara Petrovna—you can fancy +yourself what an impression it made on me—I approached Alexey Nilitch +with a discreet question: ‘You knew Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch abroad,’ +said I, ‘and used to know him before in Petersburg too. What do you +think of his mind and his abilities?’ said I. He answered laconically, +as his way is, that he was a man of subtle intellect and sound judgment. +‘And have you never noticed in the course of years,’ said I, ‘any +turn of ideas or peculiar way of looking at things, or any, so to say, +insanity?’ In fact, I repeated Varvara Petrovna’s own question. And +would you believe it, Alexey Nilitch suddenly grew thoughtful, and +scowled, just as he’s doing now. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘I have sometimes +thought there was something strange.’ Take note, too, that if anything +could have seemed strange even to Alexey Nilitch, it must really have +been something, mustn’t it?” +</p> +<p> +“Is that true?” said Stepan Trofimovitch, turning to Alexey Nilitch. +</p> +<p> +“I should prefer not to speak of it,” answered Alexey Nilitch, suddenly +raising his head, and looking at him with flashing eyes. “I wish to +contest your right to do this, Liputin. You’ve no right to drag me into +this. I did not give my whole opinion at all. Though I knew Nikolay +Stavrogin in Petersburg that was long ago, and though I’ve met him since +I know him very little. I beg you to leave me out and … All this is +something like scandal.” +</p> +<p> +Liputin threw up his hands with an air of oppressed innocence. +</p> +<p> +“A scandal-monger! Why not say a spy while you’re about it? It’s all +very well for you, Alexey Nilitch, to criticise when you stand aloof +from everything. But you wouldn’t believe it, Stepan Trofimovitch—take +Captain Lebyadkin, he is stupid enough, one may say … in fact, one’s +ashamed to say how stupid he is; there is a Russian comparison, to +signify the degree of it; and do you know he considers himself injured +by Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, though he is full of admiration for his wit. +‘I’m amazed,’ said he, ‘at that man. He’s a subtle serpent.’ His own +words. And I said to him (still under the influence of my conversation, +and after I had spoken to Alexey Nilitch), ‘What do you think, captain, +is your subtle serpent mad or not?’ Would you believe it, it was just as +if I’d given him a sudden lash from behind. He simply leapt up from his +seat. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘ … yes, only that,’ he said, ‘cannot affect …’ +‘Affect what?’ He didn’t finish. Yes, and then he fell to thinking so +bitterly, thinking so much, that his drunkenness dropped off him. We +were sitting in Filipov’s restaurant. And it wasn’t till half an hour +later that he suddenly struck the table with his fist. ‘Yes,’ said he, +‘maybe he’s mad, but that can’t affect it.…’ Again he didn’t say what +it couldn’t affect. Of course I’m only giving you an extract of the +conversation, but one can understand the sense of it. You may ask whom +you like, they all have the same idea in their heads, though it never +entered anyone’s head before. ‘Yes,’ they say, ‘he’s mad; he’s very +clever, but perhaps he’s mad too.’” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch sat pondering, and thought intently. +</p> +<p> +“And how does Lebyadkin know?” +</p> +<p> +“Do you mind inquiring about that of Alexey Nilitch, who has just called +me a spy? I’m a spy, yet I don’t know, but Alexey Nilitch knows all the +ins and outs of it, and holds his tongue.” +</p> +<p> +“I know nothing about it, or hardly anything,” answered the engineer +with the same irritation. “You make Lebyadkin drunk to find out. You +brought me here to find out and to make me say. And so you must be a +spy.” +</p> +<p> +“I haven’t made him drunk yet, and he’s not worth the money either, with +all his secrets. They are not worth that to me. I don’t know what they +are to you. On the contrary, he is scattering the money, though twelve +days ago he begged fifteen kopecks of me, and it’s he treats me to +champagne, not I him. But you’ve given me an idea, and if there should +be occasion I will make him drunk, just to get to the bottom of it and +maybe I shall find out … all your little secrets,” Liputin snapped back +spitefully. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch looked in bewilderment at the two disputants. Both +were giving themselves away, and what’s more, were not standing on +ceremony. The thought crossed my mind that Liputin had brought this +Alexey Nilitch to us with the simple object of drawing him into a +conversation through a third person for purposes of his own—his +favourite manœuvre. +</p> +<p> +“Alexey Nilitch knows Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch quite well,” he went on, +irritably, “only he conceals it. And as to your question about Captain +Lebyadkin, he made his acquaintance before any of us did, six years ago +in Petersburg, in that obscure, if one may so express it, epoch in the +life of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, before he had dreamed of rejoicing our +hearts by coming here. Our prince, one must conclude, surrounded himself +with rather a queer selection of acquaintances. It was at that time, it +seems, that he made acquaintance with this gentleman here.” +</p> +<p> +“Take care, Liputin. I warn you, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch meant to be +here soon himself, and he knows how to defend himself.” +</p> +<p> +“Why warn me? I am the first to cry out that he is a man of the most +subtle and refined intelligence, and I quite reassured Varvara Petrovna +yesterday on that score. ‘It’s his character,’ I said to her, ‘that I +can’t answer for.’ Lebyadkin said the same thing yesterday: ‘A lot of +harm has come to me from his character,’ he said. Stepan Trofimovitch, +it’s all very well for you to cry out about slander and spying, and at +the very time observe that you wring it all out of me, and with such +immense curiosity too. Now, Varvara Petrovna went straight to the point +yesterday. ‘You have had a personal interest in the business,’ she said, +‘that’s why I appeal to you.’ I should say so! What need to look for +motives when I’ve swallowed a personal insult from his excellency before +the whole society of the place. I should think I have grounds to be +interested, not merely for the sake of gossip. He shakes hands with +you one day, and next day, for no earthly reason, he returns your +hospitality by slapping you on the cheeks in the face of all decent +society, if the fancy takes him, out of sheer wantonness. And what’s +more, the fair sex is everything for them, these butterflies and +mettlesome cocks! Grand gentlemen with little wings like the ancient +cupids, lady-killing Petchorins! It’s all very well for you, Stepan +Trofimovitch, a confirmed bachelor, to talk like that, stick up for his +excellency and call me a slanderer. But if you married a pretty young +wife—as you’re still such a fine fellow—then I dare say you’d bolt +your door against our prince, and throw up barricades in your house! +Why, if only that Mademoiselle Lebyadkin, who is thrashed with a whip, +were not mad and bandy-legged, by Jove, I should fancy she was the +victim of the passions of our general, and that it was from him that +Captain Lebyadkin had suffered ‘in his family dignity,’ as he expresses +it himself. Only perhaps that is inconsistent with his refined taste, +though, indeed, even that’s no hindrance to him. Every berry is worth +picking if only he’s in the mood for it. You talk of slander, but I’m +not crying this aloud though the whole town is ringing with it; I only +listen and assent. That’s not prohibited.” +</p> +<p> +“The town’s ringing with it? What’s the town ringing with?” +</p> +<p> +“That is, Captain Lebyadkin is shouting for all the town to hear, and +isn’t that just the same as the market-place ringing with it? How am I +to blame? I interest myself in it only among friends, for, after all, +I consider myself among friends here.” He looked at us with an innocent +air. “Something’s happened, only consider: they say his excellency has +sent three hundred roubles from Switzerland by a most honourable young +lady, and, so to say, modest orphan, whom I have the honour of knowing, +to be handed over to Captain Lebyadkin. And Lebyadkin, a little later, +was told as an absolute fact also by a very honourable and therefore +trustworthy person, I won’t say whom, that not three hundred but a +thousand roubles had been sent!… And so, Lebyadkin keeps crying out +‘the young lady has grabbed seven hundred roubles belonging to me,’ and +he’s almost ready to call in the police; he threatens to, anyway, and +he’s making an uproar all over the town.” +</p> +<p> +“This is vile, vile of you!” cried the engineer, leaping up suddenly +from his chair. +</p> +<p> +“But I say, you are yourself the honourable person who brought word +to Lebyadkin from Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch that a thousand roubles were +sent, not three hundred. Why, the captain told me so himself when he was +drunk.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s … it’s an unhappy misunderstanding. Some one’s made a mistake and +it’s led to … It’s nonsense, and it’s base of you.” +</p> +<p> +“But I’m ready to believe that it’s nonsense, and I’m distressed at the +story, for, take it as you will, a girl of an honourable reputation +is implicated first over the seven hundred roubles, and secondly in +unmistakable intimacy with Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. For how much does it +mean to his excellency to disgrace a girl of good character, or put to +shame another man’s wife, like that incident with me? If he comes across +a generous-hearted man he’ll force him to cover the sins of others under +the shelter of his honourable name. That’s just what I had to put up +with, I’m speaking of myself.…” +</p> +<p> +“Be careful, Liputin.” Stepan Trofimovitch got up from his easy chair +and turned pale. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t believe it, don’t believe it! Somebody has made a mistake +and Lebyadkin’s drunk …” exclaimed the engineer in indescribable +excitement. “It will all be explained, but I can’t.… And I think it’s +low.… And that’s enough, enough!” +</p> +<p> +He ran out of the room. +</p> +<p> +“What are you about? Why, I’m going with you!” cried Liputin, startled. +He jumped up and ran after Alexey Nilitch. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VII +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch stood a moment reflecting, looked at me as though he +did not see me, took up his hat and stick and walked quietly out of +the room. I followed him again, as before. As we went out of the gate, +noticing that I was accompanying him, he said: +</p> +<p> +“Oh yes, you may serve as a witness … <i>de l’accident. Vous +m’accompagnerez, n’est-ce pas?</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch, surely you’re not going there again? Think what +may come of it!” +</p> +<p> +With a pitiful and distracted smile, a smile of shame and utter despair, +and at the same time of a sort of strange ecstasy, he whispered to me, +standing still for an instant: +</p> +<p> +“I can’t marry to cover ‘another man’s sins’!” +</p> +<p> +These words were just what I was expecting. At last that fatal sentence +that he had kept hidden from me was uttered aloud, after a whole week of +shuffling and pretence. I was positively enraged. +</p> +<p> +“And you, Stepan Verhovensky, with your luminous mind, your kind heart, +can harbour such a dirty, such a low idea … and could before Liputin +came!” +</p> +<p> +He looked at me, made no answer and walked on in the same direction. +I did not want to be left behind. I wanted to give Varvara Petrovna my +version. I could have forgiven him if he had simply with his womanish +faint-heartedness believed Liputin, but now it was clear that he +had thought of it all himself long before, and that Liputin had only +confirmed his suspicions and poured oil on the flames. He had not +hesitated to suspect the girl from the very first day, before he had any +kind of grounds, even Liputin’s words, to go upon. Varvara Petrovna’s +despotic behaviour he had explained to himself as due to her haste +to cover up the aristocratic misdoings of her precious “Nicolas” by +marrying the girl to an honourable man! I longed for him to be punished +for it. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Oh, Dieu, qui est si grand et si bon!</i> Oh, who will comfort me!” he +exclaimed, halting suddenly again, after walking a hundred paces. +</p> +<p> +“Come straight home and I’ll make everything clear to you,” I cried, +turning him by force towards home. +</p> +<p> +“It’s he! Stepan Trofimovitch, it’s you? You?” A fresh, joyous young +voice rang out like music behind us. +</p> +<p> +We had seen nothing, but a lady on horseback suddenly made her +appearance beside us—Lizaveta Nikolaevna with her invariable companion. +She pulled up her horse. +</p> +<p> +“Come here, come here quickly!” she called to us, loudly and merrily. +“It’s twelve years since I’ve seen him, and I know him, while he.… Do +you really not know me?” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch clasped the hand held out to him and kissed it +reverently. He gazed at her as though he were praying and could not +utter a word. +</p> +<p> +“He knows me, and is glad! Mavriky Nikolaevitch, he’s delighted to see +me! Why is it you haven’t been to see us all this fortnight? Auntie +tried to persuade me you were ill and must not be disturbed; but I know +Auntie tells lies. I kept stamping and swearing at you, but I had made +up my mind, quite made up my mind, that you should come to me first, +that was why I didn’t send to you. Heavens, why he hasn’t changed a +bit!” She scrutinised him, bending down from the saddle. “He’s absurdly +unchanged. Oh, yes, he has wrinkles, a lot of wrinkles, round his eyes +and on his cheeks some grey hair, but his eyes are just the same. And +have I changed? Have I changed? Why don’t you say something?” +</p> +<p> +I remembered at that moment the story that she had been almost ill when +she was taken away to Petersburg at eleven years old, and that she had +cried during her illness and asked for Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“You … I …” he faltered now in a voice breaking with joy. “I was just +crying out ‘who will comfort me?’ and I heard your voice. I look on it +as a miracle <i>et je commence à croire</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>En Dieu! En Dieu qui est là-haut et qui est si grand et si bon!</i> You +see, I know all your lectures by heart. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, what faith +he used to preach to me then, <i>en Dieu qui est si grand et si bon!</i> And do +you remember your story of how Columbus discovered America, and they +all cried out, ‘Land! land!’? My nurse Alyona Frolovna says I was +light-headed at night afterwards, and kept crying out ‘land! land!’ +in my sleep. And do you remember how you told me the story of Prince +Hamlet? And do you remember how you described to me how the poor +emigrants were transported from Europe to America? And it was all +untrue; I found out afterwards how they were transited. But what +beautiful fibs he used to tell me then, Mavriky Nikolaevitch! They were +better than the truth. Why do you look at Mavriky Nikolaevitch like +that? He is the best and finest man on the face of the globe and you must +like him just as you do me! <i>Il fait tout ce que je veux.</i> But, dear Stepan +Trofimovitch, you must be unhappy again, since you cry out in the middle +of the street asking who will comfort you. Unhappy, aren’t you? Aren’t +you?” +</p> +<p> +“Now I’m happy.…” +</p> +<p> +“Aunt is horrid to you?” she went on, without listening. “She’s just the +same as ever, cross, unjust, and always our precious aunt! And do +you remember how you threw yourself into my arms in the garden and I +comforted you and cried—don’t be afraid of Mavriky Nikolaevitch; he has +known all about you, everything, for ever so long; you can weep on his +shoulder as long as you like, and he’ll stand there as long as you like! +… Lift up your hat, take it off altogether for a minute, lift up your +head, stand on tiptoe, I want to kiss you on the forehead as I kissed +you for the last time when we parted. Do you see that young lady’s +admiring us out of the window? Come closer, closer! Heavens! How grey he +is!” +</p> +<p> +And bending over in the saddle she kissed him on the forehead. +</p> +<p> +“Come, now to your home! I know where you live. I’ll be with you +directly, in a minute. I’ll make you the first visit, you stubborn man, +and then I must have you for a whole day at home. You can go and make +ready for me.” +</p> +<p> +And she galloped off with her cavalier. We returned. Stepan Trofimovitch +sat down on the sofa and began to cry. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Dieu, Dieu.”</i> he exclaimed, <i>“enfin une minute de bonheur!”</i> +</p> +<p> +Not more than ten minutes afterwards she reappeared according to her +promise, escorted by her Mavriky Nikolaevitch. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Vous et le bonheur, vous arrivez en même temps!”</i> He got up to meet her. +</p> +<p> +“Here’s a nosegay for you; I rode just now to Madame Chevalier’s, she +has flowers all the winter for name-days. Here’s Mavriky Nikolaevitch, +please make friends. I wanted to bring you a cake instead of a nosegay, +but Mavriky Nikolaevitch declares that is not in the Russian spirit.” +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch was an artillery captain, a tall and handsome man +of thirty-three, irreproachably correct in appearance, with an imposing +and at first sight almost stern countenance, in spite of his wonderful +and delicate kindness which no one could fail to perceive almost the +first moment of making his acquaintance. He was taciturn, however, +seemed very self-possessed and made no efforts to gain friends. Many +of us said later that he was by no means clever; but this was not +altogether just. +</p> +<p> +I won’t attempt to describe the beauty of Lizaveta Nikolaevna. The +whole town was talking of it, though some of our ladies and young girls +indignantly differed on the subject. There were some among them who +already detested her, and principally for her pride. The Drozdovs had +scarcely begun to pay calls, which mortified them, though the real +reason for the delay was Praskovya Ivanovna’s invalid state. They +detested her in the second place because she was a relative of +the governor’s wife, and thirdly because she rode out every day on +horseback. We had never had young ladies who rode on horseback before; +it was only natural that the appearance of Lizaveta Nikolaevna on +horseback and her neglect to pay calls was bound to offend local +society. Yet every one knew that riding was prescribed her by the +doctor’s orders, and they talked sarcastically of her illness. She +really was ill. What struck me at first sight in her was her abnormal, +nervous, incessant restlessness. Alas, the poor girl was very unhappy, +and everything was explained later. To-day, recalling the past, I should +not say she was such a beauty as she seemed to me then. Perhaps she was +really not pretty at all. Tall, slim, but strong and supple, she struck +one by the irregularities of the lines of her face. Her eyes were set +somewhat like a Kalmuck’s, slanting; she was pale and thin in the +face with high cheek-bones, but there was something in the face that +conquered and fascinated! There was something powerful in the ardent +glance of her dark eyes. She always made her appearance “like a +conquering heroine, and to spread her conquests.” She seemed proud and +at times even arrogant. I don’t know whether she succeeded in being +kind, but I know that she wanted to, and made terrible efforts to force +herself to be a little kind. There were, no doubt, many fine impulses +and the very best elements in her character, but everything in her +seemed perpetually seeking its balance and unable to find it; everything +was in chaos, in agitation, in uneasiness. Perhaps the demands she made +upon herself were too severe, and she was never able to find in herself +the strength to satisfy them. +</p> +<p> +She sat on the sofa and looked round the room. +</p> +<p> +“Why do I always begin to feel sad at such moments; explain that +mystery, you learned person? I’ve been thinking all my life that +I should be goodness knows how pleased at seeing you and recalling +everything, and here I somehow don’t feel pleased at all, although I do +love you.… Ach, heavens! He has my portrait on the wall! Give it here. +I remember it! I remember it!” +</p> +<p> +An exquisite miniature in water-colour of Liza at twelve years old had +been sent nine years before to Stepan Trofimovitch from Petersburg by +the Drozdovs. He had kept it hanging on his wall ever since. +</p> +<p> +“Was I such a pretty child? Can that really have been my face?” +</p> +<p> +She stood up, and with the portrait in her hand looked in the +looking-glass. +</p> +<p> +“Make haste, take it!” she cried, giving back the portrait. “Don’t hang +it up now, afterwards. I don’t want to look at it.” +</p> +<p> +She sat down on the sofa again. “One life is over and another is begun, +then that one is over—a third begins, and so on, endlessly. All the +ends are snipped off as it were with scissors. See what stale things I’m +telling you. Yet how much truth there is in them!” +</p> +<p> +She looked at me, smiling; she had glanced at me several times already, +but in his excitement Stepan Trofimovitch forgot that he had promised +to introduce me. +</p> +<p> +“And why have you hung my portrait under those daggers? And why have you +got so many daggers and sabres?” +</p> +<p> +He had as a fact hanging on the wall, I don’t know why, two crossed +daggers and above them a genuine Circassian sabre. As she asked this +question she looked so directly at me that I wanted to answer, but +hesitated to speak. Stepan Trofimovitch grasped the position at last and +introduced me. +</p> +<p> +“I know, I know,” she said, “I’m delighted to meet you. Mother has +heard a great deal about you, too. Let me introduce you to Mavriky +Nikolaevitch too, he’s a splendid person. I had formed a funny notion of +you already. You’re Stepan Trofimovitch’s confidant, aren’t you?” +</p> +<p> +I turned rather red. +</p> +<p> +“Ach, forgive me, please. I used quite the wrong word: not funny at all, +but only …” She was confused and blushed. “Why be ashamed though at +your being a splendid person? Well, it’s time we were going, Mavriky +Nikolaevitch! Stepan Trofimovitch, you must be with us in half an hour. +Mercy, what a lot we shall talk! Now I’m your confidante, and about +everything, <i>everything,</i> you understand?” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch was alarmed at once. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Mavriky Nikolaevitch knows everything, don’t mind him!” +</p> +<p> +“What does he know?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, what do you mean?” she cried in astonishment. “Bah, why it’s true +then that they’re hiding it! I wouldn’t believe it! And they’re hiding +Dasha, too. Aunt wouldn’t let me go in to see Dasha to-day. She says +she’s got a headache.” +</p> +<p> +“But … but how did you find out?” +</p> +<p> +“My goodness, like every one else. That needs no cunning!” +</p> +<p> +“But does every one else …?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, of course. Mother, it’s true, heard it first through Alyona +Frolovna, my nurse; your Nastasya ran round to tell her. You told +Nastasya, didn’t you? She says you told her yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“I … I did once speak,” Stepan Trofimovitch faltered, crimsoning all +over, “but … I only hinted … <i>j’étais si nerveux et malade, et +puis</i> …” +</p> +<p> +She laughed. +</p> +<p> +“And your confidant didn’t happen to be at hand, and Nastasya turned up. +Well that was enough! And the whole town’s full of her cronies! Come, it +doesn’t matter, let them know; it’s all the better. Make haste and come +to us, we dine early.… Oh, I forgot,” she added, sitting down again; +“listen, what sort of person is Shatov?” +</p> +<p> +“Shatov? He’s the brother of Darya Pavlovna.” +</p> +<p> +“I know he’s her brother! What a person you are, really,” she +interrupted impatiently. “I want to know what he’s like; what sort of +man he is.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“C’est un pense-creux d’ici. C’est le meilleur et le plus irascible +homme du monde.”</i> +</p> +<p> +“I’ve heard that he’s rather queer. But that wasn’t what I meant. I’ve +heard that he knows three languages, one of them English, and can do +literary work. In that case I’ve a lot of work for him. I want someone +to help me and the sooner the better. Would he take the work or not? +He’s been recommended to me.…” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, most certainly he will. <i>Et vous ferez un bienfait</i>.…” +</p> +<p> +“I’m not doing it as a <i>bienfait</i>. I need someone to help me.” +</p> +<p> +“I know Shatov pretty well,” I said, “and if you will trust me with a +message to him I’ll go to him this minute.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell him to come to me at twelve o’clock to-morrow morning. Capital! +Thank you. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, are you ready?” +</p> +<p> +They went away. I ran at once, of course, to Shatov. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mon ami!”</i> said Stepan Trofimovitch, overtaking me on the steps. “Be +sure to be at my lodging at ten or eleven o’clock when I come back. Oh, +I’ve acted very wrongly in my conduct to you and to every one.” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VIII +</p> +<p> +I did not find Shatov at home. I ran round again, two hours later. He +was still out. At last, at eight o’clock I went to him again, meaning +to leave a note if I did not find him; again I failed to find him. His +lodging was shut up, and he lived alone without a servant of any sort. +I did think of knocking at Captain Lebyadkin’s down below to ask about +Shatov; but it was all shut up below, too, and there was no sound or +light as though the place were empty. I passed by Lebyadkin’s door with +curiosity, remembering the stories I had heard that day. Finally, I made +up my mind to come very early next morning. To tell the truth I did not +put much confidence in the effect of a note. Shatov might take no notice +of it; he was so obstinate and shy. Cursing my want of success, I was +going out of the gate when all at once I stumbled on Mr. Kirillov. +He was going into the house and he recognised me first. As he began +questioning me of himself, I told him how things were, and that I had a +note. +</p> +<p> +“Let us go in,” said he, “I will do everything.” +</p> +<p> +I remembered that Liputin had told us he had taken the wooden lodge in +the yard that morning. In the lodge, which was too large for him, a deaf +old woman who waited upon him was living too. The owner of the house had +moved into a new house in another street, where he kept a restaurant, +and this old woman, a relation of his, I believe, was left behind to +look after everything in the old house. The rooms in the lodge were +fairly clean, though the wall-papers were dirty. In the one we went into +the furniture was of different sorts, picked up here and there, and all +utterly worthless. There were two card-tables, a chest of drawers made +of elder, a big deal table that must have come from some peasant hut +or kitchen, chairs and a sofa with trellis-work back and hard leather +cushions. In one corner there was an old-fashioned ikon, in front of +which the old woman had lighted a lamp before we came in, and on the +walls hung two dingy oil-paintings, one, a portrait of the Tsar Nikolas +I, painted apparently between 1820 and 1830; the other the portrait of +some bishop. Mr. Kirillov lighted a candle and took out of his trunk, +which stood not yet unpacked in a corner, an envelope, sealing-wax, and +a glass seal. +</p> +<p> +“Seal your note and address the envelope.” +</p> +<p> +I would have objected that this was unnecessary, but he insisted. When I +had addressed the envelope I took my cap. +</p> +<p> +“I was thinking you’d have tea,” he said. “I have bought tea. Will you?” +</p> +<p> +I could not refuse. The old woman soon brought in the tea, that is, a +very large tea-pot of boiling water, a little tea-pot full of strong +tea, two large earthenware cups, coarsely decorated, a fancy loaf, and a +whole deep saucer of lump sugar. +</p> +<p> +“I love tea at night,” said he. “I walk much and drink it till daybreak. +Abroad tea at night is inconvenient.” +</p> +<p> +“You go to bed at daybreak?” +</p> +<p> +“Always; for a long while. I eat little; always tea. Liputin’s sly, but +impatient.” +</p> +<p> +I was surprised at his wanting to talk; I made up my mind to take +advantage of the opportunity. “There were unpleasant misunderstandings +this morning,” I observed. +</p> +<p> +He scowled. +</p> +<p> +“That’s foolishness; that’s great nonsense. All this is nonsense because +Lebyadkin is drunk. I did not tell Liputin, but only explained the +nonsense, because he got it all wrong. Liputin has a great deal of +fantasy, he built up a mountain out of nonsense. I trusted Liputin +yesterday.” +</p> +<p> +“And me to-day?” I said, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“But you see, you knew all about it already this morning; Liputin is +weak or impatient, or malicious or … he’s envious.” +</p> +<p> +The last word struck me. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve mentioned so many adjectives, however, that it would be strange +if one didn’t describe him.” +</p> +<p> +“Or all at once.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and that’s what Liputin really is—he’s a chaos. He was lying this +morning when he said you were writing something, wasn’t he? +</p> +<p> +“Why should he?” he said, scowling again and staring at the floor. +</p> +<p> +I apologised, and began assuring him that I was not inquisitive. He +flushed. +</p> +<p> +“He told the truth; I am writing. Only that’s no matter.” +</p> +<p> +We were silent for a minute. He suddenly smiled with the childlike smile +I had noticed that morning. +</p> +<p> +“He invented that about heads himself out of a book, and told me first +himself, and understands badly. But I only seek the causes why men dare +not kill themselves; that’s all. And it’s all no matter.” +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean they don’t dare? Are there so few suicides?” +</p> +<p> +“Very few.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you really think so?” +</p> +<p> +He made no answer, got up, and began walking to and fro lost in thought. +</p> +<p> +“What is it restrains people from suicide, do you think?” I asked. +</p> +<p> +He looked at me absent-mindedly, as though trying to remember what we +were talking about. +</p> +<p> +“I … I don’t know much yet.… Two prejudices restrain them, two +things; only two, one very little, the other very big.” +</p> +<p> +“What is the little thing?” +</p> +<p> +“Pain.” +</p> +<p> +“Pain? Can that be of importance at such a moment?” +</p> +<p> +“Of the greatest. There are two sorts: those who kill themselves either +from great sorrow or from spite, or being mad, or no matter what … +they do it suddenly. They think little about the pain, but kill +themselves suddenly. But some do it from reason—they think a great +deal.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, are there people who do it from reason?” +</p> +<p> +“Very many. If it were not for superstition there would be more, very +many, all.” +</p> +<p> +“What, all?” +</p> +<p> +He did not answer. +</p> +<p> +“But aren’t there means of dying without pain?” +</p> +<p> +“Imagine”—he stopped before me—“imagine a stone as big as a great +house; it hangs and you are under it; if it falls on you, on your head, +will it hurt you?” +</p> +<p> +“A stone as big as a house? Of course it would be fearful.” +</p> +<p> +“I speak not of the fear. Will it hurt?” +</p> +<p> +“A stone as big as a mountain, weighing millions of tons? Of course it +wouldn’t hurt.” +</p> +<p> +“But really stand there and while it hangs you will fear very much that +it will hurt. The most learned man, the greatest doctor, all, all will +be very much frightened. Every one will know that it won’t hurt, and +every one will be afraid that it will hurt.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, and the second cause, the big one?” +</p> +<p> +“The other world!” +</p> +<p> +“You mean punishment?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s no matter. The other world; only the other world.” +</p> +<p> +“Are there no atheists, such as don’t believe in the other world at +all?” +</p> +<p> +Again he did not answer. +</p> +<p> +“You judge from yourself, perhaps.” +</p> +<p> +“Every one cannot judge except from himself,” he said, reddening. “There +will be full freedom when it will be just the same to live or not to +live. That’s the goal for all.” +</p> +<p> +“The goal? But perhaps no one will care to live then?” +</p> +<p> +“No one,” he pronounced with decision. +</p> +<p> +“Man fears death because he loves life. That’s how I understand it,” I +observed, “and that’s determined by nature.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s abject; and that’s where the deception comes in.” His eyes +flashed. “Life is pain, life is terror, and man is unhappy. Now all is +pain and terror. Now man loves life, because he loves pain and terror, +and so they have done according. Life is given now for pain and terror, +and that’s the deception. Now man is not yet what he will be. There will +be a new man, happy and proud. For whom it will be the same to live or +not to live, he will be the new man. He who will conquer pain and terror +will himself be a god. And this God will not be.” +</p> +<p> +“Then this God does exist according to you?” +</p> +<p> +“He does not exist, but He is. In the stone there is no pain, but in the +fear of the stone is the pain. God is the pain of the fear of death. He +who will conquer pain and terror will become himself a god. Then there +will be a new life, a new man; everything will be new … then they will +divide history into two parts: from the gorilla to the annihilation of +God, and from the annihilation of God to …” +</p> +<p> +“To the gorilla?” +</p> +<p> +“… To the transformation of the earth, and of man physically. Man +will be God, and will be transformed physically, and the world will +be transformed and things will be transformed and thoughts and all +feelings. What do you think: will man be changed physically then?” +</p> +<p> +“If it will be just the same living or not living, all will kill +themselves, and perhaps that’s what the change will be?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s no matter. They will kill deception. Every one who wants the +supreme freedom must dare to kill himself. He who dares to kill himself +has found out the secret of the deception. There is no freedom beyond; +that is all, and there is nothing beyond. He who dares kill himself is +God. Now every one can do so that there shall be no God and shall be +nothing. But no one has once done it yet.” +</p> +<p> +“There have been millions of suicides.” +</p> +<p> +“But always not for that; always with terror and not for that object. +Not to kill fear. He who kills himself only to kill fear will become a +god at once.” +</p> +<p> +“He won’t have time, perhaps,” I observed. +</p> +<p> +“That’s no matter,” he answered softly, with calm pride, almost disdain. +“I’m sorry that you seem to be laughing,” he added half a minute later. +</p> +<p> +“It seems strange to me that you were so irritable this morning and are +now so calm, though you speak with warmth.” +</p> +<p> +“This morning? It was funny this morning,” he answered with a smile. “I +don’t like scolding, and I never laugh,” he added mournfully. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, you don’t spend your nights very cheerfully over your tea.” +</p> +<p> +I got up and took my cap. +</p> +<p> +“You think not?” he smiled with some surprise. “Why? No, I … I don’t +know.” He was suddenly confused. “I know not how it is with the others, +and I feel that I cannot do as others. Everybody thinks and then at once +thinks of something else. I can’t think of something else. I think all +my life of one thing. God has tormented me all my life,” he ended up +suddenly with astonishing expansiveness. +</p> +<p> +“And tell me, if I may ask, why is it you speak Russian not quite +correctly? Surely you haven’t forgotten it after five years abroad?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t I speak correctly? I don’t know. No, it’s not because of abroad. +I have talked like that all my life … it’s no matter to me.” +</p> +<p> +“Another question, a more delicate one. I quite believe you that you’re +disinclined to meet people and talk very little. Why have you talked to +me now?” +</p> +<p> +“To you? This morning you sat so nicely and you … but it’s all no +matter … you are like my brother, very much, extremely,” he added, +flushing. “He has been dead seven years. He was older, very, very much.” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose he had a great influence on your way of thinking?” +</p> +<p> +“N-no. He said little; he said nothing. I’ll give your note.” +</p> +<p> +He saw me to the gate with a lantern, to lock it after me. “Of course +he’s mad,” I decided. In the gateway I met with another encounter. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IX +</p> +<p> +I had only just lifted my leg over the high barrier across the bottom of +the gateway, when suddenly a strong hand clutched at my chest. +</p> +<p> +“Who’s this?” roared a voice, “a friend or an enemy? Own up!” +</p> +<p> +“He’s one of us; one of us!” Liputin’s voice squealed near by. “It’s Mr. +G——v, a young man of classical education, in touch with the highest +society.” +</p> +<p> +“I love him if he’s in society, clas-si … that means he’s high-ly +ed-u-cated. The retired Captain Ignat Lebyadkin, at the service of the +world and his friends … if they’re true ones, if they’re true ones, the +scoundrels.” +</p> +<p> +Captain Lebyadkin, a stout, fleshy man over six feet in height, with +curly hair and a red face, was so extremely drunk that he could scarcely +stand up before me, and articulated with difficulty. I had seen him +before, however, in the distance. +</p> +<p> +“And this one!” he roared again, noticing Kirillov, who was still +standing with the lantern; he raised his fist, but let it fall again at +once. +</p> +<p> +“I forgive you for your learning! Ignat Lebyadkin—high-ly +ed-u-cated.… +</p> +<pre> + ‘A bomb of love with stinging smart + Exploded in Ignaty’s heart. + In anguish dire I weep again + The arm that at Sevastopol + I lost in bitter pain!’ +</pre> +<p> +Not that I ever was at Sevastopol, or ever lost my arm, but you know +what rhyme is.” He pushed up to me with his ugly, tipsy face. +</p> +<p> +“He is in a hurry, he is going home!” Liputin tried to persuade him. +“He’ll tell Lizaveta Nikolaevna to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“Lizaveta!” he yelled again. “Stay, don’t go! +A variation: +</p> +<pre> + ‘Among the Amazons a star, + Upon her steed she flashes by, + And smiles upon me from afar, + The child of aris-to-cra-cy!’ + To a Starry Amazon. +</pre> +<p> +You know that’s a hymn. It’s a hymn, if you’re not an ass! The duffers, +they don’t understand! Stay!” +</p> +<p> +He caught hold of my coat, though I pulled myself away with all my +might. +</p> +<p> +“Tell her I’m a knight and the soul of honour, and as for that Dasha … +I’d pick her up and chuck her out.… She’s only a serf, she daren’t …” +</p> +<p> +At this point he fell down, for I pulled myself violently out of his +hands and ran into the street. Liputin clung on to me. +</p> +<p> +“Alexey Nilitch will pick him up. Do you know what I’ve just found out +from him?” he babbled in desperate haste. “Did you hear his verses? He’s +sealed those verses to the ‘Starry Amazon’ in an envelope and is going +to send them to-morrow to Lizaveta Nikolaevna, signed with his name in +full. What a fellow!” +</p> +<p> +“I bet you suggested it to him yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ll lose your bet,” laughed Liputin. “He’s in love, in love like a +cat, and do you know it began with hatred. He hated Lizaveta Nikolaevna +at first so much, for riding on horseback that he almost swore aloud at +her in the street. Yes, he did abuse her! Only the day before yesterday +he swore at her when she rode by—luckily she didn’t hear. And, +suddenly, to-day—poetry! Do you know he means to risk a proposal? +Seriously! Seriously!” +</p> +<p> +“I wonder at you, Liputin; whenever there’s anything nasty going on +you’re always on the spot taking a leading part in it,” I said angrily. +</p> +<p> +“You’re going rather far, Mr. G——v. Isn’t your poor little +heart quaking, perhaps, in terror of a rival?” +</p> +<p> +“Wha-at!” I cried, standing still. +</p> +<p> +“Well, now to punish you I won’t say anything more, and wouldn’t you +like to know though? Take this alone, that that lout is not a simple +captain now but a landowner of our province, and rather an important +one, too, for Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sold him all his estate the other +day, formerly of two hundred serfs; and as God’s above, I’m not lying. +I’ve only just heard it, but it was from a most reliable source. And now +you can ferret it out for yourself; I’ll say nothing more; good-bye.” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +X +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch was awaiting me with hysterical impatience. It +was an hour since he had returned. I found him in a state resembling +intoxication; for the first five minutes at least I thought he was +drunk. Alas, the visit to the Drozdovs had been the finishing-stroke. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Mon ami!</i> I have completely lost the thread … Lise … I love and +respect that angel as before; just as before; but it seems to me they +both asked me simply to find out something from me, that is more simply +to get something out of me, and then to get rid of me.… That’s how it +is.” +</p> +<p> +“You ought to be ashamed!” I couldn’t help exclaiming. +</p> +<p> +“My friend, now I +am utterly alone. <i>Enfin, c’est ridicule.</i> Would you believe it, the place +is positively packed with mysteries there too. They simply flew at me +about those ears and noses, and some mysteries in Petersburg too. You +know they hadn’t heard till they came about the tricks Nicolas played +here four years ago. ‘You were here, you saw it, is it true that he is +mad?’ Where they got the idea I can’t make out. Why is it that Praskovya +is so anxious Nicolas should be mad? The woman will have it so, she +will. <i>Ce Maurice,</i> or what’s his name, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, <i>brave homme +tout de même … </i> but can it be for his sake, and after she wrote herself +from Paris to <i>cette pauvre amie?… Enfin,</i> this Praskovya, as <i>cette +chère amie</i> calls her, is a type. She’s Gogol’s Madame Box, of immortal +memory, only she’s a spiteful Madame Box, a malignant Box, and in an +immensely exaggerated form.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s making her out a regular packing-case if it’s an exaggerated +form.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, perhaps it’s the opposite; it’s all the same, only don’t +interrupt me, for I’m all in a whirl. They are all at loggerheads, +except Lise, she keeps on with her ‘Auntie, auntie!’ but Lise’s sly, and +there’s something behind it too. Secrets. She has quarrelled with the +old lady. <i>Cette pauvre</i> auntie tyrannises over every one it’s true, and +then there’s the governor’s wife, and the rudeness of local society, and +Karmazinov’s ‘rudeness’; and then this idea of madness, <i>ce Lipoutine, +ce que je ne comprends pas</i> … and … and they say she’s been putting +vinegar on her head, and here are we with our complaints and +letters.… Oh, how I have tormented her and at such a time! <i>Je suis un +ingrat!</i> Only imagine, I come back and find a letter from her; read it, +read it! Oh, how ungrateful it was of me!” +</p> +<p> +He gave me a letter he had just received from Varvara Petrovna. She +seemed to have repented of her “stay at home.” The letter was amiable +but decided in tone, and brief. She invited Stepan Trofimovitch to come +to her the day after to-morrow, which was Sunday, at twelve o’clock, and +advised him to bring one of his friends with him. (My name was mentioned +in parenthesis). She promised on her side to invite Shatov, as the +brother of Darya Pavlovna. “You can obtain a final answer from her: will +that be enough for you? Is this the formality you were so anxious for?” +</p> +<p> +“Observe that irritable phrase about formality. Poor thing, poor thing, +the friend of my whole life! I confess the sudden determination of my +whole future almost crushed me.… I confess I still had hopes, but now +<i>tout est dit.</i> I know now that all is over. <i>C’est terrible!</i> Oh, that +that Sunday would never come and everything would go on in the old way. +You would have gone on coming and I’d have gone on here.…” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve been upset by all those nasty things Liputin said, those +slanders.” +</p> +<p> +“My dear, you have touched on another sore spot with your friendly +finger. Such friendly fingers are generally merciless and sometimes +unreasonable; <i>pardon,</i> you may not believe it, but I’d almost forgotten +all that, all that nastiness, not that I forgot it, indeed, but in +my foolishness I tried all the while I was with Lise to be happy and +persuaded myself I was happy. But now … Oh, now I’m thinking of +that generous, humane woman, so long-suffering with my contemptible +failings—not that she’s been altogether long-suffering, but what have +I been with my horrid, worthless character! I’m a capricious child, with +all the egoism of a child and none of the innocence. For the last twenty +years she’s been looking after me like a nurse, <i>cette pauvre</i> auntie, as +Lise so charmingly calls her.… And now, after twenty years, the child +clamours to be married, sending letter after letter, while her head’s +in a vinegar-compress and … now he’s got it—on Sunday I shall be a +married man, that’s no joke.… And why did I keep insisting myself, +what did I write those letters for? Oh, I forgot. Lise idolizes Darya +Pavlovna, she says so anyway; she says of her ‘<i>c’est un ange,</i> only +rather a reserved one.’ They both advised me, even Praskovya. … +Praskovya didn’t advise me though. Oh, what venom lies concealed in +that ‘Box’! And Lise didn’t exactly advise me: ‘What do you want to get +married for,’ she said, ‘your intellectual pleasures ought to be enough +for you.’ She laughed. I forgive her for laughing, for there’s an ache +in her own heart. You can’t get on without a woman though, they said to +me. The infirmities of age are coming upon you, and she will tuck you +up, or whatever it is.… <i>Ma foi,</i> I’ve been thinking myself all this +time I’ve been sitting with you that Providence was sending her to me +in the decline of my stormy years and that she would tuck me up, or +whatever they call it … <i>enfin,</i> she’ll be handy for the housekeeping. +See what a litter there is, look how everything’s lying about. I said it +must be cleared up this morning, and look at the book on the floor! <i>La +pauvre amie</i> was always angry at the untidiness here. … Ah, now I shall +no longer hear her voice! <i>Vingt ans!</i> And it seems they’ve had anonymous +letters. Only fancy, it’s said that Nicolas has sold Lebyadkin his +property. <i>C’est un monstre; et enfin</i> what is Lebyadkin? Lise listens, +and listens, ooh, how she listens! I forgave her laughing. I saw her +face as she listened, and <i>ce Maurice </i>… I shouldn’t care to be in his +shoes now, <i>brave homme tout de même,</i> but rather shy; but never mind +him.…” +</p> +<p> +He paused. He was tired and upset, and sat with drooping head, staring +at the floor with his tired eyes. I took advantage of the interval to +tell him of my visit to Filipov’s house, and curtly and dryly expressed +my opinion that Lebyadkin’s sister (whom I had never seen) really +might have been somehow victimised by Nicolas at some time during that +mysterious period of his life, as Liputin had called it, and that it +was very possible that Lebyadkin received sums of money from Nicolas for +some reason, but that was all. As for the scandal about Darya Pavlovna, +that was all nonsense, all that brute Liputin’s misrepresentations, that +this was anyway what Alexey Nilitch warmly maintained, and we had +no grounds for disbelieving him. Stepan Trofimovitch listened to my +assurances with an absent air, as though they did not concern him. I +mentioned by the way my conversation with Kirillov, and added that he +might be mad. +</p> +<p> +“He’s not mad, but one of those shallow-minded people,” he mumbled +listlessly. “<i>Ces gens-là supposent la nature et la societé humaine +autres que Dieu ne les a faites et qu’elles ne sont réellement.</i> People +try to make up to them, but Stepan Verhovensky does not, anyway. I saw +them that time in Petersburg <i>avec cette chère amie</i> (oh, how I used to +wound her then), and I wasn’t afraid of their abuse or even of their +praise. I’m not afraid now either. <i>Mais parlons d’autre chose.</i>… +I believe I have done dreadful things. Only fancy, I sent a letter +yesterday to Darya Pavlovna and … how I curse myself for it!” +</p> +<p> +“What did you write about?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, my friend, believe me, it was all done in a noble spirit. I let +her know that I had written to Nicolas five days before, also in a noble +spirit.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand now!” I cried with heat. “And what right had you to couple +their names like that?” +</p> +<p> +“But, <i>mon cher,</i> don’t crush me completely, don’t shout at me; as it is +I’m utterly squashed like … a black-beetle. And, after all, I thought +it was all so honourable. Suppose that something really happened … +<i>en Suisse</i> … or was beginning. I was bound to question their hearts +beforehand that I … <i>enfin,</i> that I might not constrain their hearts, +and be a stumbling-block in their paths. I acted simply from honourable +feeling.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, heavens! What a stupid thing you’ve done!” I cried involuntarily. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes,” he assented with positive eagerness. “You have never said +anything more just, <i>c’était bête, mais que faire? Tout est dit.</i> I shall +marry her just the same even if it be to cover ‘another’s sins.’ So +there was no object in writing, was there?” +</p> +<p> +“You’re at that idea again!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you won’t frighten me with your shouts now. You see a different +Stepan Verhovensky before you now. The man I was is buried. <i>Enfin, +tout est dit.</i> And why do you cry out? Simply because you’re not getting +married, and you won’t have to wear a certain decoration on your head. +Does that shock you again? My poor friend, you don’t know woman, while +I have done nothing but study her. ‘If you want to conquer the world, +conquer yourself’—the one good thing that another romantic like you, my +bride’s brother, Shatov, has succeeded in saying. I would gladly borrow +from him his phrase. Well, here I am ready to conquer myself, and I’m +getting married. And what am I conquering by way of the whole world? +Oh, my friend, marriage is the moral death of every proud soul, of all +independence. Married life will corrupt me, it will sap my energy, my +courage in the service of the cause. Children will come, probably not my +own either—certainly not my own: a wise man is not afraid to face the +truth. Liputin proposed this morning putting up barricades to keep out +Nicolas; Liputin’s a fool. A woman would deceive the all-seeing eye +itself. <i>Le bon Dieu</i> knew what He was in for when He was creating woman, +but I’m sure that she meddled in it herself and forced Him to create her +such as she is … and with such attributes: for who would have incurred +so much trouble for nothing? I know Nastasya may be angry with me for +free-thinking, but … <i>enfin, tout est dit.</i>” +</p> +<p> +He wouldn’t have been himself if he could have dispensed with the cheap +gibing free-thought which was in vogue in his day. Now, at any rate, he +comforted himself with a gibe, but not for long. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, if that day after to-morrow, that Sunday, might never come!” he +exclaimed suddenly, this time in utter despair. “Why could not this +one week be without a Sunday—<i>si le miracle existe</i>? What would it be to +Providence to blot out one Sunday from the calendar? If only to prove +His power to the atheists <i>et que tout soit dit!</i> Oh, how I loved her! +Twenty years, these twenty years, and she has never understood me!” +</p> +<p> +“But of whom are you talking? Even I don’t understand you!” I asked, +wondering. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Vingt ans!</i> And she has not once understood me; oh, it’s cruel! And can +she really believe that I am marrying from fear, from poverty? Oh, the +shame of it! Oh, Auntie, Auntie, I do it for you!… Oh, let her know, +that Auntie, that she is the one woman I have adored for twenty years! +She must learn this, it must be so, if not they will need force to drag +me under <i>ce qu’on appelle le</i> wedding-crown.” +</p> +<p> +It was the first time I had heard this confession, and so vigorously +uttered. I won’t conceal the fact that I was terribly tempted to laugh. +I was wrong. +</p> +<p> +“He is the only one left me now, the only one, my one hope!” he cried +suddenly, clasping his hands as though struck by a new idea. “Only he, +my poor boy, can save me now, and, oh, why doesn’t he come! Oh, my son, +oh, my Petrusha.… And though I do not deserve the name of father, +but rather that of tiger, yet … <i>Laissez-moi, mon ami,</i> I’ll lie down a +little, to collect my ideas. I am so tired, so tired. And I think it’s +time you were in bed. <i>Voyez vous,</i> it’s twelve o’clock.…” +</p> +<a id="H2CH0004"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE CRIPPLE +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +SHATOV WAS NOT PERVERSE but acted on my note, and called at midday on +Lizaveta Nikolaevna. We went in almost together; I was also going to +make my first call. They were all, that is Liza, her mother, and Mavriky +Nikolaevitch, sitting in the big drawing-room, arguing. The mother was +asking Liza to play some waltz on the piano, and as soon as Liza began +to play the piece asked for, declared it was not the right one. +Mavriky Nikolaevitch in the simplicity of his heart took Liza’s part, +maintaining that it was the right waltz. The elder lady was so angry +that she began to cry. She was ill and walked with difficulty. Her +legs were swollen, and for the last few days she had been continually +fractious, quarrelling with every one, though she always stood rather +in awe of Liza. They were pleased to see us. Liza flushed with pleasure, +and saying <i>“merci”</i> to me, on Shatov’s account of course, went to meet +him, looking at him with interest. +</p> +<p> +Shatov stopped awkwardly in the doorway. Thanking him for coming she led +him up to her mother. +</p> +<p> +“This is Mr. Shatov, of whom I have told you, and this is Mr. G——v, a +great friend of mine and of Stepan Trofimovitch’s. Mavriky Nikolaevitch +made his acquaintance yesterday, too.” +</p> +<p> +“And which is the professor?” +</p> +<p> +“There’s no professor at all, maman.” +</p> +<p> +“But there is. You said yourself that there’d be a professor. It’s this +one, probably.” She disdainfully indicated Shatov. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t tell you that there’d be a professor. Mr. G——v is +in the service, and Mr. Shatov is a former student.” +</p> +<p> +“A student or professor, they all come from the university just the +same. You only want to argue. But the Swiss one had moustaches and a +beard.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s the son of Stepan Trofimovitch that maman always calls the +professor,” said Liza, and she took Shatov away to the sofa at the other +end of the drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +“When her legs swell, she’s always like this, you understand she’s +ill,” she whispered to Shatov, still with the same marked curiosity, +scrutinising him, especially his shock of hair. +</p> +<p> +“Are you an officer?” the old lady inquired of me. Liza had mercilessly +abandoned me to her. +</p> +<p> +“N-no.—I’m in the service.…” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. G——v is a great friend of Stepan Trofimovitch’s,” Liza chimed in +immediately. +</p> +<p> +“Are you in Stepan Trofimovitch’s service? Yes, and he’s a professor, +too, isn’t he?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, maman, you must dream at night of professors,” cried Liza with +annoyance. +</p> +<p> +“I see too many when I’m awake. But you always will contradict your +mother. Were you here four years ago when Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was in +the neighbourhood?” +</p> +<p> +I answered that I was. +</p> +<p> +“And there was some Englishman with you?” +</p> +<p> +“No, there was not.” +</p> +<p> +Liza laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Well, you see there was no Englishman, so it must have been idle +gossip. And Varvara Petrovna and Stepan Trofimovitch both tell lies. And +they all tell lies.” +</p> +<p> +“Auntie and Stepan Trofimovitch yesterday thought there was a +resemblance between Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch and Prince Harry in +Shakespeare’s <i>Henry IV</i>, and in answer to that maman says that there was +no Englishman here,” Liza explained to us. +</p> +<p> +“If Harry wasn’t here, there was no Englishman. It was no one else but +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch at his tricks.” +</p> +<p> +“I assure you that maman’s doing it on purpose,” Liza thought necessary +to explain to Shatov. “She’s really heard of Shakespeare. I read her the +first act of <i>Othello</i> myself. But she’s in great pain now. Maman, listen, +it’s striking twelve, it’s time you took your medicine.” +</p> +<p> +“The doctor’s come,” a maid-servant announced at the door. +</p> +<p> +The old lady got up and began calling her dog: “Zemirka, Zemirka, you +come with me at least.” +</p> +<p> +Zemirka, a horrid little old dog, instead of obeying, crept under the +sofa where Liza was sitting. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t you want to? Then I don’t want you. Good-bye, my good sir, I +don’t know your name or your father’s,” she said, addressing me. +</p> +<p> +“Anton Lavrentyevitch …” +</p> +<p> +“Well, it doesn’t matter, with me it goes in at one ear and out of the +other. Don’t you come with me, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, it was Zemirka I +called. Thank God I can still walk without help and to-morrow I shall go +for a drive.” +</p> +<p> +She walked angrily out of the drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +“Anton Lavrentyevitch, will you talk meanwhile to Mavriky Nikolaevitch; +I assure you you’ll both be gainers by getting to know one another +better,” said Liza, and she gave a friendly smile to Mavriky +Nikolaevitch, who beamed all over as she looked at him. There was no +help for it, I remained to talk to Mavriky Nikolaevitch. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +Lizaveta Nikolaevna’s business with Shatov turned out, to my surprise, +to be really only concerned with literature. I had imagined, I don’t +know why, that she had asked him to come with some other object. We, +Mavriky Nikolaevitch and I that is, seeing that they were talking aloud +and not trying to hide anything from us, began to listen, and at last +they asked our advice. It turned out that Lizaveta Nikolaevna was +thinking of bringing out a book which she thought would be of use, +but being quite inexperienced she needed someone to help her. The +earnestness with which she began to explain her plan to Shatov quite +surprised me. +</p> +<p> +“She must be one of the new people,” I thought. “She has not been to +Switzerland for nothing.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov listened with attention, his eyes fixed on the ground, showing +not the slightest surprise that a giddy young lady in society should +take up work that seemed so out of keeping with her. +</p> +<p> +Her literary scheme was as follows. Numbers of papers and journals are +published in the capitals and the provinces of Russia, and every day a +number of events are reported in them. The year passes, the newspapers +are everywhere folded up and put away in cupboards, or are torn up +and become litter, or are used for making parcels or wrapping things. +Numbers of these facts make an impression and are remembered by the +public, but in the course of years they are forgotten. Many people would +like to look them up, but it is a labour for them to embark upon this +sea of paper, often knowing nothing of the day or place or even year in +which the incident occurred. Yet if all the facts for a whole year were +brought together into one book, on a definite plan, and with a definite +object, under headings with references, arranged according to months and +days, such a compilation might reflect the characteristics of Russian +life for the whole year, even though the facts published are only a +small fraction of the events that take place. +</p> +<p> +“Instead of a number of newspapers there would be a few fat books, +that’s all,” observed Shatov. +</p> +<p> +But Lizaveta Nikolaevna clung to her idea, in spite of the difficulty +of carrying it out and her inability to describe it. “It ought to be +one book, and not even a very thick one,” she maintained. But even if it +were thick it would be clear, for the great point would be the plan and +the character of the presentation of facts. Of course not all would +be collected and reprinted. The decrees and acts of government, +local regulations, laws—all such facts, however important, might be +altogether omitted from the proposed publication. They could leave out a +great deal and confine themselves to a selection of events more or +less characteristic of the moral life of the people, of the personal +character of the Russian people at the present moment. Of course +everything might be put in: strange incidents, fires, public +subscriptions, anything good or bad, every speech or word, perhaps even +floodings of the rivers, perhaps even some government decrees, but +only such things to be selected as are characteristic of the period; +everything would be put in with a certain view, a special significance +and intention, with an idea which would illuminate the facts looked +at in the aggregate, as a whole. And finally the book ought to be +interesting even for light reading, apart from its value as a work of +reference. It would be, so to say, a presentation of the spiritual, +moral, inner life of Russia for a whole year. +</p> +<p> +“We want every one to buy it, we want it to be a book that will be found +on every table,” Liza declared. “I understand that all lies in the plan, +and that’s why I apply to you,” she concluded. She grew very warm over +it, and although her explanation was obscure and incomplete, Shatov +began to understand. +</p> +<p> +“So it would amount to something with a political tendency, a selection +of facts with a special tendency,” he muttered, still not raising his +head. +</p> +<p> +“Not at all, we must not select with a particular bias, and we ought +not to have any political tendency in it. Nothing but impartiality—that +will be the only tendency.” +</p> +<p> +“But a tendency would be no harm,” said Shatov, with a slight movement, +“and one can hardly avoid it if there is any selection at all. The very +selection of facts will suggest how they are to be understood. Your idea +is not a bad one.” +</p> +<p> +“Then such a book is possible?” cried Liza delightedly. +</p> +<p> +“We must look into it and consider. It’s an immense undertaking. One +can’t work it out on the spur of the moment. We need experience. And +when we do publish the book I doubt whether we shall find out how to +do it. Possibly after many trials; but the thought is alluring. It’s a +useful idea.” +</p> +<p> +He raised his eyes at last, and they were positively sparkling with +pleasure, he was so interested. +</p> +<p> +“Was it your own idea?” he asked Liza, in a friendly and, as it were, +bashful way. +</p> +<p> +“The idea’s no trouble, you know, it’s the plan is the trouble,” Liza +smiled. “I understand very little. I am not very clever, and I only +pursue what is clear to me, myself.…” +</p> +<p> +“Pursue?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps that’s not the right word?” Liza inquired quickly. +</p> +<p> +“The word is all right; I meant nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“I thought while I was abroad that even I might be of some use. I have +money of my own lying idle. Why shouldn’t I—even I—work for the common +cause? Besides, the idea somehow occurred to me all at once of itself. +I didn’t invent it at all, and was delighted with it. But I saw at +once that I couldn’t get on without someone to help, because I am not +competent to do anything of myself. My helper, of course, would be the +co-editor of the book. We would go halves. You would give the plan and +the work. Mine would be the original idea and the means for publishing +it. Would the book pay its expenses, do you think?” +</p> +<p> +“If we hit on a good plan the book will go.” +</p> +<p> +“I warn you that I am not doing it for profit; but I am very anxious +that the book should circulate and should be very proud of making a +profit.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, but how do I come in?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, I invite you to be my fellow-worker, to go halves. You will think +out the plan.” +</p> +<p> +“How do you know that I am capable of thinking out the plan?” +</p> +<p> +“People have talked about you to me, and here I’ve heard +… I know that you are very clever and … are working for the cause … +and think a great deal. Pyotr Stepanovitch Verhovensky spoke about you +in Switzerland,” she added hurriedly. “He’s a very clever man, isn’t +he?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov stole a fleeting, momentary glance at her, but dropped his eyes +again. +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch told me a great deal about you, too.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov suddenly turned red. +</p> +<p> +“But here are the newspapers.” Liza hurriedly picked up from a chair +a bundle of newspapers that lay tied up ready. “I’ve tried to mark +the facts here for selection, to sort them, and I have put the papers +together … you will see.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov took the bundle. +</p> +<p> +“Take them home and look at them. Where do you live?” +</p> +<p> +“In Bogoyavlensky Street, Filipov’s house.” +</p> +<p> +“I know. I think it’s there, too, I’ve been told, a captain lives, +beside you, Mr. Lebyadkin,” said Liza in the same hurried manner. +</p> +<p> +Shatov sat for a full minute with the bundle in his outstretched hand, +making no answer and staring at the floor. +</p> +<p> +“You’d better find someone else for these jobs. I shouldn’t suit you at +all,” he brought out at last, dropping his voice in an awfully strange +way, almost to a whisper. +</p> +<p> +Liza flushed crimson. +</p> +<p> +“What jobs are you speaking of? Mavriky Nikolaevitch,” she cried, +“please bring that letter here.” +</p> +<p> +I too followed Mavriky Nikolaevitch to the table. +</p> +<p> +“Look at this,” she turned suddenly to me, unfolding the letter in great +excitement. “Have you ever seen anything like it. Please read it aloud. +I want Mr. Shatov to hear it too.” +</p> +<p> +With no little astonishment I read aloud the following missive: +</p> +<pre> + “To the Perfection, Miss Tushin. +</pre> +<pre> +“Gracious Lady + “Lizaveta Nikolaevna! + + “Oh, she’s a sweet queen, + Lizaveta Tushin! + When on side-saddle she gallops by, + And in the breeze her fair tresses fly! + Or when with her mother in church she bows low + And on devout faces a red flush doth flow! + Then for the joys of lawful wedlock I aspire, + And follow her and her mother with tears of desire. + +“Composed by an unlearned man in the midst of a discussion. + +“Gracious Lady! + + “I pity myself above all men that I did not lose my arm at Sevastopol, +not having been there at all, but served all the campaign delivering +paltry provisions, which I look on as a degradation. You are a goddess +of antiquity, and I am nothing, but have had a glimpse of infinity. +Look on it as a poem and no more, for, after all, poetry is nonsense and +justifies what would be considered impudence in prose. Can the sun be +angry with the infusoria if the latter composes verses to her from the +drop of water, where there is a multitude of them if you look through +the microscope? Even the club for promoting humanity to the larger +animals in tip-top society in Petersburg, which rightly feels compassion +for dogs and horses, despises the brief infusoria making no reference +to it whatever, because it is not big enough. I’m not big enough either. +The idea of marriage might seem droll, but soon I shall have property +worth two hundred souls through a misanthropist whom you ought to +despise. I can tell a lot and I can undertake to produce documents +that would mean Siberia. Don’t despise my proposal. A letter from an +infusoria is of course in verse. + + “Captain Lebyadkin your most humble friend. + And he has time no end.” +</pre> +<p> +“That was written by a man in a drunken condition, a worthless fellow,” +I cried indignantly. “I know him.” +</p> +<p> +“That letter I received yesterday,” Liza began to explain, flushing +and speaking hurriedly. “I saw myself, at once, that it came from some +foolish creature, and I haven’t yet shown it to maman, for fear of +upsetting her more. But if he is going to keep on like that, I don’t +know how to act. Mavriky Nikolaevitch wants to go out and forbid him to +do it. As I have looked upon you as a colleague,” she turned to Shatov, +“and as you live there, I wanted to question you so as to judge what +more is to be expected of him.” +</p> +<p> +“He’s a drunkard and a worthless fellow,” Shatov muttered with apparent +reluctance. +</p> +<p> +“Is he always so stupid?” +</p> +<p> +“No, he’s not stupid at all when he’s not drunk.” +</p> +<p> +“I used to know a general who wrote verses exactly like that,” I +observed, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“One can see from the letter that he is clever enough for his own +purposes,” Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who had till then been silent, put in +unexpectedly. +</p> +<p> +“He lives with some sister?” Liza queried. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, with his sister.” +</p> +<p> +“They say he tyrannises over her, is that true?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov looked at Liza again, scowled, and muttering, “What business is +it of mine?” moved towards the door. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, stay!” cried Liza, in a flutter. “Where are you going? We have so +much still to talk over.…” +</p> +<p> +“What is there to talk over? I’ll let you know to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, the most important thing of all—the printing-press! Do believe me +that I am not in jest, that I really want to work in good earnest!” Liza +assured him in growing agitation. “If we decide to publish it, where is +it to be printed? You know it’s a most important question, for we shan’t +go to Moscow for it, and the printing-press here is out of the +question for such a publication. I made up my mind long ago to set up +a printing-press of my own, in your name perhaps—and I know maman will +allow it so long as it is in your name.…” +</p> +<p> +“How do you know that I could be a printer?” Shatov asked sullenly. +</p> +<p> +“Why, Pyotr Stepanovitch told me of you in Switzerland, and referred +me to you as one who knows the business and able to set up a +printing-press. He even meant to give me a note to you from himself, but +I forgot it.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov’s face changed, as I recollect now. He stood for a few seconds +longer, then went out of the room. +</p> +<p> +Liza was angry. +</p> +<p> +“Does he always go out like that?” she asked, turning to me. +</p> +<p> +I was just shrugging my shoulders when Shatov suddenly came back, went +straight up to the table and put down the roll of papers he had taken. +</p> +<p> +“I’m not going to be your helper, I haven’t the time.…” +</p> +<p> +“Why? Why? I think you are angry!” Liza asked him in a grieved and +imploring voice. +</p> +<p> +The sound of her voice seemed to strike him; for some moments he looked +at her intently, as though trying to penetrate to her very soul. +</p> +<p> +“No matter,” he muttered, softly, “I don’t want to.…” +</p> +<p> +And he went away altogether. +</p> +<p> +Liza was completely overwhelmed, quite disproportionately in fact, so it +seemed to me. +</p> +<p> +“Wonderfully queer man,” Mavriky Nikolaevitch observed aloud. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +He certainly was queer, but in all this there was a very great deal not +clear to me. There was something underlying it all. I simply did not +believe in this publication; then that stupid letter, in which there +was an offer, only too barefaced, to give information and produce +“documents,” though they were all silent about that, and talked of +something quite different; finally that printing-press and Shatov’s +sudden exit, just because they spoke of a printing-press. All this led +me to imagine that something had happened before I came in of which I +knew nothing; and, consequently, that it was no business of mine and +that I was in the way. And, indeed, it was time to take leave, I had +stayed long enough for the first call. I went up to say good-bye to +Lizaveta Nikolaevna. +</p> +<p> +She seemed to have forgotten that I was in the room, and was still +standing in the same place by the table with her head bowed, plunged in +thought, gazing fixedly at one spot on the carpet. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, you, too, are going, good-bye,” she murmured in an ordinary +friendly tone. “Give my greetings to Stepan Trofimovitch, and persuade +him to come and see me as soon as he can. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, Anton +Lavrentyevitch is going. Excuse maman’s not being able to come out and +say good-bye to you.…” +</p> +<p> +I went out and had reached the bottom of the stairs when a footman +suddenly overtook me at the street door. +</p> +<p> +“My lady begs you to come back.…” +</p> +<p> +“The mistress, or Lizaveta Nikolaevna?” +</p> +<p> +“The young lady.” +</p> +<p> +I found Liza not in the big room where we had been sitting, but in the +reception-room next to it. The door between it and the drawing-room, +where Mavriky Nikolaevitch was left alone, was closed. +</p> +<p> +Liza smiled to me but was pale. She was standing in the middle of the +room in evident indecision, visibly struggling with herself; but she +suddenly took me by the hand, and led me quickly to the window. +</p> +<p> +“I want to see <i>her</i> at once,” she whispered, bending upon me a +burning, passionate, impatient glance, which would not admit a hint of +opposition. “I must see her with my own eyes, and I beg you to help +me.” +</p> +<p> +She was in a perfect frenzy, and—in despair. +</p> +<p> +“Who is it you want to see, Lizaveta Nikolaevna?” I inquired in dismay. +</p> +<p> +“That Lebyadkin’s sister, that lame girl.… Is it true that she’s +lame?” +</p> +<p> +I was astounded. +</p> +<p> +“I have never seen her, but I’ve heard that she’s lame. I heard it +yesterday,” I said with hurried readiness, and also in a whisper. +</p> +<p> +“I must see her, absolutely. Could you arrange it to-day?” +</p> +<p> +I felt dreadfully sorry for her. +</p> +<p> +“That’s utterly impossible, and, besides, I should not know at all how +to set about it,” I began persuading her. “I’ll go to Shatov.…” +</p> +<p> +“If you don’t arrange it by to-morrow I’ll go to her by myself, alone, +for Mavriky Nikolaevitch has refused. I rest all my hopes on you and +I’ve no one else; I spoke stupidly to Shatov.… I’m sure that you are +perfectly honest and perhaps ready to do anything for me, only arrange +it.” +</p> +<p> +I felt a passionate desire to help her in every way. +</p> +<p> +“This is what I’ll do,” I said, after a moment’s thought. “I’ll go +myself to-day and will see her for sure, for sure. I will manage so +as to see her. I give you my word of honour. Only let me confide in +Shatov.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell him that I do desire it, and that I can’t wait any longer, but +that I wasn’t deceiving him just now. He went away perhaps because +he’s very honest and he didn’t like my seeming to deceive him. I +wasn’t deceiving him, I really do want to edit books and found a +printing-press.…” +</p> +<p> +“He is honest, very honest,” I assented warmly. +</p> +<p> +“If it’s not arranged by to-morrow, though, I shall go myself whatever +happens, and even if every one were to know.” +</p> +<p> +“I can’t be with you before three o’clock to-morrow,” I observed, after +a moment’s deliberation. +</p> +<p> +“At three o’clock then. Then it was true what I imagined yesterday at +Stepan Trofimovitch’s, that you—are rather devoted to me?” she said +with a smile, hurriedly pressing my hand to say good-bye, and hurrying +back to the forsaken Mavriky Nikolaevitch. +</p> +<p> +I went out weighed down by my promise, and unable to understand what +had happened. I had seen a woman in real despair, not hesitating to +compromise herself by confiding in a man she hardly knew. Her womanly +smile at a moment so terrible for her and her hint that she had noticed +my feelings the day before sent a pang to my heart; but I felt sorry +for her, very sorry—that was all! Her secrets became at once something +sacred for me, and if anyone had begun to reveal them to me now, I think +I should have covered my ears, and should have refused to hear anything +more. I only had a presentiment of something … yet I was utterly at +a loss to see how I could do anything. What’s more I did not even yet +understand exactly what I had to arrange; an interview, but what sort +of an interview? And how could I bring them together? My only hope was +Shatov, though I could be sure that he wouldn’t help me in any way. But +all the same, I hurried to him. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +I did not find him at home till past seven o’clock that evening. To my +surprise he had visitors with him—Alexey Nilitch, and another gentleman +I hardly knew, one Shigalov, the brother of Virginsky’s wife. +</p> +<p> +This gentleman must, I think, have been staying about two months in +the town; I don’t know where he came from. I had only heard that he +had written some sort of article in a progressive Petersburg magazine. +Virginsky had introduced me casually to him in the street. I had +never in my life seen in a man’s face so much despondency, gloom, and +moroseness. He looked as though he were expecting the destruction of the +world, and not at some indefinite time in accordance with prophecies, +which might never be fulfilled, but quite definitely, as though it were +to be the day after to-morrow at twenty-five minutes past ten. We hardly +said a word to one another on that occasion, but had simply shaken hands +like two conspirators. I was most struck by his ears, which were of +unnatural size, long, broad, and thick, sticking out in a peculiar way. +His gestures were slow and awkward. +</p> +<p> +If Liputin had imagined that a phalanstery might be established in our +province, this gentleman certainly knew the day and the hour when it +would be founded. He made a sinister impression on me. I was the more +surprised at finding him here, as Shatov was not fond of visitors. +</p> +<p> +I could hear from the stairs that they were talking very loud, all three +at once, and I fancy they were disputing; but as soon as I went in, they +all ceased speaking. They were arguing, standing up, but now they all +suddenly sat down, so that I had to sit down too. There was a stupid +silence that was not broken for fully three minutes. Though Shigalov +knew me, he affected not to know me, probably not from hostile feelings, +but for no particular reason. Alexey Nilitch and I bowed to one another +in silence, and for some reason did not shake hands. Shigalov began at +last looking at me sternly and frowningly, with the most naïve assurance +that I should immediately get up and go away. At last Shatov got up from +his chair and the others jumped up at once. They went out without saying +good-bye. Shigalov only said in the doorway to Shatov, who was seeing +him out: +</p> +<p> +“Remember that you are bound to give an explanation.” +</p> +<p> +“Hang your explanation, and who the devil am I bound to?” said Shatov. +He showed them out and fastened the door with the latch. +</p> +<p> +“Snipes!” he said, looking at me, with a sort of wry smile. +</p> +<p> +His face looked angry, and it seemed strange to me that he spoke first. +When I had been to see him before (which was not often) it had usually +happened that he sat scowling in a corner, answered ill-humouredly +and only completely thawed and began to talk with pleasure after a +considerable time. Even so, when he was saying good-bye he always +scowled, and let one out as though he were getting rid of a personal +enemy. +</p> +<p> +“I had tea yesterday with that Alexey Nilitch,” I observed. “I think +he’s mad on atheism.” +</p> +<p> +“Russian atheism has never gone further than making a joke,” growled +Shatov, putting up a new candle in place of an end that had burnt out. +</p> +<p> +“No, this one doesn’t seem to me a joker, I think he doesn’t know how to +talk, let alone trying to make jokes.” +</p> +<p> +“Men made of paper! It all comes from flunkeyism of thought,” Shatov +observed calmly, sitting down on a chair in the corner, and pressing the +palms of both hands on his knees. +</p> +<p> +“There’s hatred in it, too,” he went on, after a minute’s pause. +“They’d be the first to be terribly unhappy if Russia could be suddenly +reformed, even to suit their own ideas, and became extraordinarily +prosperous and happy. They’d have no one to hate then, no one to curse, +nothing to find fault with. There is nothing in it but an immense animal +hatred for Russia which has eaten into their organism.… And it isn’t +a case of tears unseen by the world under cover of a smile! There has +never been a falser word said in Russia than about those unseen tears,” +he cried, almost with fury. +</p> +<p> +“Goodness only knows what you’re saying,” I laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you’re a ‘moderate liberal,’” said Shatov, smiling too. “Do you +know,” he went on suddenly, “I may have been talking nonsense about the +‘flunkeyism of thought.’ You will say to me no doubt directly, ‘it’s you +who are the son of a flunkey, but I’m not a flunkey.’” +</p> +<p> +“I wasn’t dreaming of such a thing.… What are you saying!” +</p> +<p> +“You need not apologise. I’m not afraid of you. Once I was only the +son of a flunkey, but now I’ve become a flunkey myself, like you. Our +Russian liberal is a flunkey before everything, and is only looking for +someone whose boots he can clean.” +</p> +<p> +“What boots? What allegory is this?” +</p> +<p> +“Allegory, indeed! You are laughing, I see.… Stepan Trofimovitch said +truly that I lie under a stone, crushed but not killed, and do nothing +but wriggle. It was a good comparison of his.” +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch declares that you are mad over the Germans,” I +laughed. “We’ve borrowed something from them anyway.” +</p> +<p> +“We took twenty kopecks, but we gave up a hundred roubles of our own.” +</p> +<p> +We were silent a minute. +</p> +<p> +“He got that sore lying in America.” +</p> +<p> +“Who? What sore?” +</p> +<p> +“I mean Kirillov. I spent four months with him lying on the floor of a +hut.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, have you been in America?” I asked, surprised. “You never told me +about it.” +</p> +<p> +“What is there to tell? The year before last we spent our last farthing, +three of us, going to America in an emigrant steamer, to test the +life of the American workman on ourselves, and to verify by personal +experiment the state of a man in the hardest social conditions. That was +our object in going there.” +</p> +<p> +“Good Lord!” I laughed. “You’d much better have gone somewhere in our +province at harvest-time if you wanted to ‘make a personal experiment’ +instead of bolting to America.” +</p> +<p> +“We hired ourselves out as workmen to an exploiter; there were six of +us Russians working for him—students, even landowners coming from their +estates, some officers, too, and all with the same grand object. Well, +so we worked, sweated, wore ourselves out; Kirillov and I were exhausted +at last; fell ill—went away—we couldn’t stand it. Our employer cheated +us when he paid us off; instead of thirty dollars, as he had agreed, he +paid me eight and Kirillov fifteen; he beat us, too, more than once. So +then we were left without work, Kirillov and I, and we spent four months +lying on the floor in that little town. He thought of one thing and I +thought of another.” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t mean to say your employer beat you? In America? How you must +have sworn at him!” +</p> +<p> +“Not a bit of it. On the contrary, Kirillov and I made up our minds +from the first that we Russians were like little children beside the +Americans, and that one must be born in America, or at least live for +many years with Americans to be on a level with them. And do you know, +if we were asked a dollar for a thing worth a farthing, we used to pay +it with pleasure, in fact with enthusiasm. We approved of everything: +spiritualism, lynch-law, revolvers, tramps. Once when we were travelling +a fellow slipped his hand into my pocket, took my brush, and began +brushing his hair with it. Kirillov and I only looked at one another, +and made up our minds that that was the right thing and that we liked it +very much.…” +</p> +<p> +“The strange thing is that with us all this is not only in the brain but +is carried out in practice,” I observed. +</p> +<p> +“Men made of paper,” Shatov repeated. +</p> +<p> +“But to cross the ocean in an emigrant steamer, though, to go to an +unknown country, even to make a personal experiment and all that—by +Jove … there really is a large-hearted staunchness about it.… But +how did you get out of it?” +</p> +<p> +“I wrote to a man in Europe and he sent me a hundred roubles.” +</p> +<p> +As Shatov talked he looked doggedly at the ground as he always did, even +when he was excited. At this point he suddenly raised his head. +</p> +<p> +“Do you want to know the man’s name?” +</p> +<p> +“Who was it?” +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Stavrogin.” +</p> +<p> +He got up suddenly, turned to his limewood writing-table and +began searching for something on it. There was a vague, though +well-authenticated rumour among us that Shatov’s wife had at one time +had a liaison with Nikolay Stavrogin, in Paris, and just about two years +ago, that is when Shatov was in America. It is true that this was long +after his wife had left him in Geneva. +</p> +<p> +“If so, what possesses him now to bring his name forward and to lay +stress on it?” I thought. +</p> +<p> +“I haven’t paid him back yet,” he said, turning suddenly to me again, +and looking at me intently he sat down in the same place as before in +the corner, and asked abruptly, in quite a different voice: +</p> +<p> +“You have come no doubt with some object. What do you want?” +</p> +<p> +I told him everything immediately, in its exact historical order, and +added that though I had time to think it over coolly after the first +excitement was over, I was more puzzled than ever. I saw that it meant +something very important to Lizaveta Nikolaevna. I was extremely anxious +to help her, but the trouble was that I didn’t know how to keep the +promise I had made her, and didn’t even quite understand now what I had +promised her. Then I assured him impressively once more that she had not +meant to deceive him, and had had no thought of doing so; that there had +been some misunderstanding, and that she had been very much hurt by the +extraordinary way in which he had gone off that morning. +</p> +<p> +He listened very attentively. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps I was stupid this morning, as I usually am.… Well, if she +didn’t understand why I went away like that … so much the better for +her.” +</p> +<p> +He got up, went to the door, opened it, and began listening on the +stairs. +</p> +<p> +“Do you want to see that person yourself?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s just what I wanted, but how is it to be done?” I cried, +delighted. +</p> +<p> +“Let’s simply go down while she’s alone. When he comes in he’ll beat +her horribly if he finds out we’ve been there. I often go in on the sly. +I went for him this morning when he began beating her again.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“I dragged him off her by the hair. He tried to beat me, but I +frightened him, and so it ended. I’m afraid he’ll come back drunk, and +won’t forget it—he’ll give her a bad beating because of it.” +</p> +<p> +We went downstairs at once. +</p> +<p> +The Lebyadkins’ door was shut but not locked, and we were able to go in. +Their lodging consisted of two nasty little rooms, with smoke-begrimed +walls on which the filthy wall-paper literally hung in tatters. It +had been used for some years as an eating-house, until Filipov, the +tavern-keeper, moved to another house. The other rooms below what had +been the eating-house were now shut up, and these two were all the +Lebyadkins had. The furniture consisted of plain benches and deal +tables, except for an old arm-chair that had lost its arms. In the +second room there was the bedstead that belonged to Mlle. Lebyadkin +standing in the corner, covered with a chintz quilt; the captain himself +went to bed anywhere on the floor, often without undressing. Everything +was in disorder, wet and filthy; a huge soaking rag lay in the middle +of the floor in the first room, and a battered old shoe lay beside it +in the wet. It was evident that no one looked after anything here. The +stove was not heated, food was not cooked; they had not even a samovar +as Shatov told me. The captain had come to the town with his sister +utterly destitute, and had, as Liputin said, at first actually gone from +house to house begging. But having unexpectedly received some money, he +had taken to drinking at once, and had become so besotted that he was +incapable of looking after things. +</p> +<p> +Mlle. Lebyadkin, whom I was so anxious to see, was sitting quietly at +a deal kitchen table on a bench in the corner of the inner room, not +making a sound. When we opened the door she did not call out to us or +even move from her place. Shatov said that the door into the passage +would not lock and it had once stood wide open all night. By the dim +light of a thin candle in an iron candlestick, I made out a woman of +about thirty, perhaps, sickly and emaciated, wearing an old dress of +dark cotton material, with her long neck uncovered, her scanty dark hair +twisted into a knot on the nape of her neck, no larger than the fist of +a two-year-old child. She looked at us rather cheerfully. Besides the +candlestick, she had on the table in front of her a little peasant +looking-glass, an old pack of cards, a tattered book of songs, and a +white roll of German bread from which one or two bites had been taken. +It was noticeable that Mlle. Lebyadkin used powder and rouge, and +painted her lips. She also blackened her eyebrows, which were fine, +long, and black enough without that. Three long wrinkles stood sharply +conspicuous across her high, narrow forehead in spite of the powder on +it. I already knew that she was lame, but on this occasion she did not +attempt to get up or walk. At some time, perhaps in early youth, that +wasted face may have been pretty; but her soft, gentle grey eyes were +remarkable even now. There was something dreamy and sincere in her +gentle, almost joyful, expression. This gentle serene joy, which was +reflected also in her smile, astonished me after all I had heard of the +Cossack whip and her brother’s violence. Strange to say, instead of the +oppressive repulsion and almost dread one usually feels in the presence +of these creatures afflicted by God, I felt it almost pleasant to look +at her from the first moment, and my heart was filled afterwards with +pity in which there was no trace of aversion. +</p> +<p> +“This is how she sits literally for days together, utterly alone, +without moving; she tries her fortune with the cards, or looks in the +looking-glass,” said Shatov, pointing her out to me from the doorway. +“He doesn’t feed her, you know. The old woman in the lodge brings her +something sometimes out of charity; how can they leave her all alone +like this with a candle!” +</p> +<p> +To my surprise Shatov spoke aloud, just as though she were not in the +room. +</p> +<p> +“Good day, Shatushka!” Mlle. Lebyadkin said genially. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve brought you a visitor, Marya Timofyevna,” said Shatov. +</p> +<p> +“The visitor is very welcome. I don’t know who it is you’ve brought, I +don’t seem to remember him.” She scrutinised me intently from behind the +candle, and turned again at once to Shatov (and she took no more notice +of me for the rest of the conversation, as though I had not been near +her). +</p> +<p> +“Are you tired of walking up and down alone in your garret?” she +laughed, displaying two rows of magnificent teeth. +</p> +<p> +“I was tired of it, and I wanted to come and see you.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov moved a bench up to the table, sat down on it and made me sit +beside him. +</p> +<p> +“I’m always glad to have a talk, though you’re a funny person, +Shatushka, just like a monk. When did you comb your hair last? Let me +do it for you.” And she pulled a little comb out of her pocket. “I don’t +believe you’ve touched it since I combed it last.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I haven’t got a comb,” said Shatov, laughing too. +</p> +<p> +“Really? Then I’ll give you mine; only remind me, not this one but +another.” +</p> +<p> +With a most serious expression she set to work to comb his hair. She +even parted it on one side; drew back a little, looked to see whether it +was right and put the comb back in her pocket. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know what, Shatushka?” She shook her head. “You may be a very +sensible man but you’re dull. It’s strange for me to look at all of you. +I don’t understand how it is people are dull. Sadness is not dullness. +I’m happy.” +</p> +<p> +“And are you happy when your brother’s here?” +</p> +<p> +“You mean Lebyadkin? He’s my footman. And I don’t care whether he’s +here or not. I call to him: ‘Lebyadkin, bring the water!’ or ‘Lebyadkin, +bring my shoes!’ and he runs. Sometimes one does wrong and can’t help +laughing at him.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s just how it is,” said Shatov, addressing me aloud without +ceremony. “She treats him just like a footman. I’ve heard her myself +calling to him, ‘Lebyadkin, give me some water!’ And she laughed as +she said it. The only difference is that he doesn’t fetch the water but +beats her for it; but she isn’t a bit afraid of him. She has some sort +of nervous fits, almost every day, and they are destroying her memory +so that afterwards she forgets everything that’s just happened, and is +always in a muddle over time. You imagine she remembers how you came in; +perhaps she does remember, but no doubt she has changed everything to +please herself, and she takes us now for different people from what we +are, though she knows I’m ‘Shatushka.’ It doesn’t matter my speaking +aloud, she soon leaves off listening to people who talk to her, and +plunges into dreams. Yes, plunges. She’s an extraordinary person for +dreaming; she’ll sit for eight hours, for whole days together in the +same place. You see there’s a roll lying there, perhaps she’s only taken +one bite at it since the morning, and she’ll finish it to-morrow. Now +she’s begun trying her fortune on cards.…” +</p> +<p> +“I keep trying my fortune, Shatushka, but it doesn’t come out right,” +Marya Timofyevna put in suddenly, catching the last word, and without +looking at it she put out her left hand for the roll (she had heard +something about the roll too very likely). She got hold of the roll +at last and after keeping it for some time in her left hand, while her +attention was distracted by the conversation which sprang up again, she +put it back again on the table unconsciously without having taken a bite +of it. +</p> +<p> +“It always comes out the same, a journey, a wicked man, somebody’s +treachery, a death-bed, a letter, unexpected news. I think it’s all +nonsense. Shatushka, what do you think? If people can tell lies why +shouldn’t a card?” She suddenly threw the cards together again. “I said +the same thing to Mother Praskovya, she’s a very venerable woman, she +used to run to my cell to tell her fortune on the cards, without letting +the Mother Superior know. Yes, and she wasn’t the only one who came to +me. They sigh, and shake their heads at me, they talk it over while I +laugh. ‘Where are you going to get a letter from, Mother Praskovya,’ I +say, ‘when you haven’t had one for twelve years?’ Her daughter had been +taken away to Turkey by her husband, and for twelve years there had been +no sight nor sound of her. Only I was sitting the next evening at tea +with the Mother Superior (she was a princess by birth), there was some +lady there too, a visitor, a great dreamer, and a little monk from Athos +was sitting there too, a rather absurd man to my thinking. What do you +think, Shatushka, that monk from Athos had brought Mother Praskovya a +letter from her daughter in Turkey, that morning—so much for the knave +of diamonds—unexpected news! We were drinking our tea, and the monk +from Athos said to the Mother Superior, ‘Blessed Mother Superior, God +has blessed your convent above all things in that you preserve so great +a treasure in its precincts,’ said he. ‘What treasure is that?’ asked +the Mother Superior. ‘The Mother Lizaveta, the Blessed.’ This Lizaveta +the Blessed was enshrined in the nunnery wall, in a cage seven feet long +and five feet high, and she had been sitting there for seventeen years +in nothing but a hempen shift, summer and winter, and she always kept +pecking at the hempen cloth with a straw or a twig of some sort, and she +never said a word, and never combed her hair, or washed, for seventeen +years. In the winter they used to put a sheepskin in for her, and every +day a piece of bread and a jug of water. The pilgrims gaze at her, sigh +and exclaim, and make offerings of money. ‘A treasure you’ve pitched +on,’ answered the Mother Superior—(she was angry, she disliked Lizaveta +dreadfully)—‘Lizaveta only sits there out of spite, out of pure +obstinacy, it is nothing but hypocrisy.’ I didn’t like this; I was +thinking at the time of shutting myself up too. ‘I think,’ said I, ‘that +God and nature are just the same thing.’ They all cried out with +one voice at me, ‘Well, now!’ The Mother Superior laughed, whispered +something to the lady and called me up, petted me, and the lady gave me +a pink ribbon. Would you like me to show it to you? And the monk began +to admonish me. But he talked so kindly, so humbly, and so wisely, I +suppose. I sat and listened. ‘Do you understand?’ he asked. ‘No,’ I +said, ‘I don’t understand a word, but leave me quite alone.’ Ever since +then they’ve left me in peace, Shatushka. And at that time an old woman +who was living in the convent doing penance for prophesying the future, +whispered to me as she was coming out of church, ‘What is the mother of +God? What do you think?’ ‘The great mother,’ I answer, ‘the hope of +the human race.’ ‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘the mother of God is the great +mother—the damp earth, and therein lies great joy for men. And every +earthly woe and every earthly tear is a joy for us; and when you water +the earth with your tears a foot deep, you will rejoice at everything at +once, and your sorrow will be no more, such is the prophecy.’ That word +sank into my heart at the time. Since then when I bow down to the ground +at my prayers, I’ve taken to kissing the earth. I kiss it and weep. And +let me tell you, Shatushka, there’s no harm in those tears; and even +if one has no grief, one’s tears flow from joy. The tears flow of +themselves, that’s the truth. I used to go out to the shores of the +lake; on one side was our convent and on the other the pointed mountain, +they called it the Peak. I used to go up that mountain, facing the east, +fall down to the ground, and weep and weep, and I don’t know how long +I wept, and I don’t remember or know anything about it. I would get up, +and turn back when the sun was setting, it was so big, and splendid and +glorious—do you like looking at the sun, Shatushka? It’s beautiful but +sad. I would turn to the east again, and the shadow, the shadow of our +mountain was flying like an arrow over our lake, long, long and narrow, +stretching a mile beyond, right up to the island on the lake and cutting +that rocky island right in two, and as it cut it in two, the sun would +set altogether and suddenly all would be darkness. And then I used to be +quite miserable, suddenly I used to remember, I’m afraid of the dark, +Shatushka. And what I wept for most was my baby.…” +</p> +<p> +“Why, had you one?” And Shatov, who had been listening attentively all +the time, nudged me with his elbow. +</p> +<p> +“Why, of course. A little rosy baby with tiny little nails, and my only +grief is I can’t remember whether it was a boy or a girl. Sometimes +I remember it was a boy, and sometimes it was a girl. And when he was +born, I wrapped him in cambric and lace, and put pink ribbons on him, +strewed him with flowers, got him ready, said prayers over him. I took +him away un-christened and carried him through the forest, and I was +afraid of the forest, and I was frightened, and what I weep for most is +that I had a baby and I never had a husband.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you had one?” Shatov queried cautiously. +</p> +<p> +“You’re absurd, Shatushka, with your reflections. I had, perhaps I had, +but what’s the use of my having had one, if it’s just the same as though +I hadn’t. There’s an easy riddle for you. Guess it!” she laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Where did you take your baby?” +</p> +<p> +“I took it to the pond,” she said with a sigh. +</p> +<p> +Shatov nudged me again. +</p> +<p> +“And what if you never had a baby and all this is only a wild dream?” +</p> +<p> +“You ask me a hard question, Shatushka,” she answered dreamily, without +a trace of surprise at such a question. “I can’t tell you anything about +that, perhaps I hadn’t; I think that’s only your curiosity. I shan’t +leave off crying for him anyway, I couldn’t have dreamt it.” And big +tears glittered in her eyes. “Shatushka, Shatushka, is it true that your +wife ran away from you?” +</p> +<p> +She suddenly put both hands on his shoulders, and looked at him +pityingly. “Don’t be angry, I feel sick myself. Do you know, Shatushka, +I’ve had a dream: he came to me again, he beckoned me, called me. ‘My +little puss,’ he cried to me, ‘little puss, come to me!’ And I was more +delighted at that ‘little puss’ than anything; he loves me, I thought.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps he will come in reality,” Shatov muttered in an undertone. +</p> +<p> +“No, Shatushka, that’s a dream.… He can’t come in reality. You know +the song: +</p> +<pre> + ‘A new fine house I do not crave, + This tiny cell’s enough for me; + There will I dwell my soul to save + And ever pray to God for thee.’ +</pre> +<p> +Ach, Shatushka, Shatushka, my dear, why do you never ask me about +anything?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, you won’t tell. That’s why I don’t ask.” +</p> +<p> +“I won’t tell, I won’t tell,” she answered quickly. “You may kill me, I +won’t tell. You may burn me, I won’t tell. And whatever I had to bear +I’d never tell, people won’t find out!” +</p> +<p> +“There, you see. Every one has something of their own,” Shatov said, +still more softly, his head drooping lower and lower. +</p> +<p> +“But if you were to ask perhaps I should tell, perhaps I should!” +she repeated ecstatically. “Why don’t you ask? Ask, ask me nicely, +Shatushka, perhaps I shall tell you. Entreat me, Shatushka, so that I +shall consent of myself. Shatushka, Shatushka!” +</p> +<p> +But Shatushka was silent. There was complete silence lasting a minute. +Tears slowly trickled down her painted cheeks. She sat forgetting her +two hands on Shatov’s shoulders, but no longer looking at him. +</p> +<p> +“Ach, what is it to do with me, and it’s a sin.” Shatov suddenly got up +from the bench. +</p> +<p> +“Get up!” He angrily pulled the bench from under me and put it back +where it stood before. +</p> +<p> +“He’ll be coming, so we must mind he doesn’t guess. It’s time we were +off.” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, you’re talking of my footman,” Marya Timofyevna laughed suddenly. +“You’re afraid of him. Well, good-bye, dear visitors, but listen for one +minute, I’ve something to tell you. That Nilitch came here with Filipov, +the landlord, a red beard, and my fellow had flown at me just then, so +the landlord caught hold of him and pulled him about the room while he +shouted ‘It’s not my fault, I’m suffering for another man’s sin!’ So +would you believe it, we all burst out laughing.…” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, Timofyevna, why it was I, not the red beard, it was I pulled +him away from you by his hair, this morning; the landlord came the day +before yesterday to make a row; you’ve mixed it up.” +</p> +<p> +“Stay, I really have mixed it up. Perhaps it was you. Why dispute about +trifles? What does it matter to him who it is gives him a beating?” She +laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Come along!” Shatov pulled me. “The gate’s creaking, he’ll find us and +beat her.” +</p> +<p> +And before we had time to run out on to the stairs we heard a drunken +shout and a shower of oaths at the gate. +</p> +<p> +Shatov let me into his room and locked the door. +</p> +<p> +“You’ll have to stay a minute if you don’t want a scene. He’s squealing +like a little pig, he must have stumbled over the gate again. He falls +flat every time.” +</p> +<p> +We didn’t get off without a scene, however. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VI +</p> +<p> +Shatov stood at the closed door of his room and listened; suddenly he +sprang back. +</p> +<p> +“He’s coming here, I knew he would,” he whispered furiously. “Now +there’ll be no getting rid of him till midnight.” +</p> +<p> +Several violent thumps of a fist on the door followed. +</p> +<p> +“Shatov, Shatov, open!” yelled the captain. “Shatov, friend! +</p> +<pre> + ‘I have come, to thee to tell thee + That the sun doth r-r-rise apace, + That the forest glows and tr-r-rembles + In … the fire of … his … embrace. + Tell thee I have waked, God damn thee, + Wakened under the birch-twigs.…’ +</pre> +<p> + (“As it might be under the birch-rods, ha ha!”) +</p> + <pre> + ‘Every little bird … is … thirsty, + Says I’m going to … have a drink, + But I don’t … know what to drink.…’ +</pre> +<p> +“Damn his stupid curiosity! Shatov, do you understand how good it is to +be alive!” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t answer!” Shatov whispered to me again. +</p> +<p> +“Open the door! Do you understand that there’s something higher than +brawling … in mankind; there are moments of an hon-hon-honourable +man.… Shatov, I’m good; I’ll forgive you.… Shatov, damn the +manifestoes, eh?” +</p> +<p> +Silence. +</p> +<p> +“Do you understand, you ass, that I’m in love, that I’ve bought a +dress-coat, look, the garb of love, fifteen roubles; a captain’s love +calls for the niceties of style.… Open the door!” he roared savagely +all of a sudden, and he began furiously banging with his fists again. +</p> +<p> +“Go to hell!” Shatov roared suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“S-s-slave! Bond-slave, and your sister’s a slave, a bondswoman … a +th … th … ief!” +</p> +<p> +“And you sold your sister.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a lie! I put up with the libel though. I could with one word … +do you understand what she is?” +</p> +<p> +“What?” Shatov at once drew near the door inquisitively. +</p> +<p> +“But will you understand?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I shall understand, tell me what?” +</p> +<p> +“I’m not afraid to say! I’m never afraid to say anything in public!…” +</p> +<p> +“You not afraid? A likely story,” said Shatov, taunting him, and nodding +to me to listen. +</p> +<p> +“Me afraid?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I think you are.” +</p> +<p> +“Me afraid?” +</p> +<p> +“Well then, tell away if you’re not afraid of your master’s whip.… +You’re a coward, though you are a captain!” +</p> +<p> +“I … I … she’s … she’s …” faltered Lebyadkin in a voice shaking with +excitement. +</p> +<p> +“Well?” Shatov put his ear to the door. +</p> +<p> +A silence followed, lasting at least half a minute. +</p> +<p> +“Sc-ou-oundrel!” came from the other side of the door at last, and the +captain hurriedly beat a retreat downstairs, puffing like a samovar, +stumbling on every step. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, he’s a sly one, and won’t give himself away even when he’s drunk.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov moved away from the door. +</p> +<p> +“What’s it all about?” I asked. +</p> +<p> +Shatov waved aside the question, opened the door and began listening +on the stairs again. He listened a long while, and even stealthily +descended a few steps. At last he came back. +</p> +<p> +“There’s nothing to be heard; he isn’t beating her; he must have flopped +down at once to go to sleep. It’s time for you to go.” +</p> +<p> +“Listen, Shatov, what am I to gather from all this?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, gather what you like!” he answered in a weary and disgusted voice, +and he sat down to his writing-table. +</p> +<p> +I went away. An improbable idea was growing stronger and stronger in my +mind. I thought of the next day with distress.… +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VII +</p> +<p> +This “next day,” the very Sunday which was to decide Stepan +Trofimovitch’s fate irrevocably, was one of the most memorable days in +my chronicle. It was a day of surprises, a day that solved past riddles +and suggested new ones, a day of startling revelations, and still more +hopeless perplexity. In the morning, as the reader is already aware, I +had by Varvara Petrovna’s particular request to accompany my friend on +his visit to her, and at three o’clock in the afternoon I had to be with +Lizaveta Nikolaevna in order to tell her—I did not know what—and to +assist her—I did not know how. And meanwhile it all ended as no one +could have expected. In a word, it was a day of wonderful coincidences. +</p> +<p> +To begin with, when Stepan Trofimovitch and I arrived at Varvara +Petrovna’s at twelve o’clock punctually, the time she had fixed, we did +not find her at home; she had not yet come back from church. My poor +friend was so disposed, or, more accurately speaking, so indisposed that +this circumstance crushed him at once; he sank almost helpless into +an arm-chair in the drawing-room. I suggested a glass of water; but in +spite of his pallor and the trembling of his hands, he refused it +with dignity. His get-up for the occasion was, by the way, extremely +recherché: a shirt of batiste and embroidered, almost fit for a ball, a +white tie, a new hat in his hand, new straw-coloured gloves, and even a +suspicion of scent. We had hardly sat down when Shatov was shown in by +the butler, obviously also by official invitation. Stepan Trofimovitch +was rising to shake hands with him, but Shatov, after looking +attentively at us both, turned away into a corner, and sat down there +without even nodding to us. Stepan Trofimovitch looked at me in dismay +again. +</p> +<p> +We sat like this for some minutes longer in complete silence. Stepan +Trofimovitch suddenly began whispering something to me very quickly, +but I could not catch it; and indeed, he was so agitated himself that he +broke off without finishing. The butler came in once more, ostensibly to +set something straight on the table, more probably to take a look at us. +</p> +<p> +Shatov suddenly addressed him with a loud question: +</p> +<p> +“Alexey Yegorytch, do you know whether Darya Pavlovna has gone with +her?” +</p> +<p> +“Varvara Petrovna was pleased to drive to the cathedral alone, and Darya +Pavlovna was pleased to remain in her room upstairs, being indisposed,” +Alexey Yegorytch announced formally and reprovingly. +</p> +<p> +My poor friend again stole a hurried and agitated glance at me, so +that at last I turned away from him. Suddenly a carriage rumbled at the +entrance, and some commotion at a distance in the house made us aware +of the lady’s return. We all leapt up from our easy chairs, but again +a surprise awaited us; we heard the noise of many footsteps, so our +hostess must have returned not alone, and this certainly was rather +strange, since she had fixed that time herself. Finally, we heard some +one come in with strange rapidity as though running, in a way that +Varvara Petrovna could not have come in. And, all at once she almost +flew into the room, panting and extremely agitated. After her a little +later and much more quickly Lizaveta Nikolaevna came in, and with her, +hand in hand, Marya Timofyevna Lebyadkin! If I had seen this in my +dreams, even then I should not have believed it. +</p> +<p> +To explain their utterly unexpected appearance, I must go back an +hour and describe more in detail an extraordinary adventure which had +befallen Varvara Petrovna in church. +</p> +<p> +In the first place almost the whole town, that is, of course, all of the +upper stratum of society, were assembled in the cathedral. It was known +that the governor’s wife was to make her appearance there for the +first time since her arrival amongst us. I must mention that there were +already rumours that she was a free-thinker, and a follower of “the new +principles.” All the ladies were also aware that she would be dressed +with magnificence and extraordinary elegance. And so the costumes of our +ladies were elaborate and gorgeous for the occasion. +</p> +<p> +Only Varvara Petrovna was modestly dressed in black as she always was, +and had been for the last four years. She had taken her usual place in +church in the first row on the left, and a footman in livery had put +down a velvet cushion for her to kneel on; everything in fact, had been +as usual. But it was noticed, too, that all through the service she +prayed with extreme fervour. It was even asserted afterwards when people +recalled it, that she had had tears in her eyes. The service was over at +last, and our chief priest, Father Pavel, came out to deliver a solemn +sermon. We liked his sermons and thought very highly of them. We used +even to try to persuade him to print them, but he never could make up +his mind to. On this occasion the sermon was a particularly long one. +</p> +<p> +And behold, during the sermon a lady drove up to the church in an old +fashioned hired droshky, that is, one in which the lady could only sit +sideways, holding on to the driver’s sash, shaking at every jolt like a +blade of grass in the breeze. Such droshkys are still to be seen in our +town. Stopping at the corner of the cathedral—for there were a number +of carriages, and mounted police too, at the gates—the lady sprang out +of the droshky and handed the driver four kopecks in silver. +</p> +<p> +“Isn’t it enough, Vanya?” she cried, seeing his grimace. “It’s all I’ve +got,” she added plaintively. +</p> +<p> +“Well, there, bless you. I took you without fixing the price,” said the +driver with a hopeless gesture, and looking at her he added as though +reflecting: +</p> +<p> +“And it would be a sin to take advantage of you too.” +</p> +<p> +Then, thrusting his leather purse into his bosom, he touched up his +horse and drove off, followed by the jeers of the drivers standing near. +Jeers, and wonder too, followed the lady as she made her way to the +cathedral gates, between the carriages and the footmen waiting for +their masters to come out. And indeed, there certainly was something +extraordinary and surprising to every one in such a person’s suddenly +appearing in the street among people. She was painfully thin and she +limped, she was heavily powdered and rouged; her long neck was quite +bare, she had neither kerchief nor pelisse; she had nothing on but an +old dark dress in spite of the cold and windy, though bright, September +day. She was bareheaded, and her hair was twisted up into a tiny knot, +and on the right side of it was stuck an artificial rose, such as are +used to dedicate cherubs sold in Palm week. I had noticed just such a +one with a wreath of paper roses in a corner under the ikons when I was +at Marya Timofyevna’s the day before. To put a finishing-touch to it, +though the lady walked with modestly downcast eyes there was a sly and +merry smile on her face. If she had lingered a moment longer, she would +perhaps not have been allowed to enter the cathedral. But she succeeded +in slipping by, and entering the building, gradually pressed forward. +</p> +<p> +Though it was half-way through the sermon, and the dense crowd that +filled the cathedral was listening to it with absorbed and silent +attention, yet several pairs of eyes glanced with curiosity and +amazement at the new-comer. She sank on to the floor, bowed her painted +face down to it, lay there a long time, unmistakably weeping; but +raising her head again and getting up from her knees, she soon +recovered, and was diverted. Gaily and with evident and intense +enjoyment she let her eyes rove over the faces, and over the walls +of the cathedral. She looked with particular curiosity at some of the +ladies, even standing on tip-toe to look at them, and even laughed once +or twice, giggling strangely. But the sermon was over, and they brought +out the cross. The governor’s wife was the first to go up to the cross, +but she stopped short two steps from it, evidently wishing to make way +for Varvara Petrovna, who, on her side, moved towards it quite directly +as though she noticed no one in front of her. There was an obvious and, +in its way, clever malice implied in this extraordinary act of deference +on the part of the governor’s wife; every one felt this; Varvara +Petrovna must have felt it too; but she went on as before, apparently +noticing no one, and with the same unfaltering air of dignity kissed the +cross, and at once turned to leave the cathedral. A footman in livery +cleared the way for her, though every one stepped back spontaneously to +let her pass. But just as she was going out, in the porch the closely +packed mass of people blocked the way for a moment. Varvara Petrovna +stood still, and suddenly a strange, extraordinary creature, the woman +with the paper rose on her head, squeezed through the people, and +fell on her knees before her. Varvara Petrovna, who was not easily +disconcerted, especially in public, looked at her sternly and with +dignity. +</p> +<p> +I hasten to observe here, as briefly as possible, that though Varvara +Petrovna had become, it was said, excessively careful and even stingy, +yet sometimes she was not sparing of money, especially for benevolent +objects. She was a member of a charitable society in the capital. In +the last famine year she had sent five hundred roubles to the chief +committee for the relief of the sufferers, and people talked of it in +the town. Moreover, just before the appointment of the new governor, she +had been on the very point of founding a local committee of ladies to +assist the poorest mothers in the town and in the province. She +was severely censured among us for ambition; but Varvara Petrovna’s +well-known strenuousness and, at the same time, her persistence nearly +triumphed over all obstacles. The society was almost formed, and the +original idea embraced a wider and wider scope in the enthusiastic mind +of the foundress. She was already dreaming of founding a similar society +in Moscow, and the gradual expansion of its influence over all the +provinces of Russia. And now, with the sudden change of governor, +everything was at a standstill; and the new governor’s wife had, it was +said, already uttered in society some biting, and, what was worse, apt +and sensible remarks about the impracticability of the fundamental idea +of such a committee, which was, with additions of course, repeated to +Varvara Petrovna. God alone knows the secrets of men’s hearts; but I +imagine that Varvara Petrovna stood still now at the very cathedral +gates positively with a certain pleasure, knowing that the governor’s +wife and, after her, all the congregation, would have to pass by +immediately, and “let her see for herself how little I care what +she thinks, and what pointed things she says about the vanity of my +benevolence. So much for all of you!” +</p> +<p> +“What is it my dear? What are you asking?” said Varvara Petrovna, +looking more attentively at the kneeling woman before her, who gazed at +her with a fearfully panic-stricken, shame-faced, but almost reverent +expression, and suddenly broke into the same strange giggle. +</p> +<p> +“What does she want? Who is she?” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna bent an imperious and inquiring gaze on all around her. +Every one was silent. +</p> +<p> +“You are unhappy? You are in need of help?” +</p> +<p> +“I am in need.… I have come …” faltered the “unhappy” creature, in a +voice broken with emotion. “I have come only to kiss your hand.…” +</p> +<p> +Again she giggled. With the childish look with which little children +caress someone, begging for a favour, she stretched forward to seize +Varvara Petrovna’s hand, but, as though panic-stricken, drew her hands +back. +</p> +<p> +“Is that all you have come for?” said Varvara Petrovna, with a +compassionate smile; but at once she drew her mother-of-pearl purse out +of her pocket, took out a ten-rouble note and gave it to the unknown. +The latter took it. Varvara Petrovna was much interested and evidently +did not look upon her as an ordinary low-class beggar. +</p> +<p> +“I say, she gave her ten roubles!” someone said in the crowd. +</p> +<p> +“Let me kiss your hand,” faltered the unknown, holding tight in the +fingers of her left hand the corner of the ten-rouble note, which +fluttered in the draught. Varvara Petrovna frowned slightly, and with +a serious, almost severe, face held out her hand. The cripple kissed it +with reverence. Her grateful eyes shone with positive ecstasy. At that +moment the governor’s wife came up, and a whole crowd of ladies and high +officials flocked after her. The governor’s wife was forced to stand +still for a moment in the crush; many people stopped. +</p> +<p> +“You are trembling. Are you cold?” Varvara Petrovna observed suddenly, +and flinging off her pelisse which a footman caught in mid-air, she took +from her own shoulders a very expensive black shawl, and with her own +hands wrapped it round the bare neck of the still kneeling woman. +</p> +<p> +“But get up, get up from your knees I beg you!” +</p> +<p> +The woman got up. +</p> +<p> +“Where do you live? Is it possible no one knows where she lives?” +Varvara Petrovna glanced round impatiently again. But the crowd was +different now: she saw only the faces of acquaintances, people in +society, surveying the scene, some with severe astonishment, others with +sly curiosity and at the same time guileless eagerness for a sensation, +while others positively laughed. +</p> +<p> +“I believe her name’s Lebyadkin,” a good-natured person volunteered at +last in answer to Varvara Petrovna. It was our respectable and respected +merchant Andreev, a man in spectacles with a grey beard, wearing Russian +dress and holding a high round hat in his hands. “They live in the +Filipovs’ house in Bogoyavlensky Street.” +</p> +<p> +“Lebyadkin? Filipovs’ house? I have heard something.… Thank you, Nikon +Semyonitch. But who is this Lebyadkin?” +</p> +<p> +“He calls himself a captain, a man, it must be said, not over careful +in his behaviour. And no doubt this is his sister. She must have escaped +from under control,” Nikon Semyonitch went on, dropping his voice, and +glancing significantly at Varvara Petrovna. +</p> +<p> +“I understand. Thank you, Nikon Semyonitch. Your name is Mlle. +Lebyadkin?” +</p> +<p> +“No, my name’s not Lebyadkin.” +</p> +<p> +“Then perhaps your brother’s name is Lebyadkin?” +</p> +<p> +“My brother’s name is Lebyadkin.” +</p> +<p> +“This is what I’ll do, I’ll take you with me now, my dear, and you shall +be driven from me to your family. Would you like to go with me?” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, I should!” cried Mlle. Lebyadkin, clasping her hands. +</p> +<p> +“Auntie, auntie, take me with you too!” the voice of Lizaveta Nikolaevna +cried suddenly. +</p> +<p> +I must observe that Lizaveta Nikolaevna had come to the cathedral with +the governor’s wife, while Praskovya Ivanovna had by the doctor’s +orders gone for a drive in her carriage, taking Mavriky Nikolaevitch +to entertain her. Liza suddenly left the governor’s wife and ran up to +Varvara Petrovna. +</p> +<p> +“My dear, you know I’m always glad to have you, but what will your +mother say?” Varvara Petrovna began majestically, but she became +suddenly confused, noticing Liza’s extraordinary agitation. +</p> +<p> +“Auntie, auntie, I must come with you!” Liza implored, kissing Varvara +Petrovna. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mais qu’avez vous donc, Lise?”</i> the governor’s wife asked with +expressive wonder. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, forgive me, darling, <i>chère cousine,</i> I’m going to auntie’s.” +</p> +<p> +Liza turned in passing to her unpleasantly surprised <i>chère cousine</i>, and +kissed her twice. +</p> +<p> +“And tell maman to follow me to auntie’s directly; maman meant, fully +meant to come and see you, she said so this morning herself, I forgot to +tell you,” Liza pattered on. “I beg your pardon, don’t be angry, <i>Julie, +chère … cousine.</i>… Auntie, I’m ready!” +</p> +<p> +“If you don’t take me with you, auntie, I’ll run after your carriage, +screaming,” she whispered rapidly and despairingly in Varvara Petrovna’s +ear; it was lucky that no one heard. Varvara Petrovna positively +staggered back, and bent her penetrating gaze on the mad girl. That gaze +settled everything. She made up her mind to take Liza with her. +</p> +<p> +“We must put an end to this!” broke from her lips. “Very well, I’ll +take you with pleasure, Liza,” she added aloud, “if Yulia Mihailovna +is willing to let you come, of course.” With a candid air and +straightforward dignity she addressed the governor’s wife directly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, certainly, I don’t want to deprive her of such a pleasure +especially as I am myself …” Yulia Mihailovna lisped with amazing +affability—“I myself … know well what a fantastic, wilful little head +it is!” Yulia Mihailovna gave a charming smile. +</p> +<p> +“I thank you extremely,” said Varvara Petrovna, with a courteous and +dignified bow. +</p> +<p> +“And I am the more gratified,” Yulia Mihailovna went on, lisping almost +rapturously, flushing all over with agreeable excitement, “that, apart +from the pleasure of being with you Liza should be carried away by such +an excellent, I may say lofty, feeling … of compassion …” (she +glanced at the “unhappy creature”) “and … and at the very portal of the +temple.…” +</p> +<p> +“Such a feeling does you honour,” Varvara Petrovna approved +magnificently. Yulia Mihailovna impulsively held out her hand and +Varvara Petrovna with perfect readiness touched it with her fingers. The +general effect was excellent, the faces of some of those present beamed +with pleasure, some bland and insinuating smiles were to be seen. +</p> +<p> +In short it was made manifest to every one in the town that it was not +Yulia Mihailovna who had up till now neglected Varvara Petrovna in not +calling upon her, but on the contrary that Varvara Petrovna had “kept +Yulia Mihailovna within bounds at a distance, while the latter would +have hastened to pay her a visit, going on foot perhaps if necessary, +had she been fully assured that Varvara Petrovna would not turn her +away.” And Varvara Petrovna’s prestige was enormously increased. +</p> +<p> +“Get in, my dear.” Varvara Petrovna motioned Mlle. Lebyadkin towards the +carriage which had driven up. +</p> +<p> +The “unhappy creature” hurried gleefully to the carriage door, and there +the footman lifted her in. +</p> +<p> +“What! You’re lame!” cried Varvara Petrovna, seeming quite alarmed, +and she turned pale. (Every one noticed it at the time, but did not +understand it.) +</p> +<p> +The carriage rolled away. Varvara Petrovna’s house was very near +the cathedral. Liza told me afterwards that Miss Lebyadkin laughed +hysterically for the three minutes that the drive lasted, while Varvara +Petrovna sat “as though in a mesmeric sleep.” Liza’s own expression. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0005"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER V. THE SUBTLE SERPENT +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +VARVARA PETROVNA rang the bell and threw herself into an easy chair by +the window. +</p> +<p> +“Sit here, my dear.” She motioned Marya Timofyevna to a seat in the +middle of the room, by a large round table. “Stepan Trofimovitch, +what is the meaning of this? See, see, look at this woman, what is the +meaning of it?” +</p> +<p> +“I … I …” faltered Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +But a footman came in. +</p> +<p> +“A cup of coffee at once, we must have it as quickly as possible! Keep +the horses!” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mais, chère et excellente amie, dans quelle inquiétude …”</i> Stepan +Trofimovitch exclaimed in a dying voice. +</p> +<p> +“Ach! French! French! I can see at once that it’s the highest society,” +cried Marya Timofyevna, clapping her hands, ecstatically preparing +herself to listen to a conversation in French. Varvara Petrovna stared +at her almost in dismay. +</p> +<p> +We all sat in silence, waiting to see how it would end. Shatov did not +lift up his head, and Stepan Trofimovitch was overwhelmed with confusion +as though it were all his fault; the perspiration stood out on his +temples. I glanced at Liza (she was sitting in the corner almost beside +Shatov). Her eyes darted keenly from Varvara Petrovna to the cripple and +back again; her lips were drawn into a smile, but not a pleasant +one. Varvara Petrovna saw that smile. Meanwhile Marya Timofyevna was +absolutely transported. With evident enjoyment and without a trace +of embarrassment she stared at Varvara Petrovna’s beautiful +drawing-room—the furniture, the carpets, the pictures on the walls, the +old-fashioned painted ceiling, the great bronze crucifix in the corner, +the china lamp, the albums, the objects on the table. +</p> +<p> +“And you’re here, too, Shatushka!” she cried suddenly. “Only fancy, I +saw you a long time ago, but I thought it couldn’t be you! How could you +come here!” And she laughed gaily. +</p> +<p> +“You know this woman?” said Varvara Petrovna, turning to him at once. +</p> +<p> +“I know her,” muttered Shatov. He seemed about to move from his chair, +but remained sitting. +</p> +<p> +“What do you know of her? Make haste, please!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, well …” he stammered with an incongruous smile. “You see for +yourself.…” +</p> +<p> +“What do I see? Come now, say something!” +</p> +<p> +“She lives in the same house as I do … with her brother … an officer.” +</p> +<p> +“Well?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov stammered again. +</p> +<p> +“It’s not worth talking about …” he muttered, and relapsed into +determined silence. He positively flushed with determination. +</p> +<p> +“Of course one can expect nothing else from you,” said Varvara Petrovna +indignantly. It was clear to her now that they all knew something and, +at the same time, that they were all scared, that they were evading her +questions, and anxious to keep something from her. +</p> +<p> +The footman came in and brought her, on a little silver tray, the cup of +coffee she had so specially ordered, but at a sign from her moved with +it at once towards Marya Timofyevna. +</p> +<p> +“You were very cold just now, my dear; make haste and drink it and get +warm.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Merci.”</i> +</p> +<p> +Marya Timofyevna took the cup and at once went off into a giggle +at having said <i>merci</i> to the footman. But meeting Varvara Petrovna’s +reproving eyes, she was overcome with shyness and put the cup on the +table. +</p> +<p> +“Auntie, surely you’re not angry?” she faltered with a sort of flippant +playfulness. +</p> +<p> +“Wh-a-a-t?” Varvara Petrovna started, and drew herself up in her chair. +“I’m not your aunt. What are you thinking of?” +</p> +<p> +Marya Timofyevna, not expecting such an angry outburst, began trembling +all over in little convulsive shudders, as though she were in a fit, and +sank back in her chair. +</p> +<p> +“I … I … thought that was the proper way,” she faltered, gazing +open-eyed at Varvara Petrovna. “Liza called you that.” +</p> +<p> +“What Liza?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, this young lady here,” said Marya Timofyevna, pointing with her +finger. +</p> +<p> +“So she’s Liza already?” +</p> +<p> +“You called her that yourself just now,” said Marya Timofyevna growing +a little bolder. “And I dreamed of a beauty like that,” she added, +laughing, as it were accidentally. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna reflected, and grew calmer, she even smiled faintly at +Marya Timofyevna’s last words; the latter, catching her smile, got up +from her chair, and limping, went timidly towards her. +</p> +<p> +“Take it. I forgot to give it back. Don’t be angry with my rudeness.” +</p> +<p> +She took from her shoulders the black shawl that Varvara Petrovna had +wrapped round her. +</p> +<p> +“Put it on again at once, and you can keep it always. Go and sit down, +drink your coffee, and please don’t be afraid of me, my dear, don’t +worry yourself. I am beginning to understand you.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Chère amie …”</i> Stepan Trofimovitch ventured again. +</p> +<p> +“Ach, Stepan Trofimovitch, it’s bewildering enough without you. You +might at least spare me.… Please ring that bell there, near you, to +the maid’s room.” +</p> +<p> +A silence followed. Her eyes strayed irritably and suspiciously over all +our faces. Agasha, her favourite maid, came in. +</p> +<p> +“Bring me my check shawl, the one I bought in Geneva. What’s Darya +Pavlovna doing?” +</p> +<p> +“She’s not very well, madam.” +</p> +<p> +“Go and ask her to come here. Say that I want her particularly, even if +she’s not well.” +</p> +<p> +At that instant there was again, as before, an unusual noise of steps +and voices in the next room, and suddenly Praskovya Ivanovna, panting +and “distracted,” appeared in the doorway. She was leaning on the arm of +Mavriky Nikolaevitch. +</p> +<p> +“Ach, heavens, I could scarcely drag myself here. Liza, you mad girl, +how you treat your mother!” she squeaked, concentrating in that squeak, +as weak and irritable people are wont to do, all her accumulated +irritability. “Varvara Petrovna, I’ve come for my daughter!” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna looked at her from under her brows, half rose to meet +her, and scarcely concealing her vexation brought out: “Good morning, +Praskovya Ivanovna, please be seated, I knew you would come!” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +There could be nothing surprising to Praskovya Ivanovna in such a +reception. Varvara Petrovna had from childhood upwards treated her +old school friend tyrannically, and under a show of friendship almost +contemptuously. And this was an exceptional occasion too. During the +last few days there had almost been a complete rupture between the two +households, as I have mentioned incidentally already. The reason of this +rupture was still a mystery to Varvara Petrovna, which made it all +the more offensive; but the chief cause of offence was that Praskovya +Ivanovna had succeeded in taking up an extraordinarily supercilious +attitude towards Varvara Petrovna. Varvara Petrovna was wounded of +course, and meanwhile some strange rumours had reached her which also +irritated her extremely, especially by their vagueness. Varvara Petrovna +was of a direct and proudly frank character, somewhat slap-dash in her +methods, indeed, if the expression is permissible. There was nothing +she detested so much as secret and mysterious insinuations, she always +preferred war in the open. Anyway, the two ladies had not met for five +days. The last visit had been paid by Varvara Petrovna, who had come +back from “that Drozdov woman” offended and perplexed. I can say with +certainty that Praskovya Ivanovna had come on this occasion with the +naïve conviction that Varvara Petrovna would, for some reason, be sure +to stand in awe of her. This was evident from the very expression of her +face. Evidently too, Varvara Petrovna was always possessed by a demon of +haughty pride whenever she had the least ground for suspecting that she +was for some reason supposed to be humiliated. Like many weak people, +who for a long time allow themselves to be insulted without resenting +it, Praskovya Ivanovna showed an extraordinary violence in her attack at +the first favourable opportunity. It is true that she was not well, and +always became more irritable in illness. I must add finally, that our +presence in the drawing-room could hardly be much check to the two +ladies who had been friends from childhood, if a quarrel had broken out +between them. We were looked upon as friends of the family, and almost +as their subjects. I made that reflection with some alarm at the time. +Stepan Trofimovitch, who had not sat down since the entrance of Varvara +Petrovna, sank helplessly into an arm-chair on hearing Praskovya +Ivanovna’s squeal, and tried to catch my eye with a look of despair. +Shatov turned sharply in his chair, and growled something to himself. +I believe he meant to get up and go away. Liza rose from her chair but +sank back again at once without even paying befitting attention to her +mother’s squeal—not from “waywardness,” but obviously because she +was entirely absorbed by some other overwhelming impression. She was +looking absent-mindedly into the air, no longer noticing even Marya +Timofyevna. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +“Ach, here!” Praskovya Ivanovna indicated an easy chair near the table +and sank heavily into it with the assistance of Mavriky Nikolaevitch. +“I wouldn’t have sat down in your house, my lady, if it weren’t for my +legs,” she added in a breaking voice. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna raised her head a little, and with an expression of +suffering pressed the fingers of her right hand to her right temple, +evidently in acute pain <i>(tic douloureux)</i>. +</p> +<p> +“Why so, Praskovya Ivanovna; why wouldn’t you sit down in my house? I +possessed your late husband’s sincere friendship all his life; and you +and I used to play with our dolls at school together as girls.” +</p> +<p> +Praskovya Ivanovna waved her hands. +</p> +<p> +“I knew that was coming! You always begin about the school when you want +to reproach me—that’s your way. But to my thinking that’s only fine +talk. I can’t stand the school you’re always talking about.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve come in rather a bad temper, I’m afraid; how are your legs? Here +they’re bringing you some coffee, please have some, drink it and don’t +be cross.” +</p> +<p> +“Varvara Petrovna, you treat me as though I were a child. I won’t have +any coffee, so there!” +</p> +<p> +And she pettishly waved away the footman who was bringing her coffee. +(All the others refused coffee too except Mavriky Nikolaevitch and me. +Stepan Trofimovitch took it, but put it aside on the table. Though Marya +Timofyevna was very eager to have another cup and even put out her hand +to take it, on second thoughts she refused it ceremoniously, and was +obviously pleased with herself for doing so.) +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna gave a wry smile. +</p> +<p> +“I’ll tell you what it is, Praskovya Ivanovna, my friend, you must +have taken some fancy into your head again, and that’s why you’ve come. +You’ve simply lived on fancies all your life. You flew into a fury at +the mere mention of our school; but do you remember how you came and +persuaded all the class that a hussar called Shablykin had proposed to +you, and how Mme. Lefebure proved on the spot you were lying. Yet you +weren’t lying, you were simply imagining it all to amuse yourself. Come, +tell me, what is it now? What are you fancying now; what is it vexes +you?” +</p> +<p> +“And you fell in love with the priest who used to teach us scripture at +school—so much for you, since you’ve such a spiteful memory. Ha ha ha!” +</p> +<p> +She laughed viciously and went off into a fit of coughing. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, you’ve not forgotten the priest then …” said Varvara Petrovna, +looking at her vindictively. +</p> +<p> +Her face turned green. Praskovya Ivanovna suddenly assumed a dignified +air. +</p> +<p> +“I’m in no laughing mood now, madam. Why have you drawn my daughter +into your scandals in the face of the whole town? That’s what I’ve come +about.” +</p> +<p> +“My scandals?” Varvara Petrovna drew herself up menacingly. +</p> +<p> +“Maman, I entreat you too, to restrain yourself,” Lizaveta Nikolaevna +brought out suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“What’s that you say?” The maman was on the point of breaking into a +squeal again, but catching her daughter’s flashing eye, she subsided +suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“How could you talk about scandal, maman?” cried Liza, flushing red. +“I came of my own accord with Yulia Mihailovna’s permission, because I +wanted to learn this unhappy woman’s story and to be of use to her.” +</p> +<p> +“This unhappy woman’s story!” Praskovya Ivanovna drawled with a spiteful +laugh. “Is it your place to mix yourself up with such ‘stories.’ Ach, +enough of your tyrannising!” She turned furiously to Varvara Petrovna. +“I don’t know whether it’s true or not, they say you keep the whole town +in order, but it seems your turn has come at last.” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna sat straight as an arrow ready to fly from the bow. For +ten seconds she looked sternly and immovably at Praskovya Ivanovna. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Praskovya, you must thank God that all here present are our +friends,” she said at last with ominous composure. “You’ve said a great +deal better unsaid.” +</p> +<p> +“But I’m not so much afraid of what the world will say, my lady, as +some people. It’s you who, under a show of pride, are trembling at what +people will say. And as for all here being your friends, it’s better for +you than if strangers had been listening.” +</p> +<p> +“Have you grown wiser during this last week?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s not that I’ve grown wiser, but simply that the truth has come out +this week.” +</p> +<p> +“What truth has come out this week? Listen, Praskovya Ivanovna, don’t +irritate me. Explain to me this minute, I beg you as a favour, what +truth has come out and what do you mean by that?” +</p> +<p> +“Why there it is, sitting before you!” and Praskovya Ivanovna suddenly +pointed at Marya Timofyevna with that desperate determination which +takes no heed of consequences, if only it can make an impression at +the moment. Marya Timofyevna, who had watched her all the time with +light-hearted curiosity, laughed exultingly at the sight of the wrathful +guest’s finger pointed impetuously at her, and wriggled gleefully in her +easy chair. +</p> +<p> +“God Almighty have mercy on us, they’ve all gone crazy!” exclaimed +Varvara Petrovna, and turning pale she sank back in her chair. +</p> +<p> +She turned so pale that it caused some commotion. Stepan Trofimovitch +was the first to rush up to her. I drew near also; even Liza got up from +her seat, though she did not come forward. But the most alarmed of all +was Praskovya Ivanovna herself. She uttered a scream, got up as far as +she could and almost wailed in a lachrymose voice: +</p> +<p> +“Varvara Petrovna, dear, forgive me for my wicked foolishness! Give her +some water, somebody.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t whimper, please, Praskovya Ivanovna, and leave me alone, +gentlemen, please, I don’t want any water!” Varvara Petrovna pronounced +in a firm though low voice, with blanched lips. +</p> +<p> +“Varvara Petrovna, my dear,” Praskovya Ivanovna went on, a little +reassured, “though I am to blame for my reckless words, what’s upset me +more than anything are these anonymous letters that some low creatures +keep bombarding me with; they might write to you, since it concerns you, +but I’ve a daughter!” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna looked at her in silence, with wide-open eyes, +listening with wonder. At that moment a side-door in the corner opened +noiselessly, and Darya Pavlovna made her appearance. She stood still and +looked round. She was struck by our perturbation. Probably she did not +at first distinguish Marya Timofyevna, of whose presence she had not +been informed. Stepan Trofimovitch was the first to notice her; he made +a rapid movement, turned red, and for some reason proclaimed in a loud +voice: “Darya Pavlovna!” so that all eyes turned on the new-comer. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, is this your Darya Pavlovna!” cried Marya Timofyevna. “Well, +Shatushka, your sister’s not like you. How can my fellow call such a +charmer the serf-wench Dasha?” +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile Darya Pavlovna had gone up to Varvara Petrovna, but struck +by Marya Timofyevna’s exclamation she turned quickly and stopped just +before her chair, looking at the imbecile with a long fixed gaze. +</p> +<p> +“Sit down, Dasha,” Varvara Petrovna brought out with terrifying +composure. “Nearer, that’s right. You can see this woman, sitting down. +Do you know her?” +</p> +<p> +“I have never seen her,” Dasha answered quietly, and after a pause she +added at once: +</p> +<p> +“She must be the invalid sister of Captain Lebyadkin.” +</p> +<p> +“And it’s the first time I’ve set eyes on you, my love, though I’ve been +interested and wanted to know you a long time, for I see how +well-bred you are in every movement you make,” Marya Timofyevna cried +enthusiastically. “And though my footman swears at you, can such a +well-educated charming person as you really have stolen money from +him? For you are sweet, sweet, sweet, I tell you that from myself!” she +concluded, enthusiastically waving her hand. +</p> +<p> +“Can you make anything of it?” Varvara Petrovna asked with proud +dignity. +</p> +<p> +“I understand it.…” +</p> +<p> +“Have you heard about the money?” +</p> +<p> +“No doubt it’s the money that I undertook at Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s +request to hand over to her brother, Captain Lebyadkin.” +</p> +<p> +A silence followed. +</p> +<p> +“Did Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch himself ask you to do so?” +</p> +<p> +“He was very anxious to send that money, three hundred roubles, to Mr. +Lebyadkin. And as he didn’t know his address, but only knew that he +was to be in our town, he charged me to give it to Mr. Lebyadkin if he +came.” +</p> +<p> +“What is the money … lost? What was this woman speaking about just +now?” +</p> +<p> +“That I don’t know. I’ve heard before that Mr. Lebyadkin says I didn’t +give him all the money, but I don’t understand his words. There were +three hundred roubles and I sent him three hundred roubles.” +</p> +<p> +Darya Pavlovna had almost completely regained her composure. And it was +difficult, I may mention, as a rule, to astonish the girl or ruffle her +calm for long—whatever she might be feeling. She brought out all her +answers now without haste, replied immediately to every question with +accuracy, quietly, smoothly, and without a trace of the sudden emotion +she had shown at first, or the slightest embarrassment which might +have suggested a consciousness of guilt. Varvara Petrovna’s eyes were +fastened upon her all the time she was speaking. Varvara Petrovna +thought for a minute: +</p> +<p> +“If,” she pronounced at last firmly, evidently addressing all present, +though she only looked at Dasha, “if Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch did not +appeal even to me but asked you to do this for him, he must have had his +reasons for doing so. I don’t consider I have any right to inquire into +them, if they are kept secret from me. But the very fact of your having +taken part in the matter reassures me on that score, be sure of that, +Darya, in any case. But you see, my dear, you may, through ignorance of +the world, have quite innocently done something imprudent; and you did +so when you undertook to have dealings with a low character. The rumours +spread by this rascal show what a mistake you made. But I will find +out about him, and as it is my task to protect you, I shall know how to +defend you. But now all this must be put a stop to.” +</p> +<p> +“The best thing to do,” said Marya Timofyevna, popping up from her +chair, “is to send him to the footmen’s room when he comes. Let him +sit on the benches there and play cards with them while we sit here and +drink coffee. We might send him a cup of coffee too, but I have a great +contempt for him.” +</p> +<p> +And she wagged her head expressively. +</p> +<p> +“We must put a stop to this,” Varvara Petrovna repeated, listening +attentively to Marya Timofyevna. “Ring, Stepan Trofimovitch, I beg you.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch rang, and suddenly stepped forward, all excitement. +</p> +<p> +“If … if …” he faltered feverishly, flushing, breaking off and +stuttering, “if I too have heard the most revolting story, or rather +slander, it was with utter indignation … <i>enfin c’est un homme perdu, et +quelque chose comme un forçat evadé</i>.…” +</p> +<p> +He broke down and could not go on. Varvara Petrovna, screwing up her +eyes, looked him up and down. +</p> +<p> +The ceremonious butler Alexey Yegorytch came in. +</p> +<p> +“The carriage,” Varvara Petrovna ordered. “And you, Alexey Yegorytch, +get ready to escort Miss Lebyadkin home; she will give you the address +herself.” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Lebyadkin has been waiting for her for some time downstairs, and +has been begging me to announce him.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s impossible, Varvara Petrovna!” and Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who had +sat all the time in unbroken silence, suddenly came forward in alarm. +“If I may speak, he is not a man who can be admitted into society. +He … he … he’s an impossible person, Varvara Petrovna!” +</p> +<p> +“Wait a moment,” said Varvara Petrovna to Alexey Yegorytch, and he +disappeared at once. +</p> +<p> +<i>“C’est un homme malhonnête et je crois même que c’est un forçat evadé +ou quelque chose dans ce genre,”</i> Stepan Trofimovitch muttered again, and +again he flushed red and broke off. +</p> +<p> +“Liza, it’s time we were going,” announced Praskovya Ivanovna +disdainfully, getting up from her seat. She seemed sorry that in her +alarm she had called herself a fool. While Darya Pavlovna was speaking, +she listened, pressing her lips superciliously. But what struck me most +was the expression of Lizaveta Nikolaevna from the moment Darya Pavlovna +had come in. There was a gleam of hatred and hardly disguised contempt +in her eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Wait one minute, Praskovya Ivanovna, I beg you.” Varvara Petrovna +detained her, still with the same exaggerated composure. “Kindly sit +down. I intend to speak out, and your legs are bad. That’s right, thank +you. I lost my temper just now and uttered some impatient words. Be so +good as to forgive me. I behaved foolishly and I’m the first to regret +it, because I like fairness in everything. Losing your temper too, +of course, you spoke of certain anonymous letters. Every anonymous +communication is deserving of contempt, just because it’s not signed. If +you think differently I’m sorry for you. In any case, if I were in your +place, I would not pry into such dirty corners, I would not soil my +hands with it. But you have soiled yours. However, since you have +begun on the subject yourself, I must tell you that six days ago I too +received a clownish anonymous letter. In it some rascal informs me that +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch has gone out of his mind, and that I have reason +to fear some lame woman, who ‘is destined to play a great part in +my life.’ I remember the expression. Reflecting and being aware that +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch has very numerous enemies, I promptly sent for a +man living here, one of his secret enemies, and the most vindictive and +contemptible of them, and from my conversation with him I gathered what +was the despicable source of the anonymous letter. If you too, my poor +Praskovya Ivanovna, have been worried by similar letters on my account, +and as you say ‘bombarded’ with them, I am, of course, the first to +regret having been the innocent cause of it. That’s all I wanted to tell +you by way of explanation. I’m very sorry to see that you are so +tired and so upset. Besides, I have quite made up my mind to see that +suspicious personage of whom Mavriky Nikolaevitch said just now, a +little inappropriately, that it was impossible to receive him. Liza in +particular need have nothing to do with it. Come to me, Liza, my dear, +let me kiss you again.” +</p> +<p> +Liza crossed the room and stood in silence before Varvara Petrovna. The +latter kissed her, took her hands, and, holding her at arm’s-length, +looked at her with feeling, then made the sign of the cross over her and +kissed her again. +</p> +<p> +“Well, good-bye, Liza” (there was almost the sound of tears in Varvara +Petrovna’s voice), “believe that I shall never cease to love you +whatever fate has in store for you. God be with you. I have always +blessed His Holy Will.…” +</p> +<p> +She would have added something more, but restrained herself and broke +off. Liza was walking back to her place, still in the same silence, as +it were plunged in thought, but she suddenly stopped before her mother. +</p> +<p> +“I am not going yet, mother. I’ll stay a little longer at auntie’s,” she +brought out in a low voice, but there was a note of iron determination +in those quiet words. +</p> +<p> +“My goodness! What now?” wailed Praskovya Ivanovna, clasping her hands +helplessly. But Liza did not answer, and seemed indeed not to hear her; +she sat down in the same corner and fell to gazing into space again as +before. +</p> +<p> +There was a look of pride and triumph in Varvara Petrovna’s face. +</p> +<p> +“Mavriky Nikolaevitch, I have a great favour to ask of you. Be so kind +as to go and take a look at that person downstairs, and if there is any +possibility of admitting him, bring him up here.” +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch bowed and went out. A moment later he brought in +Mr. Lebyadkin. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +I have said something of this gentleman’s outward appearance. He was a +tall, curly-haired, thick-set fellow about forty with a purplish, rather +bloated and flabby face, with cheeks that quivered at every movement of +his head, with little bloodshot eyes that were sometimes rather crafty, +with moustaches and side-whiskers, and with an incipient double chin, +fleshy and rather unpleasant-looking. But what was most striking about +him was the fact that he appeared now wearing a dress-coat and clean +linen. +</p> +<p> +“There are people on whom clean linen is almost unseemly,” as Liputin +had once said when Stepan Trofimovitch reproached him in jest for being +untidy. The captain had perfectly new black gloves too, of which he +held the right one in his hand, while the left, tightly stretched and +unbuttoned, covered part of the huge fleshy fist in which he held a +brand-new, glossy round hat, probably worn for the first time that day. +It appeared therefore that “the garb of love,” of which he had shouted +to Shatov the day before, really did exist. All this, that is, the +dress-coat and clean linen, had been procured by Liputin’s advice with +some mysterious object in view (as I found out later). There was no +doubt that his coming now (in a hired carriage) was at the instigation +and with the assistance of someone else; it would never have dawned on +him, nor could he by himself have succeeded in dressing, getting ready +and making up his mind in three-quarters of an hour, even if the scene +in the porch of the cathedral had reached his ears at once. He was not +drunk, but was in the dull, heavy, dazed condition of a man suddenly +awakened after many days of drinking. It seemed as though he would be +drunk again if one were to put one’s hands on his shoulders and rock +him to and fro once or twice. He was hurrying into the drawing-room but +stumbled over a rug near the doorway. Marya Timofyevna was helpless with +laughter. He looked savagely at her and suddenly took a few rapid steps +towards Varvara Petrovna. +</p> +<p> +“I have come, madam …” he blared out like a trumpet-blast. +</p> +<p> +“Be so good, sir, as to take a seat there, on that chair,” said Varvara +Petrovna, drawing herself up. “I shall hear you as well from there, and +it will be more convenient for me to look at you from here.” +</p> +<p> +The captain stopped short, looking blankly before him. He turned, +however, and sat down on the seat indicated close to the door. An +extreme lack of self-confidence and at the same time insolence, and a +sort of incessant irritability, were apparent in the expression of his +face. He was horribly scared, that was evident, but his self-conceit +was wounded, and it might be surmised that his mortified vanity might on +occasion lead him to any effrontery, in spite of his cowardice. He was +evidently uneasy at every movement of his clumsy person. We all know +that when such gentlemen are brought by some marvellous chance into +society, they find their worst ordeal in their own hands, and the +impossibility of disposing them becomingly, of which they are conscious +at every moment. The captain sat rigid in his chair, with his hat and +gloves in his hands and his eyes fixed with a senseless stare on the +stern face of Varvara Petrovna. He would have liked, perhaps, to have +looked about more freely, but he could not bring himself to do so yet. +Marya Timofyevna, apparently thinking his appearance very funny, laughed +again, but he did not stir. Varvara Petrovna ruthlessly kept him in this +position for a long time, a whole minute, staring at him without mercy. +</p> +<p> +“In the first place allow me to learn your name from yourself,” Varvara +Petrovna pronounced in measured and impressive tones. +</p> +<p> +“Captain Lebyadkin,” thundered the captain. “I have come, madam …” He +made a movement again. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me!” Varvara Petrovna checked him again. “Is this unfortunate +person who interests me so much really your sister?” +</p> +<p> +“My sister, madam, who has escaped from control, for she is in a certain +condition.…” +</p> +<p> +He suddenly faltered and turned crimson. “Don’t misunderstand me, +madam,” he said, terribly confused. “Her own brother’s not going to +throw mud at her … in a certain condition doesn’t mean in such a +condition … in the sense of an injured reputation … in the last +stage …” he suddenly broke off. +</p> +<p> +“Sir!” said Varvara Petrovna, raising her head. +</p> +<p> +“In this condition!” he concluded suddenly, tapping the middle of his +forehead with his finger. +</p> +<p> +A pause followed. +</p> +<p> +“And has she suffered in this way for long?” asked Varvara Petrovna, +with a slight drawl. +</p> +<p> +“Madam, I have come to thank you for the generosity you showed in the +porch, in a Russian, brotherly way.” +</p> +<p> +“Brotherly?” +</p> +<p> +“I mean, not brotherly, but simply in the sense that I am my sister’s +brother; and believe me, madam,” he went on more hurriedly, turning +crimson again, “I am not so uneducated as I may appear at first sight in +your drawing-room. My sister and I are nothing, madam, compared with the +luxury we observe here. Having enemies who slander us, besides. But on +the question of reputation Lebyadkin is proud, madam … and … and … +and I’ve come to repay with thanks.… Here is money, madam!” +</p> +<p> +At this point he pulled out a pocket-book, drew out of it a bundle of +notes, and began turning them over with trembling fingers in a perfect +fury of impatience. It was evident that he was in haste to explain +something, and indeed it was quite necessary to do so. But probably +feeling himself that his fluster with the money made him look even more +foolish, he lost the last traces of self-possession. The money refused +to be counted. His fingers fumbled helplessly, and to complete his shame +a green note escaped from the pocket-book, and fluttered in zigzags on +to the carpet. +</p> +<p> +“Twenty roubles, madam.” He leapt up suddenly with the roll of notes in +his hand, his face perspiring with discomfort. Noticing the note which +had dropped on the floor, he was bending down to pick it up, but for +some reason overcome by shame, he dismissed it with a wave. +</p> +<p> +“For your servants, madam; for the footman who picks it up. Let them +remember my sister!” +</p> +<p> +“I cannot allow that,” Varvara Petrovna brought out hurriedly, even with +some alarm. +</p> +<p> +“In that case …” +</p> +<p> +He bent down, picked it up, flushing crimson, and suddenly going up to +Varvara Petrovna held out the notes he had counted. +</p> +<p> +“What’s this?” she cried, really alarmed at last, and positively +shrinking back in her chair. +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch, Stepan Trofimovitch, and I all stepped forward. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be alarmed, don’t be alarmed; I’m not mad, by God, I’m not mad,” +the captain kept asseverating excitedly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, you’re out of your senses.” +</p> +<p> +“Madam, she’s not at all as you suppose. I am an insignificant link. +Oh, madam, wealthy are your mansions, but poor is the dwelling of Marya +Anonyma, my sister, whose maiden name was Lebyadkin, but whom we’ll call +Anonyma for the time, only for <i>the time,</i> madam, for God Himself will +not suffer it forever. Madam, you gave her ten roubles and she took it, +because it was from <i>you,</i> madam! Do you hear, madam? From no one else +in the world would this Marya Anonyma take it, or her grandfather, the +officer killed in the Caucasus before the very eyes of Yermolov, would +turn in his grave. But from you, madam, from you she will take anything. +But with one hand she takes it, and with the other she holds out to +you twenty roubles by way of subscription to one of the benevolent +committees in Petersburg and Moscow, of which you are a member … for +you published yourself, madam, in the <i>Moscow News,</i> that you are ready to +receive subscriptions in our town, and that any one may subscribe.…” +</p> +<p> +The captain suddenly broke off; he breathed hard as though after some +difficult achievement. All he said about the benevolent society had +probably been prepared beforehand, perhaps under Liputin’s supervision. +He perspired more than ever; drops literally trickled down his temples. +Varvara Petrovna looked searchingly at him. +</p> +<p> +“The subscription list,” she said severely, “is always downstairs in +charge of my porter. There you can enter your subscriptions if you wish +to. And so I beg you to put your notes away and not to wave them in the +air. That’s right. I beg you also to go back to your seat. That’s right. +I am very sorry, sir, that I made a mistake about your sister, and gave +her something as though she were poor when she is so rich. There’s only +one thing I don’t understand, why she can only take from me, and no one +else. You so insisted upon that that I should like a full explanation.” +</p> +<p> +“Madam, that is a secret that may be buried only in the grave!” answered +the captain. +</p> +<p> +“Why?” Varvara Petrovna asked, not quite so firmly. +</p> +<p> +“Madam, madam …” +</p> +<p> +He relapsed into gloomy silence, looking on the floor, laying his right +hand on his heart. Varvara Petrovna waited, not taking her eyes off him. +</p> +<p> +“Madam!” he roared suddenly. “Will you allow me to ask you one question? +Only one, but frankly, directly, like a Russian, from the heart?” +</p> +<p> +“Kindly do so.” +</p> +<p> +“Have you ever suffered madam, in your life?” +</p> +<p> +“You simply mean to say that you have been or are being ill-treated by +someone.” +</p> +<p> +“Madam, madam!” He jumped up again, probably unconscious of doing +so, and struck himself on the breast. “Here in this bosom so much has +accumulated, so much that God Himself will be amazed when it is revealed +at the Day of Judgment.” +</p> +<p> +“H’m! A strong expression!” +</p> +<p> +“Madam, I speak perhaps irritably.…” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be uneasy. I know myself when to stop you.” +</p> +<p> +“May I ask you another question, madam?” +</p> +<p> +“Ask another question.” +</p> +<p> +“Can one die simply from the generosity of one’s feelings?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know, as I’ve never asked myself such a question.” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t know! You’ve never asked yourself such a question,” he said +with pathetic irony. “Well, if that’s it, if that’s it … +</p> +<p> +<i>“Be still, despairing heart!”</i> +</p> +<p> +And he struck himself furiously on the chest. He was by now walking +about the room again. +</p> +<p> +It is typical of such people to be utterly incapable of keeping their +desires to themselves; they have, on the contrary, an irresistible +impulse to display them in all their unseemliness as soon as they arise. +When such a gentleman gets into a circle in which he is not at home +he usually begins timidly,—but you have only to give him an inch and he +will at once rush into impertinence. The captain was already excited. +He walked about waving his arms and not listening to questions, talked +about himself very, very quickly, so that sometimes his tongue would not +obey him, and without finishing one phrase he passed to another. It is +true he was probably not quite sober. Moreover, Lizaveta Nikolaevna +was sitting there too, and though he did not once glance at her, her +presence seemed to over-excite him terribly; that, however, is only my +supposition. There must have been some reason which led Varvara Petrovna +to resolve to listen to such a man in spite of her repugnance. Praskovya +Ivanovna was simply shaking with terror, though, I believe she really +did not quite understand what it was about. Stepan Trofimovitch was +trembling too, but that was, on the contrary, because he was disposed to +understand everything, and exaggerate it. Mavriky Nikolaevitch stood in +the attitude of one ready to defend all present; Liza was pale, and she +gazed fixedly with wide-open eyes at the wild captain. Shatov sat in +the same position as before, but, what was strangest of all, Marya +Timofyevna had not only ceased laughing, but had become terribly sad. +She leaned her right elbow on the table, and with a prolonged, mournful +gaze watched her brother declaiming. Darya Pavlovna alone seemed to me +calm. +</p> +<p> +“All that is nonsensical allegory,” said Varvara Petrovna, getting angry +at last. “You haven’t answered my question, why? I insist on an answer.” +</p> +<p> +“I haven’t answered, why? You insist on an answer, why?” repeated +the captain, winking. “That little word ‘why’ has run through all the +universe from the first day of creation, and all nature cries every +minute to it’s Creator, ‘why?’ And for seven thousand years it has had +no answer, and must Captain Lebyadkin alone answer? And is that justice, +madam?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s all nonsense and not to the point!” cried Varvara Petrovna, +getting angry and losing patience. “That’s allegory; besides, you +express yourself too sensationally, sir, which I consider impertinence.” +</p> +<p> +“Madam,” the captain went on, not hearing, “I should have liked perhaps +to be called Ernest, yet I am forced to bear the vulgar name Ignat—why +is that do you suppose? I should have liked to be called Prince de +Monbart, yet I am only Lebyadkin, derived from a swan.* Why is that? +I am a poet, madam, a poet in soul, and might be getting a thousand +roubles at a time from a publisher, yet I am forced to live in a pig +pail. Why? Why, madam? To my mind Russia is a freak of nature and +nothing else.” +</p> + +<pre> * From lebyed, a swan.</pre> + +<p> +“Can you really say nothing more definite?” +</p> +<p> +“I can read you the poem, ‘The Cockroach,’ madam.” +</p> +<p> +“Wha-a-t?” +</p> +<p> +“Madam, I’m not mad yet! I shall be mad, no doubt I shall be, but I’m +not so yet. Madam, a friend of mine—a most honourable man—has written +a Krylov’s fable, called ‘The Cockroach.’ May I read it?” +</p> +<p> +“You want to read some fable of Krylov’s?” +</p> +<p> +“No, it’s not a fable of Krylov’s I want to read. It’s my fable, my own +composition. Believe me, madam, without offence I’m not so uneducated +and depraved as not to understand that Russia can boast of a great +fable-writer, Krylov, to whom the Minister of Education has raised a +monument in the Summer Gardens for the diversion of the young. Here, +madam, you ask me why? The answer is at the end of this fable, in +letters of fire.” +</p> +<p> +“Read your fable.” +</p> +<pre> + “Lived a cockroach in the world + Such was his condition, + In a glass he chanced to fall + Full of fly-perdition.” +</pre> +<p> +“Heavens! What does it mean?” cried Varvara Petrovna.</p> + +<p>“That’s when flies +get into a glass in the summer-time,” the captain explained hurriedly +with the irritable impatience of an author interrupted in reading. “Then +it is perdition to the flies, any fool can understand. Don’t interrupt, +don’t interrupt. You’ll see, you’ll see.…” He kept waving his arms. +</p> +<pre> + “But he squeezed against the flies, + They woke up and cursed him, + Raised to Jove their angry cries; + ‘The glass is full to bursting!’ + In the middle of the din + Came along Nikifor, + Fine old man, and looking in … +</pre> +<p> +I haven’t quite finished it. But no matter, I’ll tell it in words,” +the captain rattled on. “Nikifor takes the glass, and in spite of their +outcry empties away the whole stew, flies, and beetles and all, into the +pig pail, which ought to have been done long ago. But observe, madam, +observe, the cockroach doesn’t complain. That’s the answer to your +question, why?” he cried triumphantly. “‘The cockroach does not +complain.’ As for Nikifor he typifies nature,” he added, speaking +rapidly and walking complacently about the room. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna was terribly angry. +</p> +<p> +“And allow me to ask you about that money said to have been received +from Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, and not to have been given to you, about +which you dared to accuse a person belonging to my household.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s a slander!” roared Lebyadkin, flinging up his right hand +tragically. +</p> +<p> +“No, it’s not a slander.” +</p> +<p> +“Madam, there are circumstances that force one to endure family disgrace +rather than proclaim the truth aloud. Lebyadkin will not blab, madam!” +</p> +<p> +He seemed dazed; he was carried away; he felt his importance; he +certainly had some fancy in his mind. By now he wanted to insult some +one, to do something nasty to show his power. +</p> +<p> +“Ring, please, Stepan Trofimovitch,” Varvara Petrovna asked him. +</p> +<p> +“Lebyadkin’s cunning, madam,” he said, winking with his evil smile; +“he’s cunning, but he too has a weak spot, he too at times is in the +portals of passions, and these portals are the old military hussars’ +bottle, celebrated by Denis Davydov. So when he is in those portals, +madam, he may happen to send a letter in verse, a most magnificent +letter—but which afterwards he would have wished to take back, with the +tears of all his life; for the feeling of the beautiful is destroyed. +But the bird has flown, you won’t catch it by the tail. In those portals +now, madam, Lebyadkin may have spoken about an honourable young lady, +in the honourable indignation of a soul revolted by wrongs, and his +slanderers have taken advantage of it. But Lebyadkin is cunning, madam! +And in vain a malignant wolf sits over him every minute, filling his +glass and waiting for the end. Lebyadkin won’t blab. And at the bottom +of the bottle he always finds instead Lebyadkin’s cunning. But enough, +oh, enough, madam! Your splendid halls might belong to the noblest in +the land, but the cockroach will not complain. Observe that, observe +that he does not complain, and recognise his noble spirit!” +</p> +<p> +At that instant a bell rang downstairs from the porter’s room, and +almost at the same moment Alexey Yegorytch appeared in response to +Stepan Trofimovitch’s ring, which he had somewhat delayed answering. The +correct old servant was unusually excited. +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch has graciously arrived this moment and is +coming here,” he pronounced, in reply to Varvara Petrovna’s questioning +glance. I particularly remember her at that moment; at first she turned +pale, but suddenly her eyes flashed. She drew herself up in her chair +with an air of extraordinary determination. Every one was astounded +indeed. The utterly unexpected arrival of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, +who was not expected for another month, was not only strange from its +unexpectedness but from its fateful coincidence with the present moment. +Even the captain remained standing like a post in the middle of the room +with his mouth wide open, staring at the door with a fearfully stupid +expression. +</p> +<p> +And, behold, from the next room—a very large and long apartment—came +the sound of swiftly approaching footsteps, little, exceedingly rapid +steps; someone seemed to be running, and that someone suddenly flew +into the drawing-room, not Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but a young man who +was a complete stranger to all. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +V +</p> +<p> +I will permit myself to halt here to sketch in a few hurried strokes +this person who had so suddenly arrived on the scene. +</p> +<p> +He was a young man of twenty-seven or thereabouts, a little above the +medium height, with rather long, lank, flaxen hair, and with faintly +defined, irregular moustache and beard. He was dressed neatly, and in +the fashion, though not like a dandy. At the first glance he looked +round-shouldered and awkward, but yet he was not round-shouldered, and +his manner was easy. He seemed a queer fish, and yet later on we all +thought his manners good, and his conversation always to the point. +</p> +<p> +No one would have said that he was ugly, and yet no one would have liked +his face. His head was elongated at the back, and looked flattened at +the sides, so that his face seemed pointed, his forehead was high and +narrow, but his features were small; his eyes were keen, his nose was +small and sharp, his lips were long and thin. The expression of his face +suggested ill-health, but this was misleading. He had a wrinkle on each +cheek which gave him the look of a man who had just recovered from a +serious illness. Yet he was perfectly well and strong, and had never +been ill. +</p> +<p> +He walked and moved very hurriedly, yet never seemed in a hurry to +be off. It seemed as though nothing could disconcert him; in every +circumstance and in every sort of society he remained the same. He had a +great deal of conceit, but was utterly unaware of it himself. +</p> +<p> +He talked quickly, hurriedly, but at the same time with assurance, and +was never at a loss for a word. In spite of his hurried manner his ideas +were in perfect order, distinct and definite—and this was particularly +striking. His articulation was wonderfully clear. His words pattered out +like smooth, big grains, always well chosen, and at your service. +At first this attracted one, but afterwards it became repulsive, just +because of this over-distinct articulation, this string of ever-ready +words. One somehow began to imagine that he must have a tongue of +special shape, somehow exceptionally long and thin, extremely red with a +very sharp everlastingly active little tip. +</p> +<p> +Well, this was the young man who darted now into the drawing-room, and +really, I believe to this day, that he began to talk in the next room, +and came in speaking. He was standing before Varvara Petrovna in a +trice. +</p> +<p> +“… Only fancy, Varvara Petrovna,” he pattered on, “I came in expecting +to find he’d been here for the last quarter of an hour; he arrived an +hour and a half ago; we met at Kirillov’s: he set off half an hour ago +meaning to come straight here, and told me to come here too, a quarter +of an hour later.…” +</p> +<p> +“But who? Who told you to come here?” Varvara Petrovna inquired. +</p> +<p> +“Why, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch! Surely this isn’t the first you’ve heard +of it! But his luggage must have been here a long while, anyway. How +is it you weren’t told? Then I’m the first to bring the news. One might +send out to look for him; he’s sure to be here himself directly +though. And I fancy, at the moment that just fits in with some of +his expectations, and is far as I can judge, at least, some of his +calculations.” +</p> +<p> +At this point he turned his eyes about the room and fixed them with +special attention on the captain. +</p> +<p> +“Ach, Lizaveta Nikolaevna, how glad I am to meet you at the very first +step, delighted to shake hands with you.” He flew up to Liza, who +was smiling gaily, to take her proffered hand, “and I observe that my +honoured friend Praskovya Ivanovna has not forgotten her ‘professor,’ +and actually isn’t cross with him, as she always used to be in +Switzerland. But how are your legs, here, Praskovya Ivanovna, and were +the Swiss doctors right when at the consultation they prescribed your +native air? What? Fomentations? That ought to do good. But how sorry I +was, Varvara Petrovna” (he turned rapidly to her) “that I didn’t arrive +in time to meet you abroad, and offer my respects to you in person; I +had so much to tell you too. I did send word to my old man here, but I +fancy that he did as he always does …” +</p> +<p> +“Petrusha!” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, instantly roused from his +stupefaction. He clasped his hands and flew to his son. “<i>Pierre, mon +enfant!</i> Why, I didn’t know you!” He pressed him in his arms and the +tears rolled down his cheeks. +</p> +<p> +“Come, be quiet, be quiet, no flourishes, that’s enough, that’s enough, +please,” Petrusha muttered hurriedly, trying to extricate himself from +his embrace. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve always sinned against you, always!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s enough. We can talk of that later. I knew you’d carry on. +Come, be a little more sober, please.” +</p> +<p> +“But it’s ten years since I’ve seen you.” +</p> +<p> +“The less reason for demonstrations.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mon enfant!…”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Come, I believe in your affection, I believe in it, take your arms +away. You see, you’re disturbing other people.… Ah, here’s Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch; keep quiet, please.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was already in the room; he came in very quietly +and stood still for an instant in the doorway, quietly scrutinising the +company. +</p> +<p> +I was struck by the first sight of him just as I had been four years +before, when I saw him for the first time. I had not forgotten him in +the least. But I think there are some countenances which always seem to +exhibit something new which one has not noticed before, every time +one meets them, though one may have seen them a hundred times already. +Apparently he was exactly the same as he had been four years before. He +was as elegant, as dignified, he moved with the same air of consequence +as before, indeed he looked almost as young. His faint smile had just +the same official graciousness and complacency. His eyes had the same +stern, thoughtful and, as it were, preoccupied look. In fact, it seemed +as though we had only parted the day before. But one thing struck me. In +old days, though he had been considered handsome, his face was “like a +mask,” as some of our sharp-tongued ladies had expressed it. Now—now, +I don’t know why he impressed me at once as absolutely, incontestably +beautiful, so that no one could have said that his face was like a mask. +Wasn’t it perhaps that he was a little paler and seemed rather thinner +than before? Or was there, perhaps, the light of some new idea in his +eyes? +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch!” cried Varvara Petrovna, drawing herself up +but not rising from her chair. “Stop a minute!” She checked his advance +with a peremptory gesture. +</p> +<p> +But to explain the awful question which immediately followed that +gesture and exclamation—a question which I should have imagined to be +impossible even in Varvara Petrovna, I must ask the reader to remember +what that lady’s temperament had always been, and the extraordinary +impulsiveness she showed at some critical moments. I beg him to consider +also, that in spite of the exceptional strength of her spirit and +the very considerable amount of common sense and practical, so to say +business, tact she possessed, there were moments in her life in which +she abandoned herself altogether, entirely and, if it’s permissible +to say so, absolutely without restraint. I beg him to take into +consideration also that the present moment might really be for her one +of those in which all the essence of life, of all the past and all the +present, perhaps, too, all the future, is concentrated, as it were, +focused. I must briefly recall, too, the anonymous letter of which she +had spoken to Praskovya Ivanovna with so much irritation, though I think +she said nothing of the latter part of it. Yet it perhaps contained the +explanation of the possibility of the terrible question with which she +suddenly addressed her son. +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch,” she repeated, rapping out her words in a +resolute voice in which there was a ring of menacing challenge, “I beg +you to tell me at once, without moving from that place; is it true that +this unhappy cripple—here she is, here, look at her—is it true that +she is … your lawful wife?” +</p> +<p> +I remember that moment only too well; he did not wink an eyelash but +looked intently at his mother. Not the faintest change in his face +followed. At last he smiled, a sort of indulgent smile, and without +answering a word went quietly up to his mother, took her hand, raised it +respectfully to his lips and kissed it. And so great was his invariable +and irresistible ascendancy over his mother that even now she could not +bring herself to pull away her hand. She only gazed at him, her whole +figure one concentrated question, seeming to betray that she could not +bear the suspense another moment. +</p> +<p> +But he was still silent. When he had kissed her hand, he scanned the +whole room once more, and moving, as before, without haste went towards +Marya Timofyevna. It is very difficult to describe people’s countenances +at certain moments. I remember, for instance, that Marya Timofyevna, +breathless with fear, rose to her feet to meet him and clasped her hands +before her, as though beseeching him. And at the same time I remember +the frantic ecstasy which almost distorted her face—an ecstasy almost +too great for any human being to bear. Perhaps both were there, both the +terror and the ecstasy. But I remember moving quickly towards her (I was +standing not far off), for I fancied she was going to faint. +</p> +<p> +“You should not be here,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch said to her in +a caressing and melodious voice; and there was the light of an +extraordinary tenderness in his eyes. He stood before her in the most +respectful attitude, and every gesture showed sincere respect for her. +The poor girl faltered impulsively in a half-whisper. +</p> +<p> +“But may I … kneel down … to you now?” +</p> +<p> +“No, you can’t do that.” +</p> +<p> +He smiled at her magnificently, so that she too laughed joyfully at +once. In the same melodious voice, coaxing her tenderly as though she +were a child, he went on gravely. +</p> +<p> +“Only think that you are a girl, and that though I’m your devoted friend +I’m an outsider, not your husband, nor your father, nor your betrothed. +Give me your arm and let us go; I will take you to the carriage, and if +you will let me I will see you all the way home.” +</p> +<p> +She listened, and bent her head as though meditating. +</p> +<p> +“Let’s go,” she said with a sigh, giving him her hand. +</p> +<p> +But at that point a slight mischance befell her. She must have turned +carelessly, resting on her lame leg, which was shorter than the other. +She fell sideways into the chair, and if the chair had not been there +would have fallen on to the floor. He instantly seized and supported +her, and holding her arm firmly in his, led her carefully and +sympathetically to the door. She was evidently mortified at having +fallen; she was overwhelmed, blushed, and was terribly abashed. Looking +dumbly on the ground, limping painfully, she hobbled after him, almost +hanging on his arm. So they went out. Liza, I saw, suddenly jumped up +from her chair for some reason as they were going out, and she followed +them with intent eyes till they reached the door. Then she sat down +again in silence, but there was a nervous twitching in her face, as +though she had touched a viper. +</p> +<p> +While this scene was taking place between Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch and +Marya Timofyevna every one was speechless with amazement; one could have +heard a fly; but as soon as they had gone out, every one began suddenly +talking. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VI +</p> +<p> +It was very little of it talk, however; it was mostly exclamation. I’ve +forgotten a little the order in which things happened, for a scene of +confusion followed. Stepan Trofimovitch uttered some exclamation in +French, clasping his hands, but Varvara Petrovna had no thought for him. +Even Mavriky Nikolaevitch muttered some rapid, jerky comment. But Pyotr +Stepanovitch was the most excited of all. He was trying desperately with +bold gesticulations to persuade Varvara Petrovna of something, but it +was a long time before I could make out what it was. He appealed +to Praskovya Ivanovna, and Lizaveta Nikolaevna too, even, in his +excitement, addressed a passing shout to his father—in fact he seemed +all over the room at once. Varvara Petrovna, flushing all over, sprang +up from her seat and cried to Praskovya Ivanovna: +</p> +<p> +“Did you hear what he said to her here just now, did you hear it?” +</p> +<p> +But the latter was incapable of replying. She could only mutter +something and wave her hand. The poor woman had troubles of her own to +think about. She kept turning her head towards Liza and was watching her +with unaccountable terror, but she didn’t even dare to think of getting +up and going away until her daughter should get up. In the meantime the +captain wanted to slip away. That I noticed. There was no doubt that he +had been in a great panic from the instant that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +had made his appearance; but Pyotr Stepanovitch took him by the arm and +would not let him go. +</p> +<p> +“It is necessary, quite necessary,” he pattered on to Varvara Petrovna, +still trying to persuade her. He stood facing her, as she was sitting +down again in her easy chair, and, I remember, was listening to him +eagerly; he had succeeded in securing her attention. +</p> +<p> +“It is necessary. You can see for yourself, Varvara Petrovna, that there +is a misunderstanding here, and much that is strange on the surface, +and yet the thing’s as clear as daylight, and as simple as my finger. I +quite understand that no one has authorised me to tell the story, and +I dare say I look ridiculous putting myself forward. But in the first +place, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch attaches no sort of significance to +the matter himself, and, besides, there are incidents of which it is +difficult for a man to make up his mind to give an explanation himself. +And so it’s absolutely necessary that it should be undertaken by a third +person, for whom it’s easier to put some delicate points into words. +Believe me, Varvara Petrovna, that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch is not at +all to blame for not immediately answering your question just now with +a full explanation, it’s all a trivial affair. I’ve known him since his +Petersburg days. Besides, the whole story only does honour to Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, if one must make use of that vague word ‘honour.’” +</p> +<p> +“You mean to say that you were a witness of some incident which gave +rise … to this misunderstanding?” asked Varvara Petrovna. +</p> +<p> +“I witnessed it, and took part in it,” Pyotr Stepanovitch hastened to +declare. +</p> +<p> +“If you’ll give me your word that this will not wound Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch’s delicacy in regard to his feeling for me, from whom +he ne-e-ver conceals anything … and if you are convinced also that your +doing this will be agreeable to him …” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly it will be agreeable, and for that reason I consider it a +particularly agreeable duty. I am convinced that he would beg me to do +it himself.” +</p> +<p> +The intrusive desire of this gentleman, who seemed to have dropped on +us from heaven to tell stories about other people’s affairs, was rather +strange and inconsistent with ordinary usage. +</p> +<p> +But he had caught Varvara Petrovna by touching on too painful a spot. +I did not know the man’s character at that time, and still less his +designs. +</p> +<p> +“I am listening,” Varvara Petrovna announced with a reserved and +cautious manner. She was rather painfully aware of her condescension. +</p> +<p> +“It’s a short story; in fact if you like it’s not a story at all,” he +rattled on, “though a novelist might work it up into a novel in an idle +hour. It’s rather an interesting little incident, Praskovya Ivanovna, +and I am sure that Lizaveta Nikolaevna will be interested to hear +it, because there are a great many things in it that are odd if not +wonderful. Five years ago, in Petersburg, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +made the acquaintance of this gentleman, this very Mr. Lebyadkin who’s +standing here with his mouth open, anxious, I think, to slip away at +once. Excuse me, Varvara Petrovna. I don’t advise you to make your +escape though, you discharged clerk in the former commissariat +department; you see, I remember you very well. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +and I know very well what you’ve been up to here, and, don’t forget, +you’ll have to answer for it. I ask your pardon once more, Varvara +Petrovna. In those days Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch used to call this +gentleman his Falstaff; that must be,” he explained suddenly, “some old +burlesque character, at whom every one laughs, and who is willing to +let every one laugh at him, if only they’ll pay him for it. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch was leading at that time in Petersburg a life, so to +say, of mockery. I can’t find another word to describe it, because he +is not a man who falls into disillusionment, and he disdained to be +occupied with work at that time. I’m only speaking of that period, +Varvara Petrovna. Lebyadkin had a sister, the woman who was sitting here +just now. The brother and sister hadn’t a corner* of their own, but +were always quartering themselves on different people. He used to hang +about the arcades in the Gostiny Dvor, always wearing his old uniform, +and would stop the more respectable-looking passers-by, and everything +he got from them he’d spend in drink. His sister lived like the birds +of heaven. She’d help people in their ‘corners,’ and do jobs for them +on occasion. It was a regular Bedlam. I’ll pass over the description +of this life in ‘corners,’ a life to which Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had +taken,” +</p> +<pre> + * In the poorer quarters of Russian towns a single room is often + let out to several families, each of which occupies a “corner.” +</pre> +<p> +“at that time, from eccentricity. I’m only talking of that period, +Varvara Petrovna; as for ‘eccentricity,’ that’s his own expression. He +does not conceal much from me. Mlle. Lebyadkin, who was thrown in the +way of meeting Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch very often, at one time, was +fascinated by his appearance. He was, so to say, a diamond set in the +dirty background of her life. I am a poor hand at describing feelings, +so I’ll pass them over; but some of that dirty lot took to jeering at +her once, and it made her sad. They always had laughed at her, but she +did not seem to notice it before. She wasn’t quite right in her head +even then, but very different from what she is now. There’s reason to +believe that in her childhood she received something like an education +through the kindness of a benevolent lady. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +had never taken the slightest notice of her. He used to spend his time +chiefly in playing preference with a greasy old pack of cards for +stakes of a quarter-farthing with clerks. But once, when she was being +ill-treated, he went up (without inquiring into the cause) and seized +one of the clerks by the collar and flung him out of a second-floor +window. It was not a case of chivalrous indignation at the sight of +injured innocence; the whole operation took place in the midst of roars +of laughter, and the one who laughed loudest was Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +himself. As it all ended without harm, they were reconciled and began +drinking punch. But the injured innocent herself did not forget it. Of +course it ended in her becoming completely crazy. I repeat I’m a poor +hand at describing feelings. But a delusion was the chief feature in +this case. And Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch aggravated that delusion as +though he did it on purpose. Instead of laughing at her he began all +at once treating Mlle. Lebyadkin with sudden respect. Kirillov, who was +there (a very original man, Varvara Petrovna, and very abrupt, you’ll +see him perhaps one day, for he’s here now), well, this Kirillov who, +as a rule, is perfectly silent, suddenly got hot, and said to Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, I remember, that he treated the girl as though she were +a marquise, and that that was doing for her altogether. I must add that +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had rather a respect for this Kirillov. What do +you suppose was the answer he gave him: ‘You imagine, Mr. Kirillov, that +I am laughing at her. Get rid of that idea, I really do respect her, +for she’s better than any of us.’ And, do you know, he said it in such a +serious tone. Meanwhile, he hadn’t really said a word to her for two or +three months, except ‘good morning’ and ‘good-bye.’ I remember, for I +was there, that she came at last to the point of looking on him almost +as her betrothed who dared not ‘elope with her,’ simply because he had +many enemies and family difficulties, or something of the sort. +There was a great deal of laughter about it. It ended in Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch’s making provision for her when he had to come here, and +I believe he arranged to pay a considerable sum, three hundred roubles a +year, if not more, as a pension for her. In short it was all a caprice, +a fancy of a man prematurely weary on his side, perhaps—it may even +have been, as Kirillov says, a new experiment of a blasé man, with +the object of finding out what you can bring a crazy cripple to.” (You +picked out on purpose, he said, the lowest creature, a cripple, forever +covered with disgrace and blows, knowing, too, that this creature was +dying of comic love for you, and set to work to mystify her completely +on purpose, simply to see what would come of it.) “Though, how is a man +so particularly to blame for the fancies of a crazy woman, to whom +he had hardly uttered two sentences the whole time. There are things, +Varvara Petrovna, of which it is not only impossible to speak sensibly, +but it’s even nonsensical to begin speaking of them at all. Well, +eccentricity then, let it stand at that. Anyway, there’s nothing worse +to be said than that; and yet now they’ve made this scandal out of +it.… I am to some extent aware, Varvara Petrovna, of what is happening +here.” +</p> +<p> +The speaker suddenly broke off and was turning to Lebyadkin. But Varvara +Petrovna checked him. She was in a state of extreme exaltation. +</p> +<p> +“Have you finished?” she asked. +</p> +<p> +“Not yet; to complete my story I should have to ask this gentleman one +or two questions if you’ll allow me … you’ll see the point in a minute, +Varvara Petrovna.” +</p> +<p> +“Enough, afterwards, leave it for the moment I beg you. Oh, I was quite +right to let you speak!” +</p> +<p> +“And note this, Varvara Petrovna,” Pyotr Stepanovitch said hastily. +“Could Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch have explained all this just now in +answer to your question, which was perhaps too peremptory?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, it was.” +</p> +<p> +“And wasn’t I right in saying that in some cases it’s much easier for a +third person to explain things than for the person interested?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes … but in one thing you were mistaken, and, I see with regret, +are still mistaken.” +</p> +<p> +“Really, what’s that?” +</p> +<p> +“You see.… But won’t you sit down, Pyotr Stepanovitch?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, as you please. I am tired indeed. Thank you.” He instantly moved up +an easy chair and turned it so that he had Varvara Petrovna on one +side and Praskovya Ivanovna at the table on the other, while he faced +Lebyadkin, from whom he did not take his eyes for one minute. +</p> +<p> +“You are mistaken in calling this eccentricity.…” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, if it’s only that.…” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, no, wait a little,” said Varvara Petrovna, who was obviously +about to say a good deal and to speak with enthusiasm. As soon as Pyotr +Stepanovitch noticed it, he was all attention. +</p> +<p> +“No, it was something higher than eccentricity, and I assure you, +something sacred even! A proud man who has suffered humiliation early +in life and reached the stage of ‘mockery’ as you so subtly called +it—Prince Harry, in fact, to use the capital nickname Stepan +Trofimovitch gave him then, which would have been perfectly correct if +it were not that he is more like Hamlet, to my thinking at least.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Et vous avez raison,”</i> Stepan Trofimovitch pronounced, impressively and +with feeling. +</p> +<p> +“Thank you, Stepan Trofimovitch. I thank you particularly too for your +unvarying faith in Nicolas, in the loftiness of his soul and of his +destiny. That faith you have even strengthened in me when I was losing +heart.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Chère, chère.”</i> Stepan Trofimovitch was stepping forward, when he +checked himself, reflecting that it was dangerous to interrupt. +</p> +<p> +“And if Nicolas had always had at his side” (Varvara Petrovna almost +shouted) “a gentle Horatio, great in his humility—another excellent +expression of yours, Stepan Trofimovitch—he might long ago have been +saved from the sad and ‘sudden demon of irony,’ which has tormented him +all his life. (‘The demon of irony’ was a wonderful expression of yours +again, Stepan Trofimovitch.) But Nicolas has never had an Horatio or an +Ophelia. He had no one but his mother, and what can a mother do alone, +and in such circumstances? Do you know, Pyotr Stepanovitch, it’s +perfectly comprehensible to me now that a being like Nicolas could be +found even in such filthy haunts as you have described. I can so clearly +picture now that ‘mockery’ of life. (A wonderfully subtle expression +of yours!) That insatiable thirst of contrast, that gloomy background +against which he stands out like a diamond, to use your comparison +again, Pyotr Stepanovitch. And then he meets there a creature +ill-treated by every one, crippled, half insane, and at the same time +perhaps filled with noble feelings.” +</p> +<p> +“H’m.… Yes, perhaps.” +</p> +<p> +“And after that you don’t understand that he’s not laughing at her like +every one. Oh, you people! You can’t understand his defending her from +insult, treating her with respect ‘like a marquise’ (this Kirillov +must have an exceptionally deep understanding of men, though he didn’t +understand Nicolas). It was just this contrast, if you like, that led to +the trouble. If the unhappy creature had been in different surroundings, +perhaps she would never have been brought to entertain such a frantic +delusion. Only a woman can understand it, Pyotr Stepanovitch, only a +woman. How sorry I am that you … not that you’re not a woman, but that +you can’t be one just for the moment so as to understand.” +</p> +<p> +“You mean in the sense that the worse things are the better it is. I +understand, I understand, Varvara Petrovna. It’s rather as it is in +religion; the harder life is for a man or the more crushed and poor the +people are, the more obstinately they dream of compensation in heaven; +and if a hundred thousand priests are at work at it too, inflaming +their delusion, and speculating on it, then … I understand you, Varvara +Petrovna, I assure you.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s not quite it; but tell me, ought Nicolas to have laughed at her +and have treated her as the other clerks, in order to extinguish the +delusion in this unhappy organism.” (Why Varvara Petrovna used the word +organism I couldn’t understand.) “Can you really refuse to recognise +the lofty compassion, the noble tremor of the whole organism with which +Nicolas answered Kirillov: ‘I do not laugh at her.’ A noble, sacred +answer!” +</p> +<p> +“Sublime,” muttered Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“And observe, too, that he is by no means so rich as you suppose. The +money is mine and not his, and he would take next to nothing from me +then.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand, I understand all that, Varvara Petrovna,” said Pyotr +Stepanovitch, with a movement of some impatience. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, it’s my character! I recognise myself in Nicolas. I recognise that +youthfulness, that liability to violent, tempestuous impulses. And if +we ever come to be friends, Pyotr Stepanovitch, and, for my part, I +sincerely hope we may, especially as I am so deeply indebted to you, +then, perhaps you’ll understand.…” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I assure you, I hope for it too,” Pyotr Stepanovitch muttered +jerkily. +</p> +<p> +“You’ll understand then the impulse which leads one in the blindness +of generous feeling to take up a man who is unworthy of one in every +respect, a man who utterly fails to understand one, who is ready to +torture one at every opportunity and, in contradiction to everything, to +exalt such a man into a sort of ideal, into a dream. To concentrate in +him all one’s hopes, to bow down before him; to love him all one’s life, +absolutely without knowing why—perhaps just because he was unworthy of +it.… Oh, how I’ve suffered all my life, Pyotr Stepanovitch!” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch, with a look of suffering on his face, began trying +to catch my eye, but I turned away in time. +</p> +<p> +“… And only lately, only lately—oh, how unjust I’ve been to Nicolas! +… You would not believe how they have been worrying me on all sides, +all, all, enemies, and rascals, and friends, friends perhaps more than +enemies. When the first contemptible anonymous letter was sent to me, +Pyotr Stepanovitch, you’ll hardly believe it, but I had not strength +enough to treat all this wickedness with contempt.… I shall never, +never forgive myself for my weakness.” +</p> +<p> +“I had heard something of anonymous letters here already,” said Pyotr +Stepanovitch, growing suddenly more lively, “and I’ll find out the +writers of them, you may be sure.” +</p> +<p> +“But you can’t imagine the intrigues that have been got up here. They +have even been pestering our poor Praskovya Ivanovna, and what reason +can they have for worrying her? I was quite unfair to you to-day +perhaps, my dear Praskovya Ivanovna,” she added in a generous impulse of +kindliness, though not without a certain triumphant irony. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t say any more, my dear,” the other lady muttered reluctantly. +“To my thinking we’d better make an end of all this; too much has been +said.” +</p> +<p> +And again she looked timidly towards Liza, but the latter was looking at +Pyotr Stepanovitch. +</p> +<p> +“And I intend now to adopt this poor unhappy creature, this insane +woman who has lost everything and kept only her heart,” Varvara Petrovna +exclaimed suddenly. “It’s a sacred duty I intend to carry out. I take +her under my protection from this day.” +</p> +<p> +“And that will be a very good thing in one way,” Pyotr Stepanovitch +cried, growing quite eager again. “Excuse me, I did not finish just now. +It’s just the care of her I want to speak of. Would you believe it, that +as soon as Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had gone (I’m beginning from where +I left off, Varvara Petrovna), this gentleman here, this Mr. Lebyadkin, +instantly imagined he had the right to dispose of the whole pension +that was provided for his sister. And he did dispose of it. I don’t +know exactly how it had been arranged by Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch at that +time. But a year later, when he learned from abroad what had happened, +he was obliged to make other arrangements. Again, I don’t know the +details; he’ll tell you them himself. I only know that the interesting +young person was placed somewhere in a remote nunnery, in very +comfortable surroundings, but under friendly superintendence—you +understand? But what do you think Mr. Lebyadkin made up his mind to do? +He exerted himself to the utmost, to begin with, to find where +his source of income, that is his sister, was hidden. Only lately he +attained his object, took her from the nunnery, asserting some claim to +her, and brought her straight here. Here he doesn’t feed her properly, +beats her, and bullies her. As soon as by some means he gets a +considerable sum from Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, he does nothing but +get drunk, and instead of gratitude ends by impudently defying Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, making senseless demands, threatening him with +proceedings if the pension is not paid straight into his hands. So +he takes what is a voluntary gift from Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch as a +tax—can you imagine it? Mr. Lebyadkin, is that all true that I have +said just now?” +</p> +<p> +The captain, who had till that moment stood in silence looking down, +took two rapid steps forward and turned crimson. +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch, you’ve treated me cruelly,” he brought out +abruptly. +</p> +<p> +“Why cruelly? How? But allow us to discuss the question of cruelty or +gentleness later on. Now answer my first question; is it true all that I +have said or not? If you consider it’s false you are at liberty to give +your own version at once.” +</p> +<p> +“I … you know yourself, Pyotr Stepanovitch,” the captain muttered, but +he could not go on and relapsed into silence. It must be observed that +Pyotr Stepanovitch was sitting in an easy chair with one leg crossed +over the other, while the captain stood before him in the most +respectful attitude. +</p> +<p> +Lebyadkin’s hesitation seemed to annoy Pyotr Stepanovitch; a spasm of +anger distorted his face. +</p> +<p> +“Then you have a statement you want to make?” he said, looking subtly at +the captain. “Kindly speak. We’re waiting for you.” +</p> +<p> +“You know yourself Pyotr Stepanovitch, that I can’t say anything.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I don’t know it. It’s the first time I’ve heard it. Why can’t you +speak?” +</p> +<p> +The captain was silent, with his eyes on the ground. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me to go, Pyotr Stepanovitch,” he brought out resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“No, not till you answer my question: is it all true that I’ve said?” +</p> +<p> +“It is true,” Lebyadkin brought out in a hollow voice, looking at his +tormentor. Drops of perspiration stood out on his forehead. +</p> +<p> +“Is it <i>all</i> true?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s all true.” +</p> +<p> +“Have you nothing to add or to observe? If you think that we’ve been +unjust, say so; protest, state your grievance aloud.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I think nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“Did you threaten Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch lately?” +</p> +<p> +“It was … it was more drink than anything, Pyotr Stepanovitch.” He +suddenly raised his head. “If family honour and undeserved disgrace +cry out among men then—then is a man to blame?” he roared suddenly, +forgetting himself as before. +</p> +<p> +“Are you sober now, Mr. Lebyadkin?” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch looked at him penetratingly. +</p> +<p> +“I am … sober.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by family honour and undeserved disgrace?” +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t mean anybody, anybody at all. I meant myself,” the captain +said, collapsing again. +</p> +<p> +“You seem to be very much offended by what I’ve said about you and your +conduct? You are very irritable, Mr. Lebyadkin. But let me tell you I’ve +hardly begun yet what I’ve got to say about your conduct, in its real +sense. I’ll begin to discuss your conduct in its real sense. I shall +begin, that may very well happen, but so far I’ve not begun, in a real +sense.” +</p> +<p> +Lebyadkin started and stared wildly at Pyotr Stepanovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch, I am just beginning to wake up.” +</p> +<p> +“H’m! And it’s I who have waked you up?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, it’s you who have waked me, Pyotr Stepanovitch; and I’ve been +asleep for the last four years with a storm-cloud hanging over me. May I +withdraw at last, Pyotr Stepanovitch?” +</p> +<p> +“Now you may, unless Varvara Petrovna thinks it necessary …” +</p> +<p> +But the latter dismissed him with a wave of her hand. +</p> +<p> +The captain bowed, took two steps towards the door, stopped suddenly, +laid his hand on his heart, tried to say something, did not say it, and +was moving quickly away. But in the doorway he came face to face with +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch; the latter stood aside. The captain shrank into +himself, as it were, before him, and stood as though frozen to the spot, +his eyes fixed upon him like a rabbit before a boa-constrictor. After +a little pause Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch waved him aside with a slight +motion of his hand, and walked into the drawing-room. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VII +</p> +<p> +He was cheerful and serene. Perhaps something very pleasant had happened +to him, of which we knew nothing as yet; but he seemed particularly +contented. +</p> +<p> +“Do you forgive me, Nicolas?” Varvara Petrovna hastened to say, and got +up suddenly to meet him. +</p> +<p> +But Nicolas positively laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Just as I thought,” he said, good-humouredly and jestingly. “I see you +know all about it already. When I had gone from here I reflected in the +carriage that I ought at least to have told you the story instead of +going off like that. But when I remembered that Pyotr Stepanovitch was +still here, I thought no more of it.” +</p> +<p> +As he spoke he took a cursory look round. +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch told us an old Petersburg episode in the life of a +queer fellow,” Varvara Petrovna rejoined enthusiastically—“a mad +and capricious fellow, though always lofty in his feelings, always +chivalrous and noble.…” +</p> +<p> +“Chivalrous? You don’t mean to say it’s come to that,” laughed Nicolas. +“However, I’m very grateful to Pyotr Stepanovitch for being in such a +hurry this time.” He exchanged a rapid glance with the latter. “You must +know, maman, that Pyotr Stepanovitch is the universal peacemaker; that’s +his part in life, his weakness, his hobby, and I particularly recommend +him to you from that point of view. I can guess what a yarn he’s +been spinning. He’s a great hand at spinning them; he has a perfect +record-office in his head. He’s such a realist, you know, that he can’t +tell a lie, and prefers truthfulness to effect … except, of course, +in special cases when effect is more important than truth.” (As he said +this he was still looking about him.) “So, you see clearly, maman, that +it’s not for you to ask my forgiveness, and if there’s any craziness +about this affair it’s my fault, and it proves that, when all’s said and +done, I really am mad.… I must keep up my character here.…” +</p> +<p> +Then he tenderly embraced his mother. +</p> +<p> +“In any case the subject has been fully discussed and is done with,” +he added, and there was a rather dry and resolute note in his voice. +Varvara Petrovna understood that note, but her exaltation was not +damped, quite the contrary. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t expect you for another month, Nicolas!” +</p> +<p> +“I will explain everything to you, maman, of course, but now …” +</p> +<p> +And he went towards Praskovya Ivanovna. +</p> +<p> +But she scarcely turned her head towards him, though she had been +completely overwhelmed by his first appearance. Now she had fresh +anxieties to think of; at the moment the captain had stumbled upon +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch as he was going out, Liza had suddenly begun +laughing—at first quietly and intermittently, but her laughter grew +more and more violent, louder and more conspicuous. She flushed crimson, +in striking contrast with her gloomy expression just before. +</p> +<p> +While Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was talking to Varvara Petrovna, she had +twice beckoned to Mavriky Nikolaevitch as though she wanted to whisper +something to him; but as soon as the young man bent down to her, she +instantly burst into laughter; so that it seemed as though it was at +poor Mavriky Nikolaevitch that she was laughing. She evidently tried to +control herself, however, and put her handkerchief to her lips. +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch turned to greet her with a most innocent and +open-hearted air. +</p> +<p> +“Please excuse me,” she responded, speaking quickly. “You … you’ve seen +Mavriky Nikolaevitch of course.… My goodness, how inexcusably tall you +are, Mavriky Nikolaevitch!” +</p> +<p> +And laughter again, Mavriky Nikolaevitch was tall, but by no means +inexcusably so. +</p> +<p> +“Have … you been here long?” she muttered, restraining herself again, +genuinely embarrassed though her eyes were shining. +</p> +<p> +“More than two hours,” answered Nicolas, looking at her intently. I may +remark that he was exceptionally reserved and courteous, but that apart +from his courtesy his expression was utterly indifferent, even listless. +</p> +<p> +“And where are you going to stay?” +</p> +<p> +“Here.” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna, too, was watching Liza, but she was suddenly struck by +an idea. +</p> +<p> +“Where have you been all this time, Nicolas, more than two hours?” she +said, going up to him. “The train comes in at ten o’clock.” +</p> +<p> +“I first took Pyotr Stepanovitch to Kirillov’s. I came across Pyotr +Stepanovitch at Matveyev (three stations away), and we travelled +together.” +</p> +<p> +“I had been waiting at Matveyev since sunrise,” put in Pyotr +Stepanovitch. “The last carriages of our train ran off the rails in the +night, and we nearly had our legs broken.” +</p> +<p> +“Your legs broken!” cried Liza. “Maman, maman, you and I meant to go to +Matveyev last week, we should have broken our legs too!” +</p> +<p> +“Heaven have mercy on us!” cried Praskovya Ivanovna, crossing herself. +</p> +<p> +“Maman, maman, dear maman, you mustn’t be frightened if I break both my +legs. It may so easily happen to me; you say yourself that I ride so +recklessly every day. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, will you go about with me +when I’m lame?” She began giggling again. “If it does happen I won’t let +anyone take me about but you, you can reckon on that.… Well, suppose I +break only one leg. Come, be polite, say you’ll think it a pleasure.” +</p> +<p> +“A pleasure to be crippled?” said Mavriky Nikolaevitch, frowning +gravely. +</p> +<p> +“But then you’ll lead me about, only you and no one else.” +</p> +<p> +“Even then it’ll be you leading me about, Lizaveta Nikolaevna,” +murmured Mavriky Nikolaevitch, even more gravely. +</p> +<p> +“Why, he’s trying to make a joke!” cried Liza, almost in dismay. +“Mavriky Nikolaevitch, don’t you ever dare take to that! But what an +egoist you are! I am certain that, to your credit, you’re slandering +yourself. It will be quite the contrary; from morning till night you’ll +assure me that I have become more charming for having lost my leg. +There’s one insurmountable difficulty—you’re so fearfully tall, and +when I’ve lost my leg I shall be so very tiny. How will you be able to +take me on your arm; we shall look a strange couple!” +</p> +<p> +And she laughed hysterically. Her jests and insinuations were feeble, +but she was not capable of considering the effect she was producing. +</p> +<p> +“Hysterics!” Pyotr Stepanovitch whispered to me. “A glass of water, make +haste!” +</p> +<p> +He was right. A minute later every one was fussing about, water was +brought. Liza embraced her mother, kissed her warmly, wept on her +shoulder, then drawing back and looking her in the face she fell to +laughing again. The mother too began whimpering. Varvara Petrovna made +haste to carry them both off to her own rooms, going out by the same +door by which Darya Pavlovna had come to us. But they were not away +long, not more than four minutes. +</p> +<p> +I am trying to remember now every detail of these last moments of that +memorable morning. I remember that when we were left without the ladies +(except Darya Pavlovna, who had not moved from her seat), Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch made the round, greeting us all except Shatov, who still +sat in his corner, his head more bowed than ever. Stepan Trofimovitch +was beginning something very witty to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but the +latter turned away hurriedly to Darya Pavlovna. But before he reached +her, Pyotr Stepanovitch caught him and drew him away, almost violently, +towards the window, where he whispered something quickly to him, +apparently something very important to judge by the expression of +his face and the gestures that accompanied the whisper. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch listened inattentively and listlessly with his official +smile, and at last even impatiently, and seemed all the time on the +point of breaking away. He moved away from the window just as the ladies +came back. Varvara Petrovna made Liza sit down in the same seat as +before, declaring that she must wait and rest another ten minutes; and +that the fresh air would perhaps be too much for her nerves at once. +She was looking after Liza with great devotion, and sat down beside +her. Pyotr Stepanovitch, now disengaged, skipped up to them at once, +and broke into a rapid and lively flow of conversation. At that point +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch at last went up to Darya Pavlovna with his +leisurely step. Dasha began stirring uneasily at his approach, and +jumped up quickly in evident embarrassment, flushing all over her face. +</p> +<p> +“I believe one may congratulate you … or is it too soon?” he brought +out with a peculiar line in his face. +</p> +<p> +Dasha made him some answer, but it was difficult to catch it. +</p> +<p> +“Forgive my indiscretion,” he added, raising his voice, “but you know I +was expressly informed. Did you know about it?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I know that you were expressly informed.” +</p> +<p> +“But I hope I have not done any harm by my congratulations,” he laughed. +“And if Stepan Trofimovitch …” +</p> +<p> +“What, what’s the congratulation about?” Pyotr Stepanovitch suddenly +skipped up to them. “What are you being congratulated about, Darya +Pavlovna? Bah! Surely that’s not it? Your blush proves I’ve guessed +right. And indeed, what else does one congratulate our charming and +virtuous young ladies on? And what congratulations make them blush most +readily? Well, accept mine too, then, if I’ve guessed right! And pay +up. Do you remember when we were in Switzerland you bet you’d never be +married.… Oh, yes, apropos of Switzerland—what am I thinking about? +Only fancy, that’s half what I came about, and I was almost forgetting +it. Tell me,” he turned quickly to Stepan Trofimovitch, “when are you +going to Switzerland?” +</p> +<p> +“I … to Switzerland?” Stepan Trofimovitch replied, wondering and +confused. +</p> +<p> +“What? Aren’t you going? Why you’re getting married, too, you wrote?” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Pierre!”</i> cried Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Well, why Pierre?… You see, if that’ll please you, I’ve flown here to +announce that I’m not at all against it, since you were set on having +my opinion as quickly as possible; and if, indeed,” he pattered on, “you +want to ‘be saved,’ as you wrote, beseeching my help in the same letter, +I am at your service again. Is it true that he is going to be married, +Varvara Petrovna?” He turned quickly to her. “I hope I’m not being +indiscreet; he writes himself that the whole town knows it and every +one’s congratulating him, so that, to avoid it he only goes out at +night. I’ve got his letters in my pocket. But would you believe it, +Varvara Petrovna, I can’t make head or tail of it? Just tell me one +thing, Stepan Trofimovitch, are you to be congratulated or are you to +be ‘saved’? You wouldn’t believe it; in one line he’s despairing and in +the next he’s most joyful. To begin with he begs my forgiveness; well, +of course, that’s their way … though it must be said; fancy, the man’s +only seen me twice in his life and then by accident. And suddenly now, +when he’s going to be married for the third time, he imagines that +this is a breach of some sort of parental duty to me, and entreats me a +thousand miles away not to be angry and to allow him to. Please don’t +be hurt, Stepan Trofimovitch. It’s characteristic of your generation, +I take a broad view of it, and don’t blame you. And let’s admit it does +you honour and all the rest. But the point is again that I don’t see the +point of it. There’s something about some sort of ‘sins in Switzerland.’ +‘I’m getting married,’ he says, ‘for my sins or on account of the ‘sins’ +of another,’ or whatever it is—‘sins’ anyway. ‘The girl,’ says he, ‘is +a pearl and a diamond,’ and, well, of course, he’s ‘unworthy of her’; +it’s their way of talking; but on account of some sins or circumstances +‘he is obliged to lead her to the altar, and go to Switzerland, and +therefore abandon everything and fly to save me.’ Do you understand +anything of all that? However … however, I notice from the expression +of your faces”—(he turned about with the letter in his hand looking +with an innocent smile into the faces of the company)—“that, as usual, +I seem to have put my foot in it through my stupid way of being open, +or, as Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch says, ‘being in a hurry.’ I thought, of +course, that we were all friends here, that is, your friends, Stepan +Trofimovitch, your friends. I am really a stranger, and I see … and I +see that you all know something, and that just that something I don’t +know.” He still went on looking about him. +</p> +<p> +“So Stepan Trofimovitch wrote to you that he was getting married for +the ‘sins of another committed in Switzerland,’ and that you were to +fly here ‘to save him,’ in those very words?” said Varvara Petrovna, +addressing him suddenly. Her face was yellow and distorted, and her lips +were twitching. +</p> +<p> +“Well, you see, if there’s anything I’ve not understood,” said Pyotr +Stepanovitch, as though in alarm, talking more quickly than ever, “it’s +his fault, of course, for writing like that. Here’s the letter. You +know, Varvara Petrovna, his letters are endless and incessant, and, +you know, for the last two or three months there has been letter upon +letter, till, I must own, at last I sometimes didn’t read them through. +Forgive me, Stepan Trofimovitch, for my foolish confession, but you must +admit, please, that, though you addressed them to me, you wrote them +more for posterity, so that you really can’t mind.… Come, come, don’t +be offended; we’re friends, anyway. But this letter, Varvara Petrovna, +this letter, I did read through. These ‘sins’—these ‘sins of +another’—are probably some little sins of our own, and I don’t mind +betting very innocent ones, though they have suddenly made us take a +fancy to work up a terrible story, with a glamour of the heroic about +it; and it’s just for the sake of that glamour we’ve got it up. You +see there’s something a little lame about our accounts—it must be +confessed, in the end. We’ve a great weakness for cards, you know.… +But this is unnecessary, quite unnecessary, I’m sorry, I chatter too +much. But upon my word, Varvara Petrovna, he gave me a fright, and I +really was half prepared to save him. He really made me feel ashamed. +Did he expect me to hold a knife to his throat, or what? Am I such a +merciless creditor? He writes something here of a dowry.… But are you +really going to get married, Stepan Trofimovitch? That would be just +like you, to say a lot for the sake of talking. Ach, Varvara Petrovna, +I’m sure you must be blaming me now, and just for my way of talking +too.…” +</p> +<p> +“On the contrary, on the contrary, I see that you are driven out of +all patience, and, no doubt you have had good reason,” Varvara Petrovna +answered spitefully. She had listened with spiteful enjoyment to all the +“candid outbursts” of Pyotr Stepanovitch, who was obviously playing +a part (what part I did not know then, but it was unmistakable, and +over-acted indeed). +</p> +<p> +“On the contrary,” she went on, “I’m only too grateful to you for +speaking; but for you I might not have known of it. My eyes are opened +for the first time for twenty years. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, you +said just now that you had been expressly informed; surely Stepan +Trofimovitch hasn’t written to you in the same style?” +</p> +<p> +“I did get a very harmless and … and … very generous letter from +him.…” +</p> +<p> +“You hesitate, you pick out your words. That’s enough! Stepan +Trofimovitch, I request a great favour from you.” She suddenly turned to +him with flashing eyes. “Kindly leave us at once, and never set foot in +my house again.” +</p> +<p> +I must beg the reader to remember her recent “exaltation,” which had not +yet passed. It’s true that Stepan Trofimovitch was terribly to blame! +But what was a complete surprise to me then was the wonderful dignity of +his bearing under his son’s “accusation,” which he had never thought of +interrupting, and before Varvara Petrovna’s “denunciation.” How did he +come by such spirit? I only found out one thing, that he had certainly +been deeply wounded at his first meeting with Petrusha, by the way he +had embraced him. It was a deep and genuine grief; at least in his eyes +and to his heart. He had another grief at the same time, that is the +poignant consciousness of having acted contemptibly. He admitted this +to me afterwards with perfect openness. And you know real genuine sorrow +will sometimes make even a phenomenally frivolous, unstable man solid +and stoical; for a short time at any rate; what’s more, even fools are +by genuine sorrow turned into wise men, also only for a short time of +course; it is characteristic of sorrow. And if so, what might not +happen with a man like Stepan Trofimovitch? It worked a complete +transformation—though also only for a time, of course. +</p> +<p> +He bowed with dignity to Varvara Petrovna without uttering a word (there +was nothing else left for him to do, indeed). He was on the point of +going out without a word, but could not refrain from approaching Darya +Pavlovna. She seemed to foresee that he would do so, for she began +speaking of her own accord herself, in utter dismay, as though in haste +to anticipate him. +</p> +<p> +“Please, Stepan Trofimovitch, for God’s sake, don’t say anything,” she +began, speaking with haste and excitement, with a look of pain in her +face, hurriedly stretching out her hands to him. “Be sure that I still +respect you as much … and think just as highly of you, and … think +well of me too, Stepan Trofimovitch, that will mean a great deal to me, +a great deal.…” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch made her a very, very low bow. +</p> +<p> +“It’s for you to decide, Darya Pavlovna; you know that you are perfectly +free in the whole matter! You have been, and you are now, and you always +will be,” Varvara Petrovna concluded impressively. +</p> +<p> +“Bah! Now I understand it all!” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, slapping +himself on the forehead. “But … but what a position I am put in by +all this! Darya Pavlovna, please forgive me!… What do you call your +treatment of me, eh?” he said, addressing his father. +</p> +<p> +“Pierre, you might speak to me differently, mightn’t you, my boy,” +Stepan Trofimovitch observed quite quietly. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t cry out, please,” said Pierre, with a wave of his hand. “Believe +me, it’s all your sick old nerves, and crying out will do no good at +all. You’d better tell me instead, why didn’t you warn me since you +might have supposed I should speak out at the first chance?” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch looked searchingly at him. +</p> +<p> +“Pierre, you who know so much of what goes on here, can you really have +known nothing of this business and have heard nothing about it?” +</p> +<p> +“What? What a set! So it’s not enough to be a child in your old age, +you must be a spiteful child too! Varvara Petrovna, did you hear what he +said?” +</p> +<p> +There was a general outcry; but then suddenly an incident took place +which no one could have anticipated. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VIII +</p> +<p> +First of all I must mention that, for the last two or three minutes +Lizaveta Nikolaevna had seemed to be possessed by a new impulse; she +was whispering something hurriedly to her mother, and to Mavriky +Nikolaevitch, who bent down to listen. Her face was agitated, but at the +same time it had a look of resolution. At last she got up from her +seat in evident haste to go away, and hurried her mother whom Mavriky +Nikolaevitch began helping up from her low chair. But it seemed they +were not destined to get away without seeing everything to the end. +</p> +<p> +Shatov, who had been forgotten by every one in his corner (not far from +Lizaveta Nikolaevna), and who did not seem to know himself why he went +on sitting there, got up from his chair, and walked, without haste, with +resolute steps right across the room to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, looking +him straight in the face. The latter noticed him approaching at some +distance, and faintly smiled, but when Shatov was close to him he left +off smiling. +</p> +<p> +When Shatov stood still facing him with his eyes fixed on him, and +without uttering a word, every one suddenly noticed it and there was a +general hush; Pyotr Stepanovitch was the last to cease speaking. Liza +and her mother were standing in the middle of the room. So passed five +seconds; the look of haughty astonishment was followed by one of anger +on Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s face; he scowled.… +</p> +<p> +And suddenly Shatov swung his long, heavy arm, and with all his might +struck him a blow in the face. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch staggered +violently. +</p> +<p> +Shatov struck the blow in a peculiar way, not at all after the +conventional fashion (if one may use such an expression). It was not a +slap with the palm of his hand, but a blow with the whole fist, and it +was a big, heavy, bony fist covered with red hairs and freckles. If the +blow had struck the nose, it would have broken it. But it hit him on the +cheek, and struck the left corner of the lip and the upper teeth, from +which blood streamed at once. +</p> +<p> +I believe there was a sudden scream, perhaps Varvara Petrovna +screamed—that I don’t remember, because there was a dead hush again; +the whole scene did not last more than ten seconds, however. +</p> +<p> +Yet a very great deal happened in those seconds. +</p> +<p> +I must remind the reader again that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s was one +of those natures that know nothing of fear. At a duel he could face the +pistol of his opponent with indifference, and could take aim and kill +with brutal coolness. If anyone had slapped him in the face, I should +have expected him not to challenge his assailant to a duel, but to +murder him on the spot. He was just one of those characters, and would +have killed the man, knowing very well what he was doing, and without +losing his self-control. I fancy, indeed, that he never was liable to +those fits of blind rage which deprive a man of all power of reflection. +Even when overcome with intense anger, as he sometimes was, he was +always able to retain complete self-control, and therefore to realise +that he would certainly be sent to penal servitude for murdering a man +not in a duel; nevertheless, he’d have killed any one who insulted him, +and without the faintest hesitation. +</p> +<p> +I have been studying Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch of late, and through +special circumstances I know a great many facts about him now, at the +time I write. I should compare him, perhaps, with some gentlemen of the +past of whom legendary traditions are still perceived among us. We are +told, for instance, about the Decabrist L—n, that he was always seeking +for danger, that he revelled in the sensation, and that it had become +a craving of his nature; that in his youth he had rushed into duels for +nothing; that in Siberia he used to go to kill bears with nothing but +a knife; that in the Siberian forests he liked to meet with runaway +convicts, who are, I may observe in passing, more formidable than bears. +There is no doubt that these legendary gentlemen were capable of a +feeling of fear, and even to an extreme degree, perhaps, or they would +have been a great deal quieter, and a sense of danger would never have +become a physical craving with them. But the conquest of fear was +what fascinated them. The continual ecstasy of vanquishing and the +consciousness that no one could vanquish them was what attracted them. +The same L—n struggled with hunger for some time before he was sent +into exile, and toiled to earn his daily bread simply because he did not +care to comply with the requests of his rich father, which he considered +unjust. So his conception of struggle was many-sided, and he did not +prize stoicism and strength of character only in duels and bear-fights. +</p> +<p> +But many years have passed since those times, and the nervous, +exhausted, complex character of the men of to-day is incompatible with +the craving for those direct and unmixed sensations which were so sought +after by some restlessly active gentlemen of the good old days. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch would, perhaps, have looked down on L—n, and have +called him a boastful cock-a-hoop coward; it’s true he wouldn’t have +expressed himself aloud. Stavrogin would have shot his opponent in a +duel, and would have faced a bear if necessary, and would have defended +himself from a brigand in the forest as successfully and as fearlessly +as L—n, but it would be without the slightest thrill of enjoyment, +languidly, listlessly, even with ennui and entirely from unpleasant +necessity. In anger, of course, there has been a progress compared with +L—n, even compared with Lermontov. There was perhaps more malignant +anger in Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch than in both put together, but it was a +calm, cold, if one may so say, <i>reasonable</i> anger, and therefore the most +revolting and most terrible possible. I repeat again, I considered him +then, and I still consider him (now that everything is over), a man who, +if he received a slap in the face, or any equivalent insult, would be +certain to kill his assailant at once, on the spot, without challenging +him. +</p> +<p> +Yet, in the present case, what happened was something different and +amazing. +</p> +<p> +He had scarcely regained his balance after being almost knocked over in +this humiliating way, and the horrible, as it were, sodden, thud of +the blow in the face had scarcely died away in the room when he seized +Shatov by the shoulders with both hands, but at once, almost at the same +instant, pulled both hands away and clasped them behind his back. He did +not speak, but looked at Shatov, and turned as white as his shirt. But, +strange to say, the light in his eyes seemed to die out. Ten seconds +later his eyes looked cold, and I’m sure I’m not lying—calm. Only he +was terribly pale. Of course I don’t know what was passing within the +man, I saw only his exterior. It seems to me that if a man should snatch +up a bar of red-hot iron and hold it tight in his hand to test his +fortitude, and after struggling for ten seconds with insufferable pain +end by overcoming it, such a man would, I fancy, go through something +like what Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was enduring during those ten seconds. +</p> +<p> +Shatov was the first to drop his eyes, and evidently because he was +unable to go on facing him; then he turned slowly and walked out of the +room, but with a very different step. He withdrew quietly, with peculiar +awkwardness, with his shoulders hunched, his head hanging as though +he were inwardly pondering something. I believe he was whispering +something. He made his way to the door carefully, without stumbling +against anything or knocking anything over; he opened the door a very +little way, and squeezed through almost sideways. As he went out his +shock of hair standing on end at the back of his head was particularly +noticeable. +</p> +<p> +Then first of all one fearful scream was heard. I saw Lizaveta +Nikolaevna seize her mother by the shoulder and Mavriky Nikolaevitch by +the arm and make two or three violent efforts to draw them out of the +room. But she suddenly uttered a shriek, and fell full length on the +floor, fainting. I can hear the thud of her head on the carpet to this +day. +</p> +<a id="H2_PART2"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + PART II +</h2> +<a id="H2CH0006"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER I. NIGHT +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +EIGHT DAYS HAD PASSED. Now that it is all over and I am writing a record +of it, we know all about it; but at the time we knew nothing, and it was +natural that many things should seem strange to us: Stepan Trofimovitch +and I, anyway, shut ourselves up for the first part of the time, and +looked on with dismay from a distance. I did, indeed, go about here and +there, and, as before, brought him various items of news, without which +he could not exist. +</p> +<p> +I need hardly say that there were rumours of the most varied kind +going about the town in regard to the blow that Stavrogin had received, +Lizaveta Nikolaevna’s fainting fit, and all that happened on that +Sunday. But what we wondered was, through whom the story had got about +so quickly and so accurately. Not one of the persons present had any +need to give away the secret of what had happened, or interest to serve +by doing so. +</p> +<p> +The servants had not been present. Lebyadkin was the only one who might +have chattered, not so much from spite, for he had gone out in great +alarm (and fear of an enemy destroys spite against him), but simply from +incontinence of speech. But Lebyadkin and his sister had disappeared next +day, and nothing could be heard of them. There was no trace of them at +Filipov’s house, they had moved, no one knew where, and seemed to have +vanished. Shatov, of whom I wanted to inquire about Marya Timofyevna, +would not open his door, and I believe sat locked up in his room for the +whole of those eight days, even discontinuing his work in the town. He +would not see me. I went to see him on Tuesday and knocked at his door. +I got no answer, but being convinced by unmistakable evidence that he +was at home, I knocked a second time. Then, jumping up, apparently from +his bed, he strode to the door and shouted at the top of his voice: +</p> +<p> +“Shatov is not at home!” +</p> +<p> +With that I went away. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch and I, not without dismay at the boldness of the +supposition, though we tried to encourage one another, reached at last +a conclusion: we made up our mind that the only person who could be +responsible for spreading these rumours was Pyotr Stepanovitch, though +he himself not long after assured his father that he had found the story +on every one’s lips, especially at the club, and that the governor +and his wife were familiar with every detail of it. What is even more +remarkable is that the next day, Monday evening, I met Liputin, and +he knew every word that had been passed, so that he must have heard it +first-hand. Many of the ladies (and some of the leading ones) were +very inquisitive about the “mysterious cripple,” as they called Marya +Timofyevna. There were some, indeed, who were anxious to see her and +make her acquaintance, so the intervention of the persons who had +been in such haste to conceal the Lebyadkins was timely. But Lizaveta +Nikolaevna’s fainting certainly took the foremost place in the story, +and “all society” was interested, if only because it directly concerned +Yulia Mihailovna, as the kinswoman and patroness of the young lady. +And what was there they didn’t say! What increased the gossip was the +mysterious position of affairs; both houses were obstinately closed; +Lizaveta Nikolaevna, so they said, was in bed with brain fever. The +same thing was asserted of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, with the revolting +addition of a tooth knocked out and a swollen face. It was even +whispered in corners that there would soon be murder among us, that +Stavrogin was not the man to put up with such an insult, and that he +would kill Shatov, but with the secrecy of a Corsican vendetta. People +liked this idea, but the majority of our young people listened with +contempt, and with an air of the most nonchalant indifference, which +was, of course, assumed. The old hostility to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +in the town was in general strikingly manifest. Even sober-minded people +were eager to throw blame on him though they could not have said +for what. It was whispered that he had ruined Lizaveta Nikolaevna’s +reputation, and that there had been an intrigue between them in +Switzerland. Cautious people, of course, restrained themselves, but +all listened with relish. There were other things said, though not +in public, but in private, on rare occasions and almost in secret, +extremely strange things, to which I only refer to warn my readers of +them with a view to the later events of my story. Some people, with +knitted brows, said, God knows on what foundation, that Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch had some special business in our province, that he +had, through Count K., been brought into touch with exalted circles in +Petersburg, that he was even, perhaps, in government service, and might +almost be said to have been furnished with some sort of commission from +someone. When very sober-minded and sensible people smiled at this +rumour, observing very reasonably that a man always mixed up with +scandals, and who was beginning his career among us with a swollen face +did not look like a government official, they were told in a whisper +that he was employed not in the official, but, so to say, the +confidential service, and that in such cases it was essential to be as +little like an official as possible. This remark produced a sensation; +we knew that the Zemstvo of our province was the object of marked +attention in the capital. I repeat, these were only flitting rumours +that disappeared for a time when Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch first came +among us. But I may observe that many of the rumours were partly due to +a few brief but malicious words, vaguely and disconnectedly dropped at +the club by a gentleman who had lately returned from Petersburg. This +was a retired captain in the guards, Artemy Pavlovitch Gaganov. He was +a very large landowner in our province and district, a man used to the +society of Petersburg, and a son of the late Pavel Pavlovitch Gaganov, +the venerable old man with whom Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had, over four +years before, had the extraordinarily coarse and sudden encounter which +I have described already in the beginning of my story. +</p> +<p> +It immediately became known to every one that Yulia Mihailovna had +made a special call on Varvara Petrovna, and had been informed at the +entrance: “Her honour was too unwell to see visitors.” It was known, +too, that Yulia Mihailovna sent a message two days later to inquire +after Varvara Petrovna’s health. At last she began “defending” Varvara +Petrovna everywhere, of course only in the loftiest sense, that is, in +the vaguest possible way. She listened coldly and sternly to the hurried +remarks made at first about the scene on Sunday, so that during the +later days they were not renewed in her presence. So that the belief +gained ground everywhere that Yulia Mihailovna knew not only the whole +of the mysterious story but all its secret significance to the smallest +detail, and not as an outsider, but as one taking part in it. I may +observe, by the way, that she was already gradually beginning to gain +that exalted influence among us for which she was so eager and which +she was certainly struggling to win, and was already beginning to see +herself “surrounded by a circle.” A section of society recognised her +practical sense and tact … but of that later. Her patronage partly +explained Pyotr Stepanovitch’s rapid success in our society—a success +with which Stepan Trofimovitch was particularly impressed at the time. +</p> +<p> +We possibly exaggerated it. To begin with, Pyotr Stepanovitch seemed to +make acquaintance almost instantly with the whole town within the first +four days of his arrival. He only arrived on Sunday; and on Tuesday +I saw him in a carriage with Artemy Pavlovitch Gaganov, a man who was +proud, irritable, and supercilious, in spite of his good breeding, +and who was not easy to get on with. At the governor’s, too, Pyotr +Stepanovitch met with a warm welcome, so much so that he was at once +on an intimate footing, like a young friend, treated, so to say, +affectionately. He dined with Yulia Mihailovna almost every day. He had +made her acquaintance in Switzerland, but there was certainly something +curious about the rapidity of his success in the governor’s house. In +any case he was reputed, whether truly or not, to have been at one +time a revolutionist abroad, he had had something to do with some +publications and some congresses abroad, “which one can prove from the +newspapers,” to quote the malicious remark of Alyosha Telyatnikov, who +had also been once a young friend affectionately treated in the house of +the late governor, but was now, alas, a clerk on the retired list. But +the fact was unmistakable: the former revolutionist, far from being +hindered from returning to his beloved Fatherland, seemed almost to have +been encouraged to do so, so perhaps there was nothing in it. Liputin +whispered to me once that there were rumours that Pyotr Stepanovitch had +once professed himself penitent, and on his return had been pardoned on +mentioning certain names and so, perhaps, had succeeded in expiating his +offence, by promising to be of use to the government in the future. I +repeated these malignant phrases to Stepan Trofimovitch, and although +the latter was in such a state that he was hardly capable of reflection, +he pondered profoundly. It turned out later that Pyotr Stepanovitch had +come to us with a very influential letter of recommendation, that +he had, at any rate, brought one to the governor’s wife from a very +important old lady in Petersburg, whose husband was one of the most +distinguished old dignitaries in the capital. This old lady, who was +Yulia Mihailovna’s godmother, mentioned in her letter that Count K. knew +Pyotr Stepanovitch very well through Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, made much +of him, and thought him “a very excellent young man in spite of his +former errors.” Yulia Mihailovna set the greatest value on her +relations with the “higher spheres,” which were few and maintained with +difficulty, and was, no doubt, pleased to get the old lady’s letter, but +still there was something peculiar about it. She even forced her husband +upon a familiar footing with Pyotr Stepanovitch, so much so that Mr. von +Lembke complained of it … but of that, too, later. I may mention, +too, that the great author was also favourably disposed to Pyotr +Stepanovitch, and at once invited him to go and see him. Such alacrity +on the part of a man so puffed up with conceit stung Stepan Trofimovitch +more painfully than anything; but I put a different interpretation on +it. In inviting a nihilist to see him, Mr. Karmazinov, no doubt, had in +view his relations with the progressives of the younger generation +in both capitals. The great author trembled nervously before the +revolutionary youth of Russia, and imagining, in his ignorance, that the +future lay in their hands, fawned upon them in a despicable way, chiefly +because they paid no attention to him whatever. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch ran round to see his father twice, but unfortunately +I was absent on both occasions. He visited him for the first time +only on Wednesday, that is, not till the fourth day after their first +meeting, and then only on business. Their difficulties over the property +were settled, by the way, without fuss or publicity. Varvara Petrovna +took it all on herself, and paid all that was owing, taking over the +land, of course, and only informed Stepan Trofimovitch that it was all +settled and her butler, Alexey Yegorytch, was, by her authorisation, +bringing him something to sign. This Stepan Trofimovitch did, in +silence, with extreme dignity. Apropos of his dignity, I may mention +that I hardly recognised my old friend during those days. He behaved +as he had never done before; became amazingly taciturn and had not even +written one letter to Varvara Petrovna since Sunday, which seemed to me +almost a miracle. What’s more, he had become quite calm. He had fastened +upon a final and decisive idea which gave him tranquillity. That was +evident. He had hit upon this idea, and sat still, expecting something. +At first, however, he was ill, especially on Monday. He had an attack +of his summer cholera. He could not remain all that time without news +either; but as soon as I departed from the statement of facts, and began +discussing the case in itself, and formulated any theory, he at once +gesticulated to me to stop. But both his interviews with his son had a +distressing effect on him, though they did not shake his determination. +After each interview he spent the whole day lying on the sofa with a +handkerchief soaked in vinegar on his head. But he continued to remain +calm in the deepest sense. +</p> +<p> +Sometimes, however, he did not hinder my speaking. Sometimes, too, it +seemed to me that the mysterious determination he had taken seemed to +be failing him and he appeared to be struggling with a new, seductive +stream of ideas. That was only at moments, but I made a note of it. I +suspected that he was longing to assert himself again, to come forth +from his seclusion, to show fight, to struggle to the last. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Cher,</i> I could crush them!” broke from him on Thursday evening after his +second interview with Pyotr Stepanovitch, when he lay stretched on the +sofa with his head wrapped in a towel. +</p> +<p> +Till that moment he had not uttered one word all day. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Fils, fils, cher,”</i> and so on, “I agree all those expressions are +nonsense, kitchen talk, and so be it. I see it for myself. I never gave +him food or drink, I sent him a tiny baby from Berlin to X province by +post, and all that, I admit it.… ‘You gave me neither food nor drink, +and sent me by post,’ he says, ‘and what’s more you’ve robbed me here.’” +</p> +<p> +“‘But you unhappy boy,’ I cried to him, ‘my heart has been aching for +you all my life; though I did send you by post.’ <i>Il rit.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“But I admit it. I admit it, granted it was by post,” he concluded, +almost in delirium. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Passons,”</i> he began again, five minutes later. “I don’t understand +Turgenev. That Bazarov of his is a fictitious figure, it does not exist +anywhere. The fellows themselves were the first to disown him as unlike +anyone. That Bazarov is a sort of indistinct mixture of Nozdryov and +Byron, <i>c’est le mot.</i> Look at them attentively: they caper about and +squeal with joy like puppies in the sun. They are happy, they are +victorious! What is there of Byron in them!… and with that, such +ordinariness! What a low-bred, irritable vanity! What an abject craving +to <i>faire du bruit autour de son nom,</i> without noticing that <i>son +nom.</i>… Oh, it’s a caricature! ‘Surely,’ I cried to him, ‘you don’t want +to offer yourself just as you are as a substitute for Christ?’ <i>Il rit. +Il rit beaucoup. Il rit trop.</i> He has a strange smile. His mother had not +a smile like that. <i>Il rit toujours.</i>” +</p> +<p> +Silence followed again. +</p> +<p> +“They are cunning; they were acting in collusion on Sunday,” he blurted +out suddenly.… +</p> +<p> +“Oh, not a doubt of it,” I cried, pricking up my ears. “It was a got-up +thing and it was too transparent, and so badly acted.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t mean that. Do you know that it was all too transparent +on purpose, that those … who had to, might understand it. Do you +understand that?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t understand.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Tant mieux; passons.</i> I am very irritable to-day.” +</p> +<p> +“But why have you been arguing with him, Stepan Trofimovitch?” I asked +him reproachfully. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Je voulais convertir</i>—you’ll laugh of course—<i>cette pauvre</i> auntie, +<i>elle entendra de belles choses!</i> Oh, my dear boy, would you believe it. +I felt like a patriot. I always recognised that I was a Russian, +however … a genuine Russian must be like you and me. <i>Il y a là dedans +quelque chose d’aveugle et de louche.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Not a doubt of it,” I assented. +</p> +<p> +“My dear, the real truth always sounds improbable, do you know that? To +make truth sound probable you must always mix in some falsehood with it. +Men have always done so. Perhaps there’s something in it that passes our +understanding. What do you think: is there something we don’t understand +in that triumphant squeal? I should like to think there was. I should +like to think so.” +</p> +<p> +I did not speak. He, too, was silent for a long time. “They say that +French cleverness …” he babbled suddenly, as though in a fever … +“that’s false, it always has been. Why libel French cleverness? It’s +simply Russian indolence, our degrading impotence to produce ideas, our +revolting parasitism in the rank of nations. <i>Ils sont tout simplement +des paresseux,</i> and not French cleverness. Oh, the Russians ought to be +extirpated for the good of humanity, like noxious parasites! We’ve been +striving for something utterly, utterly different. I can make nothing of +it. I have given up understanding. ‘Do you understand,’ I cried to him, +‘that if you have the guillotine in the foreground of your programme and +are so enthusiastic about it too, it’s simply because nothing’s easier +than cutting off heads, and nothing’s harder than to have an idea. <i>Vous +êtes des paresseux! Votre drapeau est un guenille, une impuissance.</i> It’s +those carts, or, what was it?… the rumble of the carts carrying bread +to humanity being more important than the Sistine Madonna, or, what’s +the saying?… <i>une bêtise dans ce genre.</i> Don’t you understand, don’t you +understand,’ I said to him, ‘that unhappiness is just as necessary to +man as happiness.’ <i>Il rit.</i> ‘All you do is to make a <i>bon mot,</i>’ he +said, ‘with your limbs snug on a velvet sofa.’ … (He used a coarser +expression.) And this habit of addressing a father so familiarly is very +nice when father and son are on good terms, but what do you think of it +when they are abusing one another?” +</p> +<p> +We were silent again for a minute. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Cher,”</i> he concluded at last, getting up quickly, “do you know this is +bound to end in something?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course,” said I. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Vous ne comprenez pas. Passons.</i> But … usually in our world things come +to nothing, but this will end in something; it’s bound to, it’s bound +to!” +</p> +<p> +He got up, and walked across the room in violent emotion, and coming +back to the sofa sank on to it exhausted. +</p> +<p> +On Friday morning, Pyotr Stepanovitch went off somewhere in the +neighbourhood, and remained away till Monday. I heard of his departure +from Liputin, and in the course of conversation I learned that the +Lebyadkins, brother and sister, had moved to the riverside quarter. +“I moved them,” he added, and, dropping the Lebyadkins, he suddenly +announced to me that Lizaveta Nikolaevna was going to marry Mavriky +Nikolaevitch, that, although it had not been announced, the engagement +was a settled thing. Next day I met Lizaveta Nikolaevna out riding with +Mavriky Nikolaevitch; she was out for the first time after her illness. +She beamed at me from the distance, laughed, and nodded in a very +friendly way. I told all this to Stepan Trofimovitch; he paid no +attention, except to the news about the Lebyadkins. +</p> +<p> +And now, having described our enigmatic position throughout those eight +days during which we knew nothing, I will pass on to the description of +the succeeding incidents of my chronicle, writing, so to say, with full +knowledge, and describing things as they became known afterwards, and +are clearly seen to-day. I will begin with the eighth day after that +Sunday, that is, the Monday evening—for in reality a “new scandal” +began with that evening. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +It was seven o’clock in the evening. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was sitting +alone in his study—the room he had been fond of in old days. It was +lofty, carpeted with rugs, and contained somewhat heavy old-fashioned +furniture. He was sitting on the sofa in the corner, dressed as though +to go out, though he did not seem to be intending to do so. On the table +before him stood a lamp with a shade. The sides and corners of the big +room were left in shadow. His eyes looked dreamy and concentrated, +not altogether tranquil; his face looked tired and had grown a little +thinner. He really was ill with a swollen face; but the story of a tooth +having been knocked out was an exaggeration. One had been loosened, but +it had grown into its place again: he had had a cut on the inner side of +the upper lip, but that, too, had healed. The swelling on his face had +lasted all the week simply because the invalid would not have a doctor, +and instead of having the swelling lanced had waited for it to go down. +He would not hear of a doctor, and would scarcely allow even his mother +to come near him, and then only for a moment, once a day, and only at +dusk, after it was dark and before lights had been brought in. He did +not receive Pyotr Stepanovitch either, though the latter ran round to +Varvara Petrovna’s two or three times a day so long as he remained in +the town. And now, at last, returning on the Monday morning after his +three days’ absence, Pyotr Stepanovitch made a circuit of the town, +and, after dining at Yulia Mihailovna’s, came at last in the evening to +Varvara Petrovna, who was impatiently expecting him. The interdict had +been removed, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was “at home.” Varvara Petrovna +herself led the visitor to the door of the study; she had long looked +forward to their meeting, and Pyotr Stepanovitch had promised to run +to her and repeat what passed. She knocked timidly at Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch’s door, and getting no answer ventured to open the door +a couple of inches. +</p> +<p> +“Nicolas, may I bring Pyotr Stepanovitch in to see you?” she asked, in a +soft and restrained voice, trying to make out her son’s face behind the +lamp. +</p> +<p> +“You can—you can, of course you can,” Pyotr Stepanovitch himself cried +out, loudly and gaily. He opened the door with his hand and went in. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had not heard the knock at the door, and only +caught his mother’s timid question, and had not had time to answer it. +Before him, at that moment, there lay a letter he had just read over, +which he was pondering deeply. He started, hearing Pyotr Stepanovitch’s +sudden outburst, and hurriedly put the letter under a paper-weight, +but did not quite succeed; a corner of the letter and almost the whole +envelope showed. +</p> +<p> +“I called out on purpose that you might be prepared,” Pyotr Stepanovitch +said hurriedly, with surprising naïveté, running up to the table, and +instantly staring at the corner of the letter, which peeped out from +beneath the paper-weight. +</p> +<p> +“And no doubt you had time to see how I hid the letter I had just +received, under the paper-weight,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch calmly, +without moving from his place. +</p> +<p> +“A letter? Bless you and your letters, what are they to do with me?” +cried the visitor. “But … what does matter …” he whispered again, +turning to the door, which was by now closed, and nodding his head in +that direction. +</p> +<p> +“She never listens,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch observed coldly. +</p> +<p> +“What if she did overhear?” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, raising his voice +cheerfully, and settling down in an arm-chair. “I’ve nothing against +that, only I’ve come here now to speak to you alone. Well, at last I’ve +succeeded in getting at you. First of all, how are you? I see you’re +getting on splendidly. To-morrow you’ll show yourself again—eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps.” +</p> +<p> +“Set their minds at rest. Set mine at rest at last.” He gesticulated +violently with a jocose and amiable air. “If only you knew what nonsense +I’ve had to talk to them. You know, though.” He laughed. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know everything. I only heard from my mother that you’ve +been … very active.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, well, I’ve said nothing definite,” Pyotr Stepanovitch flared up +at once, as though defending himself from an awful attack. “I simply +trotted out Shatov’s wife; you know, that is, the rumours of your +liaison in Paris, which accounted, of course, for what happened on +Sunday. You’re not angry?” +</p> +<p> +“I’m sure you’ve done your best.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, that’s just what I was afraid of. Though what does that mean, ‘done +your best’? That’s a reproach, isn’t it? You always go straight for +things, though.… What I was most afraid of, as I came here, was that +you wouldn’t go straight for the point.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want to go straight for anything,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +with some irritation. But he laughed at once. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t mean that, I didn’t mean that, don’t make a mistake,” cried +Pyotr Stepanovitch, waving his hands, rattling his words out like peas, +and at once relieved at his companion’s irritability. “I’m not going to +worry you with <i>our</i> business, especially in your present position. I’ve +only come about Sunday’s affair, and only to arrange the most necessary +steps, because, you see, it’s impossible. I’ve come with the frankest +explanations which I stand in more need of than you—so much for your +vanity, but at the same time it’s true. I’ve come to be open with you +from this time forward.” +</p> +<p> +“Then you have not been open with me before?” +</p> +<p> +“You know that yourself. I’ve been cunning with you many times … you +smile; I’m very glad of that smile as a prelude to our explanation. I +provoked that smile on purpose by using the word ‘cunning,’ so that you +might get cross directly at my daring to think I could be cunning, so +that I might have a chance of explaining myself at once. You see, you +see how open I have become now! Well, do you care to listen?” +</p> +<p> +In the expression of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s face, which was +contemptuously composed, and even ironical, in spite of his visitor’s +obvious desire to irritate him by the insolence of his premeditated +and intentionally coarse naïvetés, there was, at last, a look of rather +uneasy curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“Listen,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, wriggling more than ever, “when I set +off to come here, I mean here in the large sense, to this town, ten days +ago, I made up my mind, of course, to assume a character. It would +have been best to have done without anything, to have kept one’s +own character, wouldn’t it? There is no better dodge than one’s own +character, because no one believes in it. I meant, I must own, to assume +the part of a fool, because it is easier to be a fool than to act +one’s own character; but as a fool is after all something extreme, +and anything extreme excites curiosity, I ended by sticking to my own +character. And what is my own character? The golden mean: neither wise +nor foolish, rather stupid, and dropped from the moon, as sensible +people say here, isn’t that it?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps it is,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, with a faint smile. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, you agree—I’m very glad; I knew beforehand that it was your own +opinion.… You needn’t trouble, I am not annoyed, and I didn’t describe +myself in that way to get a flattering contradiction from you—no, +you’re not stupid, you’re clever.… Ah! you’re smiling again!… I’ve +blundered once more. You would not have said ‘you’re clever,’ granted; +I’ll let it pass anyway. <i>Passons,</i> as papa says, and, in parenthesis, +don’t be vexed with my verbosity. By the way, I always say a lot, that +is, use a great many words and talk very fast, and I never speak well. +And why do I use so many words, and why do I never speak well? Because +I don’t know how to speak. People who can speak well, speak briefly. So +that I am stupid, am I not? But as this gift of stupidity is natural +to me, why shouldn’t I make skilful use of it? And I do make use of it. +It’s true that as I came here, I did think, at first, of being silent. +But you know silence is a great talent, and therefore incongruous for +me, and secondly silence would be risky, anyway. So I made up my mind +finally that it would be best to talk, but to talk stupidly—that is, to +talk and talk and talk—to be in a tremendous hurry to explain things, +and in the end to get muddled in my own explanations, so that my +listener would walk away without hearing the end, with a shrug, or, +better still, with a curse. You succeed straight off in persuading them +of your simplicity, in boring them and in being incomprehensible—three +advantages all at once! Do you suppose anybody will suspect you of +mysterious designs after that? Why, every one of them would take it as +a personal affront if anyone were to say I had secret designs. And I +sometimes amuse them too, and that’s priceless. Why, they’re ready to +forgive me everything now, just because the clever fellow who used +to publish manifestoes out there turns out to be stupider than +themselves—that’s so, isn’t it? From your smile I see you approve.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was not smiling at all, however. +</p> +<p> +On the contrary, he was listening with a frown and some impatience. +</p> +<p> +“Eh? What? I believe you said ‘no matter.’” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch rattled on. (Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had said nothing +at all.) “Of course, of course. I assure you I’m not here to compromise +you by my company, by claiming you as my comrade. But do you know you’re +horribly captious to-day; I ran in to you with a light and open heart, +and you seem to be laying up every word I say against me. I assure you +I’m not going to begin about anything shocking to-day, I give you my +word, and I agree beforehand to all your conditions.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was obstinately silent. +</p> +<p> +“Eh? What? Did you say something? I see, I see that I’ve made a blunder +again, it seems; you’ve not suggested conditions and you’re not going +to; I believe you, I believe you; well, you can set your mind at rest; +I know, of course, that it’s not worth while for me to suggest them, is +it? I’ll answer for you beforehand, and—just from stupidity, of course; +stupidity again.… You’re laughing? Eh? What?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch laughed at last. “I just remembered +that I really did call you stupid, but you weren’t there then, so they +must have repeated it.… I would ask you to make haste and come to the +point.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, but I am at the point! I am talking about Sunday,” babbled Pyotr +Stepanovitch. “Why, what was I on Sunday? What would you call it? Just +fussy, mediocre stupidity, and in the stupidest way I took possession of +the conversation by force. But they forgave me everything, first because +I dropped from the moon, that seems to be settled here, now, by every +one; and, secondly, because I told them a pretty little story, and got +you all out of a scrape, didn’t they, didn’t they?” +</p> +<p> +“That is, you told your story so as to leave them in doubt and suggest +some compact and collusion between us, when there was no collusion and +I’d not asked you to do anything.” +</p> +<p> +“Just so, just so!” Pyotr Stepanovitch caught him up, apparently +delighted. “That’s just what I did do, for I wanted you to see that I +implied it; I exerted myself chiefly for your sake, for I caught you and +wanted to compromise you, above all I wanted to find out how far you’re +afraid.” +</p> +<p> +“It would be interesting to know why you are so open now?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be angry, don’t be angry, don’t glare at me.… You’re not, +though. You wonder why I am so open? Why, just because it’s all changed +now; of course, it’s over, buried under the sand. I’ve suddenly changed +my ideas about you. The old way is closed; now I shall never compromise +you in the old way, it will be in a new way now.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve changed your tactics?” +</p> +<p> +“There are no tactics. Now it’s for you to decide in everything, that +is, if you want to, say yes, and if you want to, say no. There you have +my new tactics. And I won’t say a word about our cause till you bid me +yourself. You laugh? Laugh away. I’m laughing myself. But I’m in earnest +now, in earnest, in earnest, though a man who is in such a hurry is +stupid, isn’t he? Never mind, I may be stupid, but I’m in earnest, in +earnest.” +</p> +<p> +He really was speaking in earnest in quite a different tone, and with a +peculiar excitement, so that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked at him with +curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“You say you’ve changed your ideas about me?” he asked. +</p> +<p> +“I changed my ideas about you at the moment when you drew your hands +back after Shatov’s attack, and, that’s enough, that’s enough, no +questions, please, I’ll say nothing more now.” +</p> +<p> +He jumped up, waving his hands as though waving off questions. But as +there were no questions, and he had no reason to go away, he sank into +an arm-chair again, somewhat reassured. +</p> +<p> +“By the way, in parenthesis,” he rattled on at once, “some people here +are babbling that you’ll kill him, and taking bets about it, so that +Lembke positively thought of setting the police on, but Yulia Mihailovna +forbade it.… But enough about that, quite enough, I only spoke of it +to let you know. By the way, I moved the Lebyadkins the same day, you +know; did you get my note with their address?” +</p> +<p> +“I received it at the time.” +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t do that by way of ‘stupidity.’ I did it genuinely, to serve +you. If it was stupid, anyway, it was done in good faith.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, all right, perhaps it was necessary.…” said Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch dreamily, “only don’t write any more letters to me, I +beg you.” +</p> +<p> +“Impossible to avoid it. It was only one.” +</p> +<p> +“So Liputin knows?” +</p> +<p> +“Impossible to help it: but Liputin, you know yourself, dare not … By +the way, you ought to meet our fellows, that is, <i>the</i> fellows not <i>our</i> +fellows, or you’ll be finding fault again. Don’t disturb yourself, +not just now, but sometime. Just now it’s raining. I’ll let them know, +they’ll meet together, and we’ll go in the evening. They’re waiting, +with their mouths open like young crows in a nest, to see what present +we’ve brought them. They’re a hot-headed lot. They’ve brought out +leaflets, they’re on the point of quarrelling. Virginsky is a universal +humanity man, Liputin is a Fourierist with a marked inclination for +police work; a man, I assure you, who is precious from one point of +view, though he requires strict supervision in all others; and, last of +all, that fellow with the long ears, he’ll read an account of his own +system. And do you know, they’re offended at my treating them casually, +and throwing cold water over them, but we certainly must meet.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve made me out some sort of chief?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch dropped +as carelessly as possible. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch looked quickly at him. +</p> +<p> +“By the way,” he interposed, in haste to change the subject, as though +he had not heard. “I’ve been here two or three times, you know, to see +her excellency, Varvara Petrovna, and I have been obliged to say a great +deal too.” +</p> +<p> +“So I imagine.” +</p> +<p> +“No, don’t imagine, I’ve simply told her that you won’t kill him, well, +and other sweet things. And only fancy; the very next day she knew I’d +moved Marya Timofyevna beyond the river. Was it you told her?” +</p> +<p> +“I never dreamed of it!” +</p> +<p> +“I knew it wasn’t you. Who else could it be? It’s interesting.” +</p> +<p> +“Liputin, of course.” +</p> +<p> +“N-no, not Liputin,” muttered Pyotr Stepanovitch, frowning; “I’ll find +out who. It’s more like Shatov.… That’s nonsense though. Let’s leave +that! Though it’s awfully important.… By the way, I kept expecting +that your mother would suddenly burst out with the great question.… +Ach! yes, she was horribly glum at first, but suddenly, when I came +to-day, she was beaming all over, what does that mean?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s because I promised her to-day that within five days I’ll be +engaged to Lizaveta Nikolaevna,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch said with +surprising openness. +</p> +<p> +“Oh!… Yes, of course,” faltered Pyotr Stepanovitch, seeming +disconcerted. “There are rumours of her engagement, you know. It’s true, +too. But you’re right, she’d run from under the wedding crown, you’ve +only to call to her. You’re not angry at my saying so?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I’m not angry.” +</p> +<p> +“I notice it’s awfully hard to make you angry to-day, and I begin to be +afraid of you. I’m awfully curious to know how you’ll appear to-morrow. +I expect you’ve got a lot of things ready. You’re not angry at my saying +so?” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch made no answer at all, which completed Pyotr +Stepanovitch’s irritation. +</p> +<p> +“By the way, did you say that in earnest to your mother, about Lizaveta +Nikolaevna?” he asked. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked coldly at him. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I understand, it was only to soothe her, of course.” +</p> +<p> +“And if it were in earnest?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked firmly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, God bless you then, as they say in such cases. It won’t hinder the +cause (you see, I don’t say ‘our,’ you don’t like the word ‘our’) and I +… well, I … am at your service, as you know.” +</p> +<p> +“You think so?” +</p> +<p> +“I think nothing—nothing,” Pyotr Stepanovitch hurriedly declared, +laughing, “because I know you consider what you’re about beforehand for +yourself, and everything with you has been thought out. I only mean that +I am seriously at your service, always and everywhere, and in every sort +of circumstance, every sort really, do you understand that?” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch yawned. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve bored you,” Pyotr Stepanovitch cried, jumping up suddenly, and +snatching his perfectly new round hat as though he were going away. He +remained and went on talking, however, though he stood up, sometimes +pacing about the room and tapping himself on the knee with his hat at +exciting parts of the conversation. +</p> +<p> +“I meant to amuse you with stories of the Lembkes, too,” he cried gaily. +</p> +<p> +“Afterwards, perhaps, not now. But how is Yulia Mihailovna?” +</p> +<p> +“What conventional manners all of you have! Her health is no more to +you than the health of the grey cat, yet you ask after it. I approve +of that. She’s quite well, and her respect for you amounts to a +superstition, her immense anticipations of you amount to a superstition. +She does not say a word about what happened on Sunday, and is convinced +that you will overcome everything yourself by merely making your +appearance. Upon my word! She fancies you can do anything. You’re an +enigmatic and romantic figure now, more than ever you were—extremely +advantageous position. It is incredible how eager every one is to see +you. They were pretty hot when I went away, but now it is more so than +ever. Thanks again for your letter. They are all afraid of Count K. Do +you know they look upon you as a spy? I keep that up, you’re not angry?” +</p> +<p> +“It does not matter.” +</p> +<p> +“It does not matter; it’s essential in the long run. They have their +ways of doing things here. I encourage it, of course; Yulia Mihailovna, +in the first place, Gaganov too.… You laugh? But you know I have my +policy; I babble away and suddenly I say something clever just as they +are on the look-out for it. They crowd round me and I humbug away again. +They’ve all given me up in despair by now: ‘he’s got brains but he’s +dropped from the moon.’ Lembke invites me to enter the service so that +I may be reformed. You know I treat him mockingly, that is, I compromise +him and he simply stares. Yulia Mihailovna encourages it. Oh, by the +way, Gaganov is in an awful rage with you. He said the nastiest things +about you yesterday at Duhovo. I told him the whole truth on the spot, +that is, of course, not the whole truth. I spent the whole day at +Duhovo. It’s a splendid estate, a fine house.” +</p> +<p> +“Then is he at Duhovo now?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch broke in suddenly, +making a sudden start forward and almost leaping up from his seat. +</p> +<p> +“No, he drove me here this morning, we returned together,” said Pyotr +Stepanovitch, appearing not to notice Stavrogin’s momentary excitement. +“What’s this? I dropped a book.” He bent down to pick up the “keepsake” +he had knocked down. “‘The Women of Balzac,’ with illustrations.” He +opened it suddenly. “I haven’t read it. Lembke writes novels too.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes?” queried Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, as though beginning to be +interested. +</p> +<p> +“In Russian, on the sly, of course, Yulia Mihailovna knows and allows +it. He’s henpecked, but with good manners; it’s their system. Such +strict form—such self-restraint! Something of the sort would be the +thing for us.” +</p> +<p> +“You approve of government methods?” +</p> +<p> +“I should rather think so! It’s the one thing that’s natural and +practicable in Russia.… I won’t … I won’t,” he cried out suddenly, +“I’m not referring to that—not a word on delicate subjects. Good-bye, +though, you look rather green.” +</p> +<p> +“I’m feverish.” +</p> +<p> +“I can well believe it; you should go to bed. By the way, there are +Skoptsi here in the neighbourhood—they’re curious people … of that +later, though. Ah, here’s another anecdote. There’s an infantry regiment +here in the district. I was drinking last Friday evening with the +officers. We’ve three friends among them, <i>vous comprenez?</i> They were +discussing atheism and I need hardly say they made short work of God. +They were squealing with delight. By the way, Shatov declares that if +there’s to be a rising in Russia we must begin with atheism. Maybe it’s +true. One grizzled old stager of a captain sat mum, not saying a word. +All at once he stands up in the middle of the room and says aloud, as +though speaking to himself: ‘If there’s no God, how can I be a captain +then?’ He took up his cap and went out, flinging up his hands.” +</p> +<p> +“He expressed a rather sensible idea,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, +yawning for the third time. +</p> +<p> +“Yes? I didn’t understand it; I meant to ask you about it. Well what +else have I to tell you? The Shpigulin factory’s interesting; as you +know, there are five hundred workmen in it, it’s a hotbed of cholera, +it’s not been cleaned for fifteen years and the factory hands are +swindled. The owners are millionaires. I assure you that some among +the hands have an idea of the <i>Internationale.</i> What, you smile? You’ll +see—only give me ever so little time! I’ve asked you to fix the time +already and now I ask you again and then.… But I beg your pardon, +I won’t, I won’t speak of that, don’t frown. There!” He turned back +suddenly. “I quite forgot the chief thing. I was told just now that our +box had come from Petersburg.” +</p> +<p> +“You mean …” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked at him, not understanding. +</p> +<p> +“Your box, your things, coats, trousers, and linen have come. Is it +true?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes … they said something about it this morning.” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, then can’t I open it at once!…” +</p> +<p> +“Ask Alexey.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, to-morrow, then, will to-morrow do? You see my new jacket, +dress-coat and three pairs of trousers are with your things, from +Sharmer’s, by your recommendation, do you remember?” +</p> +<p> +“I hear you’re going in for being a gentleman here,” said Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch with a smile. “Is it true you’re going to take lessons +at the riding school?” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch smiled a wry smile. “I say,” he said suddenly, with +excessive haste in a voice that quivered and faltered, “I say, Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, let’s drop personalities once for all. Of course, you +can despise me as much as you like if it amuses you—but we’d better +dispense with personalities for a time, hadn’t we?” +</p> +<p> +“All right,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch assented. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch grinned, tapped his knee with his hat, shifted from +one leg to the other, and recovered his former expression. +</p> +<p> +“Some people here positively look upon me as your rival with Lizaveta +Nikolaevna, so I must think of my appearance, mustn’t I,” he laughed. +“Who was it told you that though? H’m. It’s just eight o’clock; well I +must be off. I promised to look in on Varvara Petrovna, but I shall +make my escape. And you go to bed and you’ll be stronger to-morrow. It’s +raining and dark, but I’ve a cab, it’s not over safe in the streets here +at night.… Ach, by the way, there’s a run-away convict from Siberia, +Fedka, wandering about the town and the neighbourhood. Only fancy, he +used to be a serf of mine, and my papa sent him for a soldier fifteen +years ago and took the money for him. He’s a very remarkable person.” +</p> +<p> +“You have been talking to him?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch scanned him. +</p> +<p> +“I have. He lets me know where he is. He’s ready for anything, anything, +for money of course, but he has convictions, too, of a sort, of course. +Oh yes, by the way, again, if you meant anything of that plan, you +remember, about Lizaveta Nikolaevna, I tell you once again, I too am a +fellow ready for anything of any kind you like, and absolutely at +your service.… Hullo! are you reaching for your stick. Oh no … only +fancy … I thought you were looking for your stick.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was looking for nothing and said nothing. +</p> +<p> +But he had risen to his feet very suddenly with a strange look in his +face. +</p> +<p> +“If you want any help about Mr. Gaganov either,” Pyotr Stepanovitch +blurted out suddenly, this time looking straight at the paper-weight, +“of course I can arrange it all, and I’m certain you won’t be able to +manage without me.” +</p> +<p> +He went out suddenly without waiting for an answer, but thrust his +head in at the door once more. “I mention that,” he gabbled hurriedly, +“because Shatov had no right either, you know, to risk his life last +Sunday when he attacked you, had he? I should be glad if you would make +a note of that.” He disappeared again without waiting for an answer. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +Perhaps he imagined, as he made his exit, that as soon as he was left +alone, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch would begin beating on the wall with his +fists, and no doubt he would have been glad to see this, if that +had been possible. But, if so, he was greatly mistaken. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch was still calm. He remained standing for two minutes in +the same position by the table, apparently plunged in thought, but soon +a cold and listless smile came on to his lips. He slowly sat down again +in the same place in the corner of the sofa, and shut his eyes as though +from weariness. The corner of the letter was still peeping from under +the paperweight, but he didn’t even move to cover it. +</p> +<p> +He soon sank into complete forgetfulness. +</p> +<p> +When Pyotr Stepanovitch went out without coming to see her, as he had +promised, Varvara Petrovna, who had been worn out by anxiety during +these days, could not control herself, and ventured to visit her son +herself, though it was not her regular time. She was still haunted by +the idea that he would tell her something conclusive. She knocked at +the door gently as before, and again receiving no answer, she opened +the door. Seeing that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was sitting strangely +motionless, she cautiously advanced to the sofa with a throbbing heart. +She seemed struck by the fact that he could fall asleep so quickly and +that he could sleep sitting like that, so erect and motionless, so +that his breathing even was scarcely perceptible. His face was pale and +forbidding, but it looked, as it were, numb and rigid. His brows were +somewhat contracted and frowning. He positively had the look of a +lifeless wax figure. She stood over him for about three minutes, +almost holding her breath, and suddenly she was seized with terror. She +withdrew on tiptoe, stopped at the door, hurriedly made the sign of the +cross over him, and retreated unobserved, with a new oppression and a +new anguish at her heart. +</p> +<p> +He slept a long while, more than an hour, and still in the same rigid +pose: not a muscle of his face twitched, there was not the faintest +movement in his whole body, and his brows were still contracted in the +same forbidding frown. If Varvara Petrovna had remained another three +minutes she could not have endured the stifling sensation that this +motionless lethargy roused in her, and would have waked him. But he +suddenly opened his eyes, and sat for ten minutes as immovable as +before, staring persistently and curiously, as though at some object +in the corner which had struck him, although there was nothing new or +striking in the room. +</p> +<p> +Suddenly there rang out the low deep note of the clock on the wall. +</p> +<p> +With some uneasiness he turned to look at it, but almost at the same +moment the other door opened, and the butler, Alexey Yegorytch came in. +He had in one hand a greatcoat, a scarf, and a hat, and in the other a +silver tray with a note on it. +</p> +<p> +“Half-past nine,” he announced softly, and laying the other things on a +chair, he held out the tray with the note—a scrap of paper unsealed and +scribbled in pencil. Glancing through it, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch took +a pencil from the table, added a few words, and put the note back on the +tray. +</p> +<p> +“Take it back as soon as I have gone out, and now dress me,” he said, +getting up from the sofa. +</p> +<p> +Noticing that he had on a light velvet jacket, he thought a minute, +and told the man to bring him a cloth coat, which he wore on more +ceremonious occasions. At last, when he was dressed and had put on his +hat, he locked the door by which his mother had come into the room, took +the letter from under the paperweight, and without saying a word went +out into the corridor, followed by Alexey Yegorytch. From the corridor +they went down the narrow stone steps of the back stairs to a passage +which opened straight into the garden. In the corner stood a lantern and +a big umbrella. +</p> +<p> +“Owing to the excessive rain the mud in the streets is beyond anything,” +Alexey Yegorytch announced, making a final effort to deter his master +from the expedition. But opening his umbrella the latter went without +a word into the damp and sodden garden, which was dark as a cellar. The +wind was roaring and tossing the bare tree-tops. The little sandy +paths were wet and slippery. Alexey Yegorytch walked along as he was, +bareheaded, in his swallow-tail coat, lighting up the path for about +three steps before them with the lantern. +</p> +<p> +“Won’t it be noticed?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“Not from the windows. Besides I have seen to all that already,” the old +servant answered in quiet and measured tones. +</p> +<p> +“Has my mother retired?” +</p> +<p> +“Her excellency locked herself in at nine o’clock as she has done the +last few days, and there is no possibility of her knowing anything. At +what hour am I to expect your honour?” +</p> +<p> +“At one or half-past, not later than two.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> +<p> +Crossing the garden by the winding paths that they both knew by heart, +they reached the stone wall, and there in the farthest corner found +a little door, which led out into a narrow and deserted lane, and was +always kept locked. It appeared that Alexey Yegorytch had the key in his +hand. +</p> +<p> +“Won’t the door creak?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch inquired again. +</p> +<p> +But Alexey Yegorytch informed him that it had been oiled yesterday “as +well as to-day.” He was by now wet through. Unlocking the door he gave +the key to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. +</p> +<p> +“If it should be your pleasure to be taking a distant walk, I would warn +your honour that I am not confident of the folk here, especially in +the back lanes, and especially beyond the river,” he could not resist +warning him again. He was an old servant, who had been like a nurse to +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, and at one time used to dandle him in his arms; +he was a grave and severe man who was fond of listening to religious +discourse and reading books of devotion. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be uneasy, Alexey Yegorytch.” +</p> +<p> +“May God’s blessing rest on you, sir, but only in your righteous +undertakings.” +</p> +<p> +“What?” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, stopping short in the lane. +</p> +<p> +Alexey Yegorytch resolutely repeated his words. He had never before +ventured to express himself in such language in his master’s presence. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch locked the door, put the key in his pocket, and +crossed the lane, sinking five or six inches into the mud at every step. +He came out at last into a long deserted street. He knew the town like +the five fingers of his hand, but Bogoyavlensky Street was a long way +off. It was past ten when he stopped at last before the locked gates of +the dark old house that belonged to Filipov. The ground floor had stood +empty since the Lebyadkins had left it, and the windows were boarded up, +but there was a light burning in Shatov’s room on the second floor. As +there was no bell he began banging on the gate with his hand. A window +was opened and Shatov peeped out into the street. It was terribly dark, +and difficult to make out anything. Shatov was peering out for some +time, about a minute. +</p> +<p> +“Is that you?” he asked suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” replied the uninvited guest. +</p> +<p> +Shatov slammed the window, went downstairs and opened the gate. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch stepped over the high sill, and without a word passed by +him straight into Kirillov’s lodge. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +V +</p> +<p> +There everything was unlocked and all the doors stood open. The passage +and the first two rooms were dark, but there was a light shining in the +last, in which Kirillov lived and drank tea, and laughter and strange +cries came from it. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went towards the light, but +stood still in the doorway without going in. There was tea on the table. +In the middle of the room stood the old woman who was a relation of the +landlord. She was bareheaded and was dressed in a petticoat and a +hare-skin jacket, and her stockingless feet were thrust into slippers. +In her arms she had an eighteen-months-old baby, with nothing on but its +little shirt; with bare legs, flushed cheeks, and ruffled white hair. It +had only just been taken out of the cradle. It seemed to have just been +crying; there were still tears in its eyes. But at that instant it was +stretching out its little arms, clapping its hands, and laughing with a +sob as little children do. Kirillov was bouncing a big red india-rubber +ball on the floor before it. The ball bounced up to the ceiling, and back +to the floor, the baby shrieked “Baw! baw!” Kirillov caught the “baw”, +and gave it to it. The baby threw it itself with its awkward little hands, +and Kirillov ran to pick it up again. +</p> +<p> +At last the “baw” rolled under the cupboard. “Baw! baw!” cried the +child. Kirillov lay down on the floor, trying to reach the ball with his +hand under the cupboard. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went into the room. The +baby caught sight of him, nestled against the old woman, and went off +into a prolonged infantile wail. The woman immediately carried it out of +the room. +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin?” said Kirillov, beginning to get up from the floor with the +ball in his hand, and showing no surprise at the unexpected visit. “Will +you have tea?” +</p> +<p> +He rose to his feet. +</p> +<p> +“I should be very glad of it, if it’s hot,” said Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch; “I’m wet through.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s hot, nearly boiling in fact,” Kirillov declared delighted. “Sit +down. You’re muddy, but that’s nothing; I’ll mop up the floor later.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sat down and emptied the cup he handed him +almost at a gulp. +</p> +<p> +“Some more?” asked Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“No, thank you.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov, who had not sat down till then, seated himself facing him, and +inquired: +</p> +<p> +“Why have you come?” +</p> +<p> +“On business. Here, read this letter from Gaganov; do you remember, I +talked to you about him in Petersburg.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov took the letter, read it, laid it on the table and looked at +him expectantly. +</p> +<p> +“As you know, I met this Gaganov for the first time in my life a month +ago, in Petersburg,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch began to explain. “We +came across each other two or three times in company with other people. +Without making my acquaintance and without addressing me, he managed to +be very insolent to me. I told you so at the time; but now for something +you don’t know. As he was leaving Petersburg before I did, he sent me +a letter, not like this one, yet impertinent in the highest degree, and +what was queer about it was that it contained no sort of explanation of +why it was written. I answered him at once, also by letter, and said, +quite frankly, that he was probably angry with me on account of the +incident with his father four years ago in the club here, and that I for +my part was prepared to make him every possible apology, seeing that my +action was unintentional and was the result of illness. I begged him to +consider and accept my apologies. He went away without answering, and +now here I find him in a regular fury. Several things he has said about +me in public have been repeated to me, absolutely abusive, and making +astounding charges against me. Finally, to-day, I get this letter, a +letter such as no one has ever had before, I should think, containing +such expressions as ‘the punch you got in your ugly face.’ I came in the +hope that you would not refuse to be my second.” +</p> +<p> +“You said no one has ever had such a letter,” observed Kirillov, “they +may be sent in a rage. Such letters have been written more than once. +Pushkin wrote to Hekern. All right, I’ll come. Tell me how.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch explained that he wanted it to be to-morrow, and +that he must begin by renewing his offers of apology, and even with the +promise of another letter of apology, but on condition that Gaganov, +on his side, should promise to send no more letters. The letter he had +received he would regard as unwritten. +</p> +<p> +“Too much concession; he won’t agree,” said Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve come first of all to find out whether you would consent to be the +bearer of such terms.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll take them. It’s your affair. But he won’t agree.” +</p> +<p> +“I know he won’t agree.” +</p> +<p> +“He wants to fight. Say how you’ll fight.” +</p> +<p> +“The point is that I want the thing settled to-morrow. By nine o’clock +in the morning you must be at his house. He’ll listen, and won’t agree, +but will put you in communication with his second—let us say about +eleven. You will arrange things with him, and let us all be on the +spot by one or two o’clock. Please try to arrange that. The weapons, of +course, will be pistols. And I particularly beg you to arrange to fix +the barriers at ten paces apart; then you put each of us ten paces from +the barrier, and at a given signal we approach. Each must go right up to +his barrier, but you may fire before, on the way. I believe that’s all.” +</p> +<p> +“Ten paces between the barriers is very near,” observed Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“Well, twelve then, but not more. You understand that he wants to fight +in earnest. Do you know how to load a pistol?” +</p> +<p> +“I do. I’ve got pistols. I’ll give my word that you’ve never fired +them. His second will give his word about his. There’ll be two pairs of +pistols, and we’ll toss up, his or ours?” +</p> +<p> +“Excellent.” +</p> +<p> +“Would you like to look at the pistols?” +</p> +<p> +“Very well.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov squatted on his heels before the trunk in the corner, which +he had never yet unpacked, though things had been pulled out of it as +required. He pulled out from the bottom a palm-wood box lined with red +velvet, and from it took out a pair of smart and very expensive pistols. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve got everything, powder, bullets, cartridges. I’ve a revolver +besides, wait.” +</p> +<p> +He stooped down to the trunk again and took out a six-chambered American +revolver. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve got weapons enough, and very good ones.” +</p> +<p> +“Very, extremely.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov, who was poor, almost destitute, though he never noticed his +poverty, was evidently proud of showing precious weapons, which he had +certainly obtained with great sacrifice. +</p> +<p> +“You still have the same intentions?” Stavrogin asked after a moment’s +silence, and with a certain wariness. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” answered Kirillov shortly, guessing at once from his voice what +he was asking about, and he began taking the weapons from the table. +</p> +<p> +“When?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch inquired still more cautiously, after a +pause. +</p> +<p> +In the meantime Kirillov had put both the boxes back in his trunk, and +sat down in his place again. +</p> +<p> +“That doesn’t depend on me, as you know—when they tell me,” he +muttered, as though disliking the question; but at the same time with +evident readiness to answer any other question. He kept his black, +lustreless eyes fixed continually on Stavrogin with a calm but warm and +kindly expression in them. +</p> +<p> +“I understand shooting oneself, of course,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +began suddenly, frowning a little, after a dreamy silence that lasted +three minutes. “I sometimes have thought of it myself, and then there +always came a new idea: if one did something wicked, or, worse still, +something shameful, that is, disgraceful, only very shameful and … +ridiculous, such as people would remember for a thousand years and hold +in scorn for a thousand years, and suddenly the thought comes: ‘one blow +in the temple and there would be nothing more.’ One wouldn’t care then +for men and that they would hold one in scorn for a thousand years, +would one?” +</p> +<p> +“You call that a new idea?” said Kirillov, after a moment’s thought. +</p> +<p> +“I … didn’t call it so, but when I thought it I felt it as a new idea.” +</p> +<p> +“You ‘felt the idea’?” observed Kirillov. “That’s good. There are lots +of ideas that are always there and yet suddenly become new. That’s true. +I see a great deal now as though it were for the first time.” +</p> +<p> +“Suppose you had lived in the moon,” Stavrogin interrupted, not +listening, but pursuing his own thought, “and suppose there you had done +all these nasty and ridiculous things.… You know from here for certain +that they will laugh at you and hold you in scorn for a thousand years +as long as the moon lasts. But now you are here, and looking at the moon +from here. You don’t care here for anything you’ve done there, and that +the people there will hold you in scorn for a thousand years, do you?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know,” answered Kirillov. “I’ve not been in the moon,” he +added, without any irony, simply to state the fact. +</p> +<p> +“Whose baby was that just now?” +</p> +<p> +“The old woman’s mother-in-law was here—no, daughter-in-law, it’s all +the same. Three days. She’s lying ill with the baby, it cries a lot at +night, it’s the stomach. The mother sleeps, but the old woman picks it +up; I play ball with it. The ball’s from Hamburg. I bought it in Hamburg +to throw it and catch it, it strengthens the spine. It’s a girl.” +</p> +<p> +“Are you fond of children?” +</p> +<p> +“I am,” answered Kirillov, though rather indifferently. +</p> +<p> +“Then you’re fond of life?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I’m fond of life! What of it?” +</p> +<p> +“Though you’ve made up your mind to shoot yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“What of it? Why connect it? Life’s one thing and that’s another. Life +exists, but death doesn’t at all.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve begun to believe in a future eternal life?” +</p> +<p> +“No, not in a future eternal life, but in eternal life here. There are +moments, you reach moments, and time suddenly stands still, and it will +become eternal.” +</p> +<p> +“You hope to reach such a moment?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“That’ll scarcely be possible in our time,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +responded slowly and, as it were, dreamily; the two spoke without the +slightest irony. “In the Apocalypse the angel swears that there will be +no more time.” +</p> +<p> +“I know. That’s very true; distinct and exact. When all mankind attains +happiness then there will be no more time, for there’ll be no need of +it, a very true thought.” +</p> +<p> +“Where will they put it?” +</p> +<p> +“Nowhere. Time’s not an object but an idea. It will be extinguished in +the mind.” +</p> +<p> +“The old commonplaces of philosophy, the same from the beginning of +time,” Stavrogin muttered with a kind of disdainful compassion. +</p> +<p> +“Always the same, always the same, from the beginning of time and never +any other,” Kirillov said with sparkling eyes, as though there were +almost a triumph in that idea. +</p> +<p> +“You seem to be very happy, Kirillov.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, very happy,” he answered, as though making the most ordinary +reply. +</p> +<p> +“But you were distressed so lately, angry with Liputin.” +</p> +<p> +“H’m … I’m not scolding now. I didn’t know then that I was happy. Have +you seen a leaf, a leaf from a tree?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“I saw a yellow one lately, a little green. It was decayed at the edges. +It was blown by the wind. When I was ten years old I used to shut my +eyes in the winter on purpose and fancy a green leaf, bright, with veins +on it, and the sun shining. I used to open my eyes and not believe them, +because it was very nice, and I used to shut them again.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s that? An allegory?” +</p> +<p> +“N-no … why? I’m not speaking of an allegory, but of a leaf, only a +leaf. The leaf is good. Everything’s good.” +</p> +<p> +“Everything?” +</p> +<p> +“Everything. Man is unhappy because he doesn’t know he’s happy. It’s +only that. That’s all, that’s all! If anyone finds out he’ll become +happy at once, that minute. That mother-in-law will die; but the baby +will remain. It’s all good. I discovered it all of a sudden.” +</p> +<p> +“And if anyone dies of hunger, and if anyone insults and outrages the +little girl, is that good?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes! And if anyone blows his brains out for the baby, that’s good too. +And if anyone doesn’t, that’s good too. It’s all good, all. It’s good +for all those who know that it’s all good. If they knew that it was good +for them, it would be good for them, but as long as they don’t know it’s +good for them, it will be bad for them. That’s the whole idea, the whole +of it.” +</p> +<p> +“When did you find out you were so happy?” +</p> +<p> +“Last week, on Tuesday, no, Wednesday, for it was Wednesday by that +time, in the night.” +</p> +<p> +“By what reasoning?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t remember; I was walking about the room; never mind. I stopped +my clock. It was thirty-seven minutes past two.” +</p> +<p> +“As an emblem of the fact that there will be no more time?” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov was silent. +</p> +<p> +“They’re bad because they don’t know they’re good. When they find out, +they won’t outrage a little girl. They’ll find out that they’re good and +they’ll all become good, every one of them.” +</p> +<p> +“Here you’ve found it out, so have you become good then?” +</p> +<p> +“I am good.” +</p> +<p> +“That I agree with, though,” Stavrogin muttered, frowning. +</p> +<p> +“He who teaches that all are good will end the world.” +</p> +<p> +“He who taught it was crucified.” +</p> +<p> +“He will come, and his name will be the man-god.” +</p> +<p> +“The god-man?” +</p> +<p> +“The man-god. That’s the difference.” +</p> +<p> +“Surely it wasn’t you lighted the lamp under the ikon?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, it was I lighted it.” +</p> +<p> +“Did you do it believing?” +</p> +<p> +“The old woman likes to have the lamp and she hadn’t time to do it +to-day,” muttered Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“You don’t say prayers yourself?” +</p> +<p> +“I pray to everything. You see the spider crawling on the wall, I look +at it and thank it for crawling.” +</p> +<p> +His eyes glowed again. He kept looking straight at Stavrogin with +firm and unflinching expression. Stavrogin frowned and watched him +disdainfully, but there was no mockery in his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“I’ll bet that when I come next time you’ll be believing in God too,” +he said, getting up and taking his hat. +</p> +<p> +“Why?” said Kirillov, getting up too. +</p> +<p> +“If you were to find out that you believe in God, then you’d believe in +Him; but since you don’t know that you believe in Him, then you don’t +believe in Him,” laughed Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. +</p> +<p> +“That’s not right,” Kirillov pondered, “you’ve distorted the idea. It’s +a flippant joke. Remember what you have meant in my life, Stavrogin.” +</p> +<p> +“Good-bye, Kirillov.” +</p> +<p> +“Come at night; when will you?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, haven’t you forgotten about to-morrow?” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, I’d forgotten. Don’t be uneasy. I won’t oversleep. At nine +o’clock. I know how to wake up when I want to. I go to bed saying ‘seven +o’clock,’ and I wake up at seven o’clock, ‘ten o’clock,’ and I wake up +at ten o’clock.” +</p> +<p> +“You have remarkable powers,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, looking at +his pale face. +</p> +<p> +“I’ll come and open the gate.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t trouble, Shatov will open it for me.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Shatov. Very well, good-bye.” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VI +</p> +<p> +The door of the empty house in which Shatov was lodging was not closed; +but, making his way into the passage, Stavrogin found himself in utter +darkness, and began feeling with his hand for the stairs to the upper +story. Suddenly a door opened upstairs and a light appeared. Shatov +did not come out himself, but simply opened his door. When Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch was standing in the doorway of the room, he saw Shatov +standing at the table in the corner, waiting expectantly. +</p> +<p> +“Will you receive me on business?” he queried from the doorway. +</p> +<p> +“Come in and sit down,” answered Shatov. “Shut the door; stay, I’ll shut +it.” +</p> +<p> +He locked the door, returned to the table, and sat down, facing Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch. He had grown thinner during that week, and now he +seemed in a fever. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve been worrying me to death,” he said, looking down, in a soft +half-whisper. “Why didn’t you come?” +</p> +<p> +“You were so sure I should come then?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, stay, I have been delirious … perhaps I’m delirious now.… Stay +a moment.” +</p> +<p> +He got up and seized something that was lying on the uppermost of his +three bookshelves. It was a revolver. +</p> +<p> +“One night, in delirium, I fancied that you were coming to kill me, and +early next morning I spent my last farthing on buying a revolver from +that good-for-nothing fellow Lyamshin; I did not mean to let you do it. +Then I came to myself again … I’ve neither powder nor shot; it has been +lying there on the shelf till now; wait a minute.…” +</p> +<p> +He got up and was opening the casement. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t throw it away, why should you?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch checked +him. “It’s worth something. Besides, tomorrow people will begin saying +that there are revolvers lying about under Shatov’s window. Put it back, +that’s right; sit down. Tell me, why do you seem to be penitent for +having thought I should come to kill you? I have not come now to be +reconciled, but to talk of something necessary. Enlighten me to begin +with. You didn’t give me that blow because of my connection with your +wife?” +</p> +<p> +“You know I didn’t, yourself,” said Shatov, looking down again. +</p> +<p> +“And not because you believed the stupid gossip about Darya Pavlovna?” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, of course not! It’s nonsense! My sister told me from the very +first …” Shatov said, harshly and impatiently, and even with a slight +stamp of his foot. +</p> +<p> +“Then I guessed right and you too guessed right,” Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch went on in a tranquil voice. “You are right. Marya +Timofyevna Lebyadkin is my lawful wife, married to me four and a half +years ago in Petersburg. I suppose the blow was on her account?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov, utterly astounded, listened in silence. +</p> +<p> +“I guessed, but did not believe it,” he muttered at last, looking +strangely at Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“And you struck me?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov flushed and muttered almost incoherently: +</p> +<p> +“Because of your fall … your lie. I didn’t go up to you to punish +you … I didn’t know when I went up to you that I should strike you … I +did it because you meant so much to me in my life … I …” +</p> +<p> +“I understand, I understand, spare your words. I am sorry you are +feverish. I’ve come about a most urgent matter.” +</p> +<p> +“I have been expecting you too long.” Shatov seemed to be quivering all +over, and he got up from his seat. “Say what you have to say … I’ll +speak too … later.” +</p> +<p> +He sat down. +</p> +<p> +“What I have come about is nothing of that kind,” began Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, scrutinising him with curiosity. “Owing to certain +circumstances I was forced this very day to choose such an hour to come +and tell you that they may murder you.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov looked wildly at him. +</p> +<p> +“I know that I may be in some danger,” he said in measured tones, “but +how can you have come to know of it?” +</p> +<p> +“Because I belong to them as you do, and am a member of their society, +just as you are.” +</p> +<p> +“You … you are a member of the society?” +</p> +<p> +“I see from your eyes that you were prepared for anything from me rather +than that,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, with a faint smile. “But, +excuse me, you knew then that there would be an attempt on your life?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing of the sort. And I don’t think so now, in spite of your words, +though … though there’s no being sure of anything with these fools!” +he cried suddenly in a fury, striking the table with his fist. “I’m not +afraid of them! I’ve broken with them. That fellow’s run here four times +to tell me it was possible … but”—he looked at Stavrogin—“what do +you know about it, exactly?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be uneasy; I am not deceiving you,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went +on, rather coldly, with the air of a man who is only fulfilling a duty. +“You question me as to what I know. I know that you entered that society +abroad, two years ago, at the time of the old organisation, just before +you went to America, and I believe, just after our last conversation, +about which you wrote so much to me in your letter from America. By +the way, I must apologise for not having answered you by letter, but +confined myself to …” +</p> +<p> +“To sending the money; wait a bit,” Shatov interrupted, hurriedly +pulling out a drawer in the table and taking from under some papers a +rainbow-coloured note. “Here, take it, the hundred roubles you sent me; +but for you I should have perished out there. I should have been a long +time paying it back if it had not been for your mother. She made me a +present of that note nine months ago, because I was so badly off after +my illness. But, go on, please.…” +</p> +<p> +He was breathless. +</p> +<p> +“In America you changed your views, and when you came back you wanted to +resign. They gave you no answer, but charged you to take over a printing +press here in Russia from someone, and to keep it till you handed +it over to someone who would come from them for it. I don’t know +the details exactly, but I fancy that’s the position in outline. You +undertook it in the hope, or on the condition, that it would be the last +task they would require of you, and that then they would release you +altogether. Whether that is so or not, I learnt it, not from them, but +quite by chance. But now for what I fancy you don’t know; these gentry +have no intention of parting with you.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s absurd!” cried Shatov. “I’ve told them honestly that I’ve cut +myself off from them in everything. That is my right, the right to +freedom of conscience and of thought.… I won’t put up with it! There’s +no power which could …” +</p> +<p> +“I say, don’t shout,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch said earnestly, checking +him. “That Verhovensky is such a fellow that he may be listening to us +now in your passage, perhaps, with his own ears or someone else’s. Even +that drunkard, Lebyadkin, was probably bound to keep an eye on you, +and you on him, too, I dare say? You’d better tell me, has Verhovensky +accepted your arguments now, or not?” +</p> +<p> +“He has. He has said that it can be done and that I have the right.…” +</p> +<p> +“Well then, he’s deceiving you. I know that even Kirillov, who scarcely +belongs to them at all, has given them information about you. And they +have lots of agents, even people who don’t know that they’re serving +the society. They’ve always kept a watch on you. One of the things Pyotr +Verhovensky came here for was to settle your business once for all, and +he is fully authorised to do so, that is at the first good opportunity, +to get rid of you, as a man who knows too much and might give them away. +I repeat that this is certain, and allow me to add that they are, for +some reason, convinced that you are a spy, and that if you haven’t +informed against them yet, you will. Is that true?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov made a wry face at hearing such a question asked in such a +matter-of fact tone. +</p> +<p> +“If I were a spy, whom could I inform?” he said angrily, not giving a +direct answer. “No, leave me alone, let me go to the devil!” he cried +suddenly, catching again at his original idea, which agitated him +violently. Apparently it affected him more deeply than the news of his +own danger. “You, you, Stavrogin, how could you mix yourself up with +such shameful, stupid, second-hand absurdity? You a member of the +society? What an exploit for Stavrogin!” he cried suddenly, in despair. +</p> +<p> +He clasped his hands, as though nothing could be a bitterer and more +inconsolable grief to him than such a discovery. +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, extremely surprised, “but you +seem to look upon me as a sort of sun, and on yourself as an insect in +comparison. I noticed that even from your letter in America.” +</p> +<p> +“You … you know.… Oh, let us drop me altogether,” Shatov broke off +suddenly, “and if you can explain anything about yourself explain it.… +Answer my question!” he repeated feverishly. +</p> +<p> +“With pleasure. You ask how I could get into such a den? After what +I have told you, I’m bound to be frank with you to some extent on the +subject. You see, strictly speaking, I don’t belong to the society at +all, and I never have belonged to it, and I’ve much more right than +you to leave them, because I never joined them. In fact, from the very +beginning I told them that I was not one of them, and that if I’ve +happened to help them it has simply been by accident as a man of +leisure. I took some part in reorganising the society, on the new plan, +but that was all. But now they’ve changed their views, and have made up +their minds that it would be dangerous to let me go, and I believe I’m +sentenced to death too.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, they do nothing but sentence to death, and all by means of sealed +documents, signed by three men and a half. And you think they’ve any +power!” +</p> +<p> +“You’re partly right there and partly not,” Stavrogin answered with the +same indifference, almost listlessness. “There’s no doubt that there’s a +great deal that’s fanciful about it, as there always is in such cases: a +handful magnifies its size and significance. To my thinking, if you will +have it, the only one is Pyotr Verhovensky, and it’s simply good-nature +on his part to consider himself only an agent of the society. But +the fundamental idea is no stupider than others of the sort. They are +connected with the <i>Internationale.</i> They have succeeded in establishing +agents in Russia, they have even hit on a rather original method, though +it’s only theoretical, of course. As for their intentions here, the +movements of our Russian organisation are something so obscure and +almost always unexpected that really they might try anything among us. +Note that Verhovensky is an obstinate man.” +</p> +<p> +“He’s a bug, an ignoramus, a buffoon, who understands nothing in +Russia!” cried Shatov spitefully. +</p> +<p> +“You know him very little. It’s quite true that none of them understand +much about Russia, but not much less than you and I do. Besides, +Verhovensky is an enthusiast.” +</p> +<p> +“Verhovensky an enthusiast?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes. There is a point when he ceases to be a buffoon and becomes +a madman. I beg you to remember your own expression: ‘Do you know how +powerful a single man may be?’ Please don’t laugh about it, he’s quite +capable of pulling a trigger. They are convinced that I am a spy too. +As they don’t know how to do things themselves, they’re awfully fond of +accusing people of being spies.” +</p> +<p> +“But you’re not afraid, are you?” +</p> +<p> +“N—no. I’m not very much afraid.… But your case is quite different. I +warned you that you might anyway keep it in mind. To my thinking there’s +no reason to be offended in being threatened with danger by fools; their +brains don’t affect the question. They’ve raised their hand against +better men than you or me. It’s a quarter past eleven, though.” He +looked at his watch and got up from his chair. “I wanted to ask you one +quite irrelevant question.” +</p> +<p> +“For God’s sake!” cried Shatov, rising impulsively from his seat. +</p> +<p> +“I beg your pardon?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked at him inquiringly. +</p> +<p> +“Ask it, ask your question for God’s sake,” Shatov repeated in +indescribable excitement, “but on condition that I ask you a question +too. I beseech you to allow me … I can’t … ask your question!” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin waited a moment and then began. “I’ve heard that you have some +influence on Marya Timofyevna, and that she was fond of seeing you and +hearing you talk. Is that so?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes … she used to listen …” said Shatov, confused. +</p> +<p> +“Within a day or two I intend to make a public announcement of our +marriage here in the town.” +</p> +<p> +“Is that possible?” Shatov whispered, almost with horror. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t quite understand you. There’s no sort of difficulty about it, +witnesses to the marriage are here. Everything took place in Petersburg, +perfectly legally and smoothly, and if it has not been made known till +now, it is simply because the witnesses, Kirillov, Pyotr Verhovensky, +and Lebyadkin (whom I now have the pleasure of claiming as a +brother-in-law) promised to hold their tongues.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t mean that … You speak so calmly … but good! Listen! You +weren’t forced into that marriage, were you?” +</p> +<p> +“No, no one forced me into it.” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch smiled at +Shatov’s importunate haste. +</p> +<p> +“And what’s that talk she keeps up about her baby?” Shatov interposed +disconnectedly, with feverish haste. +</p> +<p> +“She talks about her baby? Bah! I didn’t know. It’s the first time +I’ve heard of it. She never had a baby and couldn’t have had: Marya +Timofyevna is a virgin.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! That’s just what I thought! Listen!” +</p> +<p> +“What’s the matter with you, Shatov?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov hid his face in his hands, turned away, but suddenly clutched +Stavrogin by the shoulders. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know why, do you know why, anyway,” he shouted, “why you did all +this, and why you are resolved on such a punishment now!” +</p> +<p> +“Your question is clever and malignant, but I mean to surprise you too; +I fancy I do know why I got married then, and why I am resolved on such +a punishment now, as you express it.” +</p> +<p> +“Let’s leave that … of that later. Put it off. Let’s talk of the chief +thing, the chief thing. I’ve been waiting two years for you.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve waited too long for you. I’ve been thinking of you incessantly. +You are the only man who could move … I wrote to you about it from +America.” +</p> +<p> +“I remember your long letter very well.” +</p> +<p> +“Too long to be read? No doubt; six sheets of notepaper. Don’t speak! +Don’t speak! Tell me, can you spare me another ten minutes?… But now, +this minute … I have waited for you too long.” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly, half an hour if you like, but not more, if that will suit +you.” +</p> +<p> +“And on condition, too,” Shatov put in wrathfully, “that you take a +different tone. Do you hear? I demand when I ought to entreat. Do you +understand what it means to demand when one ought to entreat?” +</p> +<p> +“I understand that in that way you lift yourself above all +ordinary considerations for the sake of loftier aims,” said Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch with a faint smile. “I see with regret, too, that you’re +feverish.” +</p> +<p> +“I beg you to treat me with respect, I insist on it!” shouted Shatov, +“not my personality—I don’t care a hang for that, but something else, +just for this once. While I am talking … we are two beings, and have +come together in infinity … for the last time in the world. Drop your +tone, and speak like a human being! Speak, if only for once in your life +with the voice of a man. I say it not for my sake but for yours. Do you +understand that you ought to forgive me that blow in the face if only +because I gave you the opportunity of realising your immense +power.… Again you smile your disdainful, worldly smile! Oh, when will you +understand me! Have done with being a snob! Understand that I insist +on that. I insist on it, else I won’t speak, I’m not going to for +anything!” +</p> +<p> +His excitement was approaching frenzy. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch frowned +and seemed to become more on his guard. +</p> +<p> +“Since I have remained another half-hour with you when time is so +precious,” he pronounced earnestly and impressively, “you may rest +assured that I mean to listen to you at least with interest … and I am +convinced that I shall hear from you much that is new.” +</p> +<p> +He sat down on a chair. +</p> +<p> +“Sit down!” cried Shatov, and he sat down himself. +</p> +<p> +“Please remember,” Stavrogin interposed once more, “that I was about +to ask a real favour of you concerning Marya Timofyevna, of great +importance for her, anyway.…” +</p> +<p> +“What?” Shatov frowned suddenly with the air of a man who has just been +interrupted at the most important moment, and who gazes at you unable to +grasp the question. +</p> +<p> +“And you did not let me finish,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went on with a +smile. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, nonsense, afterwards!” Shatov waved his hand disdainfully, +grasping, at last, what he wanted, and passed at once to his principal +theme. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VII +</p> +<p> +“Do you know,” he began, with flashing eyes, almost menacingly, bending +right forward in his chair, raising the forefinger of his right hand +above him (obviously unaware that he was doing so), “do you know who are +the only ‘god-bearing’ people on earth, destined to regenerate and save +the world in the name of a new God, and to whom are given the keys of +life and of the new world … Do you know which is that people and what +is its name?” +</p> +<p> +“From your manner I am forced to conclude, and I think I may as well do +so at once, that it is the Russian people.” +</p> +<p> +“And you can laugh, oh, what a race!” Shatov burst out. +</p> +<p> +“Calm yourself, I beg of you; on the contrary, I was expecting something +of the sort from you.” +</p> +<p> +“You expected something of the sort? And don’t you know those words +yourself?” +</p> +<p> +“I know them very well. I see only too well what you’re driving at. All +your phrases, even the expression ‘god-bearing people’ is only a sequel +to our talk two years ago, abroad, not long before you went to America.… At +least, as far as I can recall it now.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s your phrase altogether, not mine. Your own, not simply the sequel +of our conversation. ‘Our’ conversation it was not at all. It was a +teacher uttering weighty words, and a pupil who was raised from the +dead. I was that pupil and you were the teacher.” +</p> +<p> +“But, if you remember, it was just after my words you joined their +society, and only afterwards went away to America.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and I wrote to you from America about that. I wrote to you about +everything. Yes, I could not at once tear my bleeding heart from what +I had grown into from childhood, on which had been lavished all the +raptures of my hopes and all the tears of my hatred.… It is difficult +to change gods. I did not believe you then, because I did not want to +believe, I plunged for the last time into that sewer.… But the seed +remained and grew up. Seriously, tell me seriously, didn’t you read all +my letter from America, perhaps you didn’t read it at all?” +</p> +<p> +“I read three pages of it. The two first and the last. And I glanced +through the middle as well. But I was always meaning …” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, never mind, drop it! Damn it!” cried Shatov, waving his hand. “If +you’ve renounced those words about the people now, how could you have +uttered them then?… That’s what crushes me now.” +</p> +<p> +“I wasn’t joking with you then; in persuading you I was perhaps +more concerned with myself than with you,” Stavrogin pronounced +enigmatically. +</p> +<p> +“You weren’t joking! In America I was lying for three months on straw +beside a hapless creature, and I learnt from him that at the very time +when you were sowing the seed of God and the Fatherland in my heart, at +that very time, perhaps during those very days, you were infecting the +heart of that hapless creature, that maniac Kirillov, with poison … you +confirmed false malignant ideas in him, and brought him to the verge of +insanity.… Go, look at him now, he is your creation … you’ve seen him +though.” +</p> +<p> +“In the first place, I must observe that Kirillov himself told me that +he is happy and that he’s good. Your supposition that all this was going +on at the same time is almost correct. But what of it? I repeat, I was +not deceiving either of you.” +</p> +<p> +“Are you an atheist? An atheist now?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“And then?” +</p> +<p> +“Just as I was then.” +</p> +<p> +“I wasn’t asking you to treat me with respect when I began the +conversation. With your intellect you might have understood that,” +Shatov muttered indignantly. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t get up at your first word, I didn’t close the conversation, +I didn’t go away from you, but have been sitting here ever since +submissively answering your questions and … cries, so it seems I have +not been lacking in respect to you yet.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov interrupted, waving his hand. +</p> +<p> +“Do you remember your expression that ‘an atheist can’t be a Russian,’ +that ‘an atheist at once ceases to be a Russian’? Do you remember saying +that?” +</p> +<p> +“Did I?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch questioned him back. +</p> +<p> +“You ask? You’ve forgotten? And yet that was one of the truest statements +of the leading peculiarity of the Russian soul, which you divined. You +can’t have forgotten it! I will remind you of something else: you said +then that ‘a man who was not orthodox could not be Russian.’” +</p> +<p> +“I imagine that’s a Slavophil idea.” +</p> +<p> +“The Slavophils of to-day disown it. Nowadays, people have grown +cleverer. But you went further: you believed that Roman Catholicism was +not Christianity; you asserted that Rome proclaimed Christ subject to +the third temptation of the devil. Announcing to all the world that +Christ without an earthly kingdom cannot hold his ground upon earth, +Catholicism by so doing proclaimed Antichrist and ruined the whole +Western world. You pointed out that if France is in agonies now it’s +simply the fault of Catholicism, for she has rejected the iniquitous God +of Rome and has not found a new one. That’s what you could say then! I +remember our conversations.” +</p> +<p> +“If I believed, no doubt I should repeat it even now. I wasn’t lying +when I spoke as though I had faith,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch pronounced +very earnestly. “But I must tell you, this repetition of my ideas in the +past makes a very disagreeable impression on me. Can’t you leave off?” +</p> +<p> +“If you believe it?” repeated Shatov, paying not the slightest attention +to this request. “But didn’t you tell me that if it were mathematically +proved to you that the truth excludes Christ, you’d prefer to stick to +Christ rather than to the truth? Did you say that? Did you?” +</p> +<p> +“But allow me too at last to ask a question,” said Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, raising his voice. “What is the object of this +irritable and … malicious cross-examination?” +</p> +<p> +“This examination will be over for all eternity, and you will never hear +it mentioned again.” +</p> +<p> +“You keep insisting that we are outside the limits of time and space.” +</p> +<p> +“Hold your tongue!” Shatov cried suddenly. “I am stupid and awkward, but +let my name perish in ignominy! Let me repeat your leading idea.… Oh, +only a dozen lines, only the conclusion.” +</p> +<p> +“Repeat it, if it’s only the conclusion.…” Stavrogin made a movement +to look at his watch, but restrained himself and did not look. +</p> +<p> +Shatov bent forward in his chair again and again held up his finger for +a moment. +</p> +<p> +“Not a single nation,” he went on, as though reading it line by line, +still gazing menacingly at Stavrogin, “not a single nation has ever +been founded on principles of science or reason. There has never been +an example of it, except for a brief moment, through folly. Socialism +is from its very nature bound to be atheism, seeing that it has from the +very first proclaimed that it is an atheistic organisation of society, +and that it intends to establish itself exclusively on the elements of +science and reason. Science and reason have, from the beginning of time, +played a secondary and subordinate part in the life of nations; so it +will be till the end of time. Nations are built up and moved by another +force which sways and dominates them, the origin of which is unknown and +inexplicable: that force is the force of an insatiable desire to go on +to the end, though at the same time it denies that end. It is the force +of the persistent assertion of one’s own existence, and a denial of +death. It’s the spirit of life, as the Scriptures call it, ‘the river of +living water,’ the drying up of which is threatened in the Apocalypse. +It’s the æsthetic principle, as the philosophers call it, the ethical +principle with which they identify it, ‘the seeking for God,’ as I call +it more simply. The object of every national movement, in every people +and at every period of its existence is only the seeking for its god, +who must be its own god, and the faith in Him as the only true one. +God is the synthetic personality of the whole people, taken from its +beginning to its end. It has never happened that all, or even many, +peoples have had one common god, but each has always had its own. It’s +a sign of the decay of nations when they begin to have gods in common. +When gods begin to be common to several nations the gods are dying and +the faith in them, together with the nations themselves. The stronger +a people the more individual their God. There never has been a nation +without a religion, that is, without an idea of good and evil. Every +people has its own conception of good and evil, and its own good and +evil. When the same conceptions of good and evil become prevalent +in several nations, then these nations are dying, and then the very +distinction between good and evil is beginning to disappear. Reason +has never had the power to define good and evil, or even to distinguish +between good and evil, even approximately; on the contrary, it has +always mixed them up in a disgraceful and pitiful way; science has even +given the solution by the fist. This is particularly characteristic +of the half-truths of science, the most terrible scourge of humanity, +unknown till this century, and worse than plague, famine, or war. A +half-truth is a despot … such as has never been in the world before. +A despot that has its priests and its slaves, a despot to whom all do +homage with love and superstition hitherto inconceivable, before which +science itself trembles and cringes in a shameful way. These are your +own words, Stavrogin, all except that about the half-truth; that’s my +own because I am myself a case of half-knowledge, and that’s why I hate +it particularly. I haven’t altered anything of your ideas or even of +your words, not a syllable.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t agree that you’ve not altered anything,” Stavrogin observed +cautiously. “You accepted them with ardour, and in your ardour have +transformed them unconsciously. The very fact that you reduce God to a +simple attribute of nationality …” +</p> +<p> +He suddenly began watching Shatov with intense and peculiar attention, +not so much his words as himself. +</p> +<p> +“I reduce God to the attribute of nationality?” cried Shatov. “On the +contrary, I raise the people to God. And has it ever been otherwise? The +people is the body of God. Every people is only a people so long as it +has its own god and excludes all other gods on earth irreconcilably; so +long as it believes that by its god it will conquer and drive out of +the world all other gods. Such, from the beginning of time, has been +the belief of all great nations, all, anyway, who have been specially +remarkable, all who have been leaders of humanity. There is no going +against facts. The Jews lived only to await the coming of the true +God and left the world the true God. The Greeks deified nature and +bequeathed the world their religion, that is, philosophy and art. Rome +deified the people in the State, and bequeathed the idea of the State to +the nations. France throughout her long history was only the incarnation +and development of the Roman god, and if they have at last flung their +Roman god into the abyss and plunged into atheism, which, for the time +being, they call socialism, it is solely because socialism is, anyway, +healthier than Roman Catholicism. If a great people does not believe +that the truth is only to be found in itself alone (in itself alone +and in it exclusively); if it does not believe that it alone is fit and +destined to raise up and save all the rest by its truth, it would at +once sink into being ethnographical material, and not a great people. A +really great people can never accept a secondary part in the history +of Humanity, nor even one of the first, but will have the first part. A +nation which loses this belief ceases to be a nation. But there is only +one truth, and therefore only a single one out of the nations can have +the true God, even though other nations may have great gods of their +own. Only one nation is ‘god-bearing,’ that’s the Russian people, +and … and … and can you think me such a fool, Stavrogin,” he yelled +frantically all at once, “that I can’t distinguish whether my words at +this moment are the rotten old commonplaces that have been ground out in +all the Slavophil mills in Moscow, or a perfectly new saying, the last +word, the sole word of renewal and resurrection, and … and what do I +care for your laughter at this minute! What do I care that you utterly, +utterly fail to understand me, not a word, not a sound! Oh, how I +despise your haughty laughter and your look at this minute!” +</p> +<p> +He jumped up from his seat; there was positively foam on his lips. +</p> +<p> +“On the contrary Shatov, on the contrary,” Stavrogin began with +extraordinary earnestness and self-control, still keeping his seat, “on +the contrary, your fervent words have revived many extremely powerful +recollections in me. In your words I recognise my own mood two years +ago, and now I will not tell you, as I did just now, that you have +exaggerated my ideas. I believe, indeed, that they were even more +exceptional, even more independent, and I assure you for the third time +that I should be very glad to confirm all that you’ve said just now, +every syllable of it, but …” +</p> +<p> +“But you want a hare?” +</p> +<p> +“Wh-a-t?” +</p> +<p> +“Your own nasty expression,” Shatov laughed spitefully, sitting down +again. “To cook your hare you must first catch it, to believe in God +you must first have a god. You used to say that in Petersburg, I’m told, +like Nozdryov, who tried to catch a hare by his hind legs.” +</p> +<p> +“No, what he did was to boast he’d caught him. By the way, allow me to +trouble you with a question though, for indeed I think I have the right +to one now. Tell me, have you caught your hare?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t dare to ask me in such words! Ask differently, quite +differently.” Shatov suddenly began trembling all over. +</p> +<p> +“Certainly I’ll ask differently.” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked coldly +at him. “I only wanted to know, do you believe in God, yourself?” +</p> +<p> +“I believe in Russia.… I believe in her orthodoxy.… I believe in +the body of Christ.… I believe that the new advent will take place in +Russia.… I believe …” Shatov muttered frantically. +</p> +<p> +“And in God? In God?” +</p> +<p> +“I … I will believe in God.” +</p> +<p> +Not one muscle moved in Stavrogin’s face. Shatov looked passionately and +defiantly at him, as though he would have scorched him with his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“I haven’t told you that I don’t believe,” he cried at last. “I will +only have you know that I am a luckless, tedious book, and nothing more +so far, so far.… But confound me! We’re discussing you not me.… I’m +a man of no talent, and can only give my blood, nothing more, like every +man without talent; never mind my blood either! I’m talking about you. +I’ve been waiting here two years for you.… Here I’ve been dancing +about in my nakedness before you for the last half-hour. You, only you +can raise that flag!…” +</p> +<p> +He broke off, and sat as though in despair, with his elbows on the table +and his head in his hands. +</p> +<p> +“I merely mention it as something queer,” Stavrogin interrupted +suddenly. “Every one for some inexplicable reason keeps foisting a flag +upon me. Pyotr Verhovensky, too, is convinced that I might ‘raise his +flag,’ that’s how his words were repeated to me, anyway. He has taken it +into his head that I’m capable of playing the part of Stenka Razin for +them, ‘from my extraordinary aptitude for crime,’ his saying too.” +</p> +<p> +“What?” cried Shatov, “‘from your extraordinary aptitude for crime’?” +</p> +<p> +“Just so.” +</p> +<p> +“H’m! And is it true?” he asked, with an angry smile. “Is it true +that when you were in Petersburg you belonged to a secret society for +practising beastly sensuality? Is it true that you could give lessons to +the Marquis de Sade? Is it true that you decoyed and corrupted children? +Speak, don’t dare to lie,” he cried, beside himself. “Nikolay Stavrogin +cannot lie to Shatov, who struck him in the face. Tell me everything, +and if it’s true I’ll kill you, here, on the spot!” +</p> +<p> +“I did talk like that, but it was not I who outraged children,” +Stavrogin brought out, after a silence that lasted too long. He turned +pale and his eyes gleamed. +</p> +<p> +“But you talked like that,” Shatov went on imperiously, keeping his +flashing eyes fastened upon him. “Is it true that you declared that you +saw no distinction in beauty between some brutal obscene action and any +great exploit, even the sacrifice of life for the good of humanity? Is +it true that you have found identical beauty, equal enjoyment, in both +extremes?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s impossible to answer like this.… I won’t answer,” muttered +Stavrogin, who might well have got up and gone away, but who did not get +up and go away. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know either why evil is hateful and good is beautiful, but I +know why the sense of that distinction is effaced and lost in people +like the Stavrogins,” Shatov persisted, trembling all over. “Do you know +why you made that base and shameful marriage? Simply because the shame +and senselessness of it reached the pitch of genius! Oh, you are not +one of those who linger on the brink. You fly head foremost. You married +from a passion for martyrdom, from a craving for remorse, through moral +sensuality. It was a laceration of the nerves … Defiance of common +sense was too tempting. Stavrogin and a wretched, half-witted, crippled +beggar! When you bit the governor’s ear did you feel sensual pleasure? +Did you? You idle, loafing, little snob. Did you?” +</p> +<p> +“You’re a psychologist,” said Stavrogin, turning paler and paler, +“though you’re partly mistaken as to the reasons of my marriage. But +who can have given you all this information?” he asked, smiling, with an +effort. “Was it Kirillov? But he had nothing to do with it.” +</p> +<p> +“You turn pale.” +</p> +<p> +“But what is it you want?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked, raising +his voice at last. “I’ve been sitting under your lash for the last +half-hour, and you might at least let me go civilly. Unless you really +have some reasonable object in treating me like this.” +</p> +<p> +“Reasonable object?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, you’re in duty bound, anyway, to let me know your object. +I’ve been expecting you to do so all the time, but you’ve shown me +nothing so far but frenzied spite. I beg you to open the gate for me.” +</p> +<p> +He got up from the chair. Shatov rushed frantically after him. “Kiss +the earth, water it with your tears, pray for forgiveness,” he cried, +clutching him by the shoulder. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t kill you … that morning, though … I drew back my +hands …” Stavrogin brought out almost with anguish, keeping his eyes +on the ground. +</p> +<p> +“Speak out! Speak out! You came to warn me of danger. You have let me +speak. You mean to-morrow to announce your marriage publicly.… Do +you suppose I don’t see from your face that some new menacing idea +is dominating you?… Stavrogin, why am I condemned to believe in you +through all eternity? Could I speak like this to anyone else? I have +modesty, but I am not ashamed of my nakedness because it’s Stavrogin +I am speaking to. I was not afraid of caricaturing a grand idea by +handling it because Stavrogin was listening to me.… Shan’t I kiss your +footprints when you’ve gone? I can’t tear you out of my heart, Nikolay +Stavrogin!” +</p> +<p> +“I’m sorry I can’t feel affection for you, Shatov,” Stavrogin replied +coldly. +</p> +<p> +“I know you can’t, and I know you are not lying. Listen. I can set it +all right. I can ‘catch your hare’ for you.” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“You’re an atheist because you’re a snob, a snob of the snobs. You’ve +lost the distinction between good and evil because you’ve lost touch +with your own people. A new generation is coming, straight from the +heart of the people, and you will know nothing of it, neither you nor +the Verhovenskys, father or son; nor I, for I’m a snob too—I, the son +of your serf and lackey, Pashka.… Listen. Attain to God by work; it +all lies in that; or disappear like rotten mildew. Attain to Him by +work.” +</p> +<p> +“God by work? What sort of work?” +</p> +<p> +“Peasants’ work. Go, give up all your wealth.… Ah! you laugh, you’re +afraid of some trick?” +</p> +<p> +But Stavrogin was not laughing. +</p> +<p> +“You suppose that one may attain to God by work, and by peasants’ work,” +he repeated, reflecting as though he had really come across something +new and serious which was worth considering. “By the way,” he passed +suddenly to a new idea, “you reminded me just now. Do you know that +I’m not rich at all, that I’ve nothing to give up? I’m scarcely in +a position even to provide for Marya Timofyevna’s future.… Another +thing: I came to ask you if it would be possible for you to remain near +Marya Timofyevna in the future, as you are the only person who has +some influence over her poor brain. I say this so as to be prepared for +anything.” +</p> +<p> +“All right, all right. You’re speaking of Marya Timofyevna,” said +Shatov, waving one hand, while he held a candle in the other. “All +right. Afterwards, of course.… Listen. Go to Tikhon.” +</p> +<p> +“To whom?” +</p> +<p> +“To Tikhon, who used to be a bishop. He lives retired now, on account of +illness, here in the town, in the Bogorodsky monastery.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing. People go and see him. You go. What is it to you? What is it +to you?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s the first time I’ve heard of him, and … I’ve never seen anything +of that sort of people. Thank you, I’ll go.” +</p> +<p> +“This way.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov lighted him down the stairs. “Go along.” He flung open the gate +into the street. +</p> +<p> +“I shan’t come to you any more, Shatov,” said Stavrogin quietly as he +stepped through the gateway. +</p> +<p> +The darkness and the rain continued as before. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0007"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER II. NIGHT (continued) +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +HE WALKED THE LENGTH of Bogoyavlensky Street. At last the road began +to go downhill; his feet slipped in the mud and suddenly there lay +open before him a wide, misty, as it were empty expanse—the river. The +houses were replaced by hovels; the street was lost in a multitude of +irregular little alleys. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was a long while making his way between +the fences, keeping close to the river bank, but finding his way +confidently, and scarcely giving it a thought indeed. He was absorbed in +something quite different, and looked round with surprise when suddenly, +waking up from a profound reverie, he found himself almost in the middle +of one long, wet, floating bridge. +</p> +<p> +There was not a soul to be seen, so that it seemed strange to him when +suddenly, almost at his elbow, he heard a deferentially familiar, but +rather pleasant, voice, with a suave intonation, such as is affected by +our over-refined tradespeople or befrizzled young shop assistants. +</p> +<p> +“Will you kindly allow me, sir, to share your umbrella?” +</p> +<p> +There actually was a figure that crept under his umbrella, or tried to +appear to do so. The tramp was walking beside him, almost “feeling +his elbow,” as the soldiers say. Slackening his pace, Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch bent down to look more closely, as far as he could, in +the darkness. It was a short man, and seemed like an artisan who had +been drinking; he was shabbily and scantily dressed; a cloth cap, soaked +by the rain and with the brim half torn off, perched on his shaggy, +curly head. He looked a thin, vigorous, swarthy man with dark hair; +his eyes were large and must have been black, with a hard glitter and a +yellow tinge in them, like a gipsy’s; that could be divined even in the +darkness. He was about forty, and was not drunk. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know me?” asked Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. “Mr. Stavrogin, Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch. You were pointed out to me at the station, when the +train stopped last Sunday, though I had heard enough of you beforehand.” +</p> +<p> +“From Pyotr Stepanovitch? Are you … Fedka the convict?” +</p> +<p> +“I was christened Fyodor Fyodorovitch. My mother is living to this day +in these parts; she’s an old woman, and grows more and more bent every +day. She prays to God for me, day and night, so that she doesn’t waste +her old age lying on the stove.” +</p> +<p> +“You escaped from prison?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve had a change of luck. I gave up books and bells and church-going +because I’d a life sentence, so that I had a very long time to finish my +term.” +</p> +<p> +“What are you doing here?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I do what I can. My uncle, too, died last week in prison here. He +was there for false coin, so I threw two dozen stones at the dogs by +way of memorial. That’s all I’ve been doing so far. Moreover Pyotr +Stepanovitch gives me hopes of a passport, and a merchant’s one, too, to +go all over Russia, so I’m waiting on his kindness. ‘Because,’ says he, +‘my papa lost you at cards at the English club, and I,’ says he, ‘find +that inhumanity unjust.’ You might have the kindness to give me three +roubles, sir, for a glass to warm myself.” +</p> +<p> +“So you’ve been spying on me. I don’t like that. By whose orders?” +</p> +<p> +“As to orders, it’s nothing of the sort; it’s simply that I knew of your +benevolence, which is known to all the world. All we get, as you know, +is an armful of hay, or a prod with a fork. Last Friday I filled myself +as full of pie as Martin did of soap; since then I didn’t eat one day, +and the day after I fasted, and on the third I’d nothing again. I’ve had +my fill of water from the river. I’m breeding fish in my belly.… So +won’t your honour give me something? I’ve a sweetheart expecting me not +far from here, but I daren’t show myself to her without money.” +</p> +<p> +“What did Pyotr Stepanovitch promise you from me?” +</p> +<p> +“He didn’t exactly promise anything, but only said that I might be of +use to your honour if my luck turns out good, but how exactly he didn’t +explain; for Pyotr Stepanovitch wants to see if I have the patience of a +Cossack, and feels no sort of confidence in me.” +</p> +<p> +“Why?” +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch is an astronomer, and has learnt all God’s planets, +but even he may be criticised. I stand before you, sir, as before God, +because I have heard so much about you. Pyotr Stepanovitch is one thing, +but you, sir, maybe, are something else. When he’s said of a man he’s a +scoundrel, he knows nothing more about him except that he’s a scoundrel. +Or if he’s said he’s a fool, then that man has no calling with him +except that of fool. But I may be a fool Tuesday and Wednesday, and on +Thursday wiser than he. Here now he knows about me that I’m awfully +sick to get a passport, for there’s no getting on in Russia without +papers—so he thinks that he’s snared my soul. I tell you, sir, life’s +a very easy business for Pyotr Stepanovitch, for he fancies a man to be +this and that, and goes on as though he really was. And, what’s more, +he’s beastly stingy. It’s his notion that, apart from him, I daren’t +trouble you, but I stand before you, sir, as before God. This is the +fourth night I’ve been waiting for your honour on this bridge, to show +that I can find my own way on the quiet, without him. I’d better bow to +a boot, thinks I, than to a peasant’s shoe.” +</p> +<p> +“And who told you that I was going to cross the bridge at night?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that, I’ll own, came out by chance, most through Captain +Lebyadkin’s foolishness, because he can’t keep anything to himself.… +So that three roubles from your honour would pay me for the weary time +I’ve had these three days and nights. And the clothes I’ve had soaked, I +feel that too much to speak of it.” +</p> +<p> +“I’m going to the left; you’ll go to the right. Here’s the end of the +bridge. Listen, Fyodor; I like people to understand what I say, once for +all. I won’t give you a farthing. Don’t meet me in future on the bridge +or anywhere. I’ve no need of you, and never shall have, and if you don’t +obey, I’ll tie you and take you to the police. March!” +</p> +<p> +“Eh-heh! Fling me something for my company, anyhow. I’ve cheered you on +your way.” +</p> +<p> +“Be off!” +</p> +<p> +“But do you know the way here? There are all sorts of turnings.… I +could guide you; for this town is for all the world as though the devil +carried it in his basket and dropped it in bits here and there.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll tie you up!” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, turning upon him +menacingly. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you’ll change your mind, sir; it’s easy to ill-treat the +helpless.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I see you can rely on yourself!” +</p> +<p> +“I rely upon you, sir, and not very much on myself.…” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve no need of you at all. I’ve told you so already.” +</p> +<p> +“But I have need, that’s how it is! I shall wait for you on the way +back. There’s nothing for it.” +</p> +<p> +“I give you my word of honour if I meet you I’ll tie you up.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I’ll get a belt ready for you to tie me with. A lucky journey to +you, sir. You kept the helpless snug under your umbrella. For that +alone I’ll be grateful to you to my dying day.” He fell behind. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch walked on to his destination, feeling disturbed. This +man who had dropped from the sky was absolutely convinced that he was +indispensable to him, Stavrogin, and was in insolent haste to tell him +so. He was being treated unceremoniously all round. But it was possible, +too, that the tramp had not been altogether lying, and had tried +to force his services upon him on his own initiative, without Pyotr +Stepanovitch’s knowledge, and that would be more curious still. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +The house which Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had reached stood alone in a +deserted lane between fences, beyond which market gardens stretched, at +the very end of the town. It was a very solitary little wooden house, +which was only just built and not yet weather-boarded. In one of the +little windows the shutters were not yet closed, and there was a candle +standing on the window-ledge, evidently as a signal to the late guest +who was expected that night. Thirty paces away Stavrogin made out on the +doorstep the figure of a tall man, evidently the master of the house, +who had come out to stare impatiently up the road. He heard his voice, +too, impatient and, as it were, timid. +</p> +<p> +“Is that you? You?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” responded Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but not till he had mounted +the steps and was folding up his umbrella. +</p> +<p> +“At last, sir.” Captain Lebyadkin, for it was he, ran fussily to and +fro. “Let me take your umbrella, please. It’s very wet; I’ll open it on +the floor here, in the corner. Please walk in. Please walk in.” +</p> +<p> +The door was open from the passage into a room that was lighted by two +candles. +</p> +<p> +“If it had not been for your promise that you would certainly come, I +should have given up expecting you.” +</p> +<p> +“A quarter to one,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, looking at his watch, +as he went into the room. +</p> +<p> +“And in this rain; and such an interesting distance. I’ve no clock … +and there are nothing but market-gardens round me … so that you fall +behind the times. Not that I murmur exactly; for I dare not, I dare not, +but only because I’ve been devoured with impatience all the week … to +have things settled at last.” +</p> +<p> +“How so?” +</p> +<p> +“To hear my fate, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. Please sit down.” +</p> +<p> +He bowed, pointing to a seat by the table, before the sofa. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked round. The room was tiny and low-pitched. +The furniture consisted only of the most essential articles, plain +wooden chairs and a sofa, also newly made without covering or cushions. +There were two tables of limewood; one by the sofa, and the other in +the corner was covered with a table-cloth, laid with things over which +a clean table-napkin had been thrown. And, indeed, the whole room was +obviously kept extremely clean. +</p> +<p> +Captain Lebyadkin had not been drunk for eight days. His face looked +bloated and yellow. His eyes looked uneasy, inquisitive, and obviously +bewildered. It was only too evident that he did not know what tone he +could adopt, and what line it would be most advantageous for him to +take. +</p> +<p> +“Here,” he indicated his surroundings, “I live like Zossima. Sobriety, +solitude, and poverty—the vow of the knights of old.” +</p> +<p> +“You imagine that the knights of old took such vows?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps I’m mistaken. Alas! I have no culture. I’ve ruined all. Believe +me, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, here first I have recovered from shameful +propensities—not a glass nor a drop! I have a home, and for six days +past I have experienced a conscience at ease. Even the walls smell of +resin and remind me of nature. And what have I been; what was I? +</p> +<pre> + ‘At night without a bed I wander + And my tongue put out by day …’ +</pre> +<p> +to use the words of a poet of genius. But you’re wet through.… +Wouldn’t you like some tea?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t trouble.” +</p> +<p> +“The samovar has been boiling since eight o’clock, but it went out at +last like everything in this world. The sun, too, they say, will go +out in its turn. But if you like I’ll get up the samovar. Agafya is not +asleep.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me, Marya Timofyevna …” +</p> +<p> +“She’s here, here,” Lebyadkin replied at once, in a whisper. “Would you +like to have a look at her?” He pointed to the closed door to the next +room. +</p> +<p> +“She’s not asleep?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no, no. How could she be? On the contrary, she’s been expecting +you all the evening, and as soon as she heard you were coming she began +making her toilet.” +</p> +<p> +He was just twisting his mouth into a jocose smile, but he instantly +checked himself. +</p> +<p> +“How is she, on the whole?” asked Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, frowning. +</p> +<p> +“On the whole? You know that yourself, sir.” He shrugged his shoulders +commiseratingly. “But just now … just now she’s telling her fortune +with cards.…” +</p> +<p> +“Very good. Later on. First of all I must finish with you.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch settled himself in a chair. The captain did not +venture to sit down on the sofa, but at once moved up another chair for +himself, and bent forward to listen, in a tremor of expectation. +</p> +<p> +“What have you got there under the table-cloth?” asked Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, suddenly noticing it. +</p> +<p> +“That?” said Lebyadkin, turning towards it also. “That’s from your +generosity, by way of house-warming, so to say; considering also +the length of the walk, and your natural fatigue,” he sniggered +ingratiatingly. Then he got up on tiptoe, and respectfully and carefully +lifted the table-cloth from the table in the corner. Under it was seen a +slight meal: ham, veal, sardines, cheese, a little green decanter, and a +long bottle of Bordeaux. Everything had been laid neatly, expertly, and +almost daintily. +</p> +<p> +“Was that your effort?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir. Ever since yesterday I’ve done my best, and all to do you +honour.… Marya Timofyevna doesn’t trouble herself, as you know, on +that score. And what’s more its all from your liberality, your own +providing, as you’re the master of the house and not I, and I’m only, so +to say, your agent. All the same, all the same, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, +all the same, in spirit, I’m independent! Don’t take away from me this +last possession!” he finished up pathetically. +</p> +<p> +“H’m! You might sit down again.” +</p> +<p> +“Gra-a-teful, grateful, and independent.” He sat down. “Ah, Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, so much has been fermenting in this heart that I have +not known how to wait for your coming. Now you will decide my fate, +and … that unhappy creature’s, and then … shall I pour out all I feel +to you as I used to in old days, four years ago? You deigned to listen +to me then, you read my verses.… They might call me your Falstaff from +Shakespeare in those days, but you meant so much in my life! I have +great terrors now, and it’s only to you I look for counsel and light. +Pyotr Stepanovitch is treating me abominably!” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch listened with interest, and looked at him +attentively. It was evident that though Captain Lebyadkin had left off +drinking he was far from being in a harmonious state of mind. +Drunkards of many years’ standing, like Lebyadkin, often show traces of +incoherence, of mental cloudiness, of something, as it were, damaged, +and crazy, though they may deceive, cheat, and swindle, almost as well +as anybody if occasion arises. +</p> +<p> +“I see that you haven’t changed a bit in these four years and more, +captain,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, somewhat more amiably. “It +seems, in fact, as though the second half of a man’s life is usually +made up of nothing but the habits he has accumulated during the first +half.” +</p> +<p> +“Grand words! You solve the riddle of life!” said the captain, half +cunningly, half in genuine and unfeigned admiration, for he was a +great lover of words. “Of all your sayings, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, I +remember one thing above all; you were in Petersburg when you said it: +‘One must really be a great man to be able to make a stand even against +common sense.’ That was it.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and a fool as well.” +</p> +<p> +“A fool as well, maybe. But you’ve been scattering clever sayings all +your life, while they.… Imagine Liputin, imagine Pyotr Stepanovitch +saying anything like that! Oh, how cruelly Pyotr Stepanovitch has +treated me!” +</p> +<p> +“But how about yourself, captain? What can you say of your behaviour?” +</p> +<p> +“Drunkenness, and the multitude of my enemies. But now that’s all over, +all over, and I have a new skin, like a snake. Do you know, Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, I am making my will; in fact, I’ve made it already?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s interesting. What are you leaving, and to whom?” +</p> +<p> +“To my fatherland, to humanity, and to the students. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, I read in the paper the biography of an American. He +left all his vast fortune to factories and to the exact sciences, and +his skeleton to the students of the academy there, and his skin to be +made into a drum, so that the American national hymn might be beaten +upon it day and night. Alas! we are pigmies in mind compared with the +soaring thought of the States of North America. Russia is the play of +nature but not of mind. If I were to try leaving my skin for a drum, for +instance, to the Akmolinsky infantry regiment, in which I had the honour +of beginning my service, on condition of beating the Russian national +hymn upon it every day, in face of the regiment, they’d take it for +liberalism and prohibit my skin … and so I confine myself to the +students. I want to leave my skeleton to the academy, but on the +condition though, on the condition that a label should be stuck on the +forehead forever and ever, with the words: ‘A repentant free-thinker.’ +There now!” +</p> +<p> +The captain spoke excitedly, and genuinely believed, of course, that +there was something fine in the American will, but he was cunning too, +and very anxious to entertain Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, with whom he had +played the part of a buffoon for a long time in the past. But the latter +did not even smile, on the contrary, he asked, as it were, suspiciously: +</p> +<p> +“So you intend to publish your will in your lifetime and get rewarded +for it?” +</p> +<p> +“And what if I do, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch? What if I do?” said +Lebyadkin, watching him carefully. “What sort of luck have I had? I’ve +given up writing poetry, and at one time even you were amused by my +verses, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. Do you remember our reading them over a +bottle? But it’s all over with my pen. I’ve written only one poem, like +Gogol’s ‘The Last Story.’ Do you remember he proclaimed to Russia that +it broke spontaneously from his bosom? It’s the same with me; I’ve sung +my last and it’s over.” +</p> +<p> +“What sort of poem?” +</p> +<p> +“‘In case she were to break her leg.’” +</p> +<p> +“Wha-a-t?” +</p> +<p> +That was all the captain was waiting for. He had an unbounded admiration +for his own poems, but, through a certain cunning duplicity, he was +pleased, too, that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch always made merry over his +poems, and sometimes laughed at them immoderately. In this way he killed +two birds with one stone, satisfying at once his poetical aspirations +and his desire to be of service; but now he had a third special and very +ticklish object in view. Bringing his verses on the scene, the captain +thought to exculpate himself on one point about which, for some reason, +he always felt himself most apprehensive, and most guilty. +</p> +<p> +“‘In case of her breaking her leg.’ That is, of her riding on +horseback. It’s a fantasy, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, a wild fancy, +but the fancy of a poet. One day I was struck by meeting a lady on +horseback, and asked myself the vital question, ‘What would happen +then?’ That is, in case of accident. All her followers turn away, all +her suitors are gone. A pretty kettle of fish. Only the poet +remains faithful, with his heart shattered in his breast, Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch. Even a louse may be in love, and is not forbidden by +law. And yet the lady was offended by the letter and the verses. I’m +told that even you were angry. Were you? I wouldn’t believe in anything +so grievous. Whom could I harm simply by imagination? Besides, I swear +on my honour, Liputin kept saying, ‘Send it, send it,’ every man, +however humble, has a right to send a letter! And so I sent it.” +</p> +<p> +“You offered yourself as a suitor, I understand.” +</p> +<p> +“Enemies, enemies, enemies!” +</p> +<p> +“Repeat the verses,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sternly. +</p> +<p> +“Ravings, ravings, more than anything.” +</p> +<p> +However, he drew himself up, stretched out his hand, and began: +</p> +<pre> + “With broken limbs my beauteous queen + Is twice as charming as before, + And, deep in love as I have been, + To-day I love her even more.” +</pre> +<p> +“Come, that’s enough,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, +with a wave of his hand. +</p> +<p> +“I dream of Petersburg,” cried Lebyadkin, passing quickly to another +subject, as though there had been no mention of verses. “I dream of +regeneration.… Benefactor! May I reckon that you won’t refuse the means +for the journey? I’ve been waiting for you all the week as my sunshine.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll do nothing of the sort. I’ve scarcely any money left. And why +should I give you money?” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch seemed suddenly angry. Dryly and briefly he +recapitulated all the captain’s misdeeds; his drunkenness, his lying, +his squandering of the money meant for Marya Timofyevna, his having +taken her from the nunnery, his insolent letters threatening to publish +the secret, the way he had behaved about Darya Pavlovna, and so on, and +so on. The captain heaved, gesticulated, began to reply, but every time +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch stopped him peremptorily. +</p> +<p> +“And listen,” he observed at last, “you keep writing about ‘family +disgrace.’ What disgrace is it to you that your sister is the lawful +wife of a Stavrogin?” +</p> +<p> +“But marriage in secret, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch—a fatal secret. I +receive money from you, and I’m suddenly asked the question, ‘What’s +that money for?’ My hands are tied; I cannot answer to the detriment of +my sister, to the detriment of the family honour.” +</p> +<p> +The captain raised his voice. He liked that subject and reckoned boldly +upon it. Alas! he did not realise what a blow was in store for him. +</p> +<p> +Calmly and exactly, as though he were speaking of the most everyday +arrangement, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch informed him that in a few days, +perhaps even to-morrow or the day after, he intended to make his +marriage known everywhere, “to the police as well as to local society.” +And so the question of family honour would be settled once for all, and +with it the question of subsidy. The captain’s eyes were ready to +drop out of his head; he positively could not take it in. It had to be +explained to him. +</p> +<p> +“But she is … crazy.” +</p> +<p> +“I shall make suitable arrangements.” +</p> +<p> +“But … how about your mother?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, she must do as she likes.” +</p> +<p> +“But will you take your wife to your house?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps so. But that is absolutely nothing to do with you and no +concern of yours.” +</p> +<p> +“No concern of mine!” cried the captain. “What about me then?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, certainly you won’t come into my house.” +</p> +<p> +“But, you know, I’m a relation.” +</p> +<p> +“One does one’s best to escape from such relations. Why should I go on +giving you money then? Judge for yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, this is impossible. +You will think better of it, perhaps? You don’t want to lay hands +upon.… What will people think? What will the world say?” +</p> +<p> +“Much I care for your world. I married your sister when the fancy took +me, after a drunken dinner, for a bet, and now I’ll make it public … +since that amuses me now.” +</p> +<p> +He said this with a peculiar irritability, so that Lebyadkin began with +horror to believe him. +</p> +<p> +“But me, me? What about me? I’m what matters most!… Perhaps you’re +joking, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I’m not joking.” +</p> +<p> +“As you will, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but I don’t believe you.… Then +I’ll take proceedings.” +</p> +<p> +“You’re fearfully stupid, captain.” +</p> +<p> +“Maybe, but this is all that’s left me,” said the captain, losing his +head completely. “In old days we used to get free quarters, anyway, for +the work she did in the ‘corners.’ But what will happen now if you throw +me over altogether?” +</p> +<p> +“But you want to go to Petersburg to try a new career. By the way, is it +true what I hear, that you mean to go and give information, in the hope +of obtaining a pardon, by betraying all the others?” +</p> +<p> +The captain stood gaping with wide-open eyes, and made no answer. +</p> +<p> +“Listen, captain,” Stavrogin began suddenly, with great earnestness, +bending down to the table. Until then he had been talking, as it were, +ambiguously, so that Lebyadkin, who had wide experience in playing the +part of buffoon, was up to the last moment a trifle uncertain whether +his patron were really angry or simply putting it on; whether he really +had the wild intention of making his marriage public, or whether he +were only playing. Now Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s stern expression was so +convincing that a shiver ran down the captain’s back. +</p> +<p> +“Listen, and tell the truth, Lebyadkin. Have you betrayed anything yet, +or not? Have you succeeded in doing anything really? Have you sent a +letter to somebody in your foolishness?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I haven’t … and I haven’t thought of doing it,” said the captain, +looking fixedly at him. +</p> +<p> +“That’s a lie, that you haven’t thought of doing it. That’s what you’re +asking to go to Petersburg for. If you haven’t written, have you blabbed +to anybody here? Speak the truth. I’ve heard something.” +</p> +<p> +“When I was drunk, to Liputin. Liputin’s a traitor. I opened my heart to +him,” whispered the poor captain. +</p> +<p> +“That’s all very well, but there’s no need to be an ass. If you had an +idea you should have kept it to yourself. Sensible people hold their +tongues nowadays; they don’t go chattering.” +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch!” said the captain, quaking. “You’ve had +nothing to do with it yourself; it’s not you I’ve …” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. You wouldn’t have ventured to kill the goose that laid your golden +eggs.” +</p> +<p> +“Judge for yourself, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, judge for yourself,” and, +in despair, with tears, the captain began hurriedly relating the story +of his life for the last four years. It was the most stupid story of +a fool, drawn into matters that did not concern him, and in his +drunkenness and debauchery unable, till the last minute, to grasp their +importance. He said that before he left Petersburg ‘he had been drawn +in, at first simply through friendship, like a regular student, although +he wasn’t a student,’ and knowing nothing about it, ‘without being +guilty of anything,’ he had scattered various papers on staircases, left +them by dozens at doors, on bell-handles, had thrust them in as though +they were newspapers, taken them to the theatre, put them in people’s +hats, and slipped them into pockets. Afterwards he had taken money from +them, ‘for what means had I?’ He had distributed all sorts of rubbish +through the districts of two provinces. “Oh, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch!” +he exclaimed, “what revolted me most was that this was utterly opposed +to civic, and still more to patriotic laws. They suddenly printed that +men were to go out with pitchforks, and to remember that those who went +out poor in the morning might go home rich at night. Only think of it! +It made me shudder, and yet I distributed it. Or suddenly five or six +lines addressed to the whole of Russia, apropos of nothing, ‘Make haste +and lock up the churches, abolish God, do away with marriage, destroy +the right of inheritance, take up your knives,’ that’s all, and God +knows what it means. I tell you, I almost got caught with this five-line +leaflet. The officers in the regiment gave me a thrashing, but, bless +them for it, let me go. And last year I was almost caught when I passed +off French counterfeit notes for fifty roubles on Korovayev, but, thank +God, Korovayev fell into the pond when he was drunk, and was drowned +in the nick of time, and they didn’t succeed in tracking me. Here, at +Virginsky’s, I proclaimed the freedom of the communistic life. In June +I was distributing manifestoes again in X district. They say they +will make me do it again.… Pyotr Stepanovitch suddenly gave me to +understand that I must obey; he’s been threatening me a long time. How +he treated me that Sunday! Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, I am a slave, I am +a worm, but not a God, which is where I differ from Derzhavin.* But I’ve +no income, no income!” +</p> + +<pre> + * The reference is to a poem of Derzhavin’s. +</pre> + +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch heard it all with curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“A great deal of that I had heard nothing of,” he said. “Of course, +anything may have happened to you.… Listen,” he said, after a minute’s +thought. “If you like, you can tell them, you know whom, that Liputin +was lying, and that you were only pretending to give information to +frighten me, supposing that I, too, was compromised, and that you might +get more money out of me that way.… Do you understand?” +</p> +<p> +“Dear Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, is it possible that there’s such a danger +hanging over me? I’ve been longing for you to come, to ask you.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch laughed. +</p> +<p> +“They certainly wouldn’t let you go to Petersburg, even if I were to +give you money for the journey.… But it’s time for me to see Marya +Timofyevna.” And he got up from his chair. +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but how about Marya Timofyevna?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, as I told you.” +</p> +<p> +“Can it be true?” +</p> +<p> +“You still don’t believe it?” +</p> +<p> +“Will you really cast me off like an old worn-out shoe?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll see,” laughed Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. “Come, let me go.” +</p> +<p> +“Wouldn’t you like me to stand on the steps … for fear I might by +chance overhear something … for the rooms are small?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s as well. Stand on the steps. Take my umbrella.” +</p> +<p> +“Your umbrella.… Am I worth it?” said the captain over-sweetly. +</p> +<p> +“Anyone is worthy of an umbrella.” +</p> +<p> +“At one stroke you define the minimum of human rights.…” +</p> +<p> +But he was by now muttering mechanically. He was too much crushed by +what he had learned, and was completely thrown out of his reckoning. And +yet almost as soon as he had gone out on to the steps and had put up +the umbrella, there his shallow and cunning brain caught again the +ever-present, comforting idea that he was being cheated and deceived, +and if so they were afraid of him, and there was no need for him to be +afraid. +</p> +<p> +“If they’re lying and deceiving me, what’s at the bottom of it?” was the +thought that gnawed at his mind. The public announcement of the marriage +seemed to him absurd. “It’s true that with such a wonder-worker anything +may come to pass; he lives to do harm. But what if he’s afraid himself, +since the insult of Sunday, and afraid as he’s never been before? And +so he’s in a hurry to declare that he’ll announce it himself, from fear +that I should announce it. Eh, don’t blunder, Lebyadkin! And why does he +come on the sly, at night, if he means to make it public himself? And +if he’s afraid, it means that he’s afraid now, at this moment, for these +few days.… Eh, don’t make a mistake, Lebyadkin! +</p> +<p> +“He scares me with Pyotr Stepanovitch. Oy, I’m frightened, I’m +frightened! Yes, this is what’s so frightening! And what induced me to +blab to Liputin. Goodness knows what these devils are up to. I never can +make head or tail of it. Now they are all astir again as they were five +years ago. To whom could I give information, indeed? ‘Haven’t I written +to anyone in my foolishness?’ H’m! So then I might write as though +through foolishness? Isn’t he giving me a hint? ‘You’re going to +Petersburg on purpose.’ The sly rogue. I’ve scarcely dreamed of it, and +he guesses my dreams. As though he were putting me up to going himself. +It’s one or the other of two games he’s up to. Either he’s afraid +because he’s been up to some pranks himself … or he’s not afraid for +himself, but is simply egging me on to give them all away! Ach, it’s +terrible, Lebyadkin! Ach, you must not make a blunder!” +</p> +<p> +He was so absorbed in thought that he forgot to listen. It was not easy +to hear either. The door was a solid one, and they were talking in a +very low voice. Nothing reached the captain but indistinct sounds. He +positively spat in disgust, and went out again, lost in thought, to +whistle on the steps. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +Marya Timofyevna’s room was twice as large as the one occupied by the +captain, and furnished in the same rough style; but the table in front +of the sofa was covered with a gay-coloured table-cloth, and on it a +lamp was burning. There was a handsome carpet on the floor. The bed was +screened off by a green curtain, which ran the length of the room, and +besides the sofa there stood by the table a large, soft easy chair, in +which Marya Timofyevna never sat, however. In the corner there was an +ikon as there had been in her old room, and a little lamp was burning +before it, and on the table were all her indispensable properties. The +pack of cards, the little looking-glass, the song-book, even a milk +loaf. Besides these there were two books with coloured pictures—one, +extracts from a popular book of travels, published for juvenile reading, +the other a collection of very light, edifying tales, for the most part +about the days of chivalry, intended for Christmas presents or school +reading. She had, too, an album of photographs of various sorts. +</p> +<p> +Marya Timofyevna was, of course, expecting the visitor, as the captain +had announced. But when Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went in, she was asleep, +half reclining on the sofa, propped on a woolwork cushion. Her visitor +closed the door after him noiselessly, and, standing still, scrutinised +the sleeping figure. +</p> +<p> +The captain had been romancing when he told Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch she +had been dressing herself up. She was wearing the same dark dress as on +Sunday at Varvara Petrovna’s. Her hair was done up in the same little +close knot at the back of her head; her long thin neck was exposed +in the same way. The black shawl Varvara Petrovna had given her lay +carefully folded on the sofa. She was coarsely rouged and powdered as +before. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch did not stand there more than a minute. +She suddenly waked up, as though she were conscious of his eyes +fixed upon her; she opened her eyes, and quickly drew herself up. +But something strange must have happened to her visitor: he remained +standing at the same place by the door. With a fixed and searching +glance he looked mutely and persistently into her face. Perhaps that +look was too grim, perhaps there was an expression of aversion in it, +even a malignant enjoyment of her fright—if it were not a fancy left by +her dreams; but suddenly, after almost a moment of expectation, the poor +woman’s face wore a look of absolute terror; it twitched convulsively; +she lifted her trembling hands and suddenly burst into tears, exactly +like a frightened child; in another moment she would have screamed. But +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch pulled himself together; his face changed in one +instant, and he went up to the table with the most cordial and amiable +smile. +</p> +<p> +“I’m sorry, Marya Timofyevna, I frightened you coming in suddenly when +you were asleep,” he said, holding out his hand to her. +</p> +<p> +The sound of his caressing words produced their effect. Her fear +vanished, although she still looked at him with dismay, evidently trying +to understand something. She held out her hands timorously also. At last +a shy smile rose to her lips. +</p> +<p> +“How do you do, prince?” she whispered, looking at him strangely. +</p> +<p> +“You must have had a bad dream,” he went on, with a still more friendly +and cordial smile. +</p> +<p> +“But how do you know that I was dreaming about that?” And again she +began trembling, and started back, putting up her hand as though to +protect herself, on the point of crying again. “Calm yourself. That’s +enough. What are you afraid of? Surely you know me?” said Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, trying to soothe her; but it was long before he +could succeed. She gazed at him dumbly with the same look of agonising +perplexity, with a painful idea in her poor brain, and she still seemed +to be trying to reach some conclusion. At one moment she dropped her +eyes, then suddenly scrutinised him in a rapid comprehensive glance. At +last, though not reassured, she seemed to come to a conclusion. +</p> +<p> +“Sit down beside me, please, that I may look at you thoroughly later +on,” she brought out with more firmness, evidently with a new object. +“But don’t be uneasy, I won’t look at you now. I’ll look down. Don’t you +look at me either till I ask you to. Sit down,” she added, with positive +impatience. +</p> +<p> +A new sensation was obviously growing stronger and stronger in her. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sat down and waited. Rather a long silence +followed. +</p> +<p> +“H’m! It all seems so strange to me,” she suddenly muttered almost +disdainfully. “Of course I was depressed by bad dreams, but why have I +dreamt of you looking like that?” +</p> +<p> +“Come, let’s have done with dreams,” he said impatiently, turning to her +in spite of her prohibition, and perhaps the same expression gleamed for +a moment in his eyes again. He saw that she several times wanted, very +much in fact, to look at him again, but that she obstinately controlled +herself and kept her eyes cast down. +</p> +<p> +“Listen, prince,” she raised her voice suddenly, “listen prince.…” +</p> +<p> +“Why do you turn away? Why don’t you look at me? What’s the object of +this farce?” he cried, losing patience. +</p> +<p> +But she seemed not to hear him. +</p> +<p> +“Listen, prince,” she repeated for the third time in a resolute voice, +with a disagreeable, fussy expression. “When you told me in the carriage +that our marriage was going to be made public, I was alarmed at there +being an end to the mystery. Now I don’t know. I’ve been thinking it all +over, and I see clearly that I’m not fit for it at all. I know how to +dress, and I could receive guests, perhaps. There’s nothing much in +asking people to have a cup of tea, especially when there are footmen. +But what will people say though? I saw a great deal that Sunday morning +in that house. That pretty young lady looked at me all the time, +especially after you came in. It was you came in, wasn’t it? Her +mother’s simply an absurd worldly old woman. My Lebyadkin distinguished +himself too. I kept looking at the ceiling to keep from laughing; the +ceiling there is finely painted. His mother ought to be an abbess. I’m +afraid of her, though she did give me a black shawl. Of course, they +must all have come to strange conclusions about me. I wasn’t vexed, +but I sat there, thinking what relation am I to them? Of course, from +a countess one doesn’t expect any but spiritual qualities; for the +domestic ones she’s got plenty of footmen; and also a little worldly +coquetry, so as to be able to entertain foreign travellers. But yet that +Sunday they did look upon me as hopeless. Only Dasha’s an angel. I’m +awfully afraid they may wound <i>him</i> by some careless allusion to me.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be afraid, and don’t be uneasy,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, +making a wry face. +</p> +<p> +“However, that doesn’t matter to me, if he is a little ashamed of me, +for there will always be more pity than shame, though it differs with +people, of course. He knows, to be sure, that I ought rather to pity +them than they me.” +</p> +<p> +“You seem to be very much offended with them, Marya Timofyevna?” +</p> +<p> +“I? Oh, no,” she smiled with simple-hearted mirth. “Not at all. I looked +at you all, then. You were all angry, you were all quarrelling. They +meet together, and they don’t know how to laugh from their hearts. So +much wealth and so little gaiety. It all disgusts me. Though I feel for +no one now except myself.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve heard that you’ve had a hard life with your brother without me?” +</p> +<p> +“Who told you that? It’s nonsense. It’s much worse now. Now my dreams +are not good, and my dreams are bad, because you’ve come. What have you +come for, I’d like to know. Tell me please?” +</p> +<p> +“Wouldn’t you like to go back into the nunnery?” +</p> +<p> +“I knew they’d suggest the nunnery again. Your nunnery is a fine marvel +for me! And why should I go to it? What should I go for now? I’m all +alone in the world now. It’s too late for me to begin a third life.” +</p> +<p> +“You seem very angry about something. Surely you’re not afraid that I’ve +left off loving you?” +</p> +<p> +“I’m not troubling about you at all. I’m afraid that I may leave off +loving somebody.” +</p> +<p> +She laughed contemptuously. +</p> +<p> +“I must have done him some great wrong,” she added suddenly, as it were +to herself, “only I don’t know what I’ve done wrong; that’s always what +troubles me. Always, always, for the last five years. I’ve been afraid +day and night that I’ve done him some wrong. I’ve prayed and prayed and +always thought of the great wrong I’d done him. And now it turns out it +was true.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s turned out?” +</p> +<p> +“I’m only afraid whether there’s something on <i>his</i> side,” she went on, +not answering his question, not hearing it in fact. “And then, again, he +couldn’t get on with such horrid people. The countess would have liked +to eat me, though she did make me sit in the carriage beside her. +They’re all in the plot. Surely he’s not betrayed me?” (Her chin and +lips were twitching.) “Tell me, have you read about Grishka Otrepyev, +how he was cursed in seven cathedrals?” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“But I’ll turn round now and look at you.” She seemed to decide +suddenly. “You turn to me, too, and look at me, but more attentively. I +want to make sure for the last time.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve been looking at you for a long time.” +</p> +<p> +“H’m!” said Marya Timofyevna, looking at him intently. “You’ve grown +much fatter.” +</p> +<p> +She wanted to say something more, but suddenly, for the third time, +the same terror instantly distorted her face, and again she drew back, +putting her hand up before her. +</p> +<p> +“What’s the matter with you?” cried Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, almost +enraged. +</p> +<p> +But her panic lasted only one instant, her face worked with a sort of +strange smile, suspicious and unpleasant. +</p> +<p> +“I beg you, prince, get up and come in,” she brought out suddenly, in a +firm, emphatic voice. +</p> +<p> +“Come in? Where am I to come in?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve been fancying for five years how <i>he</i> would come in. Get up and +go out of the door into the other room. I’ll sit as though I weren’t +expecting anything, and I’ll take up a book, and suddenly you’ll come in +after five years’ travelling. I want to see what it will be like.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch ground his teeth, and muttered something to +himself. +</p> +<p> +“Enough,” he said, striking the table with his open hand. “I beg you to +listen to me, Marya Timofyevna. Do me the favour to concentrate all your +attention if you can. You’re not altogether mad, you know!” he broke out +impatiently. “Tomorrow I shall make our marriage public. You never will +live in a palace, get that out of your head. Do you want to live with +me for the rest of your life, only very far away from here? In the +mountains in Switzerland, there’s a place there.… Don’t be afraid. +I’ll never abandon you or put you in a madhouse. I shall have money +enough to live without asking anyone’s help. You shall have a servant, +you shall do no work at all. Everything you want that’s possible shall +be got for you. You shall pray, go where you like, and do what you like. +I won’t touch you. I won’t go away from the place myself at all. If you +like, I won’t speak to you all my life, or if you like, you can tell +me your stories every evening as you used to do in Petersburg in the +corners. I’ll read aloud to you if you like. But it must be all your +life in the same place, and that place is a gloomy one. Will you? Are +you ready? You won’t regret it, torment me with tears and curses, will +you?” +</p> +<p> +She listened with extreme curiosity, and for a long time she was silent, +thinking. +</p> +<p> +“It all seems incredible to me,” she said at last, ironically and +disdainfully. “I might live for forty years in those mountains,” she +laughed. +</p> +<p> +“What of it? Let’s live forty years then …” said Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, scowling. +</p> +<p> +“H’m! I won’t come for anything.” +</p> +<p> +“Not even with me?” +</p> +<p> +“And what are you that I should go with you? I’m to sit on a mountain +beside him for forty years on end—a pretty story! And upon my word, +how long-suffering people have become nowadays! No, it cannot be that a +falcon has become an owl. My prince is not like that!” she said, raising +her head proudly and triumphantly. +</p> +<p> +Light seemed to dawn upon him. +</p> +<p> +“What makes you call me a prince, and … for whom do you take me?” he +asked quickly. +</p> +<p> +“Why, aren’t you the prince?” +</p> +<p> +“I never have been one.” +</p> +<p> +“So yourself, yourself, you tell me straight to my face that you’re not +the prince?” +</p> +<p> +“I tell you I never have been.” +</p> +<p> +“Good Lord!” she cried, clasping her hands. “I was ready to expect +anything from <i>his</i> enemies, but such insolence, never! Is he alive?” she +shrieked in a frenzy, turning upon Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. “Have you +killed him? Confess!” +</p> +<p> +“Whom do you take me for?” he cried, jumping up from his chair with +a distorted face; but it was not easy now to frighten her. She was +triumphant. +</p> +<p> +“Who can tell who you are and where you’ve sprung from? Only my heart, +my heart had misgivings all these five years, of all the intrigues. And +I’ve been sitting here wondering what blind owl was making up to me? No, +my dear, you’re a poor actor, worse than Lebyadkin even. Give my humble +greetings to the countess and tell her to send someone better than you. +Has she hired you, tell me? Have they given you a place in her kitchen +out of charity? I see through your deception. I understand you all, +every one of you.” +</p> +<p> +He seized her firmly above the elbow; she laughed in his face. +</p> +<p> +“You’re like him, very like, perhaps you’re a relation—you’re a sly +lot! Only mine is a bright falcon and a prince, and you’re an owl, and +a shopman! Mine will bow down to God if it pleases him, and won’t if it +doesn’t. And Shatushka (he’s my dear, my darling!) slapped you on the +cheeks, my Lebyadkin told me. And what were you afraid of then, when you +came in? Who had frightened you then? When I saw your mean face after +I’d fallen down and you picked me up—it was like a worm crawling into +my heart. It’s not he, I thought, not <i>he!</i> My falcon would never have +been ashamed of me before a fashionable young lady. Oh heavens! That +alone kept me happy for those five years that my falcon was living +somewhere beyond the mountains, soaring, gazing at the sun.… Tell +me, you impostor, have you got much by it? Did you need a big bribe to +consent? I wouldn’t have given you a farthing. Ha ha ha! Ha ha!…” +</p> +<p> +“Ugh, idiot!” snarled Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, still holding her tight +by the arm. +</p> +<p> +“Go away, impostor!” she shouted peremptorily. “I’m the wife of my +prince; I’m not afraid of your knife!” +</p> +<p> +“Knife!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, knife, you’ve a knife in your pocket. You thought I was asleep but +I saw it. When you came in just now you took out your knife!” +</p> +<p> +“What are you saying, unhappy creature? What dreams you have!” he +exclaimed, pushing her away from him with all his might, so that her +head and shoulders fell painfully against the sofa. He was rushing away; +but she at once flew to overtake him, limping and hopping, and though +Lebyadkin, panic-stricken, held her back with all his might, she +succeeded in shouting after him into the darkness, shrieking and +laughing: +</p> +<p> +“A curse on you, Grishka Otrepyev!” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +“A knife, a knife,” he repeated with uncontrollable anger, striding +along through the mud and puddles, without picking his way. It is true +that at moments he had a terrible desire to laugh aloud frantically; but +for some reason he controlled himself and restrained his laughter. He +recovered himself only on the bridge, on the spot where Fedka had met +him that evening. He found the man lying in wait for him again. Seeing +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch he took off his cap, grinned gaily, and +began babbling briskly and merrily about something. At first Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch walked on without stopping, and for some time did not +even listen to the tramp who was pestering him again. He was suddenly +struck by the thought that he had entirely forgotten him, and had +forgotten him at the very moment when he himself was repeating, “A +knife, a knife.” He seized the tramp by the collar and gave vent to +his pent-up rage by flinging him violently against the bridge. For one +instant the man thought of fighting, but almost at once realising that +compared with his adversary, who had fallen upon him unawares, he was +no better than a wisp of straw, he subsided and was silent, without +offering any resistance. Crouching on the ground with his elbows crooked +behind his back, the wily tramp calmly waited for what would happen +next, apparently quite incredulous of danger. He was right in his +reckoning. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had already with his left hand taken +off his thick scarf to tie his prisoner’s arms, but suddenly, for some +reason, he abandoned him, and shoved him away. The man instantly sprang +on to his feet, turned round, and a short, broad boot-knife suddenly +gleamed in his hand. +</p> +<p> +“Away with that knife; put it away, at once!” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +commanded with an impatient gesture, and the knife vanished as +instantaneously as it had appeared. +</p> +<p> +Without speaking again or turning round, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went on +his way. But the persistent vagabond did not leave him even now, though +now, it is true, he did not chatter, and even respectfully kept his +distance, a full step behind. +</p> +<p> +They crossed the bridge like this and came out on to the river bank, +turning this time to the left, again into a long deserted back street, +which led to the centre of the town by a shorter way than going through +Bogoyavlensky Street. +</p> +<p> +“Is it true, as they say, that you robbed a church in the district the +other day?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“I went in to say my prayers in the first place,” the tramp answered, +sedately and respectfully as though nothing had happened; more than +sedately, in fact, almost with dignity. There was no trace of his +former “friendly” familiarity. All that was to be seen was a serious, +business-like man, who had indeed been gratuitously insulted, but who +was capable of overlooking an insult. +</p> +<p> +“But when the Lord led me there,” he went on, “ech, I thought what a +heavenly abundance! It was all owing to my helpless state, as in our +way of life there’s no doing without assistance. And, now, God be my +witness, sir, it was my own loss. The Lord punished me for my sins, and +what with the censer and the deacon’s halter, I only got twelve roubles +altogether. The chin setting of St. Nikolay of pure silver went for next +to nothing. They said it was plated.” +</p> +<p> +“You killed the watchman?” +</p> +<p> +“That is, I cleared the place out together with that watchman, but +afterwards, next morning, by the river, we fell to quarrelling which +should carry the sack. I sinned, I did lighten his load for him.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, you can rob and murder again.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s the very advice Pyotr Stepanovitch gives me, in the very +same words, for he’s uncommonly mean and hard-hearted about helping a +fellow-creature. And what’s more, he hasn’t a ha’p’orth of belief in the +Heavenly Creator, who made us out of earthly clay; but he says it’s all +the work of nature even to the last beast. He doesn’t understand either +that with our way of life it’s impossible for us to get along without +friendly assistance. If you begin to talk to him he looks like a +sheep at the water; it makes one wonder. Would you believe, at Captain +Lebyadkin’s, out yonder, whom your honour’s just been visiting, when he +was living at Filipov’s, before you came, the door stood open all night +long. He’d be drunk and sleeping like the dead, and his money dropping +out of his pockets all over the floor. I’ve chanced to see it with +my own eyes, for in our way of life it’s impossible to live without +assistance.…” +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean with your own eyes? Did you go in at night then?” +</p> +<p> +“Maybe I did go in, but no one knows of it.” +</p> +<p> +“Why didn’t you kill him?” +</p> +<p> +“Reckoning it out, I steadied myself. For once having learned for sure +that I can always get one hundred and fifty roubles, why should I go so +far when I can get fifteen hundred roubles, if I only bide my time. For +Captain Lebyadkin (I’ve heard him with my own ears) had great hopes of +you when he was drunk; and there isn’t a tavern here—not the lowest +pot-house—where he hasn’t talked about it when he was in that state. +So that hearing it from many lips, I began, too, to rest all my hopes +on your excellency. I speak to you, sir, as to my father, or my own +brother; for Pyotr Stepanovitch will never learn that from me, and not +a soul in the world. So won’t your excellency spare me three roubles in +your kindness? You might set my mind at rest, so that I might know the +real truth; for we can’t get on without assistance.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch laughed aloud, and taking out his purse, in +which he had as much as fifty roubles, in small notes, threw him one +note out of the bundle, then a second, a third, a fourth. Fedka flew to +catch them in the air. The notes dropped into the mud, and he snatched +them up crying, “Ech! ech!” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch finished by flinging +the whole bundle at him, and, still laughing, went on down the street, +this time alone. The tramp remained crawling on his knees in the mud, +looking for the notes which were blown about by the wind and soaking in +the puddles, and for an hour after his spasmodic cries of “Ech! ech!” +were still to be heard in the darkness. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0008"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER III. THE DUEL +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +THE NEXT DAY, at two o’clock in the afternoon, the duel took place as +arranged. Things were hastened forward by Gaganov’s obstinate desire to +fight at all costs. He did not understand his adversary’s conduct, +and was in a fury. For a whole month he had been insulting him with +impunity, and had so far been unable to make him lose patience. What he +wanted was a challenge on the part of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, as he had +not himself any direct pretext for challenging him. His secret motive +for it, that is, his almost morbid hatred of Stavrogin for the insult to +his family four years before, he was for some reason ashamed to confess. +And indeed he regarded this himself as an impossible pretext for a +challenge, especially in view of the humble apology offered by Nikolay +Stavrogin twice already. He privately made up his mind that Stavrogin +was a shameless coward; and could not understand how he could have +accepted Shatov’s blow. So he made up his mind at last to send him +the extraordinarily rude letter that had finally roused Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch himself to propose a meeting. Having dispatched this +letter the day before, he awaited a challenge with feverish impatience, +and while morbidly reckoning the chances at one moment with hope and +at the next with despair, he got ready for any emergency by securing a +second, to wit, Mavriky Nikolaevitch Drozdov, who was a friend of his, +an old schoolfellow, a man for whom he had a great respect. So when +Kirillov came next morning at nine o’clock with his message he found +things in readiness. All the apologies and unheard-of condescension of +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch were at once, at the first word, rejected with +extraordinary exasperation. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who had only been made +acquainted with the position of affairs the evening before, opened his +mouth with surprise at such incredible concessions, and would have urged +a reconciliation, but seeing that Gaganov, guessing his intention, was +almost trembling in his chair, refrained, and said nothing. If it had +not been for the promise given to his old schoolfellow he would have +retired immediately; he only remained in the hope of being some help on +the scene of action. Kirillov repeated the challenge. All the conditions +of the encounter made by Stavrogin were accepted on the spot, without +the faintest objection. Only one addition was made, and that a ferocious +one. If the first shots had no decisive effect, they were to fire again, +and if the second encounter were inconclusive, it was to be followed by +a third. Kirillov frowned, objected to the third encounter, but gaining +nothing by his efforts agreed on the condition, however, that three +should be the limit, and that “a fourth encounter was out of the +question.” This was conceded. Accordingly at two o’clock in the +afternoon the meeting took place at Brykov, that is, in a little +copse in the outskirts of the town, lying between Skvoreshniki and the +Shpigulin factory. The rain of the previous night was over, but it was +damp, grey, and windy. Low, ragged, dingy clouds moved rapidly across +the cold sky. The tree-tops roared with a deep droning sound, and +creaked on their roots; it was a melancholy morning. +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch and Gaganov arrived on the spot in a smart +char-à-banc with a pair of horses driven by the latter. They were +accompanied by a groom. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch and Kirillov arrived +almost at the same instant. They were not driving, they were on +horseback, and were also followed by a mounted servant. Kirillov, who +had never mounted a horse before, sat up boldly, erect in the saddle, +grasping in his right hand the heavy box of pistols which he would not +entrust to the servant. In his inexperience he was continually with his +left hand tugging at the reins, which made the horse toss his head and +show an inclination to rear. This, however, seemed to cause his rider no +uneasiness. Gaganov, who was morbidly suspicious and always ready to be +deeply offended, considered their coming on horseback as a fresh insult +to himself, inasmuch as it showed that his opponents were too confident +of success, since they had not even thought it necessary to have a +carriage in case of being wounded and disabled. He got out of his +char-à-banc, yellow with anger, and felt that his hands were trembling, +as he told Mavriky Nikolaevitch. He made no response at all to Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch’s bow, and turned away. The seconds cast lots. The lot +fell on Kirillov’s pistols. They measured out the barrier and placed the +combatants. The servants with the carriage and horses were moved +back three hundred paces. The weapons were loaded and handed to the +combatants. +</p> +<p> +I’m sorry that I have to tell my story more quickly and have no time +for descriptions. But I can’t refrain from some comments. Mavriky +Nikolaevitch was melancholy and preoccupied. Kirillov, on the other +hand, was perfectly calm and unconcerned, very exact over the details +of the duties he had undertaken, but without the slightest fussiness or +even curiosity as to the issue of the fateful contest that was so near +at hand. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was paler than usual. He was rather +lightly dressed in an overcoat and a white beaver hat. He seemed very +tired, he frowned from time to time, and seemed to feel it superfluous +to conceal his ill-humour. But Gaganov was at this moment more worthy +of mention than anyone, so that it is quite impossible not to say a few +words about him in particular. +</p> +<p class="centered">II</p> +<p> +I have hitherto not had occasion to describe his appearance. He was a +tall man of thirty-three, and well fed, as the common folk express it, +almost fat, with lank flaxen hair, and with features which might be +called handsome. He had retired from the service with the rank of +colonel, and if he had served till he reached the rank of general he +would have been even more impressive in that position, and would very +likely have become an excellent fighting general. +</p> +<p> +I must add, as characteristic of the man, that the chief cause of +his leaving the army was the thought of the family disgrace which had +haunted him so painfully since the insult paid to his father by Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch four years before at the club. He conscientiously +considered it dishonourable to remain in the service, and was inwardly +persuaded that he was contaminating the regiment and his companions, +although they knew nothing of the incident. It’s true that he had once +before been disposed to leave the army long before the insult to his +father, and on quite other grounds, but he had hesitated. Strange as it +is to write, the original design, or rather desire, to leave the army +was due to the proclamation of the 19th of February of the emancipation +of the serfs. Gaganov, who was one of the richest landowners in the +province, and who had not lost very much by the emancipation, and was, +moreover, quite capable of understanding the humanity of the reform and +its economic advantages, suddenly felt himself personally insulted by +the proclamation. It was something unconscious, a feeling; but was +all the stronger for being unrecognised. He could not bring himself, +however, to take any decisive step till his father’s death. But he began +to be well known for his “gentlemanly” ideas to many persons of high +position in Petersburg, with whom he strenuously kept up connections. He +was secretive and self-contained. Another characteristic: he belonged to +that strange section of the nobility, still surviving in Russia, who +set an extreme value on their pure and ancient lineage, and take it too +seriously. At the same time he could not endure Russian history, and, +indeed, looked upon Russian customs in general as more or less piggish. +Even in his childhood, in the special military school for the sons of +particularly wealthy and distinguished families in which he had the +privilege of being educated, from first to last certain poetic notions +were deeply rooted in his mind. He loved castles, chivalry; all the +theatrical part of it. He was ready to cry with shame that in the days +of the Moscow Tsars the sovereign had the right to inflict corporal +punishment on the Russian boyars, and blushed at the contrast. This +stiff and extremely severe man, who had a remarkable knowledge of +military science and performed his duties admirably, was at heart a +dreamer. It was said that he could speak at meetings and had the gift of +language, but at no time during the thirty-three years of his life had +he spoken. Even in the distinguished circles in Petersburg, in which +he had moved of late, he behaved with extraordinary haughtiness. +His meeting in Petersburg with Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, who had just +returned from abroad, almost sent him out of his mind. At the present +moment, standing at the barrier, he was terribly uneasy. He kept +imagining that the duel would somehow not come off; the least delay +threw him into a tremor. There was an expression of anguish in his face +when Kirillov, instead of giving the signal for them to fire, began +suddenly speaking, only for form, indeed, as he himself explained aloud. +</p> +<p> +“Simply as a formality, now that you have the pistols in your hands, +and I must give the signal, I ask you for the last time, will you not be +reconciled? It’s the duty of a second.” +</p> +<p> +As though to spite him, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who had till then kept +silence, although he had been reproaching himself all day for his +compliance and acquiescence, suddenly caught up Kirillov’s thought and +began to speak: +</p> +<p> +“I entirely agree with Mr. Kirillov’s words.… This idea that +reconciliation is impossible at the barrier is a prejudice, only +suitable for Frenchmen. Besides, with your leave, I don’t understand +what the offence is. I’ve been wanting to say so for a long time … +because every apology is offered, isn’t it?” +</p> +<p> +He flushed all over. He had rarely spoken so much, and with such +excitement. +</p> +<p> +“I repeat again my offer to make every possible apology,” Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch interposed hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“This is impossible,” shouted Gaganov furiously, addressing Mavriky +Nikolaevitch, and stamping with rage. “Explain to this man,” he pointed +with his pistol at Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, “if you’re my second and not +my enemy, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, that such overtures only aggravate the +insult. He feels it impossible to be insulted by me!… He feels it no +disgrace to walk away from me at the barrier! What does he take me for, +after that, do you think?… And you, you, my second, too! You’re simply +irritating me that I may miss.” +</p> +<p> +He stamped again. There were flecks of foam on his lips. +</p> +<p> +“Negotiations are over. I beg you to listen to the signal!” Kirillov +shouted at the top of his voice. “One! Two! Three!” +</p> +<p> +At the word “Three” the combatants took aim at one another. Gaganov at +once raised his pistol, and at the fifth or sixth step he fired. For a +second he stood still, and, making sure that he had missed, advanced to +the barrier. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch advanced too, raising his pistol, +but somehow holding it very high, and fired, almost without taking aim. +Then he took out his handkerchief and bound it round the little finger +of his right hand. Only then they saw that Gaganov had not missed him +completely, but the bullet had only grazed the fleshy part of his finger +without touching the bone; it was only a slight scratch. Kirillov at +once announced that the duel would go on, unless the combatants were +satisfied. +</p> +<p> +“I declare,” said Gaganov hoarsely (his throat felt parched), again +addressing Mavriky Nikolaevitch, “that this man,” again he pointed +in Stavrogin’s direction, “fired in the air on purpose … +intentionally.… This is an insult again.… He wants to make the +duel impossible!” +</p> +<p> +“I have the right to fire as I like so long as I keep the rules,” +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asserted resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“No, he hasn’t! Explain it to him! Explain it!” cried Gaganov. +</p> +<p> +“I’m in complete agreement with Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch,” proclaimed +Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“Why does he spare me?” Gaganov raged, not hearing him. “I despise his +mercy.… I spit on it.… I …” +</p> +<p> +“I give you my word that I did not intend to insult you,” cried Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch impatiently. “I shot high because I don’t want to kill +anyone else, either you or anyone else. It’s nothing to do with you +personally. It’s true that I don’t consider myself insulted, and I’m +sorry that angers you. But I don’t allow any one to interfere with my +rights.” +</p> +<p> +“If he’s so afraid of bloodshed, ask him why he challenged me,” yelled +Gaganov, still addressing Mavriky Nikolaevitch. +</p> +<p> +“How could he help challenging you?” said Kirillov, intervening. “You +wouldn’t listen to anything. How was one to get rid of you?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll only mention one thing,” observed Mavriky Nikolaevitch, pondering +the matter with painful effort. “If a combatant declares beforehand that +he will fire in the air the duel certainly cannot go on … for obvious +and … delicate reasons.” +</p> +<p> +“I haven’t declared that I’ll fire in the air every time,” cried +Stavrogin, losing all patience. “You don’t know what’s in my mind or how +I intend to fire again.… I’m not restricting the duel at all.” +</p> +<p> +“In that case the encounter can go on,” said Mavriky Nikolaevitch to +Gaganov. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, take your places,” Kirillov commanded. Again they advanced, +again Gaganov missed and Stavrogin fired into the air. There might have +been a dispute as to his firing into the air. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +might have flatly declared that he’d fired properly, if he had not +admitted that he had missed intentionally. He did not aim straight at +the sky or at the trees, but seemed to aim at his adversary, though as +he pointed the pistol the bullet flew a yard above his hat. The second +time the shot was even lower, even less like an intentional miss. +Nothing would have convinced Gaganov now. +</p> +<p> +“Again!” he muttered, grinding his teeth. “No matter! I’ve been +challenged and I’ll make use of my rights. I’ll fire a third time … +whatever happens.” +</p> +<p> +“You have full right to do so,” Kirillov rapped out. Mavriky +Nikolaevitch said nothing. The opponents were placed a third time, the +signal was given. This time Gaganov went right up to the barrier, and +began from there taking aim, at a distance of twelve paces. His hand +was trembling too much to take good aim. Stavrogin stood with his pistol +lowered and awaited his shot without moving. +</p> +<p> +“Too long; you’ve been aiming too long!” Kirillov shouted impetuously. +“Fire! Fire!” +</p> +<p> +But the shot rang out, and this time Stavrogin’s white beaver hat flew +off. The aim had been fairly correct. The crown of the hat was pierced +very low down; a quarter of an inch lower and all would have been over. +Kirillov picked up the hat and handed it to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Fire; don’t detain your adversary!” cried Mavriky Nikolaevitch in +extreme agitation, seeing that Stavrogin seemed to have forgotten to +fire, and was examining the hat with Kirillov. Stavrogin started, looked +at Gaganov, turned round and this time, without the slightest regard for +punctilio, fired to one side, into the copse. The duel was over. Gaganov +stood as though overwhelmed. Mavriky Nikolaevitch went up and began +saying something to him, but he did not seem to understand. Kirillov +took off his hat as he went away, and nodded to Mavriky Nikolaevitch. +But Stavrogin forgot his former politeness. When he had shot into the +copse he did not even turn towards the barrier. He handed his pistol to +Kirillov and hastened towards the horses. His face looked angry; he did +not speak. Kirillov, too, was silent. They got on their horses and set +off at a gallop. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +“Why don’t you speak?” he called impatiently to Kirillov, when they were +not far from home. +</p> +<p> +“What do you want?” replied the latter, almost slipping off his horse, +which was rearing. +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin restrained himself. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t mean to insult that … fool, and I’ve insulted him again,” he +said quietly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, you’ve insulted him again,” Kirillov jerked out, “and besides, +he’s not a fool.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve done all I can, anyway.” +</p> +<p> +“No.” +</p> +<p> +“What ought I to have done?” +</p> +<p> +“Not have challenged him.” +</p> +<p> +“Accept another blow in the face?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, accept another.” +</p> +<p> +“I can’t understand anything now,” said Stavrogin wrathfully. “Why does +every one expect of me something not expected from anyone else? Why am +I to put up with what no one else puts up with, and undertake burdens no +one else can bear?” +</p> +<p> +“I thought you were seeking a burden yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“I seek a burden?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve … seen that?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it so noticeable?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +There was silence for a moment. Stavrogin had a very preoccupied face. +He was almost impressed. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t aim because I didn’t want to kill anyone. There was nothing +more in it, I assure you,” he said hurriedly, and with agitation, as +though justifying himself. +</p> +<p> +“You ought not to have offended him.” +</p> +<p> +“What ought I to have done then?” +</p> +<p> +“You ought to have killed him.” +</p> +<p> +“Are you sorry I didn’t kill him?” +</p> +<p> +“I’m not sorry for anything. I thought you really meant to kill him. You +don’t know what you’re seeking.” +</p> +<p> +“I seek a burden,” laughed Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“If you didn’t want blood yourself, why did you give him a chance to +kill you?” +</p> +<p> +“If I hadn’t challenged him, he’d have killed me simply, without a +duel.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s not your affair. Perhaps he wouldn’t have killed you.” +</p> +<p> +“Only have beaten me?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s not your business. Bear your burden. Or else there’s no merit.” +</p> +<p> +“Hang your merit. I don’t seek anyone’s approbation.” +</p> +<p> +“I thought you were seeking it,” Kirillov commented with terrible +unconcern. +</p> +<p> +They rode into the courtyard of the house. +</p> +<p> +“Do you care to come in?” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. +</p> +<p> +“No; I’m going home. Good-bye.” +</p> +<p> +He got off the horse and took his box of pistols under his arm. +</p> +<p> +“Anyway, you’re not angry with me?” said Stavrogin, holding out his hand +to him. +</p> +<p> +“Not in the least,” said Kirillov, turning round to shake hands with +him. “If my burden’s light it’s because it’s from nature; perhaps your +burden’s heavier because that’s your nature. There’s no need to be much +ashamed; only a little.” +</p> +<p> +“I know I’m a worthless character, and I don’t pretend to be a strong +one.” +</p> +<p> +“You’d better not; you’re not a strong person. Come and have tea.” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went into the house, greatly perturbed. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +He learned at once from Alexey Yegorytch that Varvara Petrovna had +been very glad to hear that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had gone out for a +ride—the first time he had left the house after eight days’ illness. +She had ordered the carriage, and had driven out alone for a breath of +fresh air “according to the habit of the past, as she had forgotten for +the last eight days what it meant to breathe fresh air.” +</p> +<p> +“Alone, or with Darya Pavlovna?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch interrupted the +old man with a rapid question, and he scowled when he heard that Darya +Pavlovna “had declined to go abroad on account of indisposition and was +in her rooms.” +</p> +<p> +“Listen, old man,” he said, as though suddenly making up his mind. “Keep +watch over her all to-day, and if you notice her coming to me, stop her +at once, and tell her that I can’t see her for a few days at least … +that I ask her not to come myself.… I’ll let her know myself, when the +time comes. Do you hear?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll tell her, sir,” said Alexey Yegorytch, with distress in his voice, +dropping his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Not till you see clearly she’s meaning to come and see me of herself, +though.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be afraid, sir, there shall be no mistake. Your interviews have +all passed through me, hitherto. You’ve always turned to me for help.” +</p> +<p> +“I know. Not till she comes of herself, anyway. Bring me some tea, if +you can, at once.” +</p> +<p> +The old man had hardly gone out, when almost at the same instant the +door reopened, and Darya Pavlovna appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were +tranquil, though her face was pale. +</p> +<p> +“Where have you come from?” exclaimed Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“I was standing there, and waiting for him to go out, to come in to +you. I heard the order you gave him, and when he came out just now I hid +round the corner, on the right, and he didn’t notice me.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve long meant to break off with you, Dasha … for a while … for the +present. I couldn’t see you last night, in spite of your note. I meant +to write to you myself, but I don’t know how to write,” he added with +vexation, almost as though with disgust. +</p> +<p> +“I thought myself that we must break it off. Varvara Petrovna is too +suspicious of our relations.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, let her be.” +</p> +<p> +“She mustn’t be worried. So now we part till the end comes.” +</p> +<p> +“You still insist on expecting the end?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I’m sure of it.” +</p> +<p> +“But nothing in the world ever has an end.” +</p> +<p> +“This will have an end. Then call me. I’ll come. Now, good-bye.” +</p> +<p> +“And what sort of end will it be?” smiled Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. +</p> +<p> +“You’re not wounded, and … have not shed blood?” she asked, not +answering his question. +</p> +<p> +“It was stupid. I didn’t kill anyone. Don’t be uneasy. However, you’ll +hear all about it to-day from every one. I’m not quite well.” +</p> +<p> +“I’m going. The announcement of the marriage won’t be to-day?” she added +irresolutely. +</p> +<p> +“It won’t be to-day, and it won’t be to-morrow. I can’t say about the +day after to-morrow. Perhaps we shall all be dead, and so much the +better. Leave me alone, leave me alone, do.” +</p> +<p> +“You won’t ruin that other … mad girl?” +</p> +<p> +“I won’t ruin either of the mad creatures. It seems to be the sane I’m +ruining. I’m so vile and loathsome, Dasha, that I might really send for +you, ‘at the latter end,’ as you say. And in spite of your sanity you’ll +come. Why will you be your own ruin?” +</p> +<p> +“I know that at the end I shall be the only one left you, and … I’m +waiting for that.” +</p> +<p> +“And what if I don’t send for you after all, but run away from you?” +</p> +<p> +“That can’t be. You will send for me.” +</p> +<p> +“There’s a great deal of contempt for me in that.” +</p> +<p> +“You know that there’s not only contempt.” +</p> +<p> +“Then there is contempt, anyway?” +</p> +<p> +“I used the wrong word. God is my witness, it’s my greatest wish that +you may never have need of me.” +</p> +<p> +“One phrase is as good as another. I should also have wished not to have +ruined you.” +</p> +<p> +“You can never, anyhow, be my ruin; and you know that yourself, better +than anyone,” Darya Pavlovna said, rapidly and resolutely. “If I don’t +come to you I shall be a sister of mercy, a nurse, shall wait upon the +sick, or go selling the gospel. I’ve made up my mind to that. I cannot +be anyone’s wife. I can’t live in a house like this, either. That’s not +what I want.… You know all that.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I never could tell what you want. It seems to me that you’re +interested in me, as some veteran nurses get specially interested in +some particular invalid in comparison with the others, or still more, +like some pious old women who frequent funerals and find one corpse more +attractive than another. Why do you look at me so strangely?” +</p> +<p> +“Are you very ill?” she asked sympathetically, looking at him in a +peculiar way. “Good heavens! And this man wants to do without me!” +</p> +<p> +“Listen, Dasha, now I’m always seeing phantoms. One devil offered me +yesterday, on the bridge, to murder Lebyadkin and Marya Timofyevna, to +settle the marriage difficulty, and to cover up all traces. He asked me +to give him three roubles on account, but gave me to understand that +the whole operation wouldn’t cost less than fifteen hundred. Wasn’t he a +calculating devil! A regular shopkeeper. Ha ha!” +</p> +<p> +“But you’re fully convinced that it was an hallucination?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no; not a bit an hallucination! It was simply Fedka the convict, +the robber who escaped from prison. But that’s not the point. What do +you suppose I did! I gave him all I had, everything in my purse, and now +he’s sure I’ve given him that on account!” +</p> +<p> +“You met him at night, and he made such a suggestion? Surely you must +see that you’re being caught in their nets on every side!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, let them be. But you’ve got some question at the tip of your +tongue, you know. I see it by your eyes,” he added with a resentful and +irritable smile. +</p> +<p> +Dasha was frightened. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve no question at all, and no doubt whatever; you’d better be quiet!” +she cried in dismay, as though waving off his question. +</p> +<p> +“Then you’re convinced that I won’t go to Fedka’s little shop?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, God!” she cried, clasping her hands. “Why do you torture me like +this?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, forgive me my stupid joke. I must be picking up bad manners from +them. Do you know, ever since last night I feel awfully inclined to +laugh, to go on laughing continually forever so long. It’s as though +I must explode with laughter. It’s like an illness.… Oh! my mother’s +coming in. I always know by the rumble when her carriage has stopped at +the entrance.” +</p> +<p> +Dasha seized his hand. +</p> +<p> +“God save you from your demon, and … call me, call me quickly!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! a fine demon! It’s simply a little nasty, scrofulous imp, with a +cold in his head, one of the unsuccessful ones. But you have something +you don’t dare to say again, Dasha?” +</p> +<p> +She looked at him with pain and reproach, and turned towards the door. +</p> +<p> +“Listen,” he called after her, with a malignant and distorted smile. +“If … Yes, if, in one word, if … you understand, even if I did go to +that little shop, and if I called you after that—would you come then?” +</p> +<p> +She went out, hiding her face in her hands, and neither turning nor +answering. +</p> +<p> +“She will come even after the shop,” he whispered, thinking a moment, +and an expression of scornful disdain came into his face. “A nurse! +H’m!… but perhaps that’s what I want.” +</p> +<a id="H2CH0009"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER IV. ALL IN EXPECTATION +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +The impression made on the whole neighbourhood by the story of the duel, +which was rapidly noised abroad, was particularly remarkable from the +unanimity with which every one hastened to take up the cudgels for +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. Many of his former enemies declared themselves +his friends. The chief reason for this change of front in public opinion +was chiefly due to one person, who had hitherto not expressed her +opinion, but who now very distinctly uttered a few words, which at +once gave the event a significance exceedingly interesting to the vast +majority. This was how it happened. On the day after the duel, all the +town was assembled at the Marshal of Nobility’s in honour of his wife’s +nameday. Yulia Mihailovna was present, or, rather, presided, accompanied +by Lizaveta Nikolaevna, radiant with beauty and peculiar gaiety, which +struck many of our ladies at once as particularly suspicious at +this time. And I may mention, by the way, her engagement to Mavriky +Nikolaevitch was by now an established fact. To a playful question from +a retired general of much consequence, of whom we shall have more to +say later, Lizaveta Nikolaevna frankly replied that evening that she was +engaged. And only imagine, not one of our ladies would believe in her +engagement. They all persisted in assuming a romance of some sort, some +fatal family secret, something that had happened in Switzerland, and for +some reason imagined that Yulia Mihailovna must have had some hand in +it. It was difficult to understand why these rumours, or rather fancies, +persisted so obstinately, and why Yulia Mihailovna was so positively +connected with it. As soon as she came in, all turned to her with +strange looks, brimful of expectation. It must be observed that owing to +the freshness of the event, and certain circumstances accompanying +it, at the party people talked of it with some circumspection, in +undertones. Besides, nothing yet was known of the line taken by the +authorities. As far as was known, neither of the combatants had been +troubled by the police. Every one knew, for instance, that Gaganov had +set off home early in the morning to Duhovo, without being hindered. +Meanwhile, of course, all were eager for someone to be the first to +speak of it aloud, and so to open the door to the general impatience. +They rested their hopes on the general above-mentioned, and they were +not disappointed. +</p> +<p> +This general, a landowner, though not a wealthy one, was one of the most +imposing members of our club, and a man of an absolutely unique turn of +mind. He flirted in the old-fashioned way with the young ladies, and was +particularly fond, in large assemblies, of speaking aloud with all the +weightiness of a general, on subjects to which others were alluding +in discreet whispers. This was, so to say, his special rôle in local +society. He drawled, too, and spoke with peculiar suavity, probably +having picked up the habit from Russians travelling abroad, or from +those wealthy landowners of former days who had suffered most from the +emancipation. Stepan Trofimovitch had observed that the more completely +a landowner was ruined, the more suavely he lisped and drawled his +words. He did, as a fact, lisp and drawl himself, but was not aware of +it in himself. +</p> +<p> +The general spoke like a person of authority. He was, besides, a distant +relation of Gaganov’s, though he was on bad terms with him, and even +engaged in litigation with him. He had, moreover, in the past, fought +two duels himself, and had even been degraded to the ranks and sent to +the Caucasus on account of one of them. Some mention was made of Varvara +Petrovna’s having driven out that day and the day before, after being +kept indoors “by illness,” though the allusion was not to her, but to +the marvellous matching of her four grey horses of the Stavrogins’ +own breeding. The general suddenly observed that he had met “young +Stavrogin” that day, on horseback.… Every one was instantly silent. +The general munched his lips, and suddenly proclaimed, twisting in his +fingers his presentation gold snuff-box. +</p> +<p> +“I’m sorry I wasn’t here some years ago … I mean when I was at +Carlsbad … H’m! I’m very much interested in that young man about whom +I heard so many rumours at that time. H’m! And, I say, is it true that +he’s mad? Some one told me so then. Suddenly I’m told that he has been +insulted by some student here, in the presence of his cousins, and he +slipped under the table to get away from him. And yesterday I heard +from Stepan Vysotsky that Stavrogin had been fighting with Gaganov. And +simply with the gallant object of offering himself as a target to an +infuriated man, just to get rid of him. H’m! Quite in the style of the +guards of the twenties. Is there any house where he visits here?” +</p> +<p> +The general paused as though expecting an answer. A way had been opened +for the public impatience to express itself. +</p> +<p> +“What could be simpler?” cried Yulia Mihailovna, raising her voice, +irritated that all present had turned their eyes upon her, as though +at a word of command. “Can one wonder that Stavrogin fought Gaganov and +took no notice of the student? He couldn’t challenge a man who used to +be his serf!” +</p> +<p> +A noteworthy saying! A clear and simple notion, yet it had entered +nobody’s head till that moment. It was a saying that had extraordinary +consequences. All scandal and gossip, all the petty tittle-tattle was +thrown into the background, another significance had been detected. A +new character was revealed whom all had misjudged; a character, almost +ideally severe in his standards. Mortally insulted by a student, that +is, an educated man, no longer a serf, he despised the affront because +his assailant had once been his serf. Society had gossiped and slandered +him; shallow-minded people had looked with contempt on a man who had +been struck in the face. He had despised a public opinion, which had not +risen to the level of the highest standards, though it discussed them. +</p> +<p> +“And, meantime, you and I, Ivan Alexandrovitch, sit and discuss the +correct standards,” one old club member observed to another, with a warm +and generous glow of self-reproach. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Pyotr Mihailovitch, yes,” the other chimed in with zest, “talk of +the younger generation!” +</p> +<p> +“It’s not a question of the younger generation,” observed a third, +putting in his spoke, “it’s nothing to do with the younger generation; +he’s a star, not one of the younger generation; that’s the way to look +at it.” +</p> +<p> +“And it’s just that sort we need; they’re rare people.” The chief +point in all this was that the “new man,” besides showing himself an +unmistakable nobleman, was the wealthiest landowner in the province, and +was, therefore, bound to be a leading man who could be of assistance. +I’ve already alluded in passing to the attitude of the landowners of our +province. People were enthusiastic: +</p> +<p> +“He didn’t merely refrain from challenging the student. He put his hands +behind him, note that particularly, your excellency,” somebody pointed +out. +</p> +<p> +“And he didn’t haul him up before the new law-courts, either,” added +another. +</p> +<p> +“In spite of the fact that for a personal insult to a nobleman he’d have +got fifteen roubles damages! He he he!” +</p> +<p> +“No, I’ll tell you a secret about the new courts,” cried a third, in +a frenzy of excitement, “if anyone’s caught robbing or swindling and +convicted, he’d better run home while there’s yet time, and murder his +mother. He’ll be acquitted of everything at once, and ladies will wave +their batiste handkerchiefs from the platform. It’s the absolute truth!” +</p> +<p> +“It’s the truth. It’s the truth!” +</p> +<p> +The inevitable anecdotes followed: Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s friendly +relations with Count K. were recalled. Count K.’s stern and independent +attitude to recent reforms was well known, as well as his remarkable +public activity, though that had somewhat fallen off of late. And +now, suddenly, every one was positive that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was +betrothed to one of the count’s daughters, though nothing had given +grounds for such a supposition. And as for some wonderful adventures in +Switzerland with Lizaveta Nikolaevna, even the ladies quite dropped all +reference to it. I must mention, by the way, that the Drozdovs had by +this time succeeded in paying all the visits they had omitted at first. +Every one now confidently considered Lizaveta Nikolaevna a most ordinary +girl, who paraded her delicate nerves. Her fainting on the day of +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s arrival was explained now as due to her +terror at the student’s outrageous behaviour. They even increased the +prosaicness of that to which before they had striven to give such a +fantastic colour. As for a lame woman who had been talked of, she was +forgotten completely. They were ashamed to remember her. +</p> +<p> +“And if there had been a hundred lame girls—we’ve all been young once!” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s respectfulness to his mother was enlarged +upon. Various virtues were discovered in him. People talked with +approbation of the learning he had acquired in the four years he had +spent in German universities. Gaganov’s conduct was declared utterly +tactless: “not knowing friend from foe.” Yulia Mihailovna’s keen insight +was unhesitatingly admitted. +</p> +<p> +So by the time Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch made his appearance among them +he was received by every one with naïve solemnity. In all eyes fastened +upon him could be read eager anticipation. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch at +once wrapped himself in the most austere silence, which, of course, +gratified every one much more than if he had talked till doomsday. In a +word, he was a success, he was the fashion. If once one has figured in +provincial society, there’s no retreating into the background. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch began to fulfil all his social duties in the province +punctiliously as before. He was not found cheerful company: “a man who +has seen suffering; a man not like other people; he has something to be +melancholy about.” Even the pride and disdainful aloofness for which he +had been so detested four years before was now liked and respected. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna was triumphant. I don’t know whether she grieved much +over the shattering of her dreams concerning Lizaveta Nikolaevna. Family +pride, of course, helped her to get over it. One thing was strange: +Varvara Petrovna was suddenly convinced that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch +really had “made his choice” at Count K.’s. And what was strangest of +all, she was led to believe it by rumours which reached her on no +better authority than other people. She was afraid to ask Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch a direct question. Two or three times, however, she +could not refrain from slyly and good-humouredly reproaching him for not +being open with her. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch smiled and remained silent. +The silence was taken as a sign of assent. And yet, all the time she +never forgot the cripple. The thought of her lay like a stone on her +heart, a nightmare, she was tortured by strange misgivings and surmises, +and all this at the same time as she dreamed of Count K.’s daughters. +But of this we shall speak later. Varvara Petrovna began again, of +course, to be treated with extreme deference and respect in society, but +she took little advantage of it and went out rarely. +</p> +<p> +She did, however, pay a visit of ceremony to the governor’s wife. Of +course, no one had been more charmed and delighted by Yulia Mihailovna’s +words spoken at the marshal’s soirée than she. They lifted a load of +care off her heart, and had at once relieved much of the distress she +had been suffering since that luckless Sunday. +</p> +<p> +“I misunderstood that woman,” she declared, and with her characteristic +impulsiveness she frankly told Yulia Mihailovna that she had come to +<i>thank her</i>. Yulia Mihailovna was flattered, but she behaved with dignity. +She was beginning about this time to be very conscious of her own +importance, too much so, in fact. She announced, for example, in the +course of conversation, that she had never heard of Stepan Trofimovitch +as a leading man or a savant. +</p> +<p> +“I know young Verhovensky, of course, and make much of him. He’s +imprudent, but then he’s young; he’s thoroughly well-informed, though. +He’s not an out-of-date, old-fashioned critic, anyway.” Varvara Petrovna +hastened to observe that Stepan Trofimovitch had never been a critic, +but had, on the contrary, spent all his life in her house. He was +renowned through circumstances of his early career, “only too well known +to the whole world,” and of late for his researches in Spanish +history. Now he intended to write also on the position of modern German +universities, and, she believed, something about the Dresden Madonna +too. In short, Varvara Petrovna refused to surrender Stepan Trofimovitch +to the tender mercies of Yulia Mihailovna. +</p> +<p> +“The Dresden Madonna? You mean the Sistine Madonna? <i>Chère</i> Varvara +Petrovna, I spent two hours sitting before that picture and came away +utterly disillusioned. I could make nothing of it and was in complete +amazement. Karmazinov, too, says it’s hard to understand it. They all +see nothing in it now, Russians and English alike. All its fame is just +the talk of the last generation.” +</p> +<p> +“Fashions are changed then?” +</p> +<p> +“What I think is that one mustn’t despise our younger generation either. +They cry out that they’re communists, but what I say is that we must +appreciate them and mustn’t be hard on them. I read everything now—the +papers, communism, the natural sciences—I get everything because, after +all, one must know where one’s living and with whom one has to do. One +mustn’t spend one’s whole life on the heights of one’s own fancy. I’ve +come to the conclusion, and adopted it as a principle, that one must be +kind to the young people and so keep them from the brink. Believe me, +Varvara Petrovna, that none but we who make up good society can by our +kindness and good influence keep them from the abyss towards which they +are brought by the intolerance of all these old men. I am glad though to +learn from you about Stepan Trofimovitch. You suggest an idea to me: +he may be useful at our literary matinée, you know I’m arranging for a +whole day of festivities, a subscription entertainment for the benefit +of the poor governesses of our province. They are scattered about +Russia; in our district alone we can reckon up six of them. Besides +that, there are two girls in the telegraph office, two are being trained +in the academy, the rest would like to be but have not the means. The +Russian woman’s fate is a terrible one, Varvara Petrovna! It’s out of +that they’re making the university question now, and there’s even been a +meeting of the Imperial Council about it. In this strange Russia of ours +one can do anything one likes; and that, again, is why it’s only by the +kindness and the direct warm sympathy of all the better classes that we +can direct this great common cause in the true path. Oh, heavens, have +we many noble personalities among us! There are some, of course, but +they are scattered far and wide. Let us unite and we shall be stronger. +In one word, I shall first have a literary matinée, then a light +luncheon, then an interval, and in the evening a ball. We meant to begin +the evening by living pictures, but it would involve a great deal +of expense, and so, to please the public, there will be one or two +quadrilles in masks and fancy dresses, representing well-known literary +schools. This humorous idea was suggested by Karmazinov. He has been a +great help to me. Do you know he’s going to read us the last thing he’s +written, which no one has seen yet. He is laying down the pen, and will +write no more. This last essay is his farewell to the public. It’s a +charming little thing called ‘Merci.’ The title is French; he thinks +that more amusing and even subtler. I do, too. In fact I advised it. I +think Stepan Trofimovitch might read us something too, if it were quite +short and … not so very learned. I believe Pyotr Stepanovitch and some +one else too will read something. Pyotr Stepanovitch shall run round +to you and tell you the programme. Better still, let me bring it to you +myself.” +</p> +<p> +“Allow me to put my name down in your subscription list too. I’ll tell +Stepan Trofimovitch and will beg him to consent.” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna returned home completely fascinated. She was ready +to stand up for Yulia Mihailovna through thick and thin, and for some +reason was already quite put out with Stepan Trofimovitch, while he, +poor man, sat at home, all unconscious. +</p> +<p> +“I’m in love with her. I can’t understand how I could be so mistaken in +that woman,” she said to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch and Pyotr Stepanovitch, +who dropped in that evening. +</p> +<p> +“But you must make peace with the old man all the same,” Pyotr +Stepanovitch submitted. “He’s in despair. You’ve quite sent him to +Coventry. Yesterday he met your carriage and bowed, and you turned away. +We’ll trot him out, you know; I’m reckoning on him for something, and he +may still be useful.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, he’ll read something.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t mean only that. And I was meaning to drop in on him to-day. So +shall I tell him?” +</p> +<p> +“If you like. I don’t know, though, how you’ll arrange it,” she said +irresolutely. “I was meaning to have a talk with him myself, and wanted +to fix the time and place.” +</p> +<p> +She frowned. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, it’s not worth while fixing a time. I’ll simply give him the +message.” +</p> +<p> +“Very well, do. Add that I certainly will fix a time to see him though. +Be sure to say that too.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch ran off, grinning. He was, in fact, to the best of +my recollection, particularly spiteful all this time, and ventured upon +extremely impatient sallies with almost every one. Strange to say, every +one, somehow, forgave him. It was generally accepted that he was not to +be looked at from the ordinary standpoint. I may remark that he took up +an extremely resentful attitude about Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s duel. +It took him unawares. He turned positively green when he was told of it. +Perhaps his vanity was wounded: he only heard of it next day when every +one knew of it. +</p> +<p> +“You had no right to fight, you know,” he whispered to Stavrogin, five +days later, when he chanced to meet him at the club. It was remarkable +that they had not once met during those five days, though Pyotr +Stepanovitch had dropped in at Varvara Petrovna’s almost every day. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked at him in silence with an absent-minded +air, as though not understanding what was the matter, and he went on +without stopping. He was crossing the big hall of the club on his way to +the refreshment room. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve been to see Shatov too.… You mean to make it known about Marya +Timofyevna,” Pyotr Stepanovitch muttered, running after him, and, as +though not thinking of what he was doing he clutched at his shoulder. +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch shook his hand off and turned round quickly +to him with a menacing scowl. Pyotr Stepanovitch looked at him with +a strange, prolonged smile. It all lasted only one moment. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch walked on. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +He went to the “old man” straight from Varvara Petrovna’s, and he was +in such haste simply from spite, that he might revenge himself for an +insult of which I had no idea at that time. The fact is that at +their last interview on the Thursday of the previous week, Stepan +Trofimovitch, though the dispute was one of his own beginning, had +ended by turning Pyotr Stepanovitch out with his stick. He concealed the +incident from me at the time. But now, as soon as Pyotr Stepanovitch ran +in with his everlasting grin, which was so naïvely condescending, and +his unpleasantly inquisitive eyes peering into every corner, Stepan +Trofimovitch at once made a signal aside to me, not to leave the room. +This was how their real relations came to be exposed before me, for on +this occasion I heard their whole conversation. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch was sitting stretched out on a lounge. He had grown +thin and sallow since that Thursday. Pyotr Stepanovitch seated himself +beside him with a most familiar air, unceremoniously tucking his legs up +under him, and taking up more room on the lounge than deference to his +father should have allowed. Stepan Trofimovitch moved aside, in silence, +and with dignity. +</p> +<p> +On the table lay an open book. It was the novel, “What’s to be done?” +Alas, I must confess one strange weakness in my friend; the fantasy that +he ought to come forth from his solitude and fight a last battle was +getting more and more hold upon his deluded imagination. I guessed that +he had got the novel and was <i>studying</i> it solely in order that when the +inevitable conflict with the “shriekers” came about he might know their +methods and arguments beforehand, from their very “catechism,” and in +that way be prepared to confute them all triumphantly, <i>before her eyes.</i> +Oh, how that book tortured him! He sometimes flung it aside in despair, +and leaping up, paced about the room almost in a frenzy. +</p> +<p> +“I agree that the author’s fundamental idea is a true one,” he said to +me feverishly, “but that only makes it more awful. It’s just our idea, +exactly ours; we first sowed the seed, nurtured it, prepared the way, +and, indeed, what could they say new, after us? But, heavens! How it’s +all expressed, distorted, mutilated!” he exclaimed, tapping the book +with his fingers. “Were these the conclusions we were striving for? Who +can understand the original idea in this?” +</p> +<p> +“Improving your mind?” sniggered Pyotr Stepanovitch, taking the book +from the table and reading the title. “It’s high time. I’ll bring you +better, if you like.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch again preserved a dignified silence. I was sitting +on a sofa in the corner. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch quickly explained the reason of his coming. Of +course, Stepan Trofimovitch was absolutely staggered, and he listened in +alarm, which was mixed with extreme indignation. +</p> +<p> +“And that Yulia Mihailovna counts on my coming to read for her!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, they’re by no means in such need of you. On the contrary, it’s by +way of an attention to you, so as to make up to Varvara Petrovna. But, +of course, you won’t dare to refuse, and I expect you want to yourself,” +he added with a grin. “You old fogies are all so devilishly ambitious. +But, I say though, you must look out that it’s not too boring. What have +you got? Spanish history, or what is it? You’d better let me look at it +three days beforehand, or else you’ll put us to sleep perhaps.” +</p> +<p> +The hurried and too barefaced coarseness of these thrusts was obviously +premeditated. He affected to behave as though it were impossible to talk +to Stepan Trofimovitch in different and more delicate language. Stepan +Trofimovitch resolutely persisted in ignoring his insults, but what his +son told him made a more and more overwhelming impression upon him. +</p> +<p> +“And she, she herself sent me this message through you?” he asked, +turning pale. +</p> +<p> +“Well, you see, she means to fix a time and place for a mutual +explanation, the relics of your sentimentalising. You’ve been coquetting +with her for twenty years and have trained her to the most ridiculous +habits. But don’t trouble yourself, it’s quite different now. She keeps +saying herself that she’s only beginning now to ‘have her eyes opened.’ +I told her in so many words that all this friendship of yours is nothing +but a mutual pouring forth of sloppiness. She told me lots, my boy. Foo! +what a flunkey’s place you’ve been filling all this time. I positively +blushed for you.” +</p> +<p> +“I filling a flunkey’s place?” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, unable to +restrain himself. +</p> +<p> +“Worse, you’ve been a parasite, that is, a voluntary flunkey too lazy to +work, while you’ve an appetite for money. She, too, understands all that +now. It’s awful the things she’s been telling me about you, anyway. I +did laugh, my boy, over your letters to her; shameful and disgusting. +But you’re all so depraved, so depraved! There’s always something +depraving in charity—you’re a good example of it!” +</p> +<p> +“She showed you my letters!” +</p> +<p> +“All; though, of course, one couldn’t read them all. Foo, what a lot of +paper you’ve covered! I believe there are more than two thousand letters +there. And do you know, old chap, I believe there was one moment when +she’d have been ready to marry you. You let slip your chance in the +silliest way. Of course, I’m speaking from your point of view, though, +anyway, it would have been better than now when you’ve almost been +married to ‘cover another man’s sins,’ like a buffoon, for a jest, for +money.” +</p> +<p> +“For money! She, she says it was for money!” Stepan Trofimovitch wailed +in anguish. +</p> +<p> +“What else, then? But, of course, I stood up for you. That’s your only +line of defence, you know. She sees for herself that you needed money +like every one else, and that from that point of view maybe you were +right. I proved to her as clear as twice two makes four that it was a +mutual bargain. She was a capitalist and you were a sentimental buffoon +in her service. She’s not angry about the money, though you have milked +her like a goat. She’s only in a rage at having believed in you +for twenty years, at your having so taken her in over these noble +sentiments, and made her tell lies for so long. She never will admit +that she told lies of herself, but you’ll catch it the more for that. I +can’t make out how it was you didn’t see that you’d have to have a day +of reckoning. For after all you had some sense. I advised her yesterday +to put you in an almshouse, a genteel one, don’t disturb yourself; +there’ll be nothing humiliating; I believe that’s what she’ll do. Do you +remember your last letter to me, three weeks ago?” +</p> +<p> +“Can you have shown her that?” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, leaping up in +horror. +</p> +<p> +“Rather! First thing. The one in which you told me she was exploiting +you, envious of your talent; oh, yes, and that about ‘other men’s sins.’ +You have got a conceit though, my boy! How I did laugh. As a rule your +letters are very tedious. You write a horrible style. I often don’t read +them at all, and I’ve one lying about to this day, unopened. I’ll send +it to you to-morrow. But that one, that last letter of yours was the +tiptop of perfection! How I did laugh! Oh, how I laughed!” +</p> +<p> +“Monster, monster!” wailed Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Foo, damn it all, there’s no talking to you. I say, you’re getting +huffy again as you were last Thursday.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch drew himself up, menacingly. +</p> +<p> +“How dare you speak to me in such language?” +</p> +<p> +“What language? It’s simple and clear.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me, you monster, are you my son or not?” +</p> +<p> +“You know that best. To be sure all fathers are disposed to be blind in +such cases.” +</p> +<p> +“Silence! Silence!” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, shaking all over. +</p> +<p> +“You see you’re screaming and swearing at me as you did last Thursday. +You tried to lift your stick against me, but you know, I found that +document. I was rummaging all the evening in my trunk from curiosity. +It’s true there’s nothing definite, you can take that comfort. It’s only +a letter of my mother’s to that Pole. But to judge from her +character …” +</p> +<p> +“Another word and I’ll box your ears.” +</p> +<p> +“What a set of people!” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, suddenly addressing +himself to me. “You see, this is how we’ve been ever since last +Thursday. I’m glad you’re here this time, anyway, and can judge between +us. To begin with, a fact: he reproaches me for speaking like this of my +mother, but didn’t he egg me on to it? In Petersburg before I left the +High School, didn’t he wake me twice in the night, to embrace me, and +cry like a woman, and what do you suppose he talked to me about at night? +Why, the same modest anecdotes about my mother! It was from him I +first heard them.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I meant that in a higher sense! Oh, you didn’t understand me! You +understood nothing, nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“But, anyway, it was meaner in you than in me, meaner, acknowledge that. +You see, it’s nothing to me if you like. I’m speaking from your point +of view. Don’t worry about my point of view. I don’t blame my mother; if +it’s you, then it’s you, if it’s a Pole, then it’s a Pole, it’s all the +same to me. I’m not to blame because you and she managed so stupidly in +Berlin. As though you could have managed things better. Aren’t you an +absurd set, after that? And does it matter to you whether I’m your son +or not? Listen,” he went on, turning to me again, “he’s never spent a +penny on me all his life; till I was sixteen he didn’t know me at all; +afterwards he robbed me here, and now he cries out that his heart has +been aching over me all his life, and carries on before me like an +actor. I’m not Varvara Petrovna, mind you.” +</p> +<p> +He got up and took his hat. +</p> +<p> +“I curse you henceforth!” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch, as pale as death, stretched out his hand above him. +</p> +<p> +“Ach, what folly a man will descend to!” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, +actually surprised. “Well, good-bye, old fellow, I shall never come and +see you again. Send me the article beforehand, don’t forget, and try and +let it be free from nonsense. Facts, facts, facts. And above all, let it +be short. Good-bye.” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +Outside influences, too, had come into play in the matter, however. +Pyotr Stepanovitch certainly had some designs on his parent. In my +opinion he calculated upon reducing the old man to despair, and so to +driving him to some open scandal of a certain sort. This was to serve +some remote and quite other object of his own, of which I shall speak +hereafter. All sorts of plans and calculations of this kind were +swarming in masses in his mind at that time, and almost all, of course, +of a fantastic character. He had designs on another victim besides Stepan +Trofimovitch. In fact, as appeared afterwards, his victims were not few +in number, but this one he reckoned upon particularly, and it was Mr. +von Lembke himself. +</p> +<p> +Andrey Antonovitch von Lembke belonged to that race, so favoured by +nature, which is reckoned by hundreds of thousands at the Russian +census, and is perhaps unconscious that it forms throughout its whole +mass a strictly organised union. And this union, of course, is not +planned and premeditated, but exists spontaneously in the whole race, +without words or agreements as a moral obligation consisting in mutual +support given by all members of the race to one another, at all times +and places, and under all circumstances. Andrey Antonovitch had +the honour of being educated in one of those more exalted Russian +educational institutions which are filled with the youth from families +well provided with wealth or connections. Almost immediately on +finishing their studies the pupils were appointed to rather important +posts in one of the government departments. Andrey Antonovitch had one +uncle a colonel of engineers, and another a baker. But he managed to get +into this aristocratic school, and met many of his fellow-countrymen in +a similar position. He was a good-humoured companion, was rather stupid +at his studies, but always popular. And when many of his companions in +the upper forms—chiefly Russians—had already learnt to discuss the +loftiest modern questions, and looked as though they were only +waiting to leave school to settle the affairs of the universe, Andrey +Antonovitch was still absorbed in the most innocent schoolboy interests. +He amused them all, it is true, by his pranks, which were of a very +simple character, at the most a little coarse, but he made it his object +to be funny. At one time he would blow his nose in a wonderful way +when the professor addressed a question to him, thereby making his +schoolfellows and the professor laugh. Another time, in the dormitory, +he would act some indecent living picture, to the general applause, +or he would play the overture to “Fra Diavolo” with his nose rather +skilfully. He was distinguished, too, by intentional untidiness, +thinking this, for some reason, witty. In his very last year at school +he began writing Russian poetry. +</p> +<p> +Of his native language he had only an ungrammatical knowledge, like many +of his race in Russia. This turn for versifying drew him to a gloomy +and depressed schoolfellow, the son of a poor Russian general, who was +considered in the school to be a great future light in literature. The +latter patronised him. But it happened that three years after leaving +school this melancholy schoolfellow, who had flung up his official +career for the sake of Russian literature, and was consequently going +about in torn boots, with his teeth chattering with cold, wearing a +light summer overcoat in the late autumn, met, one day on the Anitchin +bridge, his former protégé, “Lembka,” as he always used to be called at +school. And, what do you suppose? He did not at first recognise him, +and stood still in surprise. Before him stood an irreproachably dressed +young man with wonderfully well-kept whiskers of a reddish hue, with +pince-nez, with patent-leather boots, and the freshest of gloves, in a +full overcoat from Sharmer’s, and with a portfolio under his arm. Lembke +was cordial to his old schoolfellow, gave him his address, and begged +him to come and see him some evening. It appeared, too, that he was by +now not “Lembka” but “Von Lembke.” The schoolfellow came to see him, +however, simply from malice perhaps. On the staircase, which was covered +with red felt and was rather ugly and by no means smart, he was met and +questioned by the house-porter. A bell rang loudly upstairs. But instead +of the wealth which the visitor expected, he found Lembke in a +very little side-room, which had a dark and dilapidated appearance, +partitioned into two by a large dark green curtain, and furnished with +very old though comfortable furniture, with dark green blinds on +high narrow windows. Von Lembke lodged in the house of a very distant +relation, a general who was his patron. He met his visitor cordially, +was serious and exquisitely polite. They talked of literature, too, but +kept within the bounds of decorum. A manservant in a white tie brought +them some weak tea and little dry, round biscuits. The schoolfellow, +from spite, asked for some seltzer water. It was given him, but after +some delays, and Lembke was somewhat embarrassed at having to summon the +footman a second time and give him orders. But of himself he asked his +visitor whether he would like some supper, and was obviously relieved +when he refused and went away. In short, Lembke was making his career, +and was living in dependence on his fellow-countryman, the influential +general. +</p> +<p> +He was at that time sighing for the general’s fifth daughter, and it +seemed to him that his feeling was reciprocated. But Amalia was none the +less married in due time to an elderly factory-owner, a German, and +an old comrade of the general’s. Andrey Antonovitch did not shed many +tears, but made a paper theatre. The curtain drew up, the actors came +in, and gesticulated with their arms. There were spectators in the +boxes, the orchestra moved their bows across their fiddles by machinery, +the conductor waved his baton, and in the stalls officers and dandies +clapped their hands. It was all made of cardboard, it was all thought +out and executed by Lembke himself. He spent six months over this +theatre. The general arranged a friendly party on purpose. The theatre +was exhibited, all the general’s five daughters, including the newly +married Amalia with her factory-owner, numerous fraus and frauleins +with their men folk, attentively examined and admired the theatre, after +which they danced. Lembke was much gratified and was quickly consoled. +</p> +<p> +The years passed by and his career was secured. He always obtained good +posts and always under chiefs of his own race; and he worked his way up +at last to a very fine position for a man of his age. He had, for a long +time, been wishing to marry and looking about him carefully. Without +the knowledge of his superiors he had sent a novel to the editor of a +magazine, but it had not been accepted. On the other hand, he cut out +a complete toy railway, and again his creation was most successful. +Passengers came on to the platform with bags and portmanteaux, with dogs +and children, and got into the carriages. The guards and porters moved +away, the bell was rung, the signal was given, and the train started +off. He was a whole year busy over this clever contrivance. But he had +to get married all the same. The circle of his acquaintance was fairly +wide, chiefly in the world of his compatriots, but his duties brought +him into Russian spheres also, of course. Finally, when he was in his +thirty-ninth year, he came in for a legacy. His uncle the baker died, +and left him thirteen thousand roubles in his will. The one thing +needful was a suitable post. In spite of the rather elevated style of +his surroundings in the service, Mr. von Lembke was a very modest man. +He would have been perfectly satisfied with some independent little +government post, with the right to as much government timber as he +liked, or something snug of that sort, and he would have been content +all his life long. But now, instead of the Minna or Ernestine he had +expected, Yulia Mihailovna suddenly appeared on the scene. His career +was instantly raised to a more elevated plane. The modest and precise +man felt that he too was capable of ambition. +</p> +<p> +Yulia Mihailovna had a fortune of two hundred serfs, to reckon in the +old style, and she had besides powerful friends. On the other hand +Lembke was handsome, and she was already over forty. It is remarkable +that he fell genuinely in love with her by degrees as he became more +used to being betrothed to her. On the morning of his wedding day he +sent her a poem. She liked all this very much, even the poem; it’s no +joke to be forty. He was very quickly raised to a certain grade and +received a certain order of distinction, and then was appointed governor +of our province. +</p> +<p> +Before coming to us Yulia Mihailovna worked hard at moulding her +husband. In her opinion he was not without abilities, he knew how to +make an entrance and to appear to advantage, he understood how to +listen and be silent with profundity, had acquired a quite distinguished +deportment, could make a speech, indeed had even some odds and ends of +thought, and had caught the necessary gloss of modern liberalism. What +worried her, however, was that he was not very open to new ideas, and +after the long, everlasting plodding for a career, was unmistakably +beginning to feel the need of repose. She tried to infect him with her +own ambition, and he suddenly began making a toy church: the pastor came +out to preach the sermon, the congregation listened with their hands +before them, one lady was drying her tears with her handkerchief, one +old gentleman was blowing his nose; finally the organ pealed forth. It +had been ordered from Switzerland, and made expressly in spite of all +expense. Yulia Mihailovna, in positive alarm, carried off the whole +structure as soon as she knew about it, and locked it up in a box in +her own room. To make up for it she allowed him to write a novel on +condition of its being kept secret. From that time she began to reckon +only upon herself. Unhappily there was a good deal of shallowness and +lack of judgment in her attitude. Destiny had kept her too long an old +maid. Now one idea after another fluttered through her ambitious and +rather over-excited brain. She cherished designs, she positively desired +to rule the province, dreamed of becoming at once the centre of a +circle, adopted political sympathies. Von Lembke was actually a little +alarmed, though, with his official tact, he quickly divined that he had +no need at all to be uneasy about the government of the province itself. +The first two or three months passed indeed very satisfactorily. But now +Pyotr Stepanovitch had turned up, and something queer began to happen. +</p> +<p> +The fact was that young Verhovensky, from the first step, had displayed +a flagrant lack of respect for Andrey Antonovitch, and had assumed a +strange right to dictate to him; while Yulia Mihailovna, who had always +till then been so jealous of her husband’s dignity, absolutely refused +to notice it; or, at any rate, attached no consequence to it. The young +man became a favourite, ate, drank, and almost slept in the house. Von +Lembke tried to defend himself, called him “young man” before other +people, and slapped him patronisingly on the shoulder, but made no +impression. Pyotr Stepanovitch always seemed to be laughing in his face +even when he appeared on the surface to be talking seriously to him, and +he would say the most startling things to him before company. Returning +home one day he found the young man had installed himself in his study +and was asleep on the sofa there, uninvited. He explained that he had +come in, and finding no one at home had “had a good sleep.” +</p> +<p> +Von Lembke was offended and again complained to his wife. Laughing at +his irritability she observed tartly that he evidently did not know how +to keep up his own dignity; and that with her, anyway, “the boy” had +never permitted himself any undue familiarity, “he was naïve and fresh +indeed, though not regardful of the conventions of society.” Von Lembke +sulked. This time she made peace between them. Pyotr Stepanovitch did +not go so far as to apologise, but got out of it with a coarse jest, +which might at another time have been taken for a fresh offence, but +was accepted on this occasion as a token of repentance. The weak spot +in Andrey Antonovitch’s position was that he had blundered in the first +instance by divulging the secret of his novel to him. Imagining him +to be an ardent young man of poetic feeling and having long dreamed +of securing a listener, he had, during the early days of their +acquaintance, on one occasion read aloud two chapters to him. The young +man had listened without disguising his boredom, had rudely yawned, +had vouchsafed no word of praise; but on leaving had asked for the +manuscript that he might form an opinion of it at his leisure, and +Andrey Antonovitch had given it him. He had not returned the manuscript +since, though he dropped in every day, and had turned off all inquiries +with a laugh. Afterwards he declared that he had lost it in the street. +At the time Yulia Mihailovna was terribly angry with her husband when +she heard of it. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you told him about the church too?” she burst out almost in +dismay. +</p> +<p> +Von Lembke unmistakably began to brood, and brooding was bad for him, +and had been forbidden by the doctors. Apart from the fact that there +were signs of trouble in the province, of which we will speak later, he +had private reasons for brooding, his heart was wounded, not merely his +official dignity. When Andrey Antonovitch had entered upon married life, +he had never conceived the possibility of conjugal strife, or dissension +in the future. It was inconsistent with the dreams he had cherished +all his life of his Minna or Ernestine. He felt that he was unequal to +enduring domestic storms. Yulia Mihailovna had an open explanation with +him at last. +</p> +<p> +“You can’t be angry at this,” she said, “if only because you’ve still as +much sense as he has, and are immeasurably higher in the social scale. +The boy still preserves many traces of his old free-thinking habits; +I believe it’s simply mischief; but one can do nothing suddenly, in a +hurry; you must do things by degrees. We must make much of our young +people; I treat them with affection and hold them back from the brink.” +</p> +<p> +“But he says such dreadful things,” Von Lembke objected. “I can’t behave +tolerantly when he maintains in my presence and before other people +that the government purposely drenches the people with vodka in order to +brutalise them, and so keep them from revolution. Fancy my position when +I’m forced to listen to that before every one.” +</p> +<p> +As he said this, Von Lembke recalled a conversation he had recently +had with Pyotr Stepanovitch. With the innocent object of displaying his +Liberal tendencies he had shown him his own private collection of every +possible kind of manifesto, Russian and foreign, which he had carefully +collected since the year 1859, not simply from a love of collecting but +from a laudable interest in them. Pyotr Stepanovitch, seeing his object, +expressed the opinion that there was more sense in one line of some +manifestoes than in a whole government department, “not even excluding +yours, maybe.” +</p> +<p> +Lembke winced. +</p> +<p> +“But this is premature among us, premature,” he pronounced almost +imploringly, pointing to the manifestoes. +</p> +<p> +“No, it’s not premature; you see you’re afraid, so it’s not premature.” +</p> +<p> +“But here, for instance, is an incitement to destroy churches.” +</p> +<p> +“And why not? You’re a sensible man, and of course you don’t believe +in it yourself, but you know perfectly well that you need religion to +brutalise the people. Truth is honester than falsehood.…” +</p> +<p> +“I agree, I agree, I quite agree with you, but it is premature, +premature in this country …” said Von Lembke, frowning. +</p> +<p> +“And how can you be an official of the government after that, when you +agree to demolishing churches, and marching on Petersburg armed with +staves, and make it all simply a question of date?” +</p> +<p> +Lembke was greatly put out at being so crudely caught. +</p> +<p> +“It’s not so, not so at all,” he cried, carried away and more and more +mortified in his amour-propre. “You’re young, and know nothing of +our aims, and that’s why you’re mistaken. You see, my dear Pyotr +Stepanovitch, you call us officials of the government, don’t you? +Independent officials, don’t you? But let me ask you, how are we acting? +Ours is the responsibility, but in the long run we serve the cause of +progress just as you do. We only hold together what you are unsettling, +and what, but for us, would go to pieces in all directions. We are not +your enemies, not a bit of it. We say to you, go forward, progress, you +may even unsettle things, that is, things that are antiquated and in +need of reform. But we will keep you, when need be, within necessary +limits, and so save you from yourselves, for without us you would set +Russia tottering, robbing her of all external decency, while our task is +to preserve external decency. Understand that we are mutually essential +to one another. In England the Whigs and Tories are in the same way +mutually essential to one another. Well, you’re Whigs and we’re Tories. +That’s how I look at it.” +</p> +<p> +Andrey Antonovitch rose to positive eloquence. He had been fond of +talking in a Liberal and intellectual style even in Petersburg, and the +great thing here was that there was no one to play the spy on him. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch was silent, and maintained an unusually grave air. +This excited the orator more than ever. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know that I, the ‘person responsible for the province,’” he went +on, walking about the study, “do you know I have so many duties I can’t +perform one of them, and, on the other hand, I can say just as truly +that there’s nothing for me to do here. The whole secret of it is, +that everything depends upon the views of the government. Suppose the +government were ever to found a republic, from policy, or to pacify +public excitement, and at the same time to increase the power of the +governors, then we governors would swallow up the republic; and not the +republic only. Anything you like we’ll swallow up. I, at least, feel +that I am ready. In one word, if the government dictates to me by +telegram, <i>activité dévorante</i>, I’ll supply <i>activité dévorante</i>. I’ve +told them here straight in their faces: ‘Dear sirs, to maintain the +equilibrium and to develop all the provincial institutions one thing +is essential; the increase of the power of the governor.’ You see it’s +necessary that all these institutions, the zemstvos, the law-courts, +should have a two-fold existence, that is, on the one hand, it’s +necessary they should exist (I agree that it is necessary), on the other +hand, it’s necessary that they shouldn’t. It’s all according to the +views of the government. If the mood takes them so that institutions +seem suddenly necessary, I shall have them at once in readiness. The +necessity passes and no one will find them under my rule. That’s what +I understand by <i>activité dévorante</i>, and you can’t have it without an +increase of the governor’s power. We’re talking <i>tête-à-tête</i>. You know +I’ve already laid before the government in Petersburg the necessity of a +special sentinel before the governor’s house. I’m awaiting an answer.” +</p> +<p> +“You ought to have two,” Pyotr Stepanovitch commented. +</p> +<p> +“Why two?” said Von Lembke, stopping short before him. +</p> +<p> +“One’s not enough to create respect for you. You certainly ought to have +two.” +</p> +<p> +Andrey Antonovitch made a wry face. +</p> +<p> +“You … there’s no limit to the liberties you take, Pyotr Stepanovitch. +You take advantage of my good-nature, you say cutting things, and play +the part of a <i>bourru bienfaisant</i>.…” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s as you please,” muttered Pyotr Stepanovitch; “anyway you +pave the way for us and prepare for our success.” +</p> +<p> +“Now, who are ‘we,’ and what success?” said Von Lembke, staring at him +in surprise. But he got no answer. +</p> +<p> +Yulia Mihailovna, receiving a report of the conversation, was greatly +displeased. +</p> +<p> +“But I can’t exercise my official authority upon your favourite,” +Andrey Antonovitch protested in self-defence, “especially when we’re +<i>tête-à-tête</i>.… I may say too much … in the goodness of my heart.” +</p> +<p> +“From too much goodness of heart. I didn’t know you’d got a collection +of manifestoes. Be so good as to show them to me.” +</p> +<p> +“But … he asked to have them for one day.” +</p> +<p> +“And you’ve let him have them, again!” cried Yulia Mihailovna getting +angry. “How tactless!” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll send someone to him at once to get them.” +</p> +<p> +“He won’t give them up.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll insist on it,” cried Von Lembke, boiling over, and he jumped up +from his seat. “Who’s he that we should be so afraid of him, and who am +I that I shouldn’t dare to do any thing?” +</p> +<p> +“Sit down and calm yourself,” said Yulia Mihailovna, checking him. +“I will answer your first question. He came to me with the highest +recommendations. He’s talented, and sometimes says extremely clever +things. Karmazinov tells me that he has connections almost everywhere, +and extraordinary influence over the younger generation in Petersburg +and Moscow. And if through him I can attract them all and group them +round myself, I shall be saving them from perdition by guiding them +into a new outlet for their ambitions. He’s devoted to me with his whole +heart and is guided by me in everything.” +</p> +<p> +“But while they’re being petted … the devil knows what they may not do. +Of course, it’s an idea …” said Von Lembke, vaguely defending himself, +“but … but here I’ve heard that manifestoes of some sort have been +found in X district.” +</p> +<p> +“But there was a rumour of that in the summer—manifestoes, false +bank-notes, and all the rest of it, but they haven’t found one of them +so far. Who told you?” +</p> +<p> +“I heard it from Von Blum.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, don’t talk to me of your Blum. Don’t ever dare mention him again!” +</p> +<p> +Yulia Mihailovna flew into a rage, and for a moment could not speak. Von +Blum was a clerk in the governor’s office whom she particularly hated. +Of that later. +</p> +<p> +“Please don’t worry yourself about Verhovensky,” she said in conclusion. +“If he had taken part in any mischief he wouldn’t talk as he does to +you, and every one else here. Talkers are not dangerous, and I will +even go so far as to say that if anything were to happen I should be the +first to hear of it through him. He’s quite fanatically devoted to me.” +</p> +<p> +I will observe, anticipating events that, had it not been for Yulia +Mihailovna’s obstinacy and self-conceit, probably nothing of all the +mischief these wretched people succeeded in bringing about amongst us +would have happened. She was responsible for a great deal. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0010"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER V. ON THE EVE OF THE FETE +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +The date of the fête which Yulia Mihailovna was getting up for the +benefit of the governesses of our province had been several times fixed +and put off. She had invariably bustling round her Pyotr Stepanovitch +and a little clerk, Lyamshin, who used at one time to visit Stepan +Trofimovitch, and had suddenly found favour in the governor’s house for +the way he played the piano and now was of use running errands. Liputin +was there a good deal too, and Yulia Mihailovna destined him to be the +editor of a new independent provincial paper. There were also several +ladies, married and single, and lastly, even Karmazinov who, though he +could not be said to bustle, announced aloud with a complacent air that +he would agreeably astonish every one when the literary quadrille began. +An extraordinary multitude of donors and subscribers had turned up, all +the select society of the town; but even the unselect were admitted, if +only they produced the cash. Yulia Mihailovna observed that sometimes it +was a positive duty to allow the mixing of classes, “for otherwise who +is to enlighten them?” +</p> +<p> +A private drawing-room committee was formed, at which it was decided +that the fête was to be of a democratic character. The enormous list +of subscriptions tempted them to lavish expenditure. They wanted to do +something on a marvellous scale—that’s why it was put off. They were +still undecided where the ball was to take place, whether in the immense +house belonging to the marshal’s wife, which she was willing to give up +to them for the day, or at Varvara Petrovna’s mansion at Skvoreshniki. +It was rather a distance to Skvoreshniki, but many of the committee were +of opinion that it would be “freer” there. Varvara Petrovna would dearly +have liked it to have been in her house. It’s difficult to understand +why this proud woman seemed almost making up to Yulia Mihailovna. +Probably what pleased her was that the latter in her turn seemed almost +fawning upon Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch and was more gracious to him +than to anyone. I repeat again that Pyotr Stepanovitch was always, in +continual whispers, strengthening in the governor’s household an idea he +had insinuated there already, that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was a man who +had very mysterious connections with very mysterious circles, and that +he had certainly come here with some commission from them. +</p> +<p> +People here seemed in a strange state of mind at the time. Among the +ladies especially a sort of frivolity was conspicuous, and it could +not be said to be a gradual growth. Certain very free-and-easy notions +seemed to be in the air. There was a sort of dissipated gaiety and +levity, and I can’t say it was always quite pleasant. A lax way of +thinking was the fashion. Afterwards when it was all over, people blamed +Yulia Mihailovna, her circle, her attitude. But it can hardly have +been altogether due to Yulia Mihailovna. On the contrary; at first many +people vied with one another in praising the new governor’s wife for her +success in bringing local society together, and for making things +more lively. Several scandalous incidents took place, for which Yulia +Mihailovna was in no way responsible, but at the time people were amused +and did nothing but laugh, and there was no one to check them. A rather +large group of people, it is true, held themselves aloof, and had views +of their own on the course of events. But even these made no complaint +at the time; they smiled, in fact. +</p> +<p> +I remember that a fairly large circle came into existence, as it were, +spontaneously, the centre of which perhaps was really to be found +in Yulia Mihailovna’s drawing-room. In this intimate circle which +surrounded her, among the younger members of it, of course, it was +considered admissible to play all sorts of pranks, sometimes rather +free-and-easy ones, and, in fact, such conduct became a principle among +them. In this circle there were even some very charming ladies. The +young people arranged picnics, and even parties, and sometimes went +about the town in a regular cavalcade, in carriages and on horseback. +They sought out adventures, even got them up themselves, simply for the +sake of having an amusing story to tell. They treated our town as though +it were a sort of Glupov. People called them the jeerers or sneerers, +because they did not stick at anything. It happened, for instance, that +the wife of a local lieutenant, a little brunette, very young though she +looked worn out from her husband’s ill-treatment, at an evening party +thoughtlessly sat down to play whist for high stakes in the fervent hope +of winning enough to buy herself a mantle, and instead of winning, lost +fifteen roubles. Being afraid of her husband, and having no means of +paying, she plucked up the courage of former days and ventured on the +sly to ask for a loan, on the spot, at the party, from the son of our +mayor, a very nasty youth, precociously vicious. The latter not only +refused it, but went laughing aloud to tell her husband. The lieutenant, +who certainly was poor, with nothing but his salary, took his wife home +and avenged himself upon her to his heart’s content in spite of her +shrieks, wails, and entreaties on her knees for forgiveness. This +revolting story excited nothing but mirth all over the town, and though +the poor wife did not belong to Yulia Mihailovna’s circle, one of the +ladies of the “cavalcade,” an eccentric and adventurous character who +happened to know her, drove round, and simply carried her off to her +own house. Here she was at once taken up by our madcaps, made much of, +loaded with presents, and kept for four days without being sent back to +her husband. She stayed at the adventurous lady’s all day long, drove +about with her and all the sportive company in expeditions about the +town, and took part in dances and merry-making. They kept egging her +on to haul her husband before the court and to make a scandal. They +declared that they would all support her and would come and bear +witness. The husband kept quiet, not daring to oppose them. The poor +thing realised at last that she had got into a hopeless position and, +more dead than alive with fright, on the fourth day she ran off in the +dusk from her protectors to her lieutenant. It’s not definitely known +what took place between husband and wife, but two shutters of the +low-pitched little house in which the lieutenant lodged were not opened +for a fortnight. Yulia Mihailovna was angry with the mischief-makers +when she heard about it all, and was greatly displeased with the +conduct of the adventurous lady, though the latter had presented the +lieutenant’s wife to her on the day she carried her off. However, this +was soon forgotten. +</p> +<p> +Another time a petty clerk, a respectable head of a family, married his +daughter, a beautiful girl of seventeen, known to every one in the town, +to another petty clerk, a young man who came from a different district. +But suddenly it was learned that the young husband had treated the +beauty very roughly on the wedding night, chastising her for what he +regarded as a stain on his honour. Lyamshin, who was almost a witness of +the affair, because he got drunk at the wedding and so stayed the night, +as soon as day dawned, ran round with the diverting intelligence. +</p> +<p> +Instantly a party of a dozen was made up, all of them on horseback, some +on hired Cossack horses, Pyotr Stepanovitch, for instance, and Liputin, +who, in spite of his grey hairs, took part in almost every scandalous +adventure of our reckless youngsters. When the young couple appeared in +the street in a droshky with a pair of horses to make the calls which +are obligatory in our town on the day after a wedding, in spite of +anything that may happen, the whole cavalcade, with merry laughter, +surrounded the droshky and followed them about the town all the morning. +They did not, it’s true, go into the house, but waited for them +outside, on horseback. They refrained from marked insult to the bride +or bridegroom, but still they caused a scandal. The whole town began +talking of it. Every one laughed, of course. But at this Von Lembke was +angry, and again had a lively scene with Yulia Mihailovna. She, too, was +extremely angry, and formed the intention of turning the scapegraces out +of her house. But next day she forgave them all after persuasions from +Pyotr Stepanovitch and some words from Karmazinov, who considered the +affair rather amusing. +</p> +<p> +“It’s in harmony with the traditions of the place,” he said. “Anyway +it’s characteristic and … bold; and look, every one’s laughing, you’re +the only person indignant.” +</p> +<p> +But there were pranks of a certain character that were absolutely past +endurance. +</p> +<p> +A respectable woman of the artisan class, who went about selling +gospels, came into the town. People talked about her, because some +interesting references to these gospel women had just appeared in the +Petersburg papers. Again the same buffoon, Lyamshin, with the help of a +divinity student, who was taking a holiday while waiting for a post in +the school, succeeded, on the pretence of buying books from the gospel +woman, in thrusting into her bag a whole bundle of indecent and obscene +photographs from abroad, sacrificed expressly for the purpose, as we +learned afterwards, by a highly respectable old gentleman (I will omit +his name) with an order on his breast, who, to use his own words, loved +“a healthy laugh and a merry jest.” When the poor woman went to take out +the holy books in the bazaar, the photographs were scattered about the +place. There were roars of laughter and murmurs of indignation. A crowd +collected, began abusing her, and would have come to blows if the police +had not arrived in the nick of time. The gospel woman was taken to +the lock-up, and only in the evening, thanks to the efforts of Mavriky +Nikolaevitch, who had learned with indignation the secret details of +this loathsome affair, she was released and escorted out of the town. At +this point Yulia Mihailovna would certainly have forbidden Lyamshin her +house, but that very evening the whole circle brought him to her with +the intelligence that he had just composed a new piece for the piano, +and persuaded her at least to hear it. The piece turned out to be really +amusing, and bore the comic title of “The Franco-Prussian War.” It began +with the menacing strains of the “Marseillaise”: +</p> +<p> +<i>“Qu’un sang impur abreuve nos sillons.”</i> +</p> +<p> +There is heard the pompous challenge, the intoxication of future +victories. But suddenly mingling with the masterly variations on the +national hymn, somewhere from some corner quite close, on one side come +the vulgar strains of “Mein lieber Augustin.” The “Marseillaise” goes +on unconscious of them. The “Marseillaise” is at the climax of its +intoxication with its own grandeur; but Augustin gains strength; +Augustin grows more and more insolent, and suddenly the melody of +Augustin begins to blend with the melody of the “Marseillaise.” The +latter begins, as it were, to get angry; becoming aware of Augustin +at last she tries to fling him off, to brush him aside like a tiresome +insignificant fly. But “Mein lieber Augustin” holds his ground firmly, +he is cheerful and self-confident, he is gleeful and impudent, and the +“Marseillaise” seems suddenly to become terribly stupid. She can no +longer conceal her anger and mortification; it is a wail of indignation, +tears, and curses, with hands outstretched to Providence. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Pas un pouce de notre terrain; pas une de nos forteresses.”</i> +</p> +<p> +But she is forced to sing in time with “Mein lieber Augustin.” Her +melody passes in a sort of foolish way into Augustin; she yields and +dies away. And only by snatches there is heard again: +</p> +<p> +<i>“Qu’un sang impur …”</i> +</p> +<p> +But at once it passes very offensively into the vulgar waltz. She +submits altogether. It is Jules Favre sobbing on Bismarck’s bosom +and surrendering every thing.… But at this point Augustin too grows +fierce; hoarse sounds are heard; there is a suggestion of countless +gallons of beer, of a frenzy of self-glorification, demands for +millions, for fine cigars, champagne, and hostages. Augustin passes into +a wild yell.… “The Franco-Prussian War” is over. Our circle applauded, +Yulia Mihailovna smiled, and said, “Now, how is one to turn him out?” +Peace was made. The rascal really had talent. Stepan Trofimovitch +assured me on one occasion that the very highest artistic talents may +exist in the most abominable blackguards, and that the one thing +does not interfere with the other. There was a rumour afterwards that +Lyamshin had stolen this burlesque from a talented and modest young man +of his acquaintance, whose name remained unknown. But this is beside the +mark. This worthless fellow who had hung about Stepan Trofimovitch for +years, who used at his evening parties, when invited, to mimic Jews of +various types, a deaf peasant woman making her confession, or the birth +of a child, now at Yulia Mihailovna’s caricatured Stepan Trofimovitch +himself in a killing way, under the title of “A Liberal of the +Forties.” Everybody shook with laughter, so that in the end it was +quite impossible to turn him out: he had become too necessary a person. +Besides he fawned upon Pyotr Stepanovitch in a slavish way, and he, +in his turn, had obtained by this time a strange and unaccountable +influence over Yulia Mihailovna. +</p> +<p> +I wouldn’t have talked about this scoundrel, and, indeed, he would not +be worth dwelling upon, but there was another revolting story, so people +declare, in which he had a hand, and this story I cannot omit from my +record. +</p> +<p> +One morning the news of a hideous and revolting sacrilege was all over +the town. At the entrance to our immense marketplace there stands the +ancient church of Our Lady’s Nativity, which was a remarkable antiquity +in our ancient town. At the gates of the precincts there is a large ikon +of the Mother of God fixed behind a grating in the wall. And behold, one +night the ikon had been robbed, the glass of the case was broken, the +grating was smashed and several stones and pearls (I don’t know whether +they were very precious ones) had been removed from the crown and the +setting. But what was worse, besides the theft a senseless, scoffing +sacrilege had been perpetrated. Behind the broken glass of the ikon they +found in the morning, so it was said, a live mouse. Now, four months +since, it has been established beyond doubt that the crime was committed +by the convict Fedka, but for some reason it is added that Lyamshin took +part in it. At the time no one spoke of Lyamshin or had any suspicion +of him. But now every one says it was he who put the mouse there. I +remember all our responsible officials were rather staggered. A crowd +thronged round the scene of the crime from early morning. There was a +crowd continually before it, not a very huge one, but always about a +hundred people, some coming and some going. As they approached they +crossed themselves and bowed down to the ikon. They began to give +offerings, and a church dish made its appearance, and with the dish a +monk. But it was only about three o’clock in the afternoon it occurred +to the authorities that it was possible to prohibit the crowds standing +about, and to command them when they had prayed, bowed down and left +their offerings, to pass on. Upon Von Lembke this unfortunate incident +made the gloomiest impression. As I was told, Yulia Mihailovna said +afterwards it was from this ill-omened morning that she first noticed in +her husband that strange depression which persisted in him until he +left our province on account of illness two months ago, and, I believe, +haunts him still in Switzerland, where he has gone for a rest after his +brief career amongst us. +</p> +<p> +I remember at one o’clock in the afternoon I crossed the marketplace; +the crowd was silent and their faces solemn and gloomy. A merchant, fat +and sallow, drove up, got out of his carriage, made a bow to the ground, +kissed the ikon, offered a rouble, sighing, got back into his carriage +and drove off. Another carriage drove up with two ladies accompanied +by two of our scapegraces. The young people (one of whom was not quite +young) got out of their carriage too, and squeezed their way up to the +ikon, pushing people aside rather carelessly. Neither of the young men +took off his hat, and one of them put a pince-nez on his nose. In the +crowd there was a murmur, vague but unfriendly. The dandy with the +pince-nez took out of his purse, which was stuffed full of bank-notes, +a copper farthing and flung it into the dish. Both laughed, and, talking +loudly, went back to their carriage. At that moment Lizaveta Nikolaevna +galloped up, escorted by Mavriky Nikolaevitch. She jumped off her horse, +flung the reins to her companion, who, at her bidding, remained on his +horse, and approached the ikon at the very moment when the farthing had +been flung down. A flush of indignation suffused her cheeks; she took +off her round hat and her gloves, fell straight on her knees before the +ikon on the muddy pavement, and reverently bowed down three times to the +earth. Then she took out her purse, but as it appeared she had only a +few small coins in it she instantly took off her diamond ear-rings and +put them in the dish. +</p> +<p> +“May I? May I? For the adornment of the setting?” she asked the monk. +</p> +<p> +“It is permitted,” replied the latter, “every gift is good.” The crowd +was silent, expressing neither dissent nor approval. +</p> +<p> +Liza got on her horse again, in her muddy riding-habit, and galloped +away. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +Two days after the incident I have described I met her in a numerous +company, who were driving out on some expedition in three coaches, +surrounded by others on horseback. She beckoned to me, stopped her +carriage, and pressingly urged me to join their party. A place was +found for me in the carriage, and she laughingly introduced me to her +companions, gorgeously attired ladies, and explained to me that they +were all going on a very interesting expedition. She was laughing, and +seemed somewhat excessively happy. Just lately she had been very lively, +even playful, in fact. +</p> +<p> +The expedition was certainly an eccentric one. They were all going to a +house the other side of the river, to the merchant Sevastyanov’s. In +the lodge of this merchant’s house our saint and prophet, Semyon +Yakovlevitch, who was famous not only amongst us but in the surrounding +provinces and even in Petersburg and Moscow, had been living for the +last ten years, in retirement, ease, and comfort. Every one went to see +him, especially visitors to the neighbourhood, extracting from him some +crazy utterance, bowing down to him, and leaving an offering. These +offerings were sometimes considerable, and if Semyon Yakovlevitch did +not himself assign them to some other purpose were piously sent to +some church or more often to the monastery of Our Lady. A monk from +the monastery was always in waiting upon Semyon Yakovlevitch with this +object. +</p> +<p> +All were in expectation of great amusement. No one of the party had seen +Semyon Yakovlevitch before, except Lyamshin, who declared that the saint +had given orders that he should be driven out with a broom, and had with +his own hand flung two big baked potatoes after him. Among the party I +noticed Pyotr Stepanovitch, again riding a hired Cossack horse, on which +he sat extremely badly, and Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, also on horseback. +The latter did not always hold aloof from social diversions, and on such +occasions always wore an air of gaiety, although, as always, he spoke +little and seldom. When our party had crossed the bridge and reached the +hotel of the town, someone suddenly announced that in one of the rooms +of the hotel they had just found a traveller who had shot himself, and +were expecting the police. At once the suggestion was made that they +should go and look at the suicide. The idea met with approval: our +ladies had never seen a suicide. I remember one of them said aloud on +the occasion, “Everything’s so boring, one can’t be squeamish over one’s +amusements, as long as they’re interesting.” Only a few of them remained +outside. The others went in a body into the dirty corridor, and amongst +the others I saw, to my amazement, Lizaveta Nikolaevna. The door of the +room was open, and they did not, of course, dare to prevent our going +in to look at the suicide. He was quite a young lad, not more than +nineteen. He must have been very good-looking, with thick fair hair, +with a regular oval face, and a fine, pure forehead. The body was +already stiff, and his white young face looked like marble. On the table +lay a note, in his handwriting, to the effect that no one was to blame +for his death, that he had killed himself because he had “squandered” +four hundred roubles. The word “squandered” was used in the letter; in +the four lines of his letter there were three mistakes in spelling. A +stout country gentleman, evidently a neighbour, who had been staying in +the hotel on some business of his own, was particularly distressed about +it. From his words it appeared that the boy had been sent by his family, +that is, a widowed mother, sisters, and aunts, from the country to the +town in order that, under the supervision of a female relation in the +town, he might purchase and take home with him various articles for the +trousseau of his eldest sister, who was going to be married. The family +had, with sighs of apprehension, entrusted him with the four hundred +roubles, the savings of ten years, and had sent him on his way with +exhortations, prayers, and signs of the cross. The boy had till then +been well-behaved and trustworthy. Arriving three days before at the +town, he had not gone to his relations, had put up at the hotel, and +gone straight to the club in the hope of finding in some back room a +“travelling banker,” or at least some game of cards for money. But that +evening there was no “banker” there or gambling going on. Going back +to the hotel about midnight he asked for champagne, Havana cigars, and +ordered a supper of six or seven dishes. But the champagne made him +drunk, and the cigar made him sick, so that he did not touch the food +when it was brought to him, and went to bed almost unconscious. Waking +next morning as fresh as an apple, he went at once to the gipsies’ camp, +which was in a suburb beyond the river, and of which he had heard the +day before at the club. He did not reappear at the hotel for two days. +At last, at five o’clock in the afternoon of the previous day, he had +returned drunk, had at once gone to bed, and had slept till ten o’clock +in the evening. On waking up he had asked for a cutlet, a bottle of +Chateau d’Yquem, and some grapes, paper, and ink, and his bill. No one +noticed anything special about him; he was quiet, gentle, and friendly. +He must have shot himself at about midnight, though it was strange that +no one had heard the shot, and they only raised the alarm at midday, +when, after knocking in vain, they had broken in the door. The bottle of +Chateau d’Yquem was half empty, there was half a plateful of grapes left +too. The shot had been fired from a little three-chambered revolver, +straight into the heart. Very little blood had flowed. The revolver had +dropped from his hand on to the carpet. The boy himself was half lying +in a corner of the sofa. Death must have been instantaneous. There was +no trace of the anguish of death in the face; the expression was serene, +almost happy, as though there were no cares in his life. All our party +stared at him with greedy curiosity. In every misfortune of one’s +neighbour there is always something cheering for an onlooker—whoever +he may be. Our ladies gazed in silence, their companions distinguished +themselves by their wit and their superb equanimity. One observed that +his was the best way out of it, and that the boy could not have hit upon +anything more sensible; another observed that he had had a good time if +only for a moment. A third suddenly blurted out the inquiry why people +had begun hanging and shooting themselves among us of late, as though +they had suddenly lost their roots, as though the ground were giving way +under every one’s feet. People looked coldly at this raisonneur. Then +Lyamshin, who prided himself on playing the fool, took a bunch of grapes +from the plate; another, laughing, followed his example, and a third +stretched out his hand for the Chateau d’Yquem. But the head of police +arriving checked him, and even ordered that the room should be cleared. +As every one had seen all they wanted they went out without disputing, +though Lyamshin began pestering the police captain about something. The +general merrymaking, laughter, and playful talk were twice as lively on +the latter half of the way. +</p> +<p> +We arrived at Semyon Yakovlevitch’s just at one o’clock. The gate of the +rather large house stood unfastened, and the approach to the lodge was +open. We learnt at once that Semyon Yakovlevitch was dining, but was +receiving guests. The whole crowd of us went in. The room in which the +saint dined and received visitors had three windows, and was fairly +large. It was divided into two equal parts by a wooden lattice-work +partition, which ran from wall to wall, and was three or four feet high. +Ordinary visitors remained on the outside of this partition, but lucky +ones were by the saint’s invitation admitted through the partition doors +into his half of the room. And if so disposed he made them sit down on +the sofa or on his old leather chairs. He himself invariably sat in +an old-fashioned shabby Voltaire arm-chair. He was a rather big, +bloated-looking, yellow-faced man of five and fifty, with a bald head +and scanty flaxen hair. He wore no beard; his right cheek was swollen, +and his mouth seemed somehow twisted awry. He had a large wart on +the left side of his nose; narrow eyes, and a calm, stolid, sleepy +expression. He was dressed in European style, in a black coat, but had +no waistcoat or tie. A rather coarse, but white shirt, peeped out below +his coat. There was something the matter with his feet, I believe, and +he kept them in slippers. I’ve heard that he had at one time been a +clerk, and received a rank in the service. He had just finished some +fish soup, and was beginning his second dish of potatoes in their skins, +eaten with salt. He never ate anything else, but he drank a great +deal of tea, of which he was very fond. Three servants provided by +the merchant were running to and fro about him. One of them was in a +swallow-tail, the second looked like a workman, and the third like +a verger. There was also a very lively boy of sixteen. Besides the +servants there was present, holding a jug, a reverend, grey-headed +monk, who was a little too fat. On one of the tables a huge samovar was +boiling, and a tray with almost two dozen glasses was standing near it. +On another table opposite offerings had been placed: some loaves and +also some pounds of sugar, two pounds of tea, a pair of embroidered +slippers, a foulard handkerchief, a length of cloth, a piece of linen, +and so on. Money offerings almost all went into the monk’s jug. The room +was full of people, at least a dozen visitors, of whom two were sitting +with Semyon Yakovlevitch on the other side of the partition. One was a +grey-headed old pilgrim of the peasant class, and the other a little, +dried-up monk, who sat demurely, with his eyes cast down. The other +visitors were all standing on the near side of the partition, and +were mostly, too, of the peasant class, except one elderly and +poverty-stricken lady, one landowner, and a stout merchant, who had come +from the district town, a man with a big beard, dressed in the Russian +style, though he was known to be worth a hundred thousand. +</p> +<p> +All were waiting for their chance, not daring to speak of themselves. +Four were on their knees, but the one who attracted most attention +was the landowner, a stout man of forty-five, kneeling right at the +partition, more conspicuous than any one, waiting reverently for a +propitious word or look from Semyon Yakovlevitch. He had been there for +about an hour already, but the saint still did not notice him. +</p> +<p> +Our ladies crowded right up to the partition, whispering gaily and +laughingly together. They pushed aside or got in front of all the other +visitors, even those on their knees, except the landowner, who remained +obstinately in his prominent position even holding on to the +partition. Merry and greedily inquisitive eyes were turned upon Semyon +Yakovlevitch, as well as lorgnettes, pince-nez, and even opera-glasses. +Lyamshin, at any rate, looked through an opera-glass. Semyon +Yakovlevitch calmly and lazily scanned all with his little eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Milovzors! Milovzors!” he deigned to pronounce, in a hoarse bass, and +slightly staccato. +</p> +<p> +All our party laughed: “What’s the meaning of ‘Milovzors’?” But Semyon +Yakovlevitch relapsed into silence, and finished his potatoes. Presently +he wiped his lips with his napkin, and they handed him tea. +</p> +<p> +As a rule, he did not take tea alone, but poured out some for his +visitors, but by no means for all, usually pointing himself to those +he wished to honour. And his choice always surprised people by its +unexpectedness. Passing by the wealthy and the high-placed, he sometimes +pitched upon a peasant or some decrepit old woman. Another time he +would pass over the beggars to honour some fat wealthy merchant. Tea was +served differently, too, to different people, sugar was put into some of +the glasses and handed separately with others, while some got it without +any sugar at all. This time the favoured one was the monk sitting by +him, who had sugar put in; and the old pilgrim, to whom it was given +without any sugar. The fat monk with the jug, from the monastery, for +some reason had none handed to him at all, though up till then he had +had his glass every day. +</p> +<p> +“Semyon Yakovlevitch, do say something to me. I’ve been longing to make +your acquaintance for ever so long,” carolled the gorgeously dressed +lady from our carriage, screwing up her eyes and smiling. She was +the lady who had observed that one must not be squeamish about one’s +amusements, so long as they were interesting. Semyon Yakovlevitch did +not even look at her. The kneeling landowner uttered a deep, sonorous +sigh, like the sound of a big pair of bellows. +</p> +<p> +“With sugar in it!” said Semyon Yakovlevitch suddenly, pointing to the +wealthy merchant. The latter moved forward and stood beside the kneeling +gentleman. +</p> +<p> +“Some more sugar for him!” ordered Semyon Yakovlevitch, after the glass +had already been poured out. They put some more in. “More, more, for +him!” More was put in a third time, and again a fourth. The merchant +began submissively drinking his syrup. +</p> +<p> +“Heavens!” whispered the people, crossing themselves. The kneeling +gentleman again heaved a deep, sonorous sigh. +</p> +<p> +“Father! Semyon Yakovlevitch!” The voice of the poor lady rang out all +at once plaintively, though so sharply that it was startling. Our party +had shoved her back to the wall. “A whole hour, dear father, I’ve been +waiting for grace. Speak to me. Consider my case in my helplessness.” +</p> +<p> +“Ask her,” said Semyon Yakovlevitch to the verger, who went to the +partition. +</p> +<p> +“Have you done what Semyon Yakovlevitch bade you last time?” he asked +the widow in a soft and measured voice. +</p> +<p> +“Done it! Father Semyon Yakovlevitch. How can one do it with them?” +wailed the widow. “They’re cannibals; they’re lodging a complaint +against me, in the court; they threaten to take it to the senate. That’s +how they treat their own mother!” +</p> +<p> +“Give her!” Semyon Yakovlevitch pointed to a sugar-loaf. The boy skipped +up, seized the sugar-loaf and dragged it to the widow. +</p> +<p> +“Ach, father; great is your merciful kindness. What am I to do with so +much?” wailed the widow. +</p> +<p> +“More, more,” said Semyon Yakovlevitch lavishly. +</p> +<p> +They dragged her another sugar-loaf. “More, more!” the saint commanded. +They took her a third, and finally a fourth. The widow was surrounded +with sugar on all sides. The monk from the monastery sighed; all this +might have gone to the monastery that day as it had done on former +occasions. +</p> +<p> +“What am I to do with so much,” the widow sighed obsequiously. “It’s +enough to make one person sick!… Is it some sort of a prophecy, +father?” +</p> +<p> +“Be sure it’s by way of a prophecy,” said someone in the crowd. +</p> +<p> +“Another pound for her, another!” Semyon Yakovlevitch persisted. +</p> +<p> +There was a whole sugar-loaf still on the table, but the saint ordered a +pound to be given, and they gave her a pound. +</p> +<p> +“Lord have mercy on us!” gasped the people, crossing themselves. “It’s +surely a prophecy.” +</p> +<p> +“Sweeten your heart for the future with mercy and loving kindness, and +then come to make complaints against your own children; bone of your +bone. That’s what we must take this emblem to mean,” the stout monk +from the monastery, who had had no tea given to him, said softly but +self-complacently, taking upon himself the rôle of interpreter in an +access of wounded vanity. +</p> +<p> +“What are you saying, father?” cried the widow, suddenly infuriated. +“Why, they dragged me into the fire with a rope round me when the +Verhishins’ house was burnt, and they locked up a dead cat in my chest. +They are ready to do any villainy.…” +</p> +<p> +“Away with her! Away with her!” Semyon Yakovlevitch said suddenly, +waving his hands. +</p> +<p> +The verger and the boy dashed through the partition. The verger took the +widow by the arm, and without resisting she trailed to the door, keeping +her eyes fixed on the loaves of sugar that had been bestowed on her, +which the boy dragged after her. +</p> +<p> +“One to be taken away. Take it away,” Semyon Yakovlevitch commanded to +the servant like a workman, who remained with him. The latter rushed +after the retreating woman, and the three servants returned somewhat +later bringing back one loaf of sugar which had been presented to the +widow and now taken away from her. She carried off three, however. +</p> +<p> +“Semyon Yakovlevitch,” said a voice at the door. “I dreamt of a bird, a +jackdaw; it flew out of the water and flew into the fire. What does the +dream mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Frost,” Semyon Yakovlevitch pronounced. +</p> +<p> +“Semyon Yakovlevitch, why don’t you answer me all this time? I’ve been +interested in you ever so long,” the lady of our party began again. +</p> +<p> +“Ask him!” said Semyon Yakovlevitch, not heeding her, but pointing to +the kneeling gentleman. +</p> +<p> +The monk from the monastery to whom the order was given moved sedately +to the kneeling figure. +</p> +<p> +“How have you sinned? And was not some command laid upon you?” +</p> +<p> +“Not to fight; not to give the rein to my hands,” answered the kneeling +gentleman hoarsely. +</p> +<p> +“Have you obeyed?” asked the monk. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot obey. My own strength gets the better of me.” +</p> +<p> +“Away with him, away with him! With a broom, with a broom!” cried Semyon +Yakovlevitch, waving his hands. The gentleman rushed out of the room +without waiting for this penalty. +</p> +<p> +“He’s left a gold piece where he knelt,” observed the monk, picking up a +half-imperial. +</p> +<p> +“For him!” said the saint, pointing to the rich merchant. The latter +dared not refuse it, and took it. +</p> +<p> +“Gold to gold,” the monk from the monastery could not refrain from +saying. +</p> +<p> +“And give him some with sugar in it,” said the saint, pointing to +Mavriky Nikolaevitch. The servant poured out the tea and took it by +mistake to the dandy with the pince-nez. +</p> +<p> +“The long one, the long one!” Semyon Yakovlevitch corrected him. +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch took the glass, made a military half-bow, and began +drinking it. I don’t know why, but all our party burst into peals of +laughter. +</p> +<p> +“Mavriky Nikolaevitch,” cried Liza, addressing him suddenly. “That +kneeling gentleman has gone away. You kneel down in his place.” +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch looked at her in amazement. +</p> +<p> +“I beg you to. You’ll do me the greatest favour. Listen, Mavriky +Nikolaevitch,” she went on, speaking in an emphatic, obstinate, excited, +and rapid voice. “You must kneel down; I must see you kneel down. If you +won’t, don’t come near me. I insist, I insist!” +</p> +<p> +I don’t know what she meant by it; but she insisted upon it +relentlessly, as though she were in a fit. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, as +we shall see later, set down these capricious impulses, which had been +particularly frequent of late, to outbreaks of blind hatred for him, +not due to spite, for, on the contrary, she esteemed him, loved him, +and respected him, and he knew that himself—but from a peculiar +unconscious hatred which at times she could not control. +</p> +<p> +In silence he gave his cup to an old woman standing behind him, opened +the door of the partition, and, without being invited, stepped into +Semyon Yakovlevitch’s private apartment, and knelt down in the middle +of the room in sight of all. I imagine that he was deeply shocked in his +candid and delicate heart by Liza’s coarse and mocking freak before +the whole company. Perhaps he imagined that she would feel ashamed of +herself, seeing his humiliation, on which she had so insisted. Of course +no one but he would have dreamt of bringing a woman to reason by +so naïve and risky a proceeding. He remained kneeling with his +imperturbable gravity—long, tall, awkward, and ridiculous. But our +party did not laugh. The unexpectedness of the action produced a painful +shock. Every one looked at Liza. +</p> +<p> +“Anoint, anoint!” muttered Semyon Yakovlevitch. +</p> +<p> +Liza suddenly turned white, cried out, and rushed through the partition. +Then a rapid and hysterical scene followed. She began pulling Mavriky +Nikolaevitch up with all her might, tugging at his elbows with both +hands. +</p> +<p> +“Get up! Get up!” she screamed, as though she were crazy. “Get up at +once, at once. How dare you?” +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch got up from his knees. She clutched his arms above +the elbow and looked intently into his face. There was terror in her +expression. +</p> +<p> +“Milovzors! Milovzors!” Semyon Yakovlevitch repeated again. +</p> +<p> +She dragged Mavriky Nikolaevitch back to the other part of the room at +last. There was some commotion in all our company. The lady from our +carriage, probably intending to relieve the situation, loudly and +shrilly asked the saint for the third time, with an affected smile: +</p> +<p> +“Well, Semyon Yakovlevitch, won’t you utter some saying for me? I’ve +been reckoning so much on you.” +</p> +<p> +“Out with the ——, out with the ——,” said Semyon Yakovlevitch, suddenly +addressing her, with an extremely indecent word. The words were uttered +savagely, and with horrifying distinctness. Our ladies shrieked, and +rushed headlong away, while the gentlemen escorting them burst into +Homeric laughter. So ended our visit to Semyon Yakovlevitch. +</p> +<p> +At this point, however, there took place, I am told, an extremely +enigmatic incident, and, I must own, it was chiefly on account of it +that I have described this expedition so minutely. +</p> +<p> +I am told that when all flocked out, Liza, supported by Mavriky +Nikolaevitch, was jostled against Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch in the crush +in the doorway. I must mention that since that Sunday morning when she +fainted they had not approached each other, nor exchanged a word, though +they had met more than once. I saw them brought together in the doorway. +I fancied they both stood still for an instant, and looked, as it were, +strangely at one another, but I may not have seen rightly in the +crowd. It is asserted, on the contrary, and quite seriously, that Liza, +glancing at Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, quickly raised her hand to the +level of his face, and would certainly have struck him if he had not +drawn back in time. Perhaps she was displeased with the expression of +his face, or the way he smiled, particularly just after such an episode +with Mavriky Nikolaevitch. I must admit I saw nothing myself, but all +the others declared they had, though they certainly could not all have +seen it in such a crush, though perhaps some may have. But I did +not believe it at the time. I remember, however, that Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch was rather pale all the way home. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +Almost at the same time, and certainly on the same day, the interview +at last took place between Stepan Trofimovitch and Varvara Petrovna. She +had long had this meeting in her mind, and had sent word about it to +her former friend, but for some reason she had kept putting it off till +then. It took place at Skvoreshniki; Varvara Petrovna arrived at her +country house all in a bustle; it had been definitely decided the +evening before that the fête was to take place at the marshal’s, but +Varvara Petrovna’s rapid brain at once grasped that no one could +prevent her from afterwards giving her own special entertainment at +Skvoreshniki, and again assembling the whole town. Then every one could +see for themselves whose house was best, and in which more taste was +displayed in receiving guests and giving a ball. Altogether she was +hardly to be recognised. She seemed completely transformed, and instead +of the unapproachable “noble lady” (Stepan Trofimovitch’s expression) +seemed changed into the most commonplace, whimsical society woman. But +perhaps this may only have been on the surface. +</p> +<p> +When she reached the empty house she had gone through all the rooms, +accompanied by her faithful old butler, Alexey Yegorytch, and by +Fomushka, a man who had seen much of life and was a specialist in +decoration. They began to consult and deliberate: what furniture was to +be brought from the town house, what things, what pictures, where they +were to be put, how the conservatories and flowers could be put to +the best use, where to put new curtains, where to have the refreshment +rooms, whether one or two, and so on and so on. And, behold, in the +midst of this exciting bustle she suddenly took it into her head to send +for Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +The latter had long before received notice of this interview and was +prepared for it, and he had every day been expecting just such a sudden +summons. As he got into the carriage he crossed himself: his fate was +being decided. He found his friend in the big drawing-room on the little +sofa in the recess, before a little marble table with a pencil and paper +in her hands. Fomushka, with a yard measure, was measuring the height +of the galleries and the windows, while Varvara Petrovna herself was +writing down the numbers and making notes on the margin. She nodded in +Stepan Trofimovitch’s direction without breaking off from what she was +doing, and when the latter muttered some sort of greeting, she hurriedly +gave him her hand, and without looking at him motioned him to a seat +beside her. +</p> +<p> +“I sat waiting for five minutes, ‘mastering my heart,’” he told me +afterwards. “I saw before me not the woman whom I had known for twenty +years. An absolute conviction that all was over gave me a strength which +astounded even her. I swear that she was surprised at my stoicism in +that last hour.” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna suddenly put down her pencil on the table and turned +quickly to Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch, we have to talk of business. I’m sure you have +prepared all your fervent words and various phrases, but we’d better go +straight to the point, hadn’t we?” +</p> +<p> +She had been in too great a hurry to show the tone she meant to take. +And what might not come next? +</p> +<p> +“Wait, be quiet; let me speak. Afterwards you shall, though really I +don’t know what you can answer me,” she said in a rapid patter. “The +twelve hundred roubles of your pension I consider a sacred obligation +to pay you as long as you live. Though why a sacred obligation, simply +a contract; that would be a great deal more real, wouldn’t it? If you +like, we’ll write it out. Special arrangements have been made in case +of my death. But you are receiving from me at present lodging, servants, +and your maintenance in addition. Reckoning that in money it would +amount to fifteen hundred roubles, wouldn’t it? I will add another three +hundred roubles, making three thousand roubles in all. Will that be +enough a year for you? I think that’s not too little? In any extreme +emergency I would add something more. And so, take your money, send me +back my servants, and live by yourself where you like in Petersburg, in +Moscow, abroad, or here, only not with me. Do you hear?” +</p> +<p> +“Only lately those lips dictated to me as imperatively and as suddenly +very different demands,” said Stepan Trofimovitch slowly and with +sorrowful distinctness. “I submitted … and danced the Cossack dance +to please you. <i>Oui, la comparaison peut être permise. C’était comme un +petit Cosaque du Don qui sautait sur sa propre tombe.</i> Now …” +</p> +<p> +“Stop, Stepan Trofimovitch, you are horribly long-winded. You didn’t +dance, but came to see me in a new tie, new linen, gloves, scented +and pomatumed. I assure you that you were very anxious to get married +yourself; it was written on your face, and I assure you a most unseemly +expression it was. If I did not mention it to you at the time, it was +simply out of delicacy. But you wished it, you wanted to be married, in +spite of the abominable things you wrote about me and your betrothed. +Now it’s very different. And what has the Cosaque du Don to do with it, +and what tomb do you mean? I don’t understand the comparison. On the +contrary, you have only to live. Live as long as you can. I shall be +delighted.” +</p> +<p> +“In an almshouse?” +</p> +<p> +“In an almshouse? People don’t go into almshouses with three thousand +roubles a year. Ah, I remember,” she laughed. “Pyotr Stepanovitch +did joke about an almshouse once. Bah, there certainly is a special +almshouse, which is worth considering. It’s for persons who are highly +respectable; there are colonels there, and there’s positively one +general who wants to get into it. If you went into it with all your +money, you would find peace, comfort, servants to wait on you. There you +could occupy yourself with study, and could always make up a party for +cards.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Passons.”</i> +</p> +<p> +<i>“Passons?”</i> Varvara Petrovna winced. “But, if so, that’s all. You’ve been +informed that we shall live henceforward entirely apart.” +</p> +<p> +“And that’s all?” he said. “All that’s left of twenty years? Our last +farewell?” +</p> +<p> +“You’re awfully fond of these exclamations, Stepan Trofimovitch. It’s +not at all the fashion. Nowadays people talk roughly but simply. You +keep harping on our twenty years! Twenty years of mutual vanity, and +nothing more. Every letter you’ve written me was written not for me but +for posterity. You’re a stylist, and not a friend, and friendship is +only a splendid word. In reality—a mutual exchange of sloppiness.…” +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens! How many sayings not your own! Lessons learned by heart! +They’ve already put their uniform on you too. You, too, are rejoicing; +you, too, are basking in the sunshine. <i>Chère, chère,</i> for what a mess of +pottage you have sold them your freedom!” +</p> +<p> +“I’m not a parrot, to repeat other people’s phrases!” cried Varvara +Petrovna, boiling over. “You may be sure I have stored up many sayings +of my own. What have you been doing for me all these twenty years? You +refused me even the books I ordered for you, though, except for the +binder, they would have remained uncut. What did you give me to read +when I asked you during those first years to be my guide? Always Kapfig, +and nothing but Kapfig. You were jealous of my culture even, and took +measures. And all the while every one’s laughing at you. I must confess +I always considered you only as a critic. You are a literary critic and +nothing more. When on the way to Petersburg I told you that I meant +to found a journal and to devote my whole life to it, you looked at me +ironically at once, and suddenly became horribly supercilious.” +</p> +<p> +“That was not that, not that.… we were afraid then of +persecution.…” +</p> +<p> +“It was just that. And you couldn’t have been afraid of persecution in +Petersburg at that time. Do you remember that in February, too, when the +news of the emancipation came, you ran to me in a panic, and demanded +that I should at once give you a written statement that the proposed +magazine had nothing to do with you; that the young people had been +coming to see me and not you; that you were only a tutor who lived in +the house, only because he had not yet received his salary. Isn’t that +so? Do remember that? You have distinguished yourself all your life, +Stepan Trofimovitch.” +</p> +<p> +“That was only a moment of weakness, a moment when we were alone,” he +exclaimed mournfully. “But is it possible, is it possible, to break +off everything for the sake of such petty impressions? Can it be that +nothing more has been left between us after those long years?” +</p> +<p> +“You are horribly calculating; you keep trying to leave me in your debt. +When you came back from abroad you looked down upon me and wouldn’t +let me utter a word, but when I came back myself and talked to you +afterwards of my impressions of the Madonna, you wouldn’t hear me, +you began smiling condescendingly into your cravat, as though I were +incapable of the same feelings as you.” +</p> +<p> +“It was not so. It was probably not so. <i>J’ai oublié!</i>” +</p> +<p> +“No; it was so,” she answered, “and, what’s more, you’ve nothing to +pride yourself on. That’s all nonsense, and one of your fancies. Now, +there’s no one, absolutely no one, in ecstasies over the Madonna; no +one wastes time over it except old men who are hopelessly out of date. +That’s established.” +</p> +<p> +“Established, is it?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s of no use whatever. This jug’s of use because one can pour water +into it. This pencil’s of use because you can write anything with it. +But that woman’s face is inferior to any face in nature. Try drawing +an apple, and put a real apple beside it. Which would you take? You +wouldn’t make a mistake, I’m sure. This is what all our theories amount +to, now that the first light of free investigation has dawned upon +them.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, indeed.” +</p> +<p> +“You laugh ironically. And what used you to say to me about charity? +Yet the enjoyment derived from charity is a haughty and immoral +enjoyment. The rich man’s enjoyment in his wealth, his power, and in the +comparison of his importance with the poor. Charity corrupts giver and +taker alike; and, what’s more, does not attain its object, as it +only increases poverty. Fathers who don’t want to work crowd round the +charitable like gamblers round the gambling-table, hoping for gain, +while the pitiful farthings that are flung them are a hundred times too +little. Have you given away much in your life? Less than a rouble, if +you try and think. Try to remember when last you gave away anything; +it’ll be two years ago, maybe four. You make an outcry and only hinder +things. Charity ought to be forbidden by law, even in the present state +of society. In the new regime there will be no poor at all.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, what an eruption of borrowed phrases! So it’s come to the new +regime already? Unhappy woman, God help you!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; it has, Stepan Trofimovitch. You carefully concealed all these new +ideas from me, though every one’s familiar with them nowadays. And you +did it simply out of jealousy, so as to have power over me. So that now +even that Yulia is a hundred miles ahead of me. But now my eyes have +been opened. I have defended you, Stepan Trofimovitch, all I could, but +there is no one who does not blame you.” +</p> +<p> +“Enough!” said he, getting up from his seat. “Enough! And what can I +wish you now, unless it’s repentance?” +</p> +<p> +“Sit still a minute, Stepan Trofimovitch. I have another question to ask +you. You’ve been told of the invitation to read at the literary matinée. +It was arranged through me. Tell me what you’re going to read?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, about that very Queen of Queens, that ideal of humanity, the +Sistine Madonna, who to your thinking is inferior to a glass or a +pencil.” +</p> +<p> +“So you’re not taking something historical?’” said Varvara Petrovna +in mournful surprise. “But they won’t listen to you. You’ve got that +Madonna on your brain. You seem bent on putting every one to sleep! Let +me assure you, Stepan Trofimovitch, I am speaking entirely in your own +interest. It would be a different matter if you would take some short +but interesting story of mediæval court life from Spanish history, or, +better still, some anecdote, and pad it out with other anecdotes and +witty phrases of your own. There were magnificent courts then; ladies, +you know, poisonings. Karmazinov says it would be strange if you +couldn’t read something interesting from Spanish history.” +</p> +<p> +“Karmazinov—that fool who has written himself out—looking for a +subject for me!” +</p> +<p> +“Karmazinov, that almost imperial intellect. You are too free in your +language, Stepan Trofimovitch.” +</p> +<p> +“Your Karmazinov is a spiteful old woman whose day is over. <i>Chère, +chère,</i> how long have you been so enslaved by them? Oh God!” +</p> +<p> +“I can’t endure him even now for the airs he gives himself. But I do +justice to his intellect. I repeat, I have done my best to defend you +as far as I could. And why do you insist on being absurd and tedious? +On the contrary, come on to the platform with a dignified smile as +the representative of the last generation, and tell them two or three +anecdotes in your witty way, as only you can tell things sometimes. +Though you may be an old man now, though you may belong to a past age, +though you may have dropped behind them, in fact, yet you’ll recognise +it yourself, with a smile, in your preface, and all will see that you’re +an amiable, good-natured, witty relic … in brief, a man of the old +savour, and so far advanced as to be capable of appreciating at their +value all the absurdities of certain ideas which you have hitherto +followed. Come, as a favour to me, I beg you.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Chère,</i> enough. Don’t ask me. I can’t. I shall speak of the Madonna, +but I shall raise a storm that will either crush them all or shatter me +alone.” +</p> +<p> +“It will certainly be you alone, Stepan Trofimovitch.” +</p> +<p> +“Such is my fate. I will speak of the contemptible slave, of the +stinking, depraved flunkey who will first climb a ladder with scissors +in his hands, and slash to pieces the divine image of the great ideal, +in the name of equality, envy, and … digestion. Let my curse thunder +out upon them, and then—then …” +</p> +<p> +“The madhouse?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps. But in any case, whether I shall be left vanquished or +victorious, that very evening I shall take my bag, my beggar’s bag. +I shall leave all my goods and chattels, all your presents, all your +pensions and promises of future benefits, and go forth on foot to end my +life a tutor in a merchant’s family or to die somewhere of hunger in a +ditch. I have said it. <i>Alea jacta est.</i>” He got up again. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve been convinced for years,” said Varvara Petrovna, getting up with +flashing eyes, “that your only object in life is to put me and my house +to shame by your calumnies! What do you mean by being a tutor in a +merchant’s family or dying in a ditch? It’s spite, calumny, and nothing +more.” +</p> +<p> +“You have always despised me. But I will end like a knight, faithful to +my lady. Your good opinion has always been dearer to me than +anything. From this moment I will take nothing, but will worship you +disinterestedly.” +</p> +<p> +“How stupid that is!” +</p> +<p> +“You have never respected me. I may have had a mass of weaknesses. Yes, +I have sponged on you. I speak the language of nihilism, but sponging +has never been the guiding motive of my action. It has happened so +of itself. I don’t know how.… I always imagined there was something +higher than meat and drink between us, and—I’ve never, never been a +scoundrel! And so, to take the open road, to set things right. I set +off late, late autumn out of doors, the mist lies over the fields, the +hoarfrost of old age covers the road before me, and the wind howls about +the approaching grave.… But so forward, forward, on my new way +</p> +<pre> + ‘Filled with purest love and fervour, + Faith which my sweet dream did yield.’ +</pre> +<p> +Oh, my dreams. Farewell. Twenty years. <i>Alea jacta est!</i>” +</p> +<p> +His face was wet with a sudden gush of tears. He took his hat. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t understand Latin,” said Varvara Petrovna, doing her best to +control herself. +</p> +<p> +Who knows, perhaps, she too felt like crying. But caprice and +indignation once more got the upper hand. +</p> +<p> +“I know only one thing, that all this is childish nonsense. You will +never be capable of carrying out your threats, which are a mass of +egoism. You will set off nowhere, to no merchant; you’ll end very +peaceably on my hands, taking your pension, and receiving your utterly +impossible friends on Tuesdays. Good-bye, Stepan Trofimovitch.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Alea jacta est!”</i> He made her a deep bow, and returned home, almost +dead with emotion. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0011"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER VI. PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +The date of the fête was definitely fixed, and Von Lembke became more +and more depressed. He was full of strange and sinister forebodings, +and this made Yulia Mihailovna seriously uneasy. Indeed, things were not +altogether satisfactory. Our mild governor had left the affairs of the +province a little out of gear; at the moment we were threatened with +cholera; serious outbreaks of cattle plague had appeared in several +places; fires were prevalent that summer in towns and villages; whilst +among the peasantry foolish rumours of incendiarism grew stronger and +stronger. Cases of robbery were twice as numerous as usual. But all +this, of course, would have been perfectly ordinary had there been +no other and more weighty reasons to disturb the equanimity of Andrey +Antonovitch, who had till then been in good spirits. +</p> +<p> +What struck Yulia Mihailovna most of all was that he became more silent +and, strange to say, more secretive every day. Yet it was hard to +imagine what he had to hide. It is true that he rarely opposed her and +as a rule followed her lead without question. At her instigation, for +instance, two or three regulations of a risky and hardly legal character +were introduced with the object of strengthening the authority of the +governor. There were several ominous instances of transgressions being +condoned with the same end in view; persons who deserved to be sent to +prison and Siberia were, solely because she insisted, recommended +for promotion. Certain complaints and inquiries were deliberately and +systematically ignored. All this came out later on. Not only did Lembke +sign everything, but he did not even go into the question of the share +taken by his wife in the execution of his duties. On the other hand, he +began at times to be restive about “the most trifling matters,” to the +surprise of Yulia Mihailovna. No doubt he felt the need to make up for +the days of suppression by brief moments of mutiny. Unluckily, +Yulia Mihailovna was unable, for all her insight, to understand this +honourable punctiliousness in an honourable character. Alas, she had +no thought to spare for that, and that was the source of many +misunderstandings. +</p> +<p> +There are some things of which it is not suitable for me to write, and +indeed I am not in a position to do so. It is not my business to discuss +the blunders of administration either, and I prefer to leave out this +administrative aspect of the subject altogether. In the chronicle I have +begun I’ve set before myself a different task. Moreover a great deal +will be brought to light by the Commission of Inquiry which has just +been appointed for our province; it’s only a matter of waiting a little. +Certain explanations, however, cannot be omitted. +</p> +<p> +But to return to Yulia Mihailovna. The poor lady (I feel very sorry for +her) might have attained all that attracted and allured her (renown and +so on) without any such violent and eccentric actions as she resolved +upon at the very first step. But either from an exaggerated passion for +the romantic or from the frequently blighted hopes of her youth, she +felt suddenly, at the change of her fortunes, that she had become one of +the specially elect, almost God’s anointed, “over whom there gleamed a +burning tongue of fire,” and this tongue of flame was the root of the +mischief, for, after all, it is not like a chignon, which will fit any +woman’s head. But there is nothing of which it is more difficult to +convince a woman than of this; on the contrary, anyone who cares to +encourage the delusion in her will always be sure to meet with success. +And people vied with one another in encouraging the delusion in Yulia +Mihailovna. The poor woman became at once the sport of conflicting +influences, while fully persuaded of her own originality. Many clever +people feathered their nests and took advantage of her simplicity during +the brief period of her rule in the province. And what a jumble there +was under this assumption of independence! She was fascinated at the +same time by the aristocratic element and the system of big landed +properties and the increase of the governor’s power, and the democratic +element, and the new reforms and discipline, and free-thinking and stray +Socialistic notions, and the correct tone of the aristocratic salon and +the free-and-easy, almost pot-house, manners of the young people that +surrounded her. She dreamed of “giving happiness” and reconciling +the irreconcilable, or, rather, of uniting all and everything in +the adoration of her own person. She had favourites too; she was +particularly fond of Pyotr Stepanovitch, who had recourse at times to +the grossest flattery in dealing with her. But she was attracted by him +for another reason, an amazing one, and most characteristic of the +poor lady: she was always hoping that he would reveal to her a regular +conspiracy against the government. Difficult as it is to imagine such +a thing, it really was the case. She fancied for some reason that there +must be a nihilist plot concealed in the province. By his silence at one +time and his hints at another Pyotr Stepanovitch did much to strengthen +this strange idea in her. She imagined that he was in communication with +every revolutionary element in Russia but at the same time passionately +devoted to her. To discover the plot, to receive the gratitude of the +government, to enter on a brilliant career, to influence the young “by +kindness,” and to restrain them from extremes—all these dreams existed +side by side in her fantastic brain. She had saved Pyotr Stepanovitch, +she had conquered him (of this she was for some reason firmly +convinced); she would save others. None, none of them should perish, +she should save them all; she would pick them out; she would send in +the right report of them; she would act in the interests of the loftiest +justice, and perhaps posterity and Russian liberalism would bless her +name; yet the conspiracy would be discovered. Every advantage at once. +</p> +<p> +Still it was essential that Andrey Antonovitch should be in rather +better spirits before the festival. He must be cheered up and reassured. +For this purpose she sent Pyotr Stepanovitch to him in the hope that he +would relieve his depression by some means of consolation best known +to himself, perhaps by giving him some information, so to speak, first +hand. She put implicit faith in his dexterity. +</p> +<p> +It was some time since Pyotr Stepanovitch had been in Mr. von Lembke’s +study. He popped in on him just when the sufferer was in a most stubborn +mood. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +A combination of circumstances had arisen which Mr. von Lembke was quite +unable to deal with. In the very district where Pyotr Stepanovitch had +been having a festive time a sub-lieutenant had been called up to be +censured by his immediate superior, and the reproof was given in the +presence of the whole company. The sub-lieutenant was a young man fresh +from Petersburg, always silent and morose, of dignified appearance +though small, stout, and rosy-cheeked. He resented the reprimand and +suddenly, with a startling shriek that astonished the whole company, +he charged at his superior officer with his head bent down like a wild +beast’s, struck him, and bit him on the shoulder with all his might; +they had difficulty in getting him off. There was no doubt that he had +gone out of his mind; anyway, it became known that of late he had been +observed performing incredibly strange actions. He had, for instance, +flung two ikons belonging to his landlady out of his lodgings and +smashed up one of them with an axe; in his own room he had, on three +stands resembling lecterns, laid out the works of Vogt, Moleschott, and +Buchner, and before each lectern he used to burn a church wax-candle. +From the number of books found in his rooms it could be gathered that +he was a well-read man. If he had had fifty thousand francs he would +perhaps have sailed to the island of Marquisas like the “cadet” to whom +Herzen alludes with such sprightly humour in one of his writings. When +he was seized, whole bundles of the most desperate manifestoes were +found in his pockets and his lodgings. +</p> +<p> +Manifestoes are a trivial matter too, and to my thinking not worth +troubling about. We have seen plenty of them. Besides, they were not +new manifestoes; they were, it was said later, just the same as had been +circulated in the X province, and Liputin, who had travelled in that +district and the neighbouring province six weeks previously, declared +that he had seen exactly the same leaflets there then. But what struck +Andrey Antonovitch most was that the overseer of Shpigulin’s factory had +brought the police just at the same time two or three packets of exactly +the same leaflets as had been found on the lieutenant. The bundles, +which had been dropped in the factory in the night, had not been opened, +and none of the factory-hands had had time to read one of them. The +incident was a trivial one, but it set Andrey Antonovitch pondering +deeply. The position presented itself to him in an unpleasantly +complicated light. +</p> +<p> +In this factory the famous “Shpigulin scandal” was just then brewing, +which made so much talk among us and got into the Petersburg and Moscow +papers with all sorts of variations. Three weeks previously one of the +hands had fallen ill and died of Asiatic cholera; then several others +were stricken down. The whole town was in a panic, for the cholera was +coming nearer and nearer and had reached the neighbouring province. +I may observe that satisfactory sanitary measures had been, so far as +possible, taken to meet the unexpected guest. But the factory belonging +to the Shpigulins, who were millionaires and well-connected people, had +somehow been overlooked. And there was a sudden outcry from every one +that this factory was the hot-bed of infection, that the factory +itself, and especially the quarters inhabited by the workpeople, were +so inveterately filthy that even if cholera had not been in the +neighbourhood there might well have been an outbreak there. Steps were +immediately taken, of course, and Andrey Antonovitch vigorously insisted +on their being carried out without delay within three weeks. The factory +was cleansed, but the Shpigulins, for some unknown reason, closed it. +One of the Shpigulin brothers always lived in Petersburg and the other +went away to Moscow when the order was given for cleansing the factory. +The overseer proceeded to pay off the workpeople and, as it appeared, +cheated them shamelessly. The hands began to complain among themselves, +asking to be paid fairly, and foolishly went to the police, though +without much disturbance, for they were not so very much excited. It +was just at this moment that the manifestoes were brought to Andrey +Antonovitch by the overseer. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch popped into the study unannounced, like an intimate +friend and one of the family; besides, he had a message from Yulia +Mihailovna. Seeing him, Lembke frowned grimly and stood still at the +table without welcoming him. Till that moment he had been pacing up and +down the study and had been discussing something <i>tête-à-tête</i> with his +clerk Blum, a very clumsy and surly German whom he had brought with him +from Petersburg, in spite of the violent opposition of Yulia Mihailovna. +On Pyotr Stepanovitch’s entrance the clerk had moved to the door, but +had not gone out. Pyotr Stepanovitch even fancied that he exchanged +significant glances with his chief. +</p> +<p> +“Aha, I’ve caught you at last, you secretive monarch of the town!” Pyotr +Stepanovitch cried out laughing, and laid his hand over the manifesto on +the table. “This increases your collection, eh?” +</p> +<p> +Andrey Antonovitch flushed crimson; his face seemed to twitch. +</p> +<p> +“Leave off, leave off at once!” he cried, trembling with rage. “And +don’t you dare … sir …” +</p> +<p> +“What’s the matter with you? You seem to be angry!” +</p> +<p> +“Allow me to inform you, sir, that I’ve no intention of putting up with +your <i>sans façon</i> henceforward, and I beg you to remember …” +</p> +<p> +“Why, damn it all, he is in earnest!” +</p> +<p> +“Hold your tongue, hold your tongue”—Von Lembke stamped on the +carpet—“and don’t dare …” +</p> +<p> +God knows what it might have come to. Alas, there was one circumstance +involved in the matter of which neither Pyotr Stepanovitch nor even +Yulia Mihailovna herself had any idea. The luckless Andrey Antonovitch +had been so greatly upset during the last few days that he had begun +to be secretly jealous of his wife and Pyotr Stepanovitch. In solitude, +especially at night, he spent some very disagreeable moments. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I imagined that if a man reads you his novel two days running +till after midnight and wants to hear your opinion of it, he has of his +own act discarded official relations, anyway.… Yulia Mihailovna treats +me as a friend; there’s no making you out,” Pyotr Stepanovitch brought +out, with a certain dignity indeed. “Here is your novel, by the way.” He +laid on the table a large heavy manuscript rolled up in blue paper. +</p> +<p> +Lembke turned red and looked embarrassed. +</p> +<p> +“Where did you find it?” he asked discreetly, with a rush of joy which +he was unable to suppress, though he did his utmost to conceal it. +</p> +<p> +“Only fancy, done up like this, it rolled under the chest of drawers. I +must have thrown it down carelessly on the chest when I went out. It was +only found the day before yesterday, when the floor was scrubbed. You +did set me a task, though!” +</p> +<p> +Lembke dropped his eyes sternly. +</p> +<p> +“I haven’t slept for the last two nights, thanks to you. It was found +the day before yesterday, but I kept it, and have been reading it ever +since. I’ve no time in the day, so I’ve read it at night. Well, I don’t +like it; it’s not my way of looking at things. But that’s no matter; +I’ve never set up for being a critic, but I couldn’t tear myself away +from it, my dear man, though I didn’t like it! The fourth and fifth +chapters are … they really are … damn it all, they are beyond words! +And what a lot of humour you’ve packed into it; it made me laugh! How +you can make fun of things <i>sans que cela paraisse!</i> As for the ninth +and tenth chapters, it’s all about love; that’s not my line, but it’s +effective though. I was nearly blubbering over Egrenev’s letter, though +you’ve shown him up so cleverly.… You know, it’s touching, though at +the same time you want to show the false side of him, as it were, don’t +you? Have I guessed right? But I could simply beat you for the ending. +For what are you setting up? Why, the same old idol of domestic +happiness, begetting children and making money; ‘they were married and +lived happy ever afterwards’—come, it’s too much! You will enchant your +readers, for even I couldn’t put the book down; but that makes it all +the worse! The reading public is as stupid as ever, but it’s the duty +of sensible people to wake them up, while you … But that’s enough. +Good-bye. Don’t be cross another time; I came in to you because I had a +couple of words to say to you, but you are so unaccountable …” +</p> +<p> +Andrey Antonovitch meantime took his novel and locked it up in an oak +bookcase, seizing the opportunity to wink to Blum to disappear. The +latter withdrew with a long, mournful face. +</p> +<p> +“I am not unaccountable, I am simply … nothing but annoyances,” he +muttered, frowning but without anger, and sitting down to the table. +“Sit down and say what you have to say. It’s a long time since I’ve seen +you, Pyotr Stepanovitch, only don’t burst upon me in the future with +such manners … sometimes, when one has business, it’s …” +</p> +<p> +“My manners are always the same.…” +</p> +<p> +“I know, and I believe that you mean nothing by it, but sometimes one is +worried.… Sit down.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch immediately lolled back on the sofa and drew his legs +under him. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +“What sort of worries? Surely not these trifles?” He nodded towards the +manifesto. “I can bring you as many of them as you like; I made their +acquaintance in X province.” +</p> +<p> +“You mean at the time you were staying there?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, it was not in my absence. I remember there was a hatchet +printed at the top of it. Allow me.” (He took up the manifesto.) “Yes, +there’s the hatchet here too; that’s it, the very same.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, here’s a hatchet. You see, a hatchet.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, is it the hatchet that scares you?” +</p> +<p> +“No, it’s not … and I am not scared; but this business … it is a +business; there are circumstances.” +</p> +<p> +“What sort? That it’s come from the factory? He he! But do you know, +at that factory the workpeople will soon be writing manifestoes for +themselves.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” Von Lembke stared at him severely. +</p> +<p> +“What I say. You’ve only to look at them. You are too soft, Andrey +Antonovitch; you write novels. But this has to be handled in the good +old way.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by the good old way? What do you mean by advising me? +The factory has been cleaned; I gave the order and they’ve cleaned it.” +</p> +<p> +“And the workmen are in rebellion. They ought to be flogged, every one +of them; that would be the end of it.” +</p> +<p> +“In rebellion? That’s nonsense; I gave the order and they’ve cleaned +it.” +</p> +<p> +“Ech, you are soft, Andrey Antonovitch!” +</p> +<p> +“In the first place, I am not so soft as you think, and in the second +place …” Von Lembke was piqued again. He had exerted himself to keep +up the conversation with the young man from curiosity, wondering if he +would tell him anything new. +</p> +<p> +“Ha ha, an old acquaintance again,” Pyotr Stepanovitch interrupted, +pouncing on another document that lay under a paper-weight, something +like a manifesto, obviously printed abroad and in verse. “Oh, come, I +know this one by heart, ‘A Noble Personality.’ Let me have a look at +it—yes, ‘A Noble Personality’ it is. I made acquaintance with that +personality abroad. Where did you unearth it?” +</p> +<p> +“You say you’ve seen it abroad?” Von Lembke said eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“I should think so, four months ago, or may be five.” +</p> +<p> +“You seem to have seen a great deal abroad.” Von Lembke looked at him +subtly. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch, not heeding him, unfolded the document and read the +poem aloud: +</p> +<p class="centered"> +“A NOBLE PERSONALITY +</p> +<pre> + “He was not of rank exalted, + He was not of noble birth, + He was bred among the people + In the breast of Mother Earth. + But the malice of the nobles + And the Tsar’s revengeful wrath + Drove him forth to grief and torture + On the martyr’s chosen path. + He set out to teach the people + Freedom, love, equality, + To exhort them to resistance; + But to flee the penalty + Of the prison, whip and gallows, + To a foreign land he went. + While the people waited hoping + From Smolensk to far Tashkent, + Waited eager for his coming + To rebel against their fate, + To arise and crush the Tsardom + And the nobles’ vicious hate, + To share all the wealth in common, + And the antiquated thrall + Of the church, the home and marriage + To abolish once for all.” +</pre> +<p> +“You got it from that officer, I suppose, eh?” asked Pyotr Stepanovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Why, do you know that officer, then, too?” +</p> +<p> +“I should think so. I had a gay time with him there for two days; he was +bound to go out of his mind.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps he did not go out of his mind.” +</p> +<p> +“You think he didn’t because he began to bite?” +</p> +<p> +“But, excuse me, if you saw those verses abroad and then, it appears, at +that officer’s …” +</p> +<p> +“What, puzzling, is it? You are putting me through an examination, +Andrey Antonovitch, I see. You see,” he began suddenly with +extraordinary dignity, “as to what I saw abroad I have already given +explanations, and my explanations were found satisfactory, otherwise I +should not have been gratifying this town with my presence. I consider +that the question as regards me has been settled, and I am not obliged +to give any further account of myself, not because I am an informer, but +because I could not help acting as I did. The people who wrote to Yulia +Mihailovna about me knew what they were talking about, and they said I +was an honest man.… But that’s neither here nor there; I’ve come +to see you about a serious matter, and it’s as well you’ve sent +your chimney-sweep away. It’s a matter of importance to me, Andrey +Antonovitch. I shall have a very great favour to ask of you.” +</p> +<p> +“A favour? H’m … by all means; I am waiting and, I confess, with +curiosity. And I must add, Pyotr Stepanovitch, that you surprise me not +a little.” +</p> +<p> +Von Lembke was in some agitation. Pyotr Stepanovitch crossed his legs. +</p> +<p> +“In Petersburg,” he began, “I talked freely of most things, but there +were things—this, for instance” (he tapped the “Noble Personality” with +his finger) “about which I held my tongue—in the first place, because +it wasn’t worth talking about, and secondly, because I only answered +questions. I don’t care to put myself forward in such matters; in that +I see the distinction between a rogue and an honest man forced by +circumstances. Well, in short, we’ll dismiss that. But now … now that +these fools … now that this has come to the surface and is in your +hands, and I see that you’ll find out all about it—for you are a man +with eyes and one can’t tell beforehand what you’ll do—and these fools +are still going on, I … I … well, the fact is, I’ve come to ask you +to save one man, a fool too, most likely mad, for the sake of his youth, +his misfortunes, in the name of your humanity.… You can’t be so humane +only in the novels you manufacture!” he said, breaking off with coarse +sarcasm and impatience. +</p> +<p> +In fact, he was seen to be a straightforward man, awkward and +impolitic from excess of humane feeling and perhaps from excessive +sensitiveness—above all, a man of limited intelligence, as Von Lembke +saw at once with extraordinary subtlety. He had indeed long suspected +it, especially when during the previous week he had, sitting alone +in his study at night, secretly cursed him with all his heart for the +inexplicable way in which he had gained Yulia Mihailovna’s good graces. +</p> +<p> +“For whom are you interceding, and what does all this mean?” he inquired +majestically, trying to conceal his curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“It … it’s … damn it! It’s not my fault that I trust you! Is it +my fault that I look upon you as a most honourable and, above all, a +sensible man … capable, that is, of understanding … damn …” +</p> +<p> +The poor fellow evidently could not master his emotion. +</p> +<p> +“You must understand at last,” he went on, “you must understand that in +pronouncing his name I am betraying him to you—I am betraying him, am I +not? I am, am I not?” +</p> +<p> +“But how am I to guess if you don’t make up your mind to speak out?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s just it; you always cut the ground from under one’s feet with +your logic, damn it.… Well, here goes … this ‘noble personality,’ +this ‘student’ … is Shatov … that’s all.” +</p> +<p> +“Shatov? How do you mean it’s Shatov?” +</p> +<p> +“Shatov is the ‘student’ who is mentioned in this. He lives here, he was +once a serf, the man who gave that slap.…” +</p> +<p> +“I know, I know.” Lembke screwed up his eyes. “But excuse me, what is he +accused of? Precisely and, above all, what is your petition?” +</p> +<p> +“I beg you to save him, do you understand? I used to know him +eight years ago, I might almost say I was his friend,” cried Pyotr +Stepanovitch, completely carried away. “But I am not bound to give you +an account of my past life,” he added, with a gesture of dismissal. “All +this is of no consequence; it’s the case of three men and a half, and +with those that are abroad you can’t make up a dozen. But what I +am building upon is your humanity and your intelligence. You will +understand and you will put the matter in its true light, as the foolish +dream of a man driven crazy … by misfortunes, by continued misfortunes, +and not as some impossible political plot or God knows what!” +</p> +<p> +He was almost gasping for breath. +</p> +<p> +“H’m. I see that he is responsible for the manifestoes with the axe,” +Lembke concluded almost majestically. “Excuse me, though, if he were the +only person concerned, how could he have distributed it both here and +in other districts and in the X province … and, above all, where did he +get them?” +</p> +<p> +“But I tell you that at the utmost there are not more than five people +in it—a dozen perhaps. How can I tell?” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t know?” +</p> +<p> +“How should I know?—damn it all.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, you knew that Shatov was one of the conspirators.” +</p> +<p> +“Ech!” Pyotr Stepanovitch waved his hand as though to keep off the +overwhelming penetration of the inquirer. “Well, listen. I’ll tell you +the whole truth: of the manifestoes I know nothing—that is, absolutely +nothing. Damn it all, don’t you know what nothing means?… That +sub-lieutenant, to be sure, and somebody else and someone else here … +and Shatov perhaps and someone else too—well, that’s the lot of +them … a wretched lot.… But I’ve come to intercede for Shatov. He +must be saved, for this poem is his, his own composition, and it was +through him it was published abroad; that I know for a fact, but of the +manifestoes I really know nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“If the poem is his work, no doubt the manifestoes are too. But what +data have you for suspecting Mr. Shatov?” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch, with the air of a man driven out of all patience, +pulled a pocket-book out of his pocket and took a note out of it. +</p> +<p> +“Here are the facts,” he cried, flinging it on the table. +</p> +<p> +Lembke unfolded it; it turned out to be a note written six months before +from here to some address abroad. It was a brief note, only two lines: +</p> +<p> +“I can’t print ‘A Noble Personality’ here, and in fact I can do nothing; +print it abroad. +</p> +<p> +“Iv. Shatov.” +</p> +<p> +Lembke looked intently at Pyotr Stepanovitch. Varvara Petrovna had been +right in saying that he had at times the expression of a sheep. +</p> +<p> +“You see, it’s like this,” Pyotr Stepanovitch burst out. “He wrote this +poem here six months ago, but he couldn’t get it printed here, in a +secret printing press, and so he asks to have it printed abroad.… That +seems clear.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that’s clear, but to whom did he write? That’s not clear yet,” +Lembke observed with the most subtle irony. +</p> +<p> +“Why, Kirillov, of course; the letter was written to Kirillov +abroad.… Surely you knew that? What’s so annoying is that perhaps you +are only putting it on before me, and most likely you knew all about +this poem and everything long ago! How did it come to be on your table? +It found its way there somehow! Why are you torturing me, if so?” +</p> +<p> +He feverishly mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. +</p> +<p> +“I know something, perhaps.” Lembke parried dexterously. “But who is +this Kirillov?” +</p> +<p> +“An engineer who has lately come to the town. He was Stavrogin’s second, +a maniac, a madman; your sub-lieutenant may really only be +suffering from temporary delirium, but Kirillov is a thoroughgoing +madman—thoroughgoing, that I guarantee. Ah, Andrey Antonovitch, if the +government only knew what sort of people these conspirators all are, +they wouldn’t have the heart to lay a finger on them. Every single +one of them ought to be in an asylum; I had a good look at them in +Switzerland and at the congresses.” +</p> +<p> +“From which they direct the movement here?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, who directs it? Three men and a half. It makes one sick to think +of them. And what sort of movement is there here? Manifestoes! And what +recruits have they made? Sub-lieutenants in brain fever and two or three +students! You are a sensible man: answer this question. Why don’t +people of consequence join their ranks? Why are they all students and +half-baked boys of twenty-two? And not many of those. I dare say there +are thousands of bloodhounds on their track, but have they tracked out +many of them? Seven! I tell you it makes one sick.” +</p> +<p> +Lembke listened with attention but with an expression that seemed to +say, “You don’t feed nightingales on fairy-tales.” +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me, though. You asserted that the letter was sent abroad, but +there’s no address on it; how do you come to know that it was addressed +to Mr. Kirillov and abroad too and … and … that it really was written +by Mr. Shatov?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, fetch some specimen of Shatov’s writing and compare it. You must +have some signature of his in your office. As for its being addressed to +Kirillov, it was Kirillov himself showed it me at the time.” +</p> +<p> +“Then you were yourself …” +</p> +<p> +“Of course I was, myself. They showed me lots of things out there. And +as for this poem, they say it was written by Herzen to Shatov when he +was still wandering abroad, in memory of their meeting, so they say, by +way of praise and recommendation—damn it all … and Shatov circulates +it among the young people as much as to say, ‘This was Herzen’s opinion +of me.’” +</p> +<p> +“Ha ha!” cried Lembke, feeling he had got to the bottom of it at last. +“That’s just what I was wondering: one can understand the manifesto, but +what’s the object of the poem?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course you’d see it. Goodness knows why I’ve been babbling to you. +Listen. Spare Shatov for me and the rest may go to the devil—even +Kirillov, who is in hiding now, shut up in Filipov’s house, where Shatov +lodges too. They don’t like me because I’ve turned round … but promise +me Shatov and I’ll dish them all up for you. I shall be of use, Andrey +Antonovitch! I reckon nine or ten men make up the whole wretched lot. I +am keeping an eye on them myself, on my own account. We know of three +already: Shatov, Kirillov, and that sub-lieutenant. The others I am only +watching carefully … though I am pretty sharp-sighted too. It’s the +same over again as it was in the X province: two students, a schoolboy, +two noblemen of twenty, a teacher, and a half-pay major of sixty, crazy +with drink, have been caught with manifestoes; that was all—you can +take my word for it, that was all; it was quite a surprise that that +was all. But I must have six days. I have reckoned it out—six days, not +less. If you want to arrive at any result, don’t disturb them for six +days and I can kill all the birds with one stone for you; but if you +flutter them before, the birds will fly away. But spare me Shatov. I +speak for Shatov.… The best plan would be to fetch him here secretly, +in a friendly way, to your study and question him without disguising +the facts.… I have no doubt he’ll throw himself at your feet and burst +into tears! He is a highly strung and unfortunate fellow; his wife +is carrying on with Stavrogin. Be kind to him and he will tell you +everything, but I must have six days.… And, above all, above all, not +a word to Yulia Mihailovna. It’s a secret. May it be a secret?” +</p> +<p> +“What?” cried Lembke, opening wide his eyes. “Do you mean to say you +said nothing of this to Yulia Mihailovna?” +</p> +<p> +“To her? Heaven forbid! Ech, Andrey Antonovitch! You see, I value her +friendship and I have the highest respect for her … and all the rest of +it … but I couldn’t make such a blunder. I don’t contradict her, for, +as you know yourself, it’s dangerous to contradict her. I may have +dropped a word to her, for I know she likes that, but to suppose that +I mentioned names to her as I have to you or anything of that sort! My +good sir! Why am I appealing to you? Because you are a man, anyway, +a serious person with old-fashioned firmness and experience in the +service. You’ve seen life. You must know by heart every detail of such +affairs, I expect, from what you’ve seen in Petersburg. But if I were +to mention those two names, for instance, to her, she’d stir up such a +hubbub.… You know, she would like to astonish Petersburg. No, she’s +too hot-headed, she really is.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, she has something of that <i>fougue,</i>” Andrey Antonovitch muttered +with some satisfaction, though at the same time he resented this +unmannerly fellow’s daring to express himself rather freely about Yulia +Mihailovna. But Pyotr Stepanovitch probably imagined that he had not +gone far enough and that he must exert himself further to flatter Lembke +and make a complete conquest of him. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Fougue</i> is just it,” he assented. “She may be a woman of genius, a +literary woman, but she would scare our sparrows. She wouldn’t be +able to keep quiet for six hours, let alone six days. Ech, Andrey +Antonovitch, don’t attempt to tie a woman down for six days! You do +admit that I have some experience—in this sort of thing, I mean; I know +something about it, and you know that I may very well know something +about it. I am not asking for six days for fun but with an object.” +</p> +<p> +“I have heard …” (Lembke hesitated to utter his thought) “I have heard +that on your return from abroad you made some expression … as it were +of repentance, in the proper quarter?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s as it may be.” +</p> +<p> +“And, of course, I don’t want to go into it.… But it has seemed to +me all along that you’ve talked in quite a different style—about the +Christian faith, for instance, about social institutions, about the +government even.…” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve said lots of things, no doubt, I am saying them still; but such +ideas mustn’t be applied as those fools do it, that’s the point. What’s +the good of biting his superior’s shoulder! You agreed with me yourself, +only you said it was premature.” +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t mean that when I agreed and said it was premature.” +</p> +<p> +“You weigh every word you utter, though. He he! You are a careful man!” +Pyotr Stepanovitch observed gaily all of a sudden. “Listen, old friend. +I had to get to know you; that’s why I talked in my own style. You are +not the only one I get to know like that. Maybe I needed to find out +your character.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s my character to you?” +</p> +<p> +“How can I tell what it may be to me?” He laughed again. “You see, my +dear and highly respected Andrey Antonovitch, you are cunning, but +it’s not come to <i>that</i> yet and it certainly never will come to it, you +understand? Perhaps you do understand. Though I did make an explanation +in the proper quarter when I came back from abroad, and I really don’t +know why a man of certain convictions should not be able to work for +the advancement of his sincere convictions … but nobody <i>there</i> has yet +instructed me to investigate your character and I’ve not undertaken any +such job from <i>them.</i> Consider: I need not have given those two names to +you. I might have gone straight <i>there;</i> that is where I made my first +explanations. And if I’d been acting with a view to financial profit or +my own interest in any way, it would have been a bad speculation on my +part, for now they’ll be grateful to you and not to me at headquarters. +I’ve done it solely for Shatov’s sake,” Pyotr Stepanovitch added +generously, “for Shatov’s sake, because of our old friendship.… But +when you take up your pen to write to headquarters, you may put in +a word for me, if you like.… I’ll make no objection, he he! <i>Adieu,</i> +though; I’ve stayed too long and there was no need to gossip so much!” +he added with some amiability, and he got up from the sofa. +</p> +<p> +“On the contrary, I am very glad that the position has been defined, so +to speak.” Von Lembke too got up and he too looked pleasant, obviously +affected by the last words. “I accept your services and acknowledge +my obligation, and you may be sure that anything I can do by way of +reporting your zeal …” +</p> +<p> +“Six days—the great thing is to put it off for six days, and that you +shouldn’t stir for those six days, that’s what I want.” +</p> +<p> +“So be it.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, I don’t tie your hands and shouldn’t venture to. You are +bound to keep watch, only don’t flutter the nest too soon; I rely on +your sense and experience for that. But I should think you’ve plenty +of bloodhounds and trackers of your own in reserve, ha ha!” Pyotr +Stepanovitch blurted out with the gaiety and irresponsibility of youth. +</p> +<p> +“Not quite so.” Lembke parried amiably. “Young people are apt to suppose +that there is a great deal in the background.… But, by the way, allow +me one little word: if this Kirillov was Stavrogin’s second, then Mr. +Stavrogin too …” +</p> +<p> +“What about Stavrogin?” +</p> +<p> +“I mean, if they are such friends?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no, no, no! There you are quite out of it, though you are cunning. +You really surprise me. I thought that you had some information about +it.… H’m … Stavrogin—it’s quite the opposite, quite.… <i>Avis au +lecteur.”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Do you mean it? And can it be so?” Lembke articulated mistrustfully. +“Yulia Mihailovna told me that from what she heard from Petersburg he is +a man acting on some sort of instructions, so to speak.…” +</p> +<p> +“I know nothing about it; I know nothing, absolutely nothing. <i>Adieu. +Avis au lecteur!</i>” Abruptly and obviously Pyotr Stepanovitch declined to +discuss it. +</p> +<p> +He hurried to the door. +</p> +<p> +“Stay, Pyotr Stepanovitch, stay,” cried Lembke. “One other tiny matter +and I won’t detain you.” +</p> +<p> +He drew an envelope out of a table drawer. +</p> +<p> +“Here is a little specimen of the same kind of thing, and I let you see +it to show how completely I trust you. Here, and tell me your opinion.” +</p> +<p> +In the envelope was a letter, a strange anonymous letter addressed to +Lembke and only received by him the day before. With intense vexation +Pyotr Stepanovitch read as follows: +</p> +<p> +“Your excellency,—For such you are by rank. Herewith I make known that +there is an attempt to be made on the life of personages of general’s +rank and on the Fatherland. For it’s working up straight for that. +I myself have been disseminating unceasingly for a number of years. +There’s infidelity too. There’s a rebellion being got up and there are +some thousands of manifestoes, and for every one of them there will be +a hundred running with their tongues out, unless they’ve been taken +away beforehand by the police. For they’ve been promised a mighty lot of +benefits, and the simple people are foolish, and there’s vodka too. The +people will attack one after another, taking them to be guilty, and, +fearing both sides, I repent of what I had no share in, my circumstances +being what they are. If you want information to save the Fatherland, +and also the Church and the ikons, I am the only one that can do it. But +only on condition that I get a pardon from the Secret Police by telegram +at once, me alone, but the rest may answer for it. Put a candle every +evening at seven o’clock in the porter’s window for a signal. Seeing it, +I shall believe and come to kiss the merciful hand from Petersburg. But +on condition there’s a pension for me, for else how am I to live? You +won’t regret it for it will mean a star for you. You must go secretly +or they’ll wring your neck. Your excellency’s desperate servant falls at +your feet. +</p> +<p> +“Repentant free-thinker incognito.” +</p> +<p> +Von Lembke explained that the letter had made its appearance in the +porter’s room when it was left empty the day before. +</p> +<p> +“So what do you think?” Pyotr Stepanovitch asked almost rudely. +</p> +<p> +“I think it’s an anonymous skit by way of a hoax.” +</p> +<p> +“Most likely it is. There’s no taking you in.” +</p> +<p> +“What makes me think that is that it’s so stupid.” +</p> +<p> +“Have you received such documents here before?” +</p> +<p> +“Once or twice, anonymous letters.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, of course they wouldn’t be signed. In a different style? In +different handwritings?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“And were they buffoonery like this one?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and you know … very disgusting.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, if you had them before, it must be the same thing now.” +</p> +<p> +“Especially because it’s so stupid. Because these people are educated +and wouldn’t write so stupidly.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, of course.” +</p> +<p> +“But what if this is someone who really wants to turn informer?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s not very likely,” Pyotr Stepanovitch rapped out dryly. “What +does he mean by a telegram from the Secret Police and a pension? It’s +obviously a hoax.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes,” Lembke admitted, abashed. +</p> +<p> +“I tell you what: you leave this with me. I can certainly find out for +you before I track out the others.” +</p> +<p> +“Take it,” Lembke assented, though with some hesitation. +</p> +<p> +“Have you shown it to anyone?” +</p> +<p> +“Is it likely! No.” +</p> +<p> +“Not to Yulia Mihailovna?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Heaven forbid! And for God’s sake don’t you show it her!” Lembke +cried in alarm. “She’ll be so upset … and will be dreadfully angry with +me.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, you’ll be the first to catch it; she’d say you brought it on +yourself if people write like that to you. I know what women’s logic is. +Well, good-bye. I dare say I shall bring you the writer in a couple of +days or so. Above all, our compact!” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +Though Pyotr Stepanovitch was perhaps far from being a stupid man, Fedka +the convict had said of him truly “that he would make up a man himself +and go on living with him too.” He came away from Lembke fully persuaded +that for the next six days, anyway, he had put his mind at rest, and +this interval was absolutely necessary for his own purposes. But it was +a false idea and founded entirely on the fact that he had made up for +himself once for all an Andrey Antonovitch who was a perfect simpleton. +</p> +<p> +Like every morbidly suspicious man, Andrey Antonovitch was always +exceedingly and joyfully trustful the moment he got on to sure ground. +The new turn of affairs struck him at first in a rather favourable light +in spite of some fresh and troublesome complications. Anyway, his former +doubts fell to the ground. Besides, he had been so tired for the last +few days, so exhausted and helpless, that his soul involuntarily yearned +for rest. But alas! he was again uneasy. The long time he had spent in +Petersburg had left ineradicable traces in his heart. The official and +even the secret history of the “younger generation” was fairly familiar +to him—he was a curious man and used to collect manifestoes—but he +could never understand a word of it. Now he felt like a man lost in +a forest. Every instinct told him that there was something in Pyotr +Stepanovitch’s words utterly incongruous, anomalous, and grotesque, +“though there’s no telling what may not happen with this ‘younger +generation,’ and the devil only knows what’s going on among them,” he +mused, lost in perplexity. +</p> +<p> +And at this moment, to make matters worse, Blum poked his head in. He +had been waiting not far off through the whole of Pyotr Stepanovitch’s +visit. This Blum was actually a distant relation of Andrey Antonovitch, +though the relationship had always been carefully and timorously +concealed. I must apologise to the reader for devoting a few words here +to this insignificant person. Blum was one of that strange class of +“unfortunate” Germans who are unfortunate not through lack of ability +but through some inexplicable ill luck. “Unfortunate” Germans are not +a myth, but really do exist even in Russia, and are of a special type. +Andrey Antonovitch had always had a quite touching sympathy for him, and +wherever he could, as he rose himself in the service, had promoted him +to subordinate positions under him; but Blum had never been successful. +Either the post was abolished after he had been appointed to it, or a +new chief took charge of the department; once he was almost arrested by +mistake with other people. He was precise, but he was gloomy to excess +and to his own detriment. He was tall and had red hair; he stooped and +was depressed and even sentimental; and in spite of his being humbled by +his life, he was obstinate and persistent as an ox, though always at +the wrong moment. For Andrey Antonovitch he, as well as his wife and +numerous family, had cherished for many years a reverent devotion. +Except Andrey Antonovitch no one had ever liked him. Yulia Mihailovna +would have discarded him from the first, but could not overcome her +husband’s obstinacy. It was the cause of their first conjugal quarrel. +It had happened soon after their marriage, in the early days of their +honeymoon, when she was confronted with Blum, who, together with the +humiliating secret of his relationship, had been until then carefully +concealed from her. Andrey Antonovitch besought her with clasped hands, +told her pathetically all the story of Blum and their friendship from +childhood, but Yulia Mihailovna considered herself disgraced forever, +and even had recourse to fainting. Von Lembke would not budge an +inch, and declared that he would not give up Blum or part from him for +anything in the world, so that she was surprised at last and was obliged +to put up with Blum. It was settled, however, that the relationship +should be concealed even more carefully than before if possible, and +that even Blum’s Christian name and patronymic should be changed, +because he too was for some reason called Andrey Antonovitch. Blum knew +no one in the town except the German chemist, had not called on anyone, +and led, as he always did, a lonely and niggardly existence. He had +long been aware of Andrey Antonovitch’s literary peccadilloes. He was +generally summoned to listen to secret <i>tête-à-tête</i> readings of his +novel; he would sit like a post for six hours at a stretch, perspiring +and straining his utmost to keep awake and smile. On reaching home he +would groan with his long-legged and lanky wife over their benefactor’s +unhappy weakness for Russian literature. +</p> +<p> +Andrey Antonovitch looked with anguish at Blum. +</p> +<p> +“I beg you to leave me alone, Blum,” he began with agitated haste, +obviously anxious to avoid any renewal of the previous conversation +which had been interrupted by Pyotr Stepanovitch. +</p> +<p> +“And yet this may be arranged in the most delicate way and with no +publicity; you have full power.” Blum respectfully but obstinately +insisted on some point, stooping forward and coming nearer and nearer by +small steps to Andrey Antonovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Blum, you are so devoted to me and so anxious to serve me that I am +always in a panic when I look at you.” +</p> +<p> +“You always say witty things, and sleep in peace satisfied with what +you’ve said, but that’s how you damage yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“Blum, I have just convinced myself that it’s quite a mistake, quite a +mistake.” +</p> +<p> +“Not from the words of that false, vicious young man whom you suspect +yourself? He has won you by his flattering praise of your talent for +literature.” +</p> +<p> +“Blum, you understand nothing about it; your project is absurd, I +tell you. We shall find nothing and there will be a fearful upset and +laughter too, and then Yulia Mihailovna …” +</p> +<p> +“We shall certainly find everything we are looking for.” Blum advanced +firmly towards him, laying his right hand on his heart. “We will make +a search suddenly early in the morning, carefully showing every +consideration for the person himself and strictly observing all the +prescribed forms of the law. The young men, Lyamshin and Telyatnikov, +assert positively that we shall find all we want. They were constant +visitors there. Nobody is favourably disposed to Mr. Verhovensky. Madame +Stavrogin has openly refused him her graces, and every honest man, if +only there is such a one in this coarse town, is persuaded that a hotbed +of infidelity and social doctrines has always been concealed there. He +keeps all the forbidden books, Ryliev’s ‘Reflections,’ all Herzen’s +works.… I have an approximate catalogue, in case of need.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh heavens! Every one has these books; how simple you are, my poor +Blum.” +</p> +<p> +“And many manifestoes,” Blum went on without heeding the observation. +“We shall end by certainly coming upon traces of the real manifestoes +here. That young Verhovensky I feel very suspicious of.” +</p> +<p> +“But you are mixing up the father and the son. They are not on good +terms. The son openly laughs at his father.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s only a mask.” +</p> +<p> +“Blum, you’ve sworn to torment me! Think! he is a conspicuous figure +here, after all. He’s been a professor, he is a well-known man. He’ll +make such an uproar and there will be such gibes all over the town, and +we shall make a mess of it all.… And only think how Yulia Mihailovna +will take it.” Blum pressed forward and did not listen. “He was only a +lecturer, only a lecturer, and of a low rank when he retired.” He smote +himself on the chest. “He has no marks of distinction. He was discharged +from the service on suspicion of plots against the government. He has +been under secret supervision, and undoubtedly still is so. And in view +of the disorders that have come to light now, you are undoubtedly bound +in duty. You are losing your chance of distinction by letting slip the +real criminal.” +</p> +<p> +“Yulia Mihailovna! Get away, Blum,” Von Lembke cried suddenly, hearing +the voice of his spouse in the next room. Blum started but did not give +in. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me, allow me,” he persisted, pressing both hands still more +tightly on his chest. +</p> +<p> +“Get away!” hissed Andrey Antonovitch. “Do what you like … afterwards. +Oh, my God!” +</p> +<p> +The curtain was raised and Yulia Mihailovna made her appearance. She +stood still majestically at the sight of Blum, casting a haughty and +offended glance at him, as though the very presence of this man was an +affront to her. Blum respectfully made her a deep bow without speaking +and, doubled up with veneration, moved towards the door on tiptoe with +his arms held a little away from him. +</p> +<p> +Either because he really took Andrey Antonovitch’s last hysterical +outbreak as a direct permission to act as he was asking, or whether +he strained a point in this case for the direct advantage of his +benefactor, because he was too confident that success would crown his +efforts; anyway, as we shall see later on, this conversation of the +governor with his subordinate led to a very surprising event which +amused many people, became public property, moved Yulia Mihailovna to +fierce anger, utterly disconcerting Andrey Antonovitch and reducing him +at the crucial moment to a state of deplorable indecision. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +V +</p> +<p> +It was a busy day for Pyotr Stepanovitch. From Von Lembke he hastened to +Bogoyavlensky Street, but as he went along Bykovy Street, past the house +where Karmazinov was staying, he suddenly stopped, grinned, and +went into the house. The servant told him that he was expected, which +interested him, as he had said nothing beforehand of his coming. +</p> +<p> +But the great writer really had been expecting him, not only that day +but the day before and the day before that. Three days before he had +handed him his manuscript <i>Merci</i> (which he had meant to read at the +literary matinée at Yulia Mihailovna’s fête). He had done this out of +amiability, fully convinced that he was agreeably flattering the young +man’s vanity by letting him read the great work beforehand. Pyotr +Stepanovitch had noticed long before that this vainglorious, spoiled +gentleman, who was so offensively unapproachable for all but the elect, +this writer “with the intellect of a statesman,” was simply trying +to curry favour with him, even with avidity. I believe the young man +guessed at last that Karmazinov considered him, if not the leader of +the whole secret revolutionary movement in Russia, at least one of those +most deeply initiated into the secrets of the Russian revolution who had +an incontestable influence on the younger generation. The state of mind +of “the cleverest man in Russia” interested Pyotr Stepanovitch, but +hitherto he had, for certain reasons, avoided explaining himself. +</p> +<p> +The great writer was staying in the house belonging to his sister, who +was the wife of a <i>kammerherr</i> and had an estate in the neighbourhood. +Both she and her husband had the deepest reverence for their illustrious +relation, but to their profound regret both of them happened to be in +Moscow at the time of his visit, so that the honour of receiving him +fell to the lot of an old lady, a poor relation of the <i>kammerherr’s,</i> who +had for years lived in the family and looked after the housekeeping. All +the household had moved about on tiptoe since Karmazinov’s arrival. The +old lady sent news to Moscow almost every day, how he had slept, what he +had deigned to eat, and had once sent a telegram to announce that after +a dinner-party at the mayor’s he was obliged to take a spoonful of a +well-known medicine. She rarely plucked up courage to enter his room, +though he behaved courteously to her, but dryly, and only talked to her +of what was necessary. +</p> +<p> +When Pyotr Stepanovitch came in, he was eating his morning cutlet with +half a glass of red wine. Pyotr Stepanovitch had been to see him before +and always found him eating this cutlet, which he finished in his +presence without ever offering him anything. After the cutlet a little +cup of coffee was served. The footman who brought in the dishes wore a +swallow-tail coat, noiseless boots, and gloves. +</p> +<p> +“Ha ha!” Karmazinov got up from the sofa, wiping his mouth with a +table-napkin, and came forward to kiss him with an air of unmixed +delight—after the characteristic fashion of Russians if they are very +illustrious. But Pyotr Stepanovitch knew by experience that, though +Karmazinov made a show of kissing him, he really only proffered his +cheek, and so this time he did the same: the cheeks met. Karmazinov did +not show that he noticed it, sat down on the sofa, and affably offered +Pyotr Stepanovitch an easy chair facing him, in which the latter +stretched himself at once. +</p> +<p> +“You don’t … wouldn’t like some lunch?” inquired Karmazinov, abandoning +his usual habit but with an air, of course, which would prompt a polite +refusal. Pyotr Stepanovitch at once expressed a desire for lunch. A +shade of offended surprise darkened the face of his host, but only for +an instant; he nervously rang for the servant and, in spite of all his +breeding, raised his voice scornfully as he gave orders for a second +lunch to be served. +</p> +<p> +“What will you have, cutlet or coffee?” he asked once more. +</p> +<p> +“A cutlet and coffee, and tell him to bring some more wine, I am +hungry,” answered Pyotr Stepanovitch, calmly scrutinising his host’s +attire. Mr. Karmazinov was wearing a sort of indoor wadded jacket with +pearl buttons, but it was too short, which was far from becoming to his +rather comfortable stomach and the solid curves of his hips. But tastes +differ. Over his knees he had a checkered woollen plaid reaching to the +floor, though it was warm in the room. +</p> +<p> +“Are you unwell?” commented Pyotr Stepanovitch. +</p> +<p> +“No, not unwell, but I am afraid of being so in this climate,” answered +the writer in his squeaky voice, though he uttered each word with a soft +cadence and agreeable gentlemanly lisp. “I’ve been expecting you since +yesterday.” +</p> +<p> +“Why? I didn’t say I’d come.” +</p> +<p> +“No, but you have my manuscript. Have you … read it?” +</p> +<p> +“Manuscript? Which one?” +</p> +<p> +Karmazinov was terribly surprised. +</p> +<p> +“But you’ve brought it with you, haven’t you?” He was so disturbed that +he even left off eating and looked at Pyotr Stepanovitch with a face of +dismay. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, that <i>Bonjour</i> you mean.…” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Merci.”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Oh, all right. I’d quite forgotten it and hadn’t read it; I haven’t had +time. I really don’t know, it’s not in my pockets … it must be on my +table. Don’t be uneasy, it will be found.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I’d better send to your rooms at once. It might be lost; besides, +it might be stolen.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, who’d want it! But why are you so alarmed? Why, Yulia Mihailovna +told me you always have several copies made—one kept at a notary’s +abroad, another in Petersburg, a third in Moscow, and then you send some +to a bank, I believe.” +</p> +<p> +“But Moscow might be burnt again and my manuscript with it. No, I’d +better send at once.” +</p> +<p> +“Stay, here it is!” Pyotr Stepanovitch pulled a roll of note-paper +out of a pocket at the back of his coat. “It’s a little crumpled. Only +fancy, it’s been lying there with my pocket-handkerchief ever since I +took it from you; I forgot it.” +</p> +<p> +Karmazinov greedily snatched the manuscript, carefully examined it, +counted the pages, and laid it respectfully beside him on a special +table, for the time, in such a way that he would not lose sight of it +for an instant. +</p> +<p> +“You don’t read very much, it seems?” he hissed, unable to restrain +himself. +</p> +<p> +“No, not very much.” +</p> +<p> +“And nothing in the way of Russian literature?” +</p> +<p> +“In the way of Russian literature? Let me see, I have read +something.… ‘On the Way’ or ‘Away!’ or ‘At the Parting of the Ways’—something of the sort; I don’t remember. +It’s a long time since I read +it, five years ago. I’ve no time.” +</p> +<p> +A silence followed. +</p> +<p> +“When I came I assured every one that you were a very intelligent man, +and now I believe every one here is wild over you.” +</p> +<p> +“Thank you,” Pyotr Stepanovitch answered calmly. +</p> +<p> +Lunch was brought in. Pyotr Stepanovitch pounced on the cutlet with +extraordinary appetite, had eaten it in a trice, tossed off the wine and +swallowed his coffee. +</p> +<p> +“This boor,” thought Karmazinov, looking at him askance as he munched +the last morsel and drained the last drops—“this boor probably +understood the biting taunt in my words … and no doubt he has read +the manuscript with eagerness; he is simply lying with some object. But +possibly he is not lying and is only genuinely stupid. I like a genius +to be rather stupid. Mayn’t he be a sort of genius among them? Devil +take the fellow!” +</p> +<p> +He got up from the sofa and began pacing from one end of the room to the +other for the sake of exercise, as he always did after lunch. +</p> +<p> +“Leaving here soon?” asked Pyotr Stepanovitch from his easy chair, +lighting a cigarette. +</p> +<p> +“I really came to sell an estate and I am in the hands of my bailiff.” +</p> +<p> +“You left, I believe, because they expected an epidemic out there after +the war?” +</p> +<p> +“N-no, not entirely for that reason,” Mr. Karmazinov went on, uttering +his phrases with an affable intonation, and each time he turned round in +pacing the corner there was a faint but jaunty quiver of his right leg. +“I certainly intend to live as long as I can.” He laughed, not without +venom. “There is something in our Russian nobility that makes them wear +out very quickly, from every point of view. But I wish to wear out as +late as possible, and now I am going abroad for good; there the climate +is better, the houses are of stone, and everything stronger. Europe will +last my time, I think. What do you think?” +</p> +<p> +“How can I tell?” +</p> +<p> +“H’m. If the Babylon out there really does fall, and great will be the +fall thereof (about which I quite agree with you, yet I think it will +last my time), there’s nothing to fall here in Russia, comparatively +speaking. There won’t be stones to fall, everything will crumble into +dirt. Holy Russia has less power of resistance than anything in the +world. The Russian peasantry is still held together somehow by the +Russian God; but according to the latest accounts the Russian God is not +to be relied upon, and scarcely survived the emancipation; it certainly +gave Him a severe shock. And now, what with railways, what with you … +I’ve no faith in the Russian God.” +</p> +<p> +“And how about the European one?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t believe in any. I’ve been slandered to the youth of Russia. +I’ve always sympathised with every movement among them. I was shown the +manifestoes here. Every one looks at them with perplexity because they +are frightened at the way things are put in them, but every one is +convinced of their power even if they don’t admit it to themselves. +Everybody has been rolling downhill, and every one has known for ages +that they have nothing to clutch at. I am persuaded of the success of +this mysterious propaganda, if only because Russia is now pre-eminently +the place in all the world where anything you like may happen without +any opposition. I understand only too well why wealthy Russians all +flock abroad, and more and more so every year. It’s simply instinct. If +the ship is sinking, the rats are the first to leave it. Holy Russia is +a country of wood, of poverty … and of danger, the country of ambitious +beggars in its upper classes, while the immense majority live in poky +little huts. She will be glad of any way of escape; you have only to +present it to her. It’s only the government that still means to +resist, but it brandishes its cudgel in the dark and hits its own men. +Everything here is doomed and awaiting the end. Russia as she is has no +future. I have become a German and I am proud of it.” +</p> +<p> +“But you began about the manifestoes. Tell me everything; how do you +look at them?” +</p> +<p> +“Every one is afraid of them, so they must be influential. They openly +unmask what is false and prove that there is nothing to lay hold of +among us, and nothing to lean upon. They speak aloud while all is +silent. What is most effective about them (in spite of their style) is +the incredible boldness with which they look the truth straight in the +face. To look facts straight in the face is only possible to Russians of +this generation. No, in Europe they are not yet so bold; it is a realm +of stone, there there is still something to lean upon. So far as I see +and am able to judge, the whole essence of the Russian revolutionary +idea lies in the negation of honour. I like its being so boldly and +fearlessly expressed. No, in Europe they wouldn’t understand it yet, but +that’s just what we shall clutch at. For a Russian a sense of honour is +only a superfluous burden, and it always has been a burden through all +his history. The open ‘right to dishonour’ will attract him more than +anything. I belong to the older generation and, I must confess, still +cling to honour, but only from habit. It is only that I prefer the old +forms, granted it’s from timidity; you see one must live somehow what’s +left of one’s life.” +</p> +<p> +He suddenly stopped. +</p> +<p> +“I am talking,” he thought, “while he holds his tongue and watches me. +He has come to make me ask him a direct question. And I shall ask him.” +</p> +<p> +“Yulia Mihailovna asked me by some stratagem to find out from you what +the surprise is that you are preparing for the ball to-morrow,” Pyotr +Stepanovitch asked suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, there really will be a surprise and I certainly shall +astonish …” said Karmazinov with increased dignity. “But I won’t tell +you what the secret is.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch did not insist. +</p> +<p> +“There is a young man here called Shatov,” observed the great writer. +“Would you believe it, I haven’t seen him.” +</p> +<p> +“A very nice person. What about him?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, nothing. He talks about something. Isn’t he the person who gave +Stavrogin that slap in the face?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“And what’s your opinion of Stavrogin?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know; he is such a flirt.” +</p> +<p> +Karmazinov detested Stavrogin because it was the latter’s habit not to +take any notice of him. +</p> +<p> +“That flirt,” he said, chuckling, “if what is advocated in your +manifestoes ever comes to pass, will be the first to be hanged.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps before,” Pyotr Stepanovitch said suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“Quite right too,” Karmazinov assented, not laughing, and with +pronounced gravity. +</p> +<p> +“You have said so once before, and, do you know, I repeated it to him.” +</p> +<p> +“What, you surely didn’t repeat it?” Karmazinov laughed again. +</p> +<p> +“He said that if he were to be hanged it would be enough for you to +be flogged, not simply as a complement but to hurt, as they flog the +peasants.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch took his hat and got up from his seat. Karmazinov +held out both hands to him at parting. +</p> +<p> +“And what if all that you are … plotting for is destined to come +to pass …” he piped suddenly, in a honeyed voice with a peculiar +intonation, still holding his hands in his. “How soon could it come +about?” +</p> +<p> +“How could I tell?” Pyotr Stepanovitch answered rather roughly. They +looked intently into each other’s eyes. +</p> +<p> +“At a guess? Approximately?” Karmazinov piped still more sweetly. +</p> +<p> +“You’ll have time to sell your estate and time to clear out too,” Pyotr +Stepanovitch muttered still more roughly. They looked at one another +even more intently. +</p> +<p> +There was a minute of silence. +</p> +<p> +“It will begin early next May and will be over by October,” Pyotr +Stepanovitch said suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“I thank you sincerely,” Karmazinov pronounced in a voice saturated with +feeling, pressing his hands. +</p> +<p> +“You will have time to get out of the ship, you rat,” Pyotr Stepanovitch +was thinking as he went out into the street. “Well, if that ‘imperial +intellect’ inquires so confidently of the day and the hour and thanks +me so respectfully for the information I have given, we mustn’t doubt +of ourselves. [He grinned.] H’m! But he really isn’t stupid … and he is +simply a rat escaping; men like that don’t tell tales!” +</p> +<p> +He ran to Filipov’s house in Bogoyavlensky Street. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VI +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch went first to Kirillov’s. He found him, as usual, +alone, and at the moment practising gymnastics, that is, standing with +his legs apart, brandishing his arms above his head in a peculiar way. +On the floor lay a ball. The tea stood cold on the table, not cleared +since breakfast. Pyotr Stepanovitch stood for a minute on the threshold. +</p> +<p> +“You are very anxious about your health, it seems,” he said in a loud +and cheerful tone, going into the room. “What a jolly ball, though; foo, +how it bounces! Is that for gymnastics too?” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov put on his coat. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that’s for the good of my health too,” he muttered dryly. “Sit +down.” +</p> +<p> +“I’m only here for a minute. Still, I’ll sit down. Health is all very +well, but I’ve come to remind you of our agreement. The appointed time +is approaching … in a certain sense,” he concluded awkwardly. +</p> +<p> +“What agreement?” +</p> +<p> +“How can you ask?” Pyotr Stepanovitch was startled and even dismayed. +</p> +<p> +“It’s not an agreement and not an obligation. I have not bound myself in +any way; it’s a mistake on your part.” +</p> +<p> +“I say, what’s this you’re doing?” Pyotr Stepanovitch jumped up. +</p> +<p> +“What I choose.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you choose?” +</p> +<p> +“The same as before.” +</p> +<p> +“How am I to understand that? Does that mean that you are in the same +mind?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. Only there’s no agreement and never has been, and I have not bound +myself in any way. I could do as I like and I can still do as I like.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov explained himself curtly and contemptuously. +</p> +<p> +“I agree, I agree; be as free as you like if you don’t change your +mind.” Pyotr Stepanovitch sat down again with a satisfied air. “You are +angry over a word. You’ve become very irritable of late; that’s why +I’ve avoided coming to see you. I was quite sure, though, you would be +loyal.” +</p> +<p> +“I dislike you very much, but you can be perfectly sure—though I don’t +regard it as loyalty and disloyalty.” +</p> +<p> +“But do you know” (Pyotr Stepanovitch was startled again) “we must talk +things over thoroughly again so as not to get in a muddle. The business +needs accuracy, and you keep giving me such shocks. Will you let me +speak?” +</p> +<p> +“Speak,” snapped Kirillov, looking away. +</p> +<p> +“You made up your mind long ago to take your life … I mean, you had the +idea in your mind. Is that the right expression? Is there any mistake +about that?” +</p> +<p> +“I have the same idea still.” +</p> +<p> +“Excellent. Take note that no one has forced it on you.” +</p> +<p> +“Rather not; what nonsense you talk.” +</p> +<p> +“I dare say I express it very stupidly. Of course, it would be very +stupid to force anybody to it. I’ll go on. You were a member of the +society before its organisation was changed, and confessed it to one of +the members.” +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t confess it, I simply said so.” +</p> +<p> +“Quite so. And it would be absurd to confess such a thing. What a +confession! You simply said so. Excellent.” +</p> +<p> +“No, it’s not excellent, for you are being tedious. I am not obliged to +give you any account of myself and you can’t understand my ideas. I want +to put an end to my life, because that’s my idea, because I don’t want +to be afraid of death, because … because there’s no need for you to +know. What do you want? Would you like tea? It’s cold. Let me get you +another glass.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch actually had taken up the teapot and was looking for +an empty glass. Kirillov went to the cupboard and brought a clean glass. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve just had lunch at Karmazinov’s,” observed his visitor, “then +I listened to him talking, and perspired and got into a sweat again +running here. I am fearfully thirsty.” +</p> +<p> +“Drink. Cold tea is good.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov sat down on his chair again and again fixed his eyes on the +farthest corner. +</p> +<p> +“The idea had arisen in the society,” he went on in the same voice, +“that I might be of use if I killed myself, and that when you get up +some bit of mischief here, and they are looking for the guilty, I might +suddenly shoot myself and leave a letter saying I did it all, so that +you might escape suspicion for another year.” +</p> +<p> +“For a few days, anyway; one day is precious.” +</p> +<p> +“Good. So for that reason they asked me, if I would, to wait. I said I’d +wait till the society fixed the day, because it makes no difference to +me.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, but remember that you bound yourself not to make up your last +letter without me and that in Russia you would be at my … well, at +my disposition, that is for that purpose only. I need hardly say, in +everything else, of course, you are free,” Pyotr Stepanovitch added +almost amiably. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t bind myself, I agreed, because it makes no difference to me.” +</p> +<p> +“Good, good. I have no intention of wounding your vanity, but …” +</p> +<p> +“It’s not a question of vanity.” +</p> +<p> +“But remember that a hundred and twenty thalers were collected for your +journey, so you’ve taken money.” +</p> +<p> +“Not at all.” Kirillov fired up. “The money was not on that condition. +One doesn’t take money for that.” +</p> +<p> +“People sometimes do.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a lie. I sent a letter from Petersburg, and in Petersburg I paid +you a hundred and twenty thalers; I put it in your hand … and it has +been sent off there, unless you’ve kept it for yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“All right, all right, I don’t dispute anything; it has been sent off. +All that matters is that you are still in the same mind.” +</p> +<p> +“Exactly the same. When you come and tell me it’s time, I’ll carry it +all out. Will it be very soon?” +</p> +<p> +“Not very many days.… But remember, we’ll make up the letter together, +the same night.” +</p> +<p> +“The same day if you like. You say I must take the responsibility for +the manifestoes on myself?” +</p> +<p> +“And something else too.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not going to make myself out responsible for everything.” +</p> +<p> +“What won’t you be responsible for?” said Pyotr Stepanovitch again. +</p> +<p> +“What I don’t choose; that’s enough. I don’t want to talk about it any +more.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch controlled himself and changed the subject. +</p> +<p> +“To speak of something else,” he began, “will you be with us this +evening? It’s Virginsky’s name-day; that’s the pretext for our meeting.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want to.” +</p> +<p> +“Do me a favour. Do come. You must. We must impress them by our number +and our looks. You have a face … well, in one word, you have a fateful +face.” +</p> +<p> +“You think so?” laughed Kirillov. “Very well, I’ll come, but not for the +sake of my face. What time is it?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, quite early, half-past six. And, you know, you can go in, sit down, +and not speak to any one, however many there may be there. Only, I say, +don’t forget to bring pencil and paper with you.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s that for?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, it makes no difference to you, and it’s my special request. You’ll +only have to sit still, speaking to no one, listen, and sometimes seem +to make a note. You can draw something, if you like.” +</p> +<p> +“What nonsense! What for?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, since it makes no difference to you! You keep saying that it’s +just the same to you.” +</p> +<p> +“No, what for?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, because that member of the society, the inspector, has stopped at +Moscow and I told some of them here that possibly the inspector may turn +up to-night; and they’ll think that you are the inspector. And as you’ve +been here three weeks already, they’ll be still more surprised.” +</p> +<p> +“Stage tricks. You haven’t got an inspector in Moscow.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, suppose I haven’t—damn him!—what business is that of yours +and what bother will it be to you? You are a member of the society +yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell them I am the inspector; I’ll sit still and hold my tongue, but I +won’t have the pencil and paper.” +</p> +<p> +“But why?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want to.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch was really angry; he turned positively green, but +again he controlled himself. He got up and took his hat. +</p> +<p> +“Is that fellow with you?” he brought out suddenly, in a low voice. +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s good. I’ll soon get him away. Don’t be uneasy.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not uneasy. He is only here at night. The old woman is in the +hospital, her daughter-in-law is dead. I’ve been alone for the last two +days. I’ve shown him the place in the paling where you can take a board +out; he gets through, no one sees.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll take him away soon.” +</p> +<p> +“He says he has got plenty of places to stay the night in.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s rot; they are looking for him, but here he wouldn’t be noticed. +Do you ever get into talk with him?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, at night. He abuses you tremendously. I’ve been reading the +‘Apocalypse’ to him at night, and we have tea. He listened eagerly, very +eagerly, the whole night.” +</p> +<p> +“Hang it all, you’ll convert him to Christianity!” +</p> +<p> +“He is a Christian as it is. Don’t be uneasy, he’ll do the murder. Whom +do you want to murder?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I don’t want him for that, I want him for something different.… +And does Shatov know about Fedka?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t talk to Shatov, and I don’t see him.” +</p> +<p> +“Is he angry?” +</p> +<p> +“No, we are not angry, only we shun one another. We lay too long side by +side in America.” +</p> +<p> +“I am going to him directly.” +</p> +<p> +“As you like.” +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin and I may come and see you from there, about ten o’clock.” +</p> +<p> +“Do.” +</p> +<p> +“I want to talk to him about something important.… I say, make me +a present of your ball; what do you want with it now? I want it for +gymnastics too. I’ll pay you for it if you like.” +</p> +<p> +“You can take it without.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch put the ball in the back pocket of his coat. +</p> +<p> +“But I’ll give you nothing against Stavrogin,” Kirillov muttered after +his guest, as he saw him out. The latter looked at him in amazement but +did not answer. +</p> +<p> +Kirillov’s last words perplexed Pyotr Stepanovitch extremely; he had not +time yet to discover their meaning, but even while he was on the stairs +of Shatov’s lodging he tried to remove all trace of annoyance and to +assume an amiable expression. Shatov was at home and rather unwell. He +was lying on his bed, though dressed. +</p> +<p> +“What bad luck!” Pyotr Stepanovitch cried out in the doorway. “Are you +really ill?” +</p> +<p> +The amiable expression of his face suddenly vanished; there was a gleam +of spite in his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Not at all.” Shatov jumped up nervously. “I am not ill at all … a +little headache …” +</p> +<p> +He was disconcerted; the sudden appearance of such a visitor positively +alarmed him. +</p> +<p> +“You mustn’t be ill for the job I’ve come about,” Pyotr Stepanovitch +began quickly and, as it were, peremptorily. “Allow me to sit down.” (He +sat down.) “And you sit down again on your bedstead; that’s right. There +will be a party of our fellows at Virginsky’s to-night on the pretext of +his birthday; it will have no political character, however—we’ve seen +to that. I am coming with Nikolay Stavrogin. I would not, of course, +have dragged you there, knowing your way of thinking at present … +simply to save your being worried, not because we think you would betray +us. But as things have turned out, you will have to go. You’ll meet +there the very people with whom we shall finally settle how you are +to leave the society and to whom you are to hand over what is in your +keeping. We’ll do it without being noticed; I’ll take you aside into a +corner; there’ll be a lot of people and there’s no need for every one to +know. I must confess I’ve had to keep my tongue wagging on your behalf; +but now I believe they’ve agreed, on condition you hand over the +printing press and all the papers, of course. Then you can go where you +please.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov listened, frowning and resentful. The nervous alarm of a moment +before had entirely left him. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t acknowledge any sort of obligation to give an account to the +devil knows whom,” he declared definitely. “No one has the authority to +set me free.” +</p> +<p> +“Not quite so. A great deal has been entrusted to you. You hadn’t the +right to break off simply. Besides, you made no clear statement about +it, so that you put them in an ambiguous position.” +</p> +<p> +“I stated my position clearly by letter as soon as I arrived here.” +</p> +<p> +“No, it wasn’t clear,” Pyotr Stepanovitch retorted calmly. “I sent you +‘A Noble Personality’ to be printed here, and meaning the copies to be +kept here till they were wanted; and the two manifestoes as well. You +returned them with an ambiguous letter which explained nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“I refused definitely to print them.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, not definitely. You wrote that you couldn’t, but you didn’t +explain for what reason. ‘I can’t’ doesn’t mean ‘I don’t want to.’ It +might be supposed that you were simply unable through circumstances. +That was how they took it, and considered that you still meant to keep +up your connection with the society, so that they might have entrusted +something to you again and so have compromised themselves. They say here +that you simply meant to deceive them, so that you might betray them +when you got hold of something important. I have defended you to the +best of my powers, and have shown your brief note as evidence in your +favour. But I had to admit on rereading those two lines that they were +misleading and not conclusive.” +</p> +<p> +“You kept that note so carefully then?” +</p> +<p> +“My keeping it means nothing; I’ve got it still.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I don’t care, damn it!” Shatov cried furiously. “Your fools may +consider that I’ve betrayed them if they like—what is it to me? I +should like to see what you can do to me?” +</p> +<p> +“Your name would be noted, and at the first success of the revolution +you would be hanged.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s when you get the upper hand and dominate Russia?” +</p> +<p> +“You needn’t laugh. I tell you again, I stood up for you. Anyway, I +advise you to turn up to-day. Why waste words through false pride? +Isn’t it better to part friends? In any case you’ll have to give up the +printing press and the old type and papers—that’s what we must talk +about.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll come,” Shatov muttered, looking down thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch glanced askance at him from his place. +</p> +<p> +“Will Stavrogin be there?” Shatov asked suddenly, raising his head. +</p> +<p> +“He is certain to be.” +</p> +<p> +“Ha ha!” +</p> +<p> +Again they were silent for a minute. Shatov grinned disdainfully and +irritably. +</p> +<p> +“And that contemptible ‘Noble Personality’ of yours, that I wouldn’t +print here. Has it been printed?” he asked. +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“To make the schoolboys believe that Herzen himself had written it in +your album?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Herzen himself.” +</p> +<p> +Again they were silent for three minutes. At last Shatov got up from the +bed. +</p> +<p> +“Go out of my room; I don’t care to sit with you.” +</p> +<p> +“I’m going,” Pyotr Stepanovitch brought out with positive alacrity, +getting up at once. “Only one word: Kirillov is quite alone in the lodge +now, isn’t he, without a servant?” +</p> +<p> +“Quite alone. Get along; I can’t stand being in the same room with you.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, you are a pleasant customer now!” Pyotr Stepanovitch reflected +gaily as he went out into the street, “and you will be pleasant this +evening too, and that just suits me; nothing better could be wished, +nothing better could be wished! The Russian God Himself seems helping +me.” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VII +</p> +<p> +He had probably been very busy that day on all sorts of errands and +probably with success, which was reflected in the self-satisfied +expression of his face when at six o’clock that evening he turned up at +Stavrogin’s. But he was not at once admitted: Stavrogin had just locked +himself in the study with Mavriky Nikolaevitch. This news instantly made +Pyotr Stepanovitch anxious. He seated himself close to the study door +to wait for the visitor to go away. He could hear conversation but could +not catch the words. The visit did not last long; soon he heard a noise, +the sound of an extremely loud and abrupt voice, then the door opened +and Mavriky Nikolaevitch came out with a very pale face. He did not +notice Pyotr Stepanovitch, and quickly passed by. Pyotr Stepanovitch +instantly ran into the study. +</p> +<p> +I cannot omit a detailed account of the very brief interview that had +taken place between the two “rivals”—an interview which might well +have seemed impossible under the circumstances, but which had yet taken +place. +</p> +<p> +This is how it had come about. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had been enjoying +an after-dinner nap on the couch in his study when Alexey Yegorytch had +announced the unexpected visitor. Hearing the name, he had positively +leapt up, unwilling to believe it. But soon a smile gleamed on his +lips—a smile of haughty triumph and at the same time of a blank, +incredulous wonder. The visitor, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, seemed struck by +the expression of that smile as he came in; anyway, he stood still in +the middle of the room as though uncertain whether to come further in or +to turn back. Stavrogin succeeded at once in transforming the expression +of his face, and with an air of grave surprise took a step towards him. +The visitor did not take his outstretched hand, but awkwardly moved a +chair and, not uttering a word, sat down without waiting for his host to +do so. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sat down on the sofa facing him obliquely +and, looking at Mavriky Nikolaevitch, waited in silence. +</p> +<p> +“If you can, marry Lizaveta Nikolaevna,” Mavriky Nikolaevitch brought +out suddenly at last, and what was most curious, it was impossible +to tell from his tone whether it was an entreaty, a recommendation, a +surrender, or a command. +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin still remained silent, but the visitor had evidently said all +he had come to say and gazed at him persistently, waiting for an answer. +</p> +<p> +“If I am not mistaken (but it’s quite certain), Lizaveta Nikolaevna is +already betrothed to you,” Stavrogin said at last. +</p> +<p> +“Promised and betrothed,” Mavriky Nikolaevitch assented firmly and +clearly. +</p> +<p> +“You have … quarrelled? Excuse me, Mavriky Nikolaevitch.” +</p> +<p> +“No, she ‘loves and respects me’; those are her words. Her words are +more precious than anything.” +</p> +<p> +“Of that there can be no doubt.” +</p> +<p> +“But let me tell you, if she were standing in the church at her wedding +and you were to call her, she’d give up me and every one and go to you.” +</p> +<p> +“From the wedding?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and after the wedding.” +</p> +<p> +“Aren’t you making a mistake?” +</p> +<p> +“No. Under her persistent, sincere, and intense hatred for you love is +flashing out at every moment … and madness … the sincerest infinite +love and … madness! On the contrary, behind the love she feels for me, +which is sincere too, every moment there are flashes of hatred … the +most intense hatred! I could never have fancied all these transitions … +before.” +</p> +<p> +“But I wonder, though, how could you come here and dispose of the hand +of Lizaveta Nikolaevna? Have you the right to do so? Has she authorised +you?” +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch frowned and for a minute he looked down. +</p> +<p> +“That’s all words on your part,” he brought out suddenly, “words of +revenge and triumph; I am sure you can read between the lines, and is +this the time for petty vanity? Haven’t you satisfaction enough? Must I +really dot my i’s and go into it all? Very well, I will dot my i’s, if +you are so anxious for my humiliation. I have no right, it’s impossible +for me to be authorised; Lizaveta Nikolaevna knows nothing about it +and her betrothed has finally lost his senses and is only fit for a +madhouse, and, to crown everything, has come to tell you so himself. You +are the only man in the world who can make her happy, and I am the one +to make her unhappy. You are trying to get her, you are pursuing her, +but—I don’t know why—you won’t marry her. If it’s because of a lovers’ +quarrel abroad and I must be sacrificed to end it, sacrifice me. She is +too unhappy and I can’t endure it. My words are not a sanction, not a +prescription, and so it’s no slur on your pride. If you care to take +my place at the altar, you can do it without any sanction from me, and +there is no ground for me to come to you with a mad proposal, especially +as our marriage is utterly impossible after the step I am taking now. I +cannot lead her to the altar feeling myself an abject wretch. What I am +doing here and my handing her over to you, perhaps her bitterest foe, is +to my mind something so abject that I shall never get over it.” +</p> +<p> +“Will you shoot yourself on our wedding day?” +</p> +<p> +“No, much later. Why stain her bridal dress with my blood? Perhaps I +shall not shoot myself at all, either now or later.” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you want to comfort me by saying that?” +</p> +<p> +“You? What would the blood of one more mean to you?” He turned pale and +his eyes gleamed. A minute of silence followed. +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me for the questions I’ve asked you,” Stavrogin began again; +“some of them I had no business to ask you, but one of them I think I +have every right to put to you. Tell me, what facts have led you to +form a conclusion as to my feelings for Lizaveta Nikolaevna? I mean to +a conviction of a degree of feeling on my part as would justify your +coming here … and risking such a proposal.” +</p> +<p> +“What?” Mavriky Nikolaevitch positively started. “Haven’t you been +trying to win her? Aren’t you trying to win her, and don’t you want to +win her?” +</p> +<p> +“Generally speaking, I can’t speak of my feeling for this woman or that +to a third person or to anyone except the woman herself. You must excuse +it, it’s a constitutional peculiarity. But to make up for it, I’ll tell +you the truth about everything else; I am married, and it’s impossible +for me either to marry or to try ‘to win’ anyone.” +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch was so astounded that he started back in his chair +and for some time stared fixedly into Stavrogin’s face. +</p> +<p> +“Only fancy, I never thought of that,” he muttered. “You said then, that +morning, that you were not married … and so I believed you were not +married.” +</p> +<p> +He turned terribly pale; suddenly he brought his fist down on the table +with all his might. +</p> +<p> +“If after that confession you don’t leave Lizaveta Nikolaevna alone, +if you make her unhappy, I’ll kill you with my stick like a dog in a +ditch!” +</p> +<p> +He jumped up and walked quickly out of the room. Pyotr Stepanovitch, +running in, found his host in a most unexpected frame of mind. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, that’s you!” Stavrogin laughed loudly; his laughter seemed to be +provoked simply by the appearance of Pyotr Stepanovitch as he ran in +with such impulsive curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“Were you listening at the door? Wait a bit. What have you come about? +I promised you something, didn’t I? Ah, bah! I remember, to meet ‘our +fellows.’ Let us go. I am delighted. You couldn’t have thought of +anything more appropriate.” He snatched up his hat and they both went at +once out of the house. +</p> +<p> +“Are you laughing beforehand at the prospect of seeing ‘our fellows’?” +chirped gaily Pyotr Stepanovitch, dodging round him with obsequious +alacrity, at one moment trying to walk beside his companion on the +narrow brick pavement and at the next running right into the mud of +the road; for Stavrogin walked in the middle of the pavement without +observing that he left no room for anyone else. +</p> +<p> +“I am not laughing at all,” he answered loudly and gaily; “on the +contrary, I am sure that you have the most serious set of people there.” +</p> +<p> +“‘Surly dullards,’ as you once deigned to express it.” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing is more amusing sometimes than a surly dullard.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, you mean Mavriky Nikolaevitch? I am convinced he came to give up +his betrothed to you, eh? I egged him on to do it, indirectly, would you +believe it? And if he doesn’t give her up, we’ll take her, anyway, won’t +we—eh?” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch knew no doubt that he was running some risk in +venturing on such sallies, but when he was excited he preferred to risk +anything rather than to remain in uncertainty. Stavrogin only laughed. +</p> +<p> +“You still reckon you’ll help me?” he asked. +</p> +<p> +“If you call me. But you know there’s one way, and the best one.” +</p> +<p> +“Do I know your way?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh no, that’s a secret for the time. Only remember, a secret has its +price.” +</p> +<p> +“I know what it costs,” Stavrogin muttered to himself, but he restrained +himself and was silent. +</p> +<p> +“What it costs? What did you say?” Pyotr Stepanovitch was startled. +</p> +<p> +“I said, ‘Damn you and your secret!’ You’d better be telling me who will +be there. I know that we are going to a name-day party, but who will be +there?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, all sorts! Even Kirillov.” +</p> +<p> +“All members of circles?” +</p> +<p> +“Hang it all, you are in a hurry! There’s not one circle formed yet.” +</p> +<p> +“How did you manage to distribute so many manifestoes then?” +</p> +<p> +“Where we are going only four are members of the circle. The others on +probation are spying on one another with jealous eagerness, and bring +reports to me. They are a trustworthy set. It’s all material which +we must organise, and then we must clear out. But you wrote the rules +yourself, there’s no need to explain.” +</p> +<p> +“Are things going badly then? Is there a hitch?” +</p> +<p> +“Going? Couldn’t be better. It will amuse you: the first thing which has +a tremendous effect is giving them titles. Nothing has more influence +than a title. I invent ranks and duties on purpose; I have secretaries, +secret spies, treasurers, presidents, registrars, their assistants—they +like it awfully, it’s taken capitally. Then, the next force is +sentimentalism, of course. You know, amongst us socialism spreads +principally through sentimentalism. But the trouble is these lieutenants +who bite; sometimes you put your foot in it. Then come the out-and-out +rogues; well, they are a good sort, if you like, and sometimes very +useful; but they waste a lot of one’s time, they want incessant looking +after. And the most important force of all—the cement that holds +everything together—is their being ashamed of having an opinion +of their own. That is a force! And whose work is it, whose precious +achievement is it, that not one idea of their own is left in their +heads! They think originality a disgrace.” +</p> +<p> +“If so, why do you take so much trouble?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, if people lie simply gaping at every one, how can you resist +annexing them? Can you seriously refuse to believe in the possibility +of success? Yes, you have the faith, but one wants will. It’s just with +people like this that success is possible. I tell you I could make them +go through fire; one has only to din it into them that they are not +advanced enough. The fools reproach me that I have taken in every one +here over the central committee and ‘the innumerable branches.’ You once +blamed me for it yourself, but where’s the deception? You and I are the +central committee and there will be as many branches as we like.” +</p> +<p> +“And always the same sort of rabble!” +</p> +<p> +“Raw material. Even they will be of use.” +</p> +<p> +“And you are still reckoning on me?” +</p> +<p> +“You are the chief, you are the head; I shall only be a subordinate, +your secretary. We shall take to our barque, you know; the oars are of +maple, the sails are of silk, at the helm sits a fair maiden, Lizaveta +Nikolaevna … hang it, how does it go in the ballad?” +</p> +<p> +“He is stuck,” laughed Stavrogin. “No, I’d better give you my version. +There you reckon on your fingers the forces that make up the circles. +All that business of titles and sentimentalism is a very good cement, +but there is something better; persuade four members of the circle to +do for a fifth on the pretence that he is a traitor, and you’ll tie +them all together with the blood they’ve shed as though it were a knot. +They’ll be your slaves, they won’t dare to rebel or call you to account. +Ha ha ha!” +</p> +<p> +“But you … you shall pay for those words,” Pyotr Stepanovitch thought +to himself, “and this very evening, in fact. You go too far.” +</p> +<p> +This or something like this must have been Pyotr Stepanovitch’s +reflection. They were approaching Virginsky’s house. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve represented me, no doubt, as a member from abroad, an inspector +in connection with the <i>Internationale?</i>” Stavrogin asked suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“No, not an inspector; you won’t be an inspector; but you are one of +the original members from abroad, who knows the most important +secrets—that’s your rôle. You are going to speak, of course?” +</p> +<p> +“What’s put that idea into your head?” +</p> +<p> +“Now you are bound to speak.” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin positively stood still in the middle of the street in +surprise, not far from a street lamp. Pyotr Stepanovitch faced his +scrutiny calmly and defiantly. Stavrogin cursed and went on. +</p> +<p> +“And are you going to speak?” he suddenly asked Pyotr Stepanovitch. +</p> +<p> +“No, I am going to listen to you.” +</p> +<p> +“Damn you, you really are giving me an idea!” +</p> +<p> +“What idea?” Pyotr Stepanovitch asked quickly. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps I will speak there, but afterwards I will give you a +hiding—and a sound one too, you know.” +</p> +<p> +“By the way, I told Karmazinov this morning that you said he ought to be +thrashed, and not simply as a form but to hurt, as they flog peasants.” +</p> +<p> +“But I never said such a thing; ha ha!” +</p> +<p> +“No matter. <i>Se non è vero </i>…” +</p> +<p> +“Well, thanks. I am truly obliged.” +</p> +<p> +“And another thing. Do you know, Karmazinov says that the essence of +our creed is the negation of honour, and that by the open advocacy of a +right to be dishonourable a Russian can be won over more easily than by +anything.” +</p> +<p> +“An excellent saying! Golden words!” cried Stavrogin. “He’s hit the mark +there! The right to dishonour—why, they’d all flock to us for that, not +one would stay behind! And listen, Verhovensky, you are not one of the +higher police, are you?” +</p> +<p> +“Anyone who has a question like that in his mind doesn’t utter it.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand, but we are by ourselves.” +</p> +<p> +“No, so far I am not one of the higher police. Enough, here we are. +Compose your features, Stavrogin; I always do mine when I go in. A +gloomy expression, that’s all, nothing more is wanted; it’s a very +simple business.” +</p> +<a id="H2CH0012"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER VII. A MEETING +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +VIRGINSKY LIVED IN HIS OWN house, or rather his wife’s, in Muravyin +Street. It was a wooden house of one story, and there were no lodgers in +it. On the pretext of Virginsky’s-name-day party, about fifteen guests +were assembled; but the entertainment was not in the least like an +ordinary provincial name-day party. From the very beginning of their +married life the husband and wife had agreed once for all that it was +utterly stupid to invite friends to celebrate name-days, and that “there +is nothing to rejoice about in fact.” In a few years they had succeeded +in completely cutting themselves off from all society. Though he was +a man of some ability, and by no means very poor, he somehow seemed +to every one an eccentric fellow who was fond of solitude, and, what’s +more, “stuck up in conversation.” Madame Virginsky was a midwife by +profession—and by that very fact was on the lowest rung of the social +ladder, lower even than the priest’s wife in spite of her husband’s +rank as an officer. But she was conspicuously lacking in the humility +befitting her position. And after her very stupid and unpardonably open +liaison on principle with Captain Lebyadkin, a notorious rogue, even the +most indulgent of our ladies turned away from her with marked contempt. +But Madame Virginsky accepted all this as though it were what she +wanted. It is remarkable that those very ladies applied to Arina +Prohorovna (that is, Madame Virginsky) when they were in an interesting +condition, rather than to any one of the other three <i>accoucheuses</i> of +the town. She was sent for even by country families living in the +neighbourhood, so great was the belief in her knowledge, luck, and skill +in critical cases. It ended in her practising only among the wealthiest +ladies; she was greedy of money. Feeling her power to the full, she +ended by not putting herself out for anyone. Possibly on purpose, +indeed, in her practice in the best houses she used to scare nervous +patients by the most incredible and nihilistic disregard of good +manners, or by jeering at “everything holy,” at the very time when +“everything holy” might have come in most useful. Our town doctor, +Rozanov—he too was an <i>accoucheur</i>—asserted most positively that on one +occasion when a patient in labour was crying out and calling on the name +of the Almighty, a free-thinking sally from Arina Prohorovna, fired off +like a pistol-shot, had so terrifying an effect on the patient that it +greatly accelerated her delivery. +</p> +<p> +But though she was a nihilist, Madame Virginsky did not, when occasion +arose, disdain social or even old-fashioned superstitions and customs +if they could be of any advantage to herself. She would never, for +instance, have stayed away from a baby’s christening, and always put on +a green silk dress with a train and adorned her chignon with curls and +ringlets for such events, though at other times she positively revelled +in slovenliness. And though during the ceremony she always maintained +“the most insolent air,” so that she put the clergy to confusion, yet +when it was over she invariably handed champagne to the guests (it was +for that that she came and dressed up), and it was no use trying to take +the glass without a contribution to her “porridge bowl.” +</p> +<p> +The guests who assembled that evening at Virginsky’s (mostly men) had a +casual and exceptional air. There was no supper nor cards. In the middle +of the large drawing-room, which was papered with extremely old blue +paper, two tables had been put together and covered with a large though +not quite clean table-cloth, and on them two samovars were boiling. The +end of the table was taken up by a huge tray with twenty-five glasses on +it and a basket with ordinary French bread cut into a number of slices, +as one sees it in genteel boarding-schools for boys or girls. The tea +was poured out by a maiden lady of thirty, Arina Prohorovna’s sister, +a silent and malevolent creature, with flaxen hair and no eyebrows, who +shared her sister’s progressive ideas and was an object of terror to +Virginsky himself in domestic life. There were only three ladies in the +room: the lady of the house, her eyebrowless sister, and Virginsky’s +sister, a girl who had just arrived from Petersburg. Arina Prohorovna, a +good-looking and buxom woman of seven-and-twenty, rather dishevelled, in +an everyday greenish woollen dress, was sitting scanning the guests with +her bold eyes, and her look seemed in haste to say, “You see I am not +in the least afraid of anything.” Miss Virginsky, a rosy-cheeked student +and a nihilist, who was also good-looking, short, plump and round as a +little ball, had settled herself beside Arina Prohorovna, almost in +her travelling clothes. She held a roll of paper in her hand, and +scrutinised the guests with impatient and roving eyes. Virginsky himself +was rather unwell that evening, but he came in and sat in an easy chair +by the tea-table. All the guests were sitting down too, and the orderly +way in which they were ranged on chairs suggested a meeting. Evidently +all were expecting something and were filling up the interval with loud +but irrelevant conversation. When Stavrogin and Verhovensky appeared +there was a sudden hush. +</p> +<p> +But I must be allowed to give a few explanations to make things clear. +</p> +<p> +I believe that all these people had come together in the agreeable +expectation of hearing something particularly interesting, and had +notice of it beforehand. They were the flower of the reddest Radicalism +of our ancient town, and had been carefully picked out by Virginsky for +this “meeting.” I may remark, too, that some of them (though not very +many) had never visited him before. Of course most of the guests had no +clear idea why they had been summoned. It was true that at that time +all took Pyotr Stepanovitch for a fully authorised emissary from abroad; +this idea had somehow taken root among them at once and naturally +flattered them. And yet among the citizens assembled ostensibly to +keep a name-day, there were some who had been approached with definite +proposals. Pyotr Verhovensky had succeeded in getting together a +“quintet” amongst us like the one he had already formed in Moscow and, +as appeared later, in our province among the officers. It was said that +he had another in X province. This quintet of the elect were sitting now +at the general table, and very skilfully succeeded in giving themselves +the air of being quite ordinary people, so that no one could have known +them. They were—since it is no longer a secret—first Liputin, then +Virginsky himself, then Shigalov (a gentleman with long ears, the +brother of Madame Virginsky), Lyamshin, and lastly a strange person +called Tolkatchenko, a man of forty, who was famed for his vast +knowledge of the people, especially of thieves and robbers. He used +to frequent the taverns on purpose (though not only with the object of +studying the people), and plumed himself on his shabby clothes, tarred +boots, and crafty wink and a flourish of peasant phrases. Lyamshin had +once or twice brought him to Stepan Trofimovitch’s gatherings, where, +however, he did not make a great sensation. He used to make his +appearance in the town from time to time, chiefly when he was out of a +job; he was employed on the railway. +</p> +<p> +Every one of these fine champions had formed this first group in the +fervent conviction that their quintet was only one of hundreds and +thousands of similar groups scattered all over Russia, and that they all +depended on some immense central but secret power, which in its turn was +intimately connected with the revolutionary movement all over Europe. +But I regret to say that even at that time there was beginning to +be dissension among them. Though they had ever since the spring been +expecting Pyotr Verhovensky, whose coming had been heralded first +by Tolkatchenko and then by the arrival of Shigalov, though they had +expected extraordinary miracles from him, and though they had responded +to his first summons without the slightest criticism, yet they had no +sooner formed the quintet than they all somehow seemed to feel insulted; +and I really believe it was owing to the promptitude with which they +consented to join. They had joined, of course, from a not ignoble +feeling of shame, for fear people might say afterwards that they had +not dared to join; still they felt Pyotr Verhovensky ought to have +appreciated their heroism and have rewarded it by telling them some +really important bits of news at least. But Verhovensky was not at all +inclined to satisfy their legitimate curiosity, and told them nothing +but what was necessary; he treated them in general with great sternness +and even rather casually. This was positively irritating, and Comrade +Shigalov was already egging the others on to insist on his “explaining +himself,” though, of course, not at Virginsky’s, where so many outsiders +were present. +</p> +<p> +I have an idea that the above-mentioned members of the first quintet +were disposed to suspect that among the guests of Virginsky’s that +evening some were members of other groups, unknown to them, belonging +to the same secret organisation and founded in the town by the same +Verhovensky; so that in fact all present were suspecting one another, +and posed in various ways to one another, which gave the whole party a +very perplexing and even romantic air. Yet there were persons present +who were beyond all suspicion. For instance, a major in the service, a +near relation of Virginsky, a perfectly innocent person who had not been +invited but had come of himself for the name-day celebration, so that it +was impossible not to receive him. But Virginsky was quite unperturbed, +as the major was “incapable of betraying them”; for in spite of his +stupidity he had all his life been fond of dropping in wherever extreme +Radicals met; he did not sympathise with their ideas himself, but +was very fond of listening to them. What’s more, he had even been +compromised indeed. It had happened in his youth that whole bundles of +manifestoes and of numbers of <i>The Bell</i> had passed through his hands, +and although he had been afraid even to open them, yet he would have +considered it absolutely contemptible to refuse to distribute them—and +there are such people in Russia even to this day. +</p> +<p> +The rest of the guests were either types of honourable amour-propre +crushed and embittered, or types of the generous impulsiveness of ardent +youth. There were two or three teachers, of whom one, a lame man of +forty-five, a master in the high school, was a very malicious and +strikingly vain person; and two or three officers. Of the latter, one +very young artillery officer who had only just come from a military +training school, a silent lad who had not yet made friends with anyone, +turned up now at Virginsky’s with a pencil in his hand, and, scarcely +taking any part in the conversation, continually made notes in his +notebook. Everybody saw this, but every one pretended not to. There was, +too, an idle divinity student who had helped Lyamshin to put indecent +photographs into the gospel-woman’s pack. He was a solid youth with a +free-and-easy though mistrustful manner, with an unchangeably satirical +smile, together with a calm air of triumphant faith in his own +perfection. There was also present, I don’t know why, the mayor’s son, +that unpleasant and prematurely exhausted youth to whom I have referred +already in telling the story of the lieutenant’s little wife. He was +silent the whole evening. Finally there was a very enthusiastic and +tousle-headed schoolboy of eighteen, who sat with the gloomy air of a +young man whose dignity has been wounded, evidently distressed by his +eighteen years. This infant was already the head of an independent +group of conspirators which had been formed in the highest class of the +gymnasium, as it came out afterwards to the surprise of every one. +</p> +<p> +I haven’t mentioned Shatov. He was there at the farthest corner of the +table, his chair pushed back a little out of the row. He gazed at the +ground, was gloomily silent, refused tea and bread, and did not for one +instant let his cap go out of his hand, as though to show that he was +not a visitor, but had come on business, and when he liked would get up +and go away. Kirillov was not far from him. He, too, was very silent, +but he did not look at the ground; on the contrary, he scrutinised +intently every speaker with his fixed, lustreless eyes, and listened +to everything without the slightest emotion or surprise. Some of the +visitors who had never seen him before stole thoughtful glances at him. +I can’t say whether Madame Virginsky knew anything about the existence +of the quintet. I imagine she knew everything and from her husband. +The girl-student, of course, took no part in anything; but she had an +anxiety of her own: she intended to stay only a day or two and then to +go on farther and farther from one university town to another “to show +active sympathy with the sufferings of poor students and to rouse +them to protest.” She was taking with her some hundreds of copies of a +lithographed appeal, I believe of her own composition. It is remarkable +that the schoolboy conceived an almost murderous hatred for her from the +first moment, though he saw her for the first time in his life; and she +felt the same for him. The major was her uncle, and met her to-day for +the first time after ten years. When Stavrogin and Verhovensky came in, +her cheeks were as red as cranberries: she had just quarrelled with her +uncle over his views on the woman question. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +With conspicuous nonchalance Verhovensky lounged in the chair at the +upper end of the table, almost without greeting anyone. His expression +was disdainful and even haughty. Stavrogin bowed politely, but in spite +of the fact that they were all only waiting for them, everybody, as +though acting on instruction, appeared scarcely to notice them. The lady +of the house turned severely to Stavrogin as soon as he was seated. +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin, will you have tea?” +</p> +<p> +“Please,” he answered. +</p> +<p> +“Tea for Stavrogin,” she commanded her sister at the samovar. “And you, +will you?” (This was to Verhovensky.) +</p> +<p> +“Of course. What a question to ask a visitor! And give me cream too; +you always give one such filthy stuff by way of tea, and with a name-day +party in the house!” +</p> +<p> +“What, you believe in keeping name-days too!” the girl-student laughed +suddenly. “We were just talking of that.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s stale,” muttered the schoolboy at the other end of the table. +</p> +<p> +“What’s stale? To disregard conventions, even the most innocent is not +stale; on the contrary, to the disgrace of every one, so far it’s a +novelty,” the girl-student answered instantly, darting forward on her +chair. “Besides, there are no innocent conventions,” she added with +intensity. +</p> +<p> +“I only meant,” cried the schoolboy with tremendous excitement, “to say +that though conventions of course are stale and must be eradicated, yet +about name-days everybody knows that they are stupid and very stale to +waste precious time upon, which has been wasted already all over the +world, so that it would be as well to sharpen one’s wits on something +more useful.…” +</p> +<p> +“You drag it out so, one can’t understand what you mean,” shouted the +girl. +</p> +<p> +“I think that every one has a right to express an opinion as well as +every one else, and if I want to express my opinion like anybody +else …” +</p> +<p> +“No one is attacking your right to give an opinion,” the lady of the +house herself cut in sharply. “You were only asked not to ramble because +no one can make out what you mean.” +</p> +<p> +“But allow me to remark that you are not treating me with respect. If +I couldn’t fully express my thought, it’s not from want of thought +but from too much thought,” the schoolboy muttered, almost in despair, +losing his thread completely. +</p> +<p> +“If you don’t know how to talk, you’d better keep quiet,” blurted out +the girl. +</p> +<p> +The schoolboy positively jumped from his chair. +</p> +<p> +“I only wanted to state,” he shouted, crimson with shame and afraid +to look about him, “that you only wanted to show off your cleverness +because Mr. Stavrogin came in—so there!” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a nasty and immoral idea and shows the worthlessness of your +development. I beg you not to address me again,” the girl rattled off. +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin,” began the lady of the house, “they’ve been discussing the +rights of the family before you came—this officer here”—she nodded +towards her relation, the major—“and, of course, I am not going to +worry you with such stale nonsense, which has been dealt with long +ago. But how have the rights and duties of the family come about in the +superstitious form in which they exist at present? That’s the question. +What’s your opinion?” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by ‘come about’?” Stavrogin asked in his turn. +</p> +<p> +“We know, for instance, that the superstition about God came from +thunder and lightning.” The girl-student rushed into the fray again, +staring at Stavrogin with her eyes almost jumping out of her head. “It’s +well known that primitive man, scared by thunder and lightning, made a +god of the unseen enemy, feeling their weakness before it. But how did +the superstition of the family arise? How did the family itself arise?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s not quite the same thing.…” Madame Virginsky tried to check +her. +</p> +<p> +“I think the answer to this question wouldn’t be quite discreet,” +answered Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“How so?” said the girl-student, craning forward suddenly. But there was +an audible titter in the group of teachers, which was at once caught up +at the other end by Lyamshin and the schoolboy and followed by a hoarse +chuckle from the major. +</p> +<p> +“You ought to write vaudevilles,” Madame Virginsky observed to +Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“It does you no credit, I don’t know what your name is,” the girl rapped +out with positive indignation. +</p> +<p> +“And don’t you be too forward,” boomed the major. “You are a young lady +and you ought to behave modestly, and you keep jumping about as though +you were sitting on a needle.” +</p> +<p> +“Kindly hold your tongue and don’t address me familiarly with your +nasty comparisons. I’ve never seen you before and I don’t recognise the +relationship.” +</p> +<p> +“But I am your uncle; I used to carry you about when you were a baby!” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t care what babies you used to carry about. I didn’t ask you +to carry me. It must have been a pleasure to you to do so, you +rude officer. And allow me to observe, don’t dare to address me so +familiarly, unless it’s as a fellow-citizen. I forbid you to do it, once +for all.” +</p> +<p> +“There, they are all like that!” cried the major, banging the table with +his fist and addressing Stavrogin, who was sitting opposite. “But, allow +me, I am fond of Liberalism and modern ideas, and I am fond of listening +to clever conversation; masculine conversation, though, I warn you. But +to listen to these women, these nightly windmills—no, that makes me +ache all over! Don’t wriggle about!” he shouted to the girl, who +was leaping up from her chair. “No, it’s my turn to speak, I’ve been +insulted.” +</p> +<p> +“You can’t say anything yourself, and only hinder other people talking,” +the lady of the house grumbled indignantly. +</p> +<p> +“No, I will have my say,” said the major hotly, addressing Stavrogin. “I +reckon on you, Mr. Stavrogin, as a fresh person who has only just come +on the scene, though I haven’t the honour of knowing you. Without men +they’ll perish like flies—that’s what I think. All their woman question +is only lack of originality. I assure you that all this woman question +has been invented for them by men in foolishness and to their own hurt. +I only thank God I am not married. There’s not the slightest variety in +them, they can’t even invent a simple pattern; they have to get men to +invent them for them! Here I used to carry her in my arms, used to dance +the mazurka with her when she was ten years old; to-day she’s come, +naturally I fly to embrace her, and at the second word she tells me +there’s no God. She might have waited a little, she was in too great a +hurry! Clever people don’t believe, I dare say; but that’s from their +cleverness. But you, chicken, what do you know about God, I said to +her. ‘Some student taught you, and if he’d taught you to light the lamp +before the ikons you would have lighted it.’” +</p> +<p> +“You keep telling lies, you are a very spiteful person. I proved to +you just now the untenability of your position,” the girl answered +contemptuously, as though disdaining further explanations with such a +man. “I told you just now that we’ve all been taught in the Catechism +if you honour your father and your parents you will live long and have +wealth. That’s in the Ten Commandments. If God thought it necessary to +offer rewards for love, your God must be immoral. That’s how I proved it +to you. It wasn’t the second word, and it was because you asserted your +rights. It’s not my fault if you are stupid and don’t understand even +now. You are offended and you are spiteful—and that’s what explains all +your generation.” +</p> +<p> +“You’re a goose!” said the major. +</p> +<p> +“And you are a fool!” +</p> +<p> +“You can call me names!” +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me, Kapiton Maximitch, you told me yourself you don’t believe in +God,” Liputin piped from the other end of the table. +</p> +<p> +“What if I did say so—that’s a different matter. I believe, perhaps, +only not altogether. Even if I don’t believe altogether, still I don’t +say God ought to be shot. I used to think about God before I left the +hussars. From all the poems you would think that hussars do nothing but +carouse and drink. Yes, I did drink, maybe, but would you believe it, +I used to jump out of bed at night and stood crossing myself before the +images with nothing but my socks on, praying to God to give me faith; +for even then I couldn’t be at peace as to whether there was a God or +not. It used to fret me so! In the morning, of course, one would amuse +oneself and one’s faith would seem to be lost again; and in fact I’ve +noticed that faith always seems to be less in the daytime.” +</p> +<p> +“Haven’t you any cards?” asked Verhovensky, with a mighty yawn, +addressing Madame Virginsky. +</p> +<p> +“I sympathise with your question, I sympathise entirely,” the +girl-student broke in hotly, flushed with indignation at the major’s +words. +</p> +<p> +“We are wasting precious time listening to silly talk,” snapped out the +lady of the house, and she looked reprovingly at her husband. +</p> +<p> +The girl pulled herself together. +</p> +<p> +“I wanted to make a statement to the meeting concerning the sufferings +of the students and their protest, but as time is being wasted in +immoral conversation …” +</p> +<p> +“There’s no such thing as moral or immoral,” the schoolboy brought out, +unable to restrain himself as soon as the girl began. +</p> +<p> +“I knew that, Mr. Schoolboy, long before you were taught it.” +</p> +<p> +“And I maintain,” he answered savagely, “that you are a child come +from Petersburg to enlighten us all, though we know for ourselves the +commandment ‘honour thy father and thy mother,’ which you could not +repeat correctly; and the fact that it’s immoral every one in Russia +knows from Byelinsky.” +</p> +<p> +“Are we ever to have an end of this?” Madame Virginsky said resolutely +to her husband. As the hostess, she blushed for the ineptitude of the +conversation, especially as she noticed smiles and even astonishment +among the guests who had been invited for the first time. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said Virginsky, suddenly lifting up his voice, “if anyone +wishes to say anything more nearly connected with our business, or has +any statement to make, I call upon him to do so without wasting time.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll venture to ask one question,” said the lame teacher suavely. He +had been sitting particularly decorously and had not spoken till then. +“I should like to know, are we some sort of meeting, or are we simply a +gathering of ordinary mortals paying a visit? I ask simply for the sake +of order and so as not to remain in ignorance.” +</p> +<p> +This “sly” question made an impression. People looked at each other, +every one expecting someone else to answer, and suddenly all, as though +at a word of command, turned their eyes to Verhovensky and Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“I suggest our voting on the answer to the question whether we are a +meeting or not,” said Madame Virginsky. +</p> +<p> +“I entirely agree with the suggestion,” Liputin chimed in, “though the +question is rather vague.” +</p> +<p> +“I agree too.” +</p> +<p> +“And so do I,” cried voices. “I too think it would make our proceedings +more in order,” confirmed Virginsky. +</p> +<p> +“To the vote then,” said his wife. “Lyamshin, please sit down to the +piano; you can give your vote from there when the voting begins.” +</p> +<p> +“Again!” cried Lyamshin. “I’ve strummed enough for you.” +</p> +<p> +“I beg you most particularly, sit down and play. Don’t you care to do +anything for the cause?” +</p> +<p> +“But I assure you, Arina Prohorovna, nobody is eavesdropping. It’s +only your fancy. Besides, the windows are high, and people would not +understand if they did hear.” +</p> +<p> +“We don’t understand ourselves,” someone muttered. “But I tell you one +must always be on one’s guard. I mean in case there should be spies,” +she explained to Verhovensky. “Let them hear from the street that we +have music and a name-day party.” +</p> +<p> +“Hang it all!” Lyamshin swore, and sitting down to the piano, began +strumming a valse, banging on the keys almost with his fists, at random. +</p> +<p> +“I propose that those who want it to be a meeting should put up their +right hands,” Madame Virginsky proposed. +</p> +<p> +Some put them up, others did not. Some held them up and then put them +down again and then held them up again. “Foo! I don’t understand it at +all,” one officer shouted. “I don’t either,” cried the other. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I understand,” cried a third. “If it’s yes, you hold your hand up.” +</p> +<p> +“But what does ‘yes’ mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Means a meeting.” +</p> +<p> +“No, it means not a meeting.” +</p> +<p> +“I voted for a meeting,” cried the schoolboy to Madame Virginsky. +</p> +<p> +“Then why didn’t you hold up your hand?” +</p> +<p> +“I was looking at you. You didn’t hold up yours, so I didn’t hold up +mine.” +</p> +<p> +“How stupid! I didn’t hold up my hand because I proposed it. Gentlemen, +now I propose the contrary. Those who want a meeting, sit still and do +nothing; those who don’t, hold up their right hands.” +</p> +<p> +“Those who don’t want it?” inquired the schoolboy. “Are you doing it on +purpose?” cried Madame Virginsky wrathfully. +</p> +<p> +“No. Excuse me, those who want it, or those who don’t want it? For one +must know that definitely,” cried two or three voices. +</p> +<p> +“Those who don’t want it—those who <i>don’t</i> want it.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, but what is one to do, hold up one’s hand or not hold it up if one +doesn’t want it?” cried an officer. +</p> +<p> +“Ech, we are not accustomed to constitutional methods yet!” remarked the +major. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Lyamshin, excuse me, but you are thumping so that no one can hear +anything,” observed the lame teacher. +</p> +<p> +“But, upon my word, Arina Prohorovna, nobody is listening, really!” +cried Lyamshin, jumping up. “I won’t play! I’ve come to you as a +visitor, not as a drummer!” +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen,” Virginsky went on, “answer verbally, are we a meeting or +not?” +</p> +<p> +“We are! We are!” was heard on all sides. “If so, there’s no need to +vote, that’s enough. Are you satisfied, gentlemen? Is there any need to +put it to the vote?” +</p> +<p> +“No need—no need, we understand.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps someone doesn’t want it to be a meeting?” +</p> +<p> +“No, no; we all want it.” +</p> +<p> +“But what does ‘meeting’ mean?” cried a voice. No one answered. +</p> +<p> +“We must choose a chairman,” people cried from different parts of the +room. +</p> +<p> +“Our host, of course, our host!” +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, if so,” Virginsky, the chosen chairman, began, “I propose +my original motion. If anyone wants to say anything more relevant to the +subject, or has some statement to make, let him bring it forward without +loss of time.” +</p> +<p> +There was a general silence. The eyes of all were turned again on +Verhovensky and Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“Verhovensky, have you no statement to make?” Madame Virginsky asked him +directly. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing whatever,” he answered, yawning and stretching on his chair. +“But I should like a glass of brandy.” +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin, don’t you want to?” +</p> +<p> +“Thank you, I don’t drink.” +</p> +<p> +“I mean don’t you want to speak, not don’t you want brandy.” +</p> +<p> +“To speak, what about? No, I don’t want to.” +</p> +<p> +“They’ll bring you some brandy,” she answered Verhovensky. +</p> +<p> +The girl-student got up. She had darted up several times already. +</p> +<p> +“I have come to make a statement about the sufferings of poor students +and the means of rousing them to protest.” +</p> +<p> +But she broke off. At the other end of the table a rival had risen, and +all eyes turned to him. Shigalov, the man with the long ears, slowly +rose from his seat with a gloomy and sullen air and mournfully laid on +the table a thick notebook filled with extremely small handwriting. +He remained standing in silence. Many people looked at the notebook +in consternation, but Liputin, Virginsky, and the lame teacher seemed +pleased. +</p> +<p> +“I ask leave to address the meeting,” Shigalov pronounced sullenly but +resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“You have leave.” Virginsky gave his sanction. +</p> +<p> +The orator sat down, was silent for half a minute, and pronounced in a +solemn voice, +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen!” +</p> +<p> +“Here’s the brandy,” the sister who had been pouring out tea and had +gone to fetch brandy rapped out, contemptuously and disdainfully putting +the bottle before Verhovensky, together with the wineglass which she +brought in her fingers without a tray or a plate. +</p> +<p> +The interrupted orator made a dignified pause. +</p> +<p> +“Never mind, go on, I am not listening,” cried Verhovensky, pouring +himself out a glass. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, asking your attention and, as you will see later, soliciting +your aid in a matter of the first importance,” Shigalov began again, “I +must make some prefatory remarks.” +</p> +<p> +“Arina Prohorovna, haven’t you some scissors?” Pyotr Stepanovitch asked +suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“What do you want scissors for?” she asked, with wide-open eyes. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve forgotten to cut my nails; I’ve been meaning to for the last three +days,” he observed, scrutinising his long and dirty nails with unruffled +composure. +</p> +<p> +Arina Prohorovna crimsoned, but Miss Virginsky seemed pleased. +</p> +<p> +“I believe I saw them just now on the window.” She got up from the +table, went and found the scissors, and at once brought them. Pyotr +Stepanovitch did not even look at her, took the scissors, and set to +work with them. Arina Prohorovna grasped that these were realistic +manners, and was ashamed of her sensitiveness. People looked at one +another in silence. The lame teacher looked vindictively and enviously +at Verhovensky. Shigalov went on. +</p> +<p> +“Dedicating my energies to the study of the social organisation which is +in the future to replace the present condition of things, I’ve come to +the conviction that all makers of social systems from ancient times up +to the present year, 187-, have been dreamers, tellers of fairy-tales, +fools who contradicted themselves, who understood nothing of natural +science and the strange animal called man. Plato, Rousseau, Fourier, +columns of aluminium, are only fit for sparrows and not for human +society. But, now that we are all at last preparing to act, a new +form of social organisation is essential. In order to avoid further +uncertainty, I propose my own system of world-organisation. Here it is.” +He tapped the notebook. “I wanted to expound my views to the meeting in +the most concise form possible, but I see that I should need to add a +great many verbal explanations, and so the whole exposition would occupy +at least ten evenings, one for each of my chapters.” (There was the +sound of laughter.) “I must add, besides, that my system is not yet +complete.” (Laughter again.) “I am perplexed by my own data and my +conclusion is a direct contradiction of the original idea with which I +start. Starting from unlimited freedom, I arrive at unlimited despotism. +I will add, however, that there can be no solution of the social problem +but mine.” +</p> +<p> +The laughter grew louder and louder, but it came chiefly from the +younger and less initiated visitors. There was an expression of some +annoyance on the faces of Madame Virginsky, Liputin, and the lame +teacher. +</p> +<p> +“If you’ve been unsuccessful in making your system consistent, and have +been reduced to despair yourself, what could we do with it?” one officer +observed warily. +</p> +<p> +“You are right, Mr. Officer”—Shigalov turned sharply to +him—“especially in using the word despair. Yes, I am reduced to despair. +Nevertheless, nothing can take the place of the system set forth in my +book, and there is no other way out of it; no one can invent anything +else. And so I hasten without loss of time to invite the whole society +to listen for ten evenings to my book and then give their opinions of +it. If the members are unwilling to listen to me, let us break up from +the start—the men to take up service under government, the women to +their cooking; for if you reject my solution you’ll find no other, none +whatever! If they let the opportunity slip, it will simply be their +loss, for they will be bound to come back to it again.” +</p> +<p> +There was a stir in the company. “Is he mad, or what?” voices asked. +</p> +<p> +“So the whole point lies in Shigalov’s despair,” Lyamshin commented, +“and the essential question is whether he must despair or not?” +</p> +<p> +“Shigalov’s being on the brink of despair is a personal question,” +declared the schoolboy. +</p> +<p> +“I propose we put it to the vote how far Shigalov’s despair affects the +common cause, and at the same time whether it’s worth while listening to +him or not,” an officer suggested gaily. +</p> +<p> +“That’s not right.” The lame teacher put in his spoke at last. As a rule +he spoke with a rather mocking smile, so that it was difficult to make +out whether he was in earnest or joking. “That’s not right, gentlemen. +Mr. Shigalov is too much devoted to his task and is also too modest. +I know his book. He suggests as a final solution of the question the +division of mankind into two unequal parts. One-tenth enjoys absolute +liberty and unbounded power over the other nine-tenths. The others +have to give up all individuality and become, so to speak, a herd, and, +through boundless submission, will by a series of regenerations attain +primæval innocence, something like the Garden of Eden. They’ll have +to work, however. The measures proposed by the author for depriving +nine-tenths of mankind of their freedom and transforming them into a +herd through the education of whole generations are very remarkable, +founded on the facts of nature and highly logical. One may not agree +with some of the deductions, but it would be difficult to doubt the +intelligence and knowledge of the author. It’s a pity that the time +required—ten evenings—is impossible to arrange for, or we might hear a +great deal that’s interesting.” +</p> +<p> +“Can you be in earnest?” Madame Virginsky addressed the lame gentleman +with a shade of positive uneasiness in her voice, “when that man doesn’t +know what to do with people and so turns nine-tenths of them into +slaves? I’ve suspected him for a long time.” +</p> +<p> +“You say that of your own brother?” asked the lame man. +</p> +<p> +“Relationship? Are you laughing at me?” +</p> +<p> +“And besides, to work for aristocrats and to obey them as though they +were gods is contemptible!” observed the girl-student fiercely. +</p> +<p> +“What I propose is not contemptible; it’s paradise, an earthly +paradise, and there can be no other on earth,” Shigalov pronounced +authoritatively. +</p> +<p> +“For my part,” said Lyamshin, “if I didn’t know what to do with +nine-tenths of mankind, I’d take them and blow them up into the air +instead of putting them in paradise. I’d only leave a handful of +educated people, who would live happily ever afterwards on scientific +principles.” +</p> +<p> +“No one but a buffoon can talk like that!” cried the girl, flaring up. +</p> +<p> +“He is a buffoon, but he is of use,” Madame Virginsky whispered to her. +</p> +<p> +“And possibly that would be the best solution of the problem,” said +Shigalov, turning hotly to Lyamshin. “You certainly don’t know what a +profound thing you’ve succeeded in saying, my merry friend. But as it’s +hardly possible to carry out your idea, we must confine ourselves to an +earthly paradise, since that’s what they call it.” +</p> +<p> +“This is pretty thorough rot,” broke, as though involuntarily, from +Verhovensky. Without even raising his eyes, however, he went on cutting +his nails with perfect nonchalance. +</p> +<p> +“Why is it rot?” The lame man took it up instantly, as though he had +been lying in wait for his first words to catch at them. “Why is it +rot? Mr. Shigalov is somewhat fanatical in his love for humanity, but +remember that Fourier, still more Cabet and even Proudhon himself, +advocated a number of the most despotic and even fantastic measures. Mr. +Shigalov is perhaps far more sober in his suggestions than they are. I +assure you that when one reads his book it’s almost impossible not to +agree with some things. He is perhaps less far from realism than anyone +and his earthly paradise is almost the real one—if it ever existed—for +the loss of which man is always sighing.” +</p> +<p> +“I knew I was in for something,” Verhovensky muttered again. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me,” said the lame man, getting more and more excited. +“Conversations and arguments about the future organisation of society +are almost an actual necessity for all thinking people nowadays. Herzen +was occupied with nothing else all his life. Byelinsky, as I know on +very good authority, used to spend whole evenings with his friends +debating and settling beforehand even the minutest, so to speak, +domestic, details of the social organisation of the future.” +</p> +<p> +“Some people go crazy over it,” the major observed suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“We are more likely to arrive at something by talking, anyway, than by +sitting silent and posing as dictators,” Liputin hissed, as though at +last venturing to begin the attack. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t mean Shigalov when I said it was rot,” Verhovensky mumbled. +“You see, gentlemen,”—he raised his eyes a trifle—“to my mind all +these books, Fourier, Cabet, all this talk about the right to work, +and Shigalov’s theories—are all like novels of which one can write a +hundred thousand—an æsthetic entertainment. I can understand that in +this little town you are bored, so you rush to ink and paper.” +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me,” said the lame man, wriggling on his chair, “though we are +provincials and of course objects of commiseration on that ground, yet +we know that so far nothing has happened in the world new enough to be +worth our weeping at having missed it. It is suggested to us in various +pamphlets made abroad and secretly distributed that we should unite +and form groups with the sole object of bringing about universal +destruction. It’s urged that, however much you tinker with the world, +you can’t make a good job of it, but that by cutting off a hundred +million heads and so lightening one’s burden, one can jump over the +ditch more safely. A fine idea, no doubt, but quite as impracticable as +Shigalov’s theories, which you referred to just now so contemptuously.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, but I haven’t come here for discussion.” Verhovensky let drop +this significant phrase, and, as though quite unaware of his blunder, +drew the candle nearer to him that he might see better. +</p> +<p> +“It’s a pity, a great pity, that you haven’t come for discussion, and +it’s a great pity that you are so taken up just now with your toilet.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s my toilet to you?” +</p> +<p> +“To remove a hundred million heads is as difficult as to transform the +world by propaganda. Possibly more difficult, especially in Russia,” +Liputin ventured again. +</p> +<p> +“It’s Russia they rest their hopes on now,” said an officer. +</p> +<p> +“We’ve heard they are resting their hopes on it,” interposed the lame +man. “We know that a mysterious finger is pointing to our delightful +country as the land most fitted to accomplish the great task. But +there’s this: by the gradual solution of the problem by propaganda I +shall gain something, anyway—I shall have some pleasant talk, at least, +and shall even get some recognition from government for my services +to the cause of society. But in the second way, by the rapid method +of cutting off a hundred million heads, what benefit shall I get +personally? If you began advocating that, your tongue might be cut out.” +</p> +<p> +“Yours certainly would be,” observed Verhovensky. +</p> +<p> +“You see. And as under the most favourable circumstances you would not +get through such a massacre in less than fifty or at the best thirty +years—for they are not sheep, you know, and perhaps they would not let +themselves be slaughtered—wouldn’t it be better to pack one’s bundle +and migrate to some quiet island beyond calm seas and there close one’s +eyes tranquilly? Believe me”—he tapped the table significantly with his +finger—“you will only promote emigration by such propaganda and nothing +else!” +</p> +<p> +He finished evidently triumphant. He was one of the intellects of the +province. Liputin smiled slyly, Virginsky listened rather dejectedly, +the others followed the discussion with great attention, especially the +ladies and officers. They all realised that the advocate of the hundred +million heads theory had been driven into a corner, and waited to see +what would come of it. +</p> +<p> +“That was a good saying of yours, though,” Verhovensky mumbled +more carelessly than ever, in fact with an air of positive boredom. +“Emigration is a good idea. But all the same, if in spite of all the +obvious disadvantages you foresee, more and more come forward every day +ready to fight for the common cause, it will be able to do without you. +It’s a new religion, my good friend, coming to take the place of the old +one. That’s why so many fighters come forward, and it’s a big movement. +You’d better emigrate! And, you know, I should advise Dresden, not ‘the +calm islands.’ To begin with, it’s a town that has never been visited by +an epidemic, and as you are a man of culture, no doubt you are afraid +of death. Another thing, it’s near the Russian frontier, so you can more +easily receive your income from your beloved Fatherland. Thirdly, +it contains what are called treasures of art, and you are a man of +æsthetic tastes, formerly a teacher of literature, I believe. And, +finally, it has a miniature Switzerland of its own—to provide you +with poetic inspiration, for no doubt you write verse. In fact it’s a +treasure in a nutshell!” There was a general movement, especially among +the officers. In another instant they would have all begun talking at +once. But the lame man rose irritably to the bait. +</p> +<p> +“No, perhaps I am not going to give up the common cause. You must +understand that …” +</p> +<p> +“What, would you join the quintet if I proposed it to you?” Verhovensky +boomed suddenly, and he laid down the scissors. +</p> +<p> +Every one seemed startled. The mysterious man had revealed himself too +freely. He had even spoken openly of the “quintet.” +</p> +<p> +“Every one feels himself to be an honest man and will not shirk his part +in the common cause”—the lame man tried to wriggle out of it—“but …” +</p> +<p> +“No, this is not a question which allows of a <i>but</i>,” Verhovensky +interrupted harshly and peremptorily. “I tell you, gentlemen, I must +have a direct answer. I quite understand that, having come here and +having called you together myself, I am bound to give you explanations” +(again an unexpected revelation), “but I can give you none till I know +what is your attitude to the subject. To cut the matter short—for we +can’t go on talking for another thirty years as people have done for the +last thirty—I ask you which you prefer: the slow way, which consists in +the composition of socialistic romances and the academic ordering of +the destinies of humanity a thousand years hence, while despotism will +swallow the savoury morsels which would almost fly into your mouths of +themselves if you’d take a little trouble; or do you, whatever it may +imply, prefer a quicker way which will at last untie your hands, and +will let humanity make its own social organisation in freedom and in +action, not on paper? They shout ‘a hundred million heads’; that may be +only a metaphor; but why be afraid of it if, with the slow day-dream on +paper, despotism in the course of some hundred years will devour not a +hundred but five hundred million heads? Take note too that an incurable +invalid will not be cured whatever prescriptions are written for him on +paper. On the contrary, if there is delay, he will grow so corrupt that +he will infect us too and contaminate all the fresh forces which one +might still reckon upon now, so that we shall all at last come to grief +together. I thoroughly agree that it’s extremely agreeable to chatter +liberally and eloquently, but action is a little trying.… However, I +am no hand at talking; I came here with communications, and so I beg +all the honourable company not to vote, but simply and directly to state +which you prefer: walking at a snail’s pace in the marsh, or putting on +full steam to get across it?” +</p> +<p> +“I am certainly for crossing at full steam!” cried the schoolboy in an +ecstasy. +</p> +<p> +“So am I,” Lyamshin chimed in. +</p> +<p> +“There can be no doubt about the choice,” muttered an officer, followed +by another, then by someone else. What struck them all most was that +Verhovensky had come “with communications” and had himself just promised +to speak. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, I see that almost all decide for the policy of the +manifestoes,” he said, looking round at the company. +</p> +<p> +“All, all!” cried the majority of voices. +</p> +<p> +“I confess I am rather in favour of a more humane policy,” said the +major, “but as all are on the other side, I go with all the rest.” +</p> +<p> +“It appears, then, that even you are not opposed to it,” said +Verhovensky, addressing the lame man. +</p> +<p> +“I am not exactly …” said the latter, turning rather red, “but if I do +agree with the rest now, it’s simply not to break up—” +</p> +<p> +“You are all like that! Ready to argue for six months to practise +your Liberal eloquence and in the end you vote the same as the rest! +Gentlemen, consider though, is it true that you are all ready?” +</p> +<p> +(Ready for what? The question was vague, but very alluring.) +</p> +<p> +“All are, of course!” voices were heard. But all were looking at one +another. +</p> +<p> +“But afterwards perhaps you will resent having agreed so quickly? That’s +almost always the way with you.” +</p> +<p> +The company was excited in various ways, greatly excited. The lame man +flew at him. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me to observe, however, that answers to such questions are +conditional. Even if we have given our decision, you must note that +questions put in such a strange way …” +</p> +<p> +“In what strange way?” +</p> +<p> +“In a way such questions are not asked.” +</p> +<p> +“Teach me how, please. But do you know, I felt sure you’d be the first +to take offence.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve extracted from us an answer as to our readiness for immediate +action; but what right had you to do so? By what authority do you ask +such questions?” +</p> +<p> +“You should have thought of asking that question sooner! Why did you +answer? You agree and then you go back on it!” +</p> +<p> +“But to my mind the irresponsibility of your principal question suggests +to me that you have no authority, no right, and only asked from personal +curiosity.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean? What do you mean?” cried Verhovensky, apparently +beginning to be much alarmed. +</p> +<p> +“Why, that the initiation of new members into anything you like is done, +anyway, <i>tête-à-tête</i> and not in the company of twenty people one doesn’t +know!” blurted out the lame man. He had said all that was in his mind +because he was too irritated to restrain himself. Verhovensky turned to +the general company with a capitally simulated look of alarm. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, I deem it my duty to declare that all this is folly, and +that our conversation has gone too far. I have so far initiated no one, +and no one has the right to say of me that I initiate members. We were +simply discussing our opinions. That’s so, isn’t it? But whether that’s +so or not, you alarm me very much.” He turned to the lame man again. +“I had no idea that it was unsafe here to speak of such practically +innocent matters except <i>tête-à-tête</i>. Are you afraid of informers? Can +there possibly be an informer among us here?” +</p> +<p> +The excitement became tremendous; all began talking. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, if that is so,” Verhovensky went on, “I have compromised +myself more than anyone, and so I will ask you to answer one question, +if you care to, of course. You are all perfectly free.” +</p> +<p> +“What question? What question?” every one clamoured. +</p> +<p> +“A question that will make it clear whether we are to remain together, +or take up our hats and go our several ways without speaking.” +</p> +<p> +“The question! The question!” +</p> +<p> +“If any one of us knew of a proposed political murder, would he, in view +of all the consequences, go to give information, or would he stay at +home and await events? Opinions may differ on this point. The answer +to the question will tell us clearly whether we are to separate, or to +remain together and for far longer than this one evening. Let me appeal +to you first.” He turned to the lame man. +</p> +<p> +“Why to me first?” +</p> +<p> +“Because you began it all. Be so good as not to prevaricate; it won’t +help you to be cunning. But please yourself, it’s for you to decide.” +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me, but such a question is positively insulting.” +</p> +<p> +“No, can’t you be more exact than that?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve never been an agent of the Secret Police,” replied the latter, +wriggling more than ever. +</p> +<p> +“Be so good as to be more definite, don’t keep us waiting.” +</p> +<p> +The lame man was so furious that he left off answering. Without a word +he glared wrathfully from under his spectacles at his tormentor. +</p> +<p> +“Yes or no? Would you inform or not?” cried Verhovensky. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I wouldn’t,” the lame man shouted twice as loudly. +</p> +<p> +“And no one would, of course not!” cried many voices. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me to appeal to you, Mr. Major. Would you inform or not?” +Verhovensky went on. “And note that I appeal to you on purpose.” +</p> +<p> +“I won’t inform.” +</p> +<p> +“But if you knew that someone meant to rob and murder someone else, an +ordinary mortal, then you would inform and give warning?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, of course; but that’s a private affair, while the other would be a +political treachery. I’ve never been an agent of the Secret Police.” +</p> +<p> +“And no one here has,” voices cried again. “It’s an unnecessary +question. Every one will make the same answer. There are no informers +here.” +</p> +<p> +“What is that gentleman getting up for?” cried the girl-student. +</p> +<p> +“That’s Shatov. What are you getting up for?” cried the lady of the +house. +</p> +<p> +Shatov did, in fact, stand up. He was holding his cap in his hand and +looking at Verhovensky. Apparently he wanted to say something to him, +but was hesitating. His face was pale and wrathful, but he controlled +himself. He did not say one word, but in silence walked towards the +door. +</p> +<p> +“Shatov, this won’t make things better for you!” Verhovensky called +after him enigmatically. +</p> +<p> +“But it will for you, since you are a spy and a scoundrel!” Shatov +shouted to him from the door, and he went out. +</p> +<p> +Shouts and exclamations again. +</p> +<p> +“That’s what comes of a test,” cried a voice. +</p> +<p> +“It’s been of use,” cried another. +</p> +<p> +“Hasn’t it been of use too late?” observed a third. +</p> +<p> +“Who invited him? Who let him in? Who is he? Who is Shatov? Will he +inform, or won’t he?” There was a shower of questions. +</p> +<p> +“If he were an informer he would have kept up appearances instead of +cursing it all and going away,” observed someone. +</p> +<p> +“See, Stavrogin is getting up too. Stavrogin has not answered the +question either,” cried the girl-student. +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin did actually stand up, and at the other end of the table +Kirillov rose at the same time. +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me, Mr. Stavrogin,” Madame Virginsky addressed him sharply, “we +all answered the question, while you are going away without a word.” +</p> +<p> +“I see no necessity to answer the question which interests you,” +muttered Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“But we’ve compromised ourselves and you won’t,” shouted several voices. +</p> +<p> +“What business is it of mine if you have compromised yourselves?” +laughed Stavrogin, but his eyes flashed. +</p> +<p> +“What business? What business?” voices exclaimed. +</p> +<p> +Many people got up from their chairs. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me, gentlemen, allow me,” cried the lame man. “Mr. Verhovensky +hasn’t answered the question either; he has only asked it.” +</p> +<p> +The remark produced a striking effect. All looked at one another. +Stavrogin laughed aloud in the lame man’s face and went out; Kirillov +followed him; Verhovensky ran after them into the passage. +</p> +<p> +“What are you doing?” he faltered, seizing Stavrogin’s hand and gripping +it with all his might in his. Stavrogin pulled away his hand without a +word. +</p> +<p> +“Be at Kirillov’s directly, I’ll come.… It’s absolutely necessary +for me to see you!…” +</p> +<p> +“It isn’t necessary for me,” Stavrogin cut him short. +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin will be there,” Kirillov said finally. “Stavrogin, it is +necessary for you. I will show you that there.” +</p> +<p> +They went out. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0013"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER VIII. IVAN THE TSAREVITCH +</h2> +<p> +They had gone. Pyotr Stepanovitch was about to rush back to the meeting +to bring order into chaos, but probably reflecting that it wasn’t worth +bothering about, left everything, and two minutes later was flying after +the other two. On the way he remembered a short cut to Filipov’s house. +He rushed along it, up to his knees in mud, and did in fact arrive at +the very moment when Stavrogin and Kirillov were coming in at the gate. +</p> +<p> +“You here already?” observed Kirillov. “That’s good. Come in.” +</p> +<p> +“How is it you told us you lived alone,” asked Stavrogin, passing a +boiling samovar in the passage. +</p> +<p> +“You will see directly who it is I live with,” muttered Kirillov. “Go +in.” +</p> +<p> +They had hardly entered when Verhovensky at once took out of his pocket +the anonymous letter he had taken from Lembke, and laid it before +Stavrogin. They all then sat down. Stavrogin read the letter in silence. +</p> +<p> +“Well?” he asked. +</p> +<p> +“That scoundrel will do as he writes,” Verhovensky explained. “So, as +he is under your control, tell me how to act. I assure you he may go to +Lembke to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, let him go.” +</p> +<p> +“Let him go! And when we can prevent him, too!” +</p> +<p> +“You are mistaken. He is not dependent on me. Besides, I don’t care; he +doesn’t threaten me in any way; he only threatens you.” +</p> +<p> +“You too.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t think so.” +</p> +<p> +“But there are other people who may not spare you. Surely you understand +that? Listen, Stavrogin. This is only playing with words. Surely you +don’t grudge the money?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, would it cost money?” +</p> +<p> +“It certainly would; two thousand or at least fifteen hundred. Give it +to me to-morrow or even to-day, and to-morrow evening I’ll send him to +Petersburg for you. That’s just what he wants. If you like, he can take +Marya Timofyevna. Note that.” +</p> +<p> +There was something distracted about him. He spoke, as it were, without +caution, and he did not reflect on his words. Stavrogin watched him, +wondering. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve no reason to send Marya Timofyevna away.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you don’t even want to,” Pyotr Stepanovitch smiled ironically. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps I don’t.” +</p> +<p> +“In short, will there be the money or not?” he cried with angry +impatience, and as it were peremptorily, to Stavrogin. The latter +scrutinised him gravely. “There won’t be the money.” +</p> +<p> +“Look here, Stavrogin! You know something, or have done something +already! You are going it!” +</p> +<p> +His face worked, the corners of his mouth twitched, and he suddenly +laughed an unprovoked and irrelevant laugh. +</p> +<p> +“But you’ve had money from your father for the estate,” Stavrogin +observed calmly. “Maman sent you six or eight thousand for Stepan +Trofimovitch. So you can pay the fifteen hundred out of your own money. +I don’t care to pay for other people. I’ve given a lot as it is. +It annoys me.…” He smiled himself at his own words. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, you are beginning to joke!” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin got up from his chair. Verhovensky instantly jumped up too, +and mechanically stood with his back to the door as though barring the +way to him. Stavrogin had already made a motion to push him aside and go +out, when he stopped short. +</p> +<p> +“I won’t give up Shatov to you,” he said. Pyotr Stepanovitch started. +They looked at one another. +</p> +<p> +“I told you this evening why you needed Shatov’s blood,” said Stavrogin, +with flashing eyes. “It’s the cement you want to bind your groups +together with. You drove Shatov away cleverly just now. You knew very +well that he wouldn’t promise not to inform and he would have thought it +mean to lie to you. But what do you want with me? What do you want with +me? Ever since we met abroad you won’t let me alone. The explanation +you’ve given me so far was simply raving. Meanwhile you are driving +at my giving Lebyadkin fifteen hundred roubles, so as to give Fedka an +opportunity to murder him. I know that you think I want my wife murdered +too. You think to tie my hands by this crime, and have me in your power. +That’s it, isn’t it? What good will that be to you? What the devil do +you want with me? Look at me. Once for all, am I the man for you? And +let me alone.” +</p> +<p> +“Has Fedka been to you himself?” Verhovensky asked breathlessly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, he came. His price is fifteen hundred too.… But here; he’ll +repeat it himself. There he stands.” Stavrogin stretched out his hand. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch turned round quickly. A new figure, Fedka, wearing a +sheep-skin coat, but without a cap, as though he were at home, stepped +out of the darkness in the doorway. He stood there laughing and showing +his even white teeth. His black eyes, with yellow whites, darted +cautiously about the room watching the gentlemen. There was something he +did not understand. He had evidently been just brought in by Kirillov, +and his inquiring eyes turned to the latter. He stood in the doorway, +but was unwilling to come into the room. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you got him ready here to listen to our bargaining, or +that he may actually see the money in our hands. Is that it?” asked +Stavrogin; and without waiting for an answer he walked out of the house. +Verhovensky, almost frantic, overtook him at the gate. +</p> +<p> +“Stop! Not another step!” he cried, seizing him by the arm. Stavrogin +tried to pull away his arm, but did not succeed. He was overcome with +fury. Seizing Verhovensky by the hair with his left hand he flung him +with all his might on the ground and went out at the gate. But he had +not gone thirty paces before Verhovensky overtook him again. +</p> +<p> +“Let us make it up; let us make it up!” he murmured in a spasmodic +whisper. +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin shrugged his shoulders, but neither answered nor turned round. +</p> +<p> +“Listen. I will bring you Lizaveta Nikolaevna to-morrow; shall I? No? +Why don’t you answer? Tell me what you want. I’ll do it. Listen. I’ll +let you have Shatov. Shall I?” +</p> +<p> +“Then it’s true that you meant to kill him?” cried Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“What do you want with Shatov? What is he to you?” Pyotr Stepanovitch +went on, gasping, speaking rapidly. He was in a frenzy, and kept running +forward and seizing Stavrogin by the elbow, probably unaware of what he +was doing. “Listen. I’ll let you have him. Let’s make it up. Your price +is a very great one, but … Let’s make it up!” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin glanced at him at last, and was amazed. The eyes, the voice, +were not the same as always, or as they had been in the room just now. +What he saw was almost another face. The intonation of the voice was +different. Verhovensky besought, implored. He was a man from whom what +was most precious was being taken or had been taken, and who was still +stunned by the shock. +</p> +<p> +“But what’s the matter with you?” cried Stavrogin. The other did not +answer, but ran after him and gazed at him with the same imploring but +yet inflexible expression. +</p> +<p> +“Let’s make it up!” he whispered once more. “Listen. Like Fedka, I have +a knife in my boot, but I’ll make it up with you!” +</p> +<p> +“But what do you want with me, damn you?” Stavrogin cried, with intense +anger and amazement. “Is there some mystery about it? Am I a sort of +talisman for you?” +</p> +<p> +“Listen. We are going to make a revolution,” the other muttered rapidly, +and almost in delirium. “You don’t believe we shall make a revolution? +We are going to make such an upheaval that everything will be uprooted +from its foundation. Karmazinov is right that there is nothing to lay +hold of. Karmazinov is very intelligent. Another ten such groups in +different parts of Russia—and I am safe.” +</p> +<p> +“Groups of fools like that?” broke reluctantly from Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, don’t be so clever, Stavrogin; don’t be so clever yourself. And you +know you are by no means so intelligent that you need wish others to +be. You are afraid, you have no faith. You are frightened at our doing +things on such a scale. And why are they fools? They are not such fools. +No one has a mind of his own nowadays. There are terribly few original +minds nowadays. Virginsky is a pure-hearted man, ten times as pure as +you or I; but never mind about him. Liputin is a rogue, but I know one +point about him. Every rogue has some point in him.… Lyamshin is the +only one who hasn’t, but he is in my hands. A few more groups, and I +should have money and passports everywhere; so much at least. Suppose it +were only that? And safe places, so that they can search as they like. +They might uproot one group but they’d stick at the next. We’ll set +things in a ferment.… Surely you don’t think that we two are not +enough?” +</p> +<p> +“Take Shigalov, and let me alone.…” +</p> +<p> +“Shigalov is a man of genius! Do you know he is a genius like Fourier, +but bolder than Fourier; stronger. I’ll look after him. He’s discovered +‘equality’!” +</p> +<p> +“He is in a fever; he is raving; something very queer has happened +to him,” thought Stavrogin, looking at him once more. Both walked on +without stopping. +</p> +<p> +“He’s written a good thing in that manuscript,” Verhovensky went on. “He +suggests a system of spying. Every member of the society spies on the +others, and it’s his duty to inform against them. Every one belongs to +all and all to every one. All are slaves and equal in their slavery. In +extreme cases he advocates slander and murder, but the great thing about +it is equality. To begin with, the level of education, science, and +talents is lowered. A high level of education and science is only +possible for great intellects, and they are not wanted. The great +intellects have always seized the power and been despots. Great +intellects cannot help being despots and they’ve always done more harm +than good. They will be banished or put to death. Cicero will have his +tongue cut out, Copernicus will have his eyes put out, Shakespeare will +be stoned—that’s Shigalovism. Slaves are bound to be equal. There has +never been either freedom or equality without despotism, but in the herd +there is bound to be equality, and that’s Shigalovism! Ha ha ha! Do you +think it strange? I am for Shigalovism.” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin tried to quicken his pace, and to reach home as soon as +possible. “If this fellow is drunk, where did he manage to get drunk?” +crossed his mind. “Can it be the brandy?” +</p> +<p> +“Listen, Stavrogin. To level the mountains is a fine idea, not an absurd +one. I am for Shigalov. Down with culture. We’ve had enough science! +Without science we have material enough to go on for a thousand years, +but one must have discipline. The one thing wanting in the world is +discipline. The thirst for culture is an aristocratic thirst. The moment +you have family ties or love you get the desire for property. We will +destroy that desire; we’ll make use of drunkenness, slander, spying; +we’ll make use of incredible corruption; we’ll stifle every genius +in its infancy. We’ll reduce all to a common denominator! Complete +equality! ‘We’ve learned a trade, and we are honest men; we need nothing +more,’ that was an answer given by English working-men recently. +Only the necessary is necessary, that’s the motto of the whole world +henceforward. But it needs a shock. That’s for us, the directors, to +look after. Slaves must have directors. Absolute submission, absolute +loss of individuality, but once in thirty years Shigalov would let them +have a shock and they would all suddenly begin eating one another up, to +a certain point, simply as a precaution against boredom. Boredom is an +aristocratic sensation. The Shigalovians will have no desires. Desire +and suffering are our lot, but Shigalovism is for the slaves.” +</p> +<p> +“You exclude yourself?” Stavrogin broke in again. +</p> +<p> +“You, too. Do you know, I have thought of giving up the world to the +Pope. Let him come forth, on foot, and barefoot, and show himself to the +rabble, saying, ‘See what they have brought me to!’ and they will all +rush after him, even the troops. The Pope at the head, with us +round him, and below us—Shigalovism. All that’s needed is that the +Internationale should come to an agreement with the Pope; so it will. +And the old chap will agree at once. There’s nothing else he can do. +Remember my words! Ha ha! Is it stupid? Tell me, is it stupid or not?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s enough!” Stavrogin muttered with vexation. +</p> +<p> +“Enough! Listen. I’ve given up the Pope! Damn Shigalovism! Damn the +Pope! We must have something more everyday. Not Shigalovism, for +Shigalovism is a rare specimen of the jeweller’s art. It’s an ideal; +it’s in the future. Shigalov is an artist and a fool like every +philanthropist. We need coarse work, and Shigalov despises coarse work. +Listen. The Pope shall be for the west, and you shall be for us, you +shall be for us!” +</p> +<p> +“Let me alone, you drunken fellow!” muttered Stavrogin, and he quickened +his pace. +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin, you are beautiful,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, almost +ecstatically. “Do you know that you are beautiful! What’s the most +precious thing about you is that you sometimes don’t know it. Oh, +I’ve studied you! I often watch you on the sly! There’s a lot of +simpleheartedness and naïveté about you still. Do you know that? There +still is, there is! You must be suffering and suffering genuinely from +that simple-heartedness. I love beauty. I am a nihilist, but I love +beauty. Are nihilists incapable of loving beauty? It’s only idols they +dislike, but I love an idol. You are my idol! You injure no one, and +every one hates you. You treat every one as an equal, and yet every one +is afraid of you—that’s good. Nobody would slap you on the shoulder. +You are an awful aristocrat. An aristocrat is irresistible when he goes +in for democracy! To sacrifice life, your own or another’s is nothing +to you. You are just the man that’s needed. It’s just such a man as you +that I need. I know no one but you. You are the leader, you are the sun +and I am your worm.” +</p> +<p> +He suddenly kissed his hand. A shiver ran down Stavrogin’s spine, and he +pulled away his hand in dismay. They stood still. +</p> +<p> +“Madman!” whispered Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps I am raving; perhaps I am raving,” Pyotr Stepanovitch assented, +speaking rapidly. “But I’ve thought of the first step! Shigalov would +never have thought of it. There are lots of Shigalovs, but only one man, +one man in Russia has hit on the first step and knows how to take it. +And I am that man! Why do you look at me? I need you, you; without you +I am nothing. Without you I am a fly, a bottled idea; Columbus without +America.” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin stood still and looked intently into his wild eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Listen. First of all we’ll make an upheaval,” Verhovensky went on in +desperate haste, continually clutching at Stavrogin’s left sleeve. “I’ve +already told you. We shall penetrate to the peasantry. Do you know that +we are tremendously powerful already? Our party does not consist only of +those who commit murder and arson, fire off pistols in the traditional +fashion, or bite colonels. They are only a hindrance. I don’t accept +anything without discipline. I am a scoundrel, of course, and not a +socialist. Ha ha! Listen. I’ve reckoned them all up: a teacher who +laughs with children at their God and at their cradle is on our side. +The lawyer who defends an educated murderer because he is more cultured +than his victims and could not help murdering them to get money is one +of us. The schoolboys who murder a peasant for the sake of sensation are +ours. The juries who acquit every criminal are ours. The prosecutor who +trembles at a trial for fear he should not seem advanced enough is ours, +ours. Among officials and literary men we have lots, lots, and they +don’t know it themselves. On the other hand, the docility of schoolboys +and fools has reached an extreme pitch; the schoolmasters are bitter +and bilious. On all sides we see vanity puffed up out of all proportion; +brutal, monstrous appetites.… Do you know how many we shall catch by +little, ready-made ideas? When I left Russia, Littre’s dictum that crime +is insanity was all the rage; I come back and I find that crime is +no longer insanity, but simply common sense, almost a duty; anyway, +a gallant protest. ‘How can we expect a cultured man not to commit a +murder, if he is in need of money.’ But these are only the first fruits. +The Russian God has already been vanquished by cheap vodka. The peasants +are drunk, the mothers are drunk, the children are drunk, the churches +are empty, and in the peasant courts one hears, ‘Two hundred lashes or +stand us a bucket of vodka.’ Oh, this generation has only to grow up. +It’s only a pity we can’t afford to wait, or we might have let them get +a bit more tipsy! Ah, what a pity there’s no proletariat! But there will +be, there will be; we are going that way.…” +</p> +<p> +“It’s a pity, too, that we’ve grown greater fools,” muttered Stavrogin, +moving forward as before. +</p> +<p> +“Listen. I’ve seen a child of six years old leading home his drunken +mother, whilst she swore at him with foul words. Do you suppose I am +glad of that? When it’s in our hands, maybe we’ll mend things … if need +be, we’ll drive them for forty years into the wilderness.… But one +or two generations of vice are essential now; monstrous, abject vice by +which a man is transformed into a loathsome, cruel, egoistic reptile. +That’s what we need! And what’s more, a little ‘fresh blood’ that we +may get accustomed to it. Why are you laughing? I am not contradicting +myself. I am only contradicting the philanthropists and Shigalovism, +not myself! I am a scoundrel, not a socialist. Ha ha ha! I’m only sorry +there’s no time. I promised Karmazinov to begin in May, and to make an +end by October. Is that too soon? Ha ha! Do you know what, Stavrogin? +Though the Russian people use foul language, there’s nothing cynical +about them so far. Do you know the serfs had more self-respect than +Karmazinov? Though they were beaten they always preserved their gods, +which is more than Karmazinov’s done.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, Verhovensky, this is the first time I’ve heard you talk, and I +listen with amazement,” observed Stavrogin. “So you are really not a +socialist, then, but some sort of … ambitious politician?” +</p> +<p> +“A scoundrel, a scoundrel! You are wondering what I am. I’ll tell you +what I am directly, that’s what I am leading up to. It was not for +nothing that I kissed your hand. But the people must believe that we +know what we are after, while the other side do nothing but ‘brandish +their cudgels and beat their own followers.’ Ah, if we only had more +time! That’s the only trouble, we have no time. We will proclaim +destruction.… Why is it, why is it that idea has such a fascination. +But we must have a little exercise; we must. We’ll set fires going.… +We’ll set legends going. Every scurvy ‘group’ will be of use. Out of +those very groups I’ll pick you out fellows so keen they’ll not shrink +from shooting, and be grateful for the honour of a job, too. Well, and +there will be an upheaval! There’s going to be such an upset as +the world has never seen before.… Russia will be overwhelmed with +darkness, the earth will weep for its old gods.… Well, then we shall +bring forward … whom?” +</p> +<p> +“Whom?” +</p> +<p> +“Ivan the Tsarevitch.” +</p> +<p> +“Who-m?” +</p> +<p> +“Ivan the Tsarevitch. You! You!” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin thought a minute. +</p> +<p> +“A pretender?” he asked suddenly, looking with intense surprise at his +frantic companion. “Ah! so that’s your plan at last!” +</p> +<p> +“We shall say that he is ‘in hiding,’” Verhovensky said softly, in a +sort of tender whisper, as though he really were drunk indeed. “Do you +know the magic of that phrase, ‘he is in hiding’? But he will appear, +he will appear. We’ll set a legend going better than the Skoptsis’. He +exists, but no one has seen him. Oh, what a legend one can set going! +And the great thing is it will be a new force at work! And we need that; +that’s what they are crying for. What can Socialism do: it’s destroyed +the old forces but hasn’t brought in any new. But in this we have a +force, and what a force! Incredible. We only need one lever to lift up +the earth. Everything will rise up!” +</p> +<p> +“Then have you been seriously reckoning on me?” Stavrogin said with a +malicious smile. +</p> +<p> +“Why do you laugh, and so spitefully? Don’t frighten me. I am like a +little child now. I can be frightened to death by one smile like that. +Listen. I’ll let no one see you, no one. So it must be. He exists, but +no one has seen him; he is in hiding. And do you know, one might show +you, to one out of a hundred-thousand, for instance. And the rumour will +spread over all the land, ‘We’ve seen him, we’ve seen him.’ +</p> +<p> +“Ivan Filipovitch the God of Sabaoth,* has been seen, too, when he +ascended into heaven in his chariot in the sight of men. They saw +him with their own eyes. And you are not an Ivan Filipovitch. You are +beautiful and proud as a God; you are seeking nothing for yourself, +with the halo of a victim round you, ‘in hiding.’ The great thing is +the legend. You’ll conquer them, you’ll have only to look, and you will +conquer them. He is ‘in hiding,’ and will come forth bringing a new +truth. And, meanwhile, we’ll pass two or three judgments as wise +as Solomon’s. The groups, you know, the quintets—we’ve no need of +newspapers. If out of ten thousand petitions only one is granted, all +would come with petitions. In every parish, every peasant will know that +there is somewhere a hollow tree where petitions are to be put. And the +whole land will resound with the cry, ‘A new just law is to come,’ and +the sea will be troubled and the whole gimcrack show will fall to the +ground, and then we shall consider how to build up an edifice of stone. +For the first time! We are going to build it, we, and only we!” +</p> + +<pre> + * The reference is to the legend current in the sect of + Flagellants.—Translator’s note. +</pre> +<p> +“Madness,” said Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“Why, why don’t you want it? Are you afraid? That’s why I caught at you, +because you are afraid of nothing. Is it unreasonable? But you see, so +far I am Columbus without America. Would Columbus without America seem +reasonable?” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin did not speak. Meanwhile they had reached the house and +stopped at the entrance. +</p> +<p> +“Listen,” Verhovensky bent down to his ear. “I’ll do it for you without +the money. I’ll settle Marya Timofyevna to-morrow!… Without the money, +and to-morrow I’ll bring you Liza. Will you have Liza to-morrow?” +</p> +<p> +“Is he really mad?” Stavrogin wondered smiling. The front door was +opened. +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin—is America ours?” said Verhovensky, seizing his hand for the +last time. +</p> +<p> +“What for?” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, gravely and sternly. +</p> +<p> +“You don’t care, I knew that!” cried Verhovensky in an access of furious +anger. “You are lying, you miserable, profligate, perverted, little +aristocrat! I don’t believe you, you’ve the appetite of a wolf!… +Understand that you’ve cost me such a price, I can’t give you up now! +There’s no one on earth but you! I invented you abroad; I invented it +all, looking at you. If I hadn’t watched you from my corner, nothing of +all this would have entered my head!” +</p> + +<p> +Stavrogin went up the steps without answering. +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin!” Verhovensky called after him, “I give you a day … two, +then … three, then; more than three I can’t—and then you’re to +answer!” +</p> +<a id="H2CH0014"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER IX. A RAID AT STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S +</h2> +<p> +Meanwhile an incident had occurred which astounded me and shattered +Stepan Trofimovitch. At eight o’clock in the morning Nastasya ran round +to me from him with the news that her master was “raided.” At first I +could not make out what she meant; I could only gather that the “raid” +was carried out by officials, that they had come and taken his papers, +and that a soldier had tied them up in a bundle and “wheeled them away +in a barrow.” It was a fantastic story. I hurried at once to Stepan +Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +I found him in a surprising condition: upset and in great agitation, but +at the same time unmistakably triumphant. On the table in the middle of +the room the samovar was boiling, and there was a glass of tea poured +out but untouched and forgotten. Stepan Trofimovitch was wandering round +the table and peeping into every corner of the room, unconscious of what +he was doing. He was wearing his usual red knitted jacket, but seeing +me, he hurriedly put on his coat and waistcoat—a thing he had never +done before when any of his intimate friends found him in his jacket. He +took me warmly by the hand at once. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Enfin un ami!”</i> (He heaved a deep sigh.) “<i>Cher,</i> I’ve sent to you only, +and no one knows anything. We must give Nastasya orders to lock the +doors and not admit anyone, except, of course them.… <i>Vous comprenez?</i>” +</p> +<p> +He looked at me uneasily, as though expecting a reply. I made haste, of +course, to question him, and from his disconnected and broken sentences, +full of unnecessary parentheses, I succeeded in learning that at seven +o’clock that morning an official of the province had ‘all of a sudden’ +called on him. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Pardon, j’ai oublié son nom. Il n’est pas du pays,</i> but I think he came +to the town with Lembke, <i>quelque chose de bête et d’Allemand dans la +physionomie. Il s’appelle Rosenthal.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Wasn’t it Blum?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that was his name. <i>Vous le connaissez? Quelque chose d’hébété et +de très content dans la figure, pourtant très sevère, roide et sérieux.</i> +A type of the police, of the submissive subordinates, <i>je m’y connais.</i> I +was still asleep, and, would you believe it, he asked to have a look at +my books and manuscripts! <i>Oui, je m’en souviens, il a employé ce mot.</i> He +did not arrest me, but only the books. <i>Il se tenait à distance,</i> and when +he began to explain his visit he looked as though I … <i>enfin il +avait l’air de croire que je tomberai sur lui immédiatement et que je +commencerai a le battre comme plâtre. Tous ces gens du bas étage sont +comme ça</i> when they have to do with a gentleman. I need hardly say I +understood it all at once. <i>Voilà vingt ans que je m’y prépare.</i> I opened +all the drawers and handed him all the keys; I gave them myself, I gave +him all. <i>J’étais digne et calme.</i> From the books he took the foreign +edition of Herzen, the bound volume of <i>The Bell,</i> four copies of my poem, +<i>et enfin tout ça.</i> Then he took my letters and my papers <i>et quelques-unes +de mes ébauches historiques, critiques et politiques.</i> All that they +carried off. Nastasya says that a soldier wheeled them away in a barrow +and covered them with an apron; <i>oui, c’est cela,</i> with an apron.” It +sounded like delirium. Who could make head or tail of it? I pelted him +with questions again. Had Blum come alone, or with others? On whose +authority? By what right? How had he dared? How did he explain it? +</p> +<p> +“<i>Il etait seul, bien seul,</i> but there was someone else <i>dans +l’antichambre, oui, je m’en souviens, et puis </i>… Though I believe there +was someone else besides, and there was a guard standing in the entry. +You must ask Nastasya; she knows all about it better than I do. <i>J’étais +surexcité, voyez-vous. Il parlait, il parlait … un tas de chases</i>; he +said very little though, it was I said all that.… I told him the +story of my life, simply from that point of view, of course. <i>J’étais +surexcité, mais digne, je vous assure.</i>… I am afraid, though, I may +have shed tears. They got the barrow from the shop next door.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, heavens! how could all this have happened? But for mercy’s sake, +speak more exactly, Stepan Trofimovitch. What you tell me sounds like a +dream.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Cher,</i> I feel as though I were in a dream myself.… <i>Savez-vous! Il +a prononcé le nom de Telyatnikof,</i> and I believe that that man was +concealed in the entry. Yes, I remember, he suggested calling the +prosecutor and Dmitri Dmitritch, I believe … <i>qui me doit encore quinze +roubles</i> I won at cards, <i>soit dit en passant. Enfin, je n’ai pas trop +compris.</i> But I got the better of them, and what do I care for Dmitri +Dmitritch? I believe I begged him very earnestly to keep it quiet; +I begged him particularly, most particularly. I am afraid I demeaned +myself, in fact, <i>comment croyez-vous? Enfin il a consenti.</i> Yes, I +remember, he suggested that himself—that it would be better to keep it +quiet, for he had only come ‘to have a look round’ <i>et rien de plus,</i> and +nothing more, nothing more … and that if they find nothing, nothing +will happen. So that we ended it all <i>en amis, je suis tout à fait +content.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Why, then he suggested the usual course of proceedings in such cases +and regular guarantees, and you rejected them yourself,” I cried with +friendly indignation. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, it’s better without the guarantees. And why make a scandal? Let’s +keep it <i>en amis</i> so long as we can. You know, in our town, if they get to +know it … <i>mes ennemis, et puis, à quoi bon, le procureur, ce cochon de +notre procureur, qui deux fois m’a manqué de politesse et qu’on a rossé +à plaisir l’autre année chez cette charmante et belle Natalya Pavlovna +quand il se cacha dans son boudoir. Et puis, mon ami,</i> don’t make +objections and don’t depress me, I beg you, for nothing is more +unbearable when a man is in trouble than for a hundred friends to point +out to him what a fool he has made of himself. Sit down though and have +some tea. I must admit I am awfully tired.… Hadn’t I better lie down +and put vinegar on my head? What do you think?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly,” I cried, “ice even. You are very much upset. You are pale +and your hands are trembling. Lie down, rest, and put off telling me. +I’ll sit by you and wait.” +</p> +<p> +He hesitated, but I insisted on his lying down. Nastasya brought a cup +of vinegar. I wetted a towel and laid it on his head. Then Nastasya +stood on a chair and began lighting a lamp before the ikon in the +corner. I noticed this with surprise; there had never been a lamp there +before and now suddenly it had made its appearance. +</p> +<p> +“I arranged for that as soon as they had gone away,” muttered Stepan +Trofimovitch, looking at me slyly. “<i>Quand on a de ces choses-là dans sa +chambre et qu’on vient vous arrêter</i> it makes an impression and they are +sure to report that they have seen it.…” +</p> +<p> +When she had done the lamp, Nastasya stood in the doorway, leaned her +cheek in her right hand, and began gazing at him with a lachrymose air. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Eloignez-la</i> on some excuse,” he nodded to me from the sofa. “I can’t +endure this Russian sympathy, <i>et puis ça m’embête.</i>” +</p> +<p> +But she went away of herself. I noticed that he kept looking towards the +door and listening for sounds in the passage. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Il faut être prêt, voyez-vous,”</i> he said, looking at me significantly, +<i>“chaque moment </i>… they may come and take one and, phew!—a man +disappears.” +</p> +<p> +“Heavens! who’ll come? Who will take you?” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Voyez-vous, mon cher,</i> I asked straight out when he was going away, what +would they do to me now.” +</p> +<p> +“You’d better have asked them where you’d be exiled!” I cried out in the +same indignation. +</p> +<p> +“That’s just what I meant when I asked, but he went away without +answering. <i>Voyez-vous:</i> as for linen, clothes, warm things especially, +that must be as they decide; if they tell me to take them—all right, +or they might send me in a soldier’s overcoat. But I thrust thirty-five +roubles” (he suddenly dropped his voice, looking towards the door by +which Nastasya had gone out) “in a slit in my waistcoat pocket, here, +feel.… I believe they won’t take the waistcoat off, and left seven +roubles in my purse to keep up appearances, as though that were all I +have. You see, it’s in small change and the coppers are on the table, +so they won’t guess that I’ve hidden the money, but will suppose that +that’s all. For God knows where I may have to sleep to-night!” +</p> +<p> +I bowed my head before such madness. It was obvious that a man could not +be arrested and searched in the way he was describing, and he must +have mixed things up. It’s true it all happened in the days before our +present, more recent regulations. It is true, too, that according to his +own account they had offered to follow the more regular procedure, but +he “got the better of them” and refused.… Of course not long ago a +governor might, in extreme cases.… But how could this be an extreme +case? That’s what baffled me. +</p> +<p> +“No doubt they had a telegram from Petersburg,” Stepan Trofimovitch said +suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“A telegram? About you? Because of the works of Herzen and your poem? +Have you taken leave of your senses? What is there in that to arrest you +for?” +</p> +<p> +I was positively angry. He made a grimace and was evidently +mortified—not at my exclamation, but at the idea that there was no +ground for arrest. +</p> +<p> +“Who can tell in our day what he may not be arrested for?” he muttered +enigmatically. +</p> +<p> +A wild and nonsensical idea crossed my mind. +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch, tell me as a friend,” I cried, “as a real friend, +I will not betray you: do you belong to some secret society or not?” +</p> +<p> +And on this, to my amazement, he was not quite certain whether he was or +was not a member of some secret society. +</p> +<p> +“That depends, <i>voyez-vous.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean ‘it depends’?” +</p> +<p> +“When with one’s whole heart one is an adherent of progress and … who +can answer it? You may suppose you don’t belong, and suddenly it turns +out that you do belong to something.” +</p> +<p> +“Now is that possible? It’s a case of yes or no.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Cela date de Pétersburg</i> when she and I were meaning to found a magazine +there. That’s what’s at the root of it. She gave them the slip then, and +they forgot us, but now they’ve remembered. <i>Cher, cher,</i> don’t you know +me?” he cried hysterically. “And they’ll take us, put us in a cart, and +march us off to Siberia forever, or forget us in prison.” +</p> +<p> +And he suddenly broke into bitter weeping. His tears positively +streamed. He covered his face with his red silk handkerchief and sobbed, +sobbed convulsively for five minutes. It wrung my heart. This was +the man who had been a prophet among us for twenty years, a leader, +a patriarch, the Kukolnik who had borne himself so loftily and +majestically before all of us, before whom we bowed down with genuine +reverence, feeling proud of doing so—and all of a sudden here he was +sobbing, sobbing like a naughty child waiting for the rod which the +teacher is fetching for him. I felt fearfully sorry for him. He believed +in the reality of that “cart” as he believed that I was sitting by his +side, and he expected it that morning, at once, that very minute, and +all this on account of his Herzen and some poem! Such complete, absolute +ignorance of everyday reality was touching and somehow repulsive. +</p> +<p> +At last he left off crying, got up from the sofa and began walking about +the room again, continuing to talk to me, though he looked out of the +window every minute and listened to every sound in the passage. Our +conversation was still disconnected. All my assurances and attempts +to console him rebounded from him like peas from a wall. He scarcely +listened, but yet what he needed was that I should console him and keep +on talking with that object. I saw that he could not do without me now, +and would not let me go for anything. I remained, and we spent more than +two hours together. In conversation he recalled that Blum had taken with +him two manifestoes he had found. +</p> +<p> +“Manifestoes!” I said, foolishly frightened. “Do you mean to say +you …” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, ten were left here,” he answered with vexation (he talked to me +at one moment in a vexed and haughty tone and at the next with dreadful +plaintiveness and humiliation), “but I had disposed of eight already, +and Blum only found two.” And he suddenly flushed with indignation. +“<i>Vous me mettez avec ces gens-là!</i> Do you suppose I could be working +with those scoundrels, those anonymous libellers, with my son Pyotr +Stepanovitch, <i>avec ces esprits forts de lâcheté?</i> Oh, heavens!” +</p> +<p> +“Bah! haven’t they mixed you up perhaps?… But it’s nonsense, it can’t +be so,” I observed. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Savez-vous,”</i> broke from him suddenly, “I feel at moments <i>que je ferai +là-bas quelque esclandre.</i> Oh, don’t go away, don’t leave me alone! <i>Ma +carrière est finie aujourd’hui, je le sens.</i> Do you know, I might fall on +somebody there and bite him, like that lieutenant.” +</p> +<p> +He looked at me with a strange expression—alarmed, and at the same time +anxious to alarm me. He certainly was getting more and more exasperated +with somebody and about something as time went on and the police-cart +did not appear; he was positively wrathful. Suddenly Nastasya, who +had come from the kitchen into the passage for some reason, upset a +clothes-horse there. Stepan Trofimovitch trembled and turned numb with +terror as he sat; but when the noise was explained, he almost shrieked +at Nastasya and, stamping, drove her back to the kitchen. A minute later +he said, looking at me in despair: “I am ruined! <i>Cher</i>”—he sat down +suddenly beside me and looked piteously into my face—“<i>cher,</i> it’s not +Siberia I am afraid of, I swear. <i>Oh, je vous jure!</i>” (Tears positively +stood in his eyes.) “It’s something else I fear.” +</p> +<p> +I saw from his expression that he wanted at last to tell me something of +great importance which he had till now refrained from telling. +</p> +<p> +“I am afraid of disgrace,” he whispered mysteriously. +</p> +<p> +“What disgrace? On the contrary! Believe me, Stepan Trofimovitch, that all +this will be explained to-day and will end to your advantage.…” +</p> +<p> +“Are you so sure that they will pardon me?” +</p> +<p> +“Pardon you? What! What a word! What have you done? I assure you you’ve +done nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Qu’en savez-vous;</i> all my life has been … <i>cher</i> … They’ll remember +everything … and if they find nothing, it will be <i>worse still</i>,” he +added all of a sudden, unexpectedly. +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean it will be worse?” +</p> +<p> +“It will be worse.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t understand.” +</p> +<p> +“My friend, let it be Siberia, Archangel, loss of rights—if I must +perish, let me perish! But … I am afraid of something else.” (Again +whispering, a scared face, mystery.) +</p> +<p> +“But of what? Of what?” +</p> +<p> +“They’ll flog me,” he pronounced, looking at me with a face of despair. +</p> +<p> +“Who’ll flog you? What for? Where?” I cried, feeling alarmed that he was +going out of his mind. +</p> +<p> +“Where? Why there … where ‘that’s’ done.” +</p> +<p> +“But where is it done?” +</p> +<p> +“Eh, <i>cher,</i>” he whispered almost in my ear. “The floor suddenly gives +way under you, you drop half through.… Every one knows that.” +</p> +<p> +“Legends!” I cried, guessing what he meant. “Old tales. Can you have +believed them till now?” I laughed. +</p> +<p> +“Tales! But there must be foundation for them; flogged men tell no +tales. I’ve imagined it ten thousand times.” +</p> +<p> +“But you, why you? You’ve done nothing, you know.” +</p> +<p> +“That makes it worse. They’ll find out I’ve done nothing and flog me for +it.” +</p> +<p> +“And you are sure that you’ll be taken to Petersburg for that.” +</p> +<p> +“My friend, I’ve told you already that I regret nothing, <i>ma carrière est +finie.</i> From that hour when she said good-bye to me at Skvoreshniki my +life has had no value for me … but disgrace, disgrace, <i>que dira-t-elle</i> +if she finds out?” +</p> +<p> +He looked at me in despair. And the poor fellow flushed all over. I +dropped my eyes too. +</p> +<p> +“She’ll find out nothing, for nothing will happen to you. I feel as if I +were speaking to you for the first time in my life, Stepan Trofimovitch, +you’ve astonished me so this morning.” +</p> +<p> +“But, my friend, this isn’t fear. For even if I am pardoned, even if +I am brought here and nothing is done to me—then I am undone. <i>Elle me +soupçonnera toute sa vie</i>—me, me, the poet, the thinker, the man whom +she has worshipped for twenty-two years!” +</p> +<p> +“It will never enter her head.” +</p> +<p> +“It will,” he whispered with profound conviction. “We’ve talked of it +several times in Petersburg, in Lent, before we came away, when we +were both afraid.… <i>Elle me soupçonnera toute sa vie </i>… and how can +I disabuse her? It won’t sound likely. And in this wretched town who’d +believe it, <i>c’est invraisemblable.… Et puis les femmes,</i> she will be +pleased. She will be genuinely grieved like a true friend, but secretly +she will be pleased.… I shall give her a weapon against me for the +rest of my life. Oh, it’s all over with me! Twenty years of such perfect +happiness with her … and now!” He hid his face in his hands. +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch, oughtn’t you to let Varvara Petrovna know at once +of what has happened?” I suggested. +</p> +<p> +“God preserve me!” he cried, shuddering and leaping up from his +place. “On no account, never, after what was said at parting at +Skvoreshniki—never!” +</p> +<p> +His eyes flashed. +</p> +<p> +We went on sitting together another hour or more, I believe, expecting +something all the time—the idea had taken such hold of us. He lay down +again, even closed his eyes, and lay for twenty minutes without uttering +a word, so that I thought he was asleep or unconscious. Suddenly he got +up impulsively, pulled the towel off his head, jumped up from the sofa, +rushed to the looking-glass, with trembling hands tied his cravat, and +in a voice of thunder called to Nastasya, telling her to give him his +overcoat, his new hat and his stick. +</p> +<p> +“I can bear no more,” he said in a breaking voice. “I can’t, I can’t! I +am going myself.” +</p> +<p> +“Where?” I cried, jumping up too. +</p> +<p> +“To Lembke. <i>Cher,</i> I ought, I am obliged. It’s my duty. I am a citizen +and a man, not a worthless chip. I have rights; I want my rights.… +For twenty years I’ve not insisted on my rights. All my life I’ve +neglected them criminally … but now I’ll demand them. He must tell me +everything—everything. He received a telegram. He dare not torture me; +if so, let him arrest me, let him arrest me!” +</p> +<p> +He stamped and vociferated almost with shrieks. “I approve of what you +say,” I said, speaking as calmly as possible, on purpose, though I was +very much afraid for him. +</p> +<p> +“Certainly it is better than sitting here in such misery, but I can’t +approve of your state of mind. Just see what you look like and in what a +state you are going there! <i>Il faut être digne et calme avec Lembke.</i> You +really might rush at someone there and bite him.” +</p> +<p> +“I am giving myself up. I am walking straight into the jaws of the lion.…” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll go with you.” +</p> +<p> +“I expected no less of you, I accept your sacrifice, the sacrifice of a +true friend; but only as far as the house, only as far as the house. You +ought not, you have no right to compromise yourself further by being my +confederate. <i>Oh, croyez-moi, je serai calme.</i> I feel that I am at this +moment <i>à la hauteur de tout ce que il y a de plus sacré.</i>…” +</p> +<p> +“I may perhaps go into the house with you,” I interrupted him. “I had a +message from their stupid committee yesterday through Vysotsky that they +reckon on me and invite me to the <i>fête</i> to-morrow as one of the stewards +or whatever it is … one of the six young men whose duty it is to look +after the trays, wait on the ladies, take the guests to their places, +and wear a rosette of crimson and white ribbon on the left shoulder. I +meant to refuse, but now why shouldn’t I go into the house on the +excuse of seeing Yulia Mihailovna herself about it?… So we will go +in together.” +</p> +<p> +He listened, nodding, but I think he understood nothing. We stood on the +threshold. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Cher”</i>—he stretched out his arm to the lamp before the ikon—”<i>cher,</i> +I have never believed in this, but … so be it, so be it!” He crossed +himself. <i>“Allons!”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s better so,” I thought as I went out on to the steps with +him. “The fresh air will do him good on the way, and we shall calm down, +turn back, and go home to bed.…” +</p> +<p> +But I reckoned without my host. On the way an adventure occurred which +agitated Stepan Trofimovitch even more, and finally determined him to go +on … so that I should never have expected of our friend so much spirit +as he suddenly displayed that morning. Poor friend, kind-hearted friend! +</p> +<a id="H2CH0015"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER X. FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +The adventure that befell us on the way was also a surprising one. But I +must tell the story in due order. An hour before Stepan Trofimovitch +and I came out into the street, a crowd of people, the hands from +Shpigulins’ factory, seventy or more in number, had been marching +through the town, and had been an object of curiosity to many +spectators. They walked intentionally in good order and almost in +silence. Afterwards it was asserted that these seventy had been elected +out of the whole number of factory hands, amounting to about nine +hundred, to go to the governor and to try and get from him, in the +absence of their employer, a just settlement of their grievances against +the manager, who, in closing the factory and dismissing the workmen, had +cheated them all in an impudent way—a fact which has since been proved +conclusively. Some people still deny that there was any election of +delegates, maintaining that seventy was too large a number to elect, +and that the crowd simply consisted of those who had been most unfairly +treated, and that they only came to ask for help in their own case, so +that the general “mutiny” of the factory workers, about which there +was such an uproar later on, had never existed at all. Others fiercely +maintained that these seventy men were not simple strikers but +revolutionists, that is, not merely that they were the most turbulent, +but that they must have been worked upon by seditious manifestoes. +The fact is, it is still uncertain whether there had been any outside +influence or incitement at work or not. My private opinion is that the +workmen had not read the seditious manifestoes at all, and if they had +read them, would not have understood one word, for one reason because +the authors of such literature write very obscurely in spite of the +boldness of their style. But as the workmen really were in a difficult +plight and the police to whom they appealed would not enter into their +grievances, what could be more natural than their idea of going in a +body to “the general himself” if possible, with the petition at their +head, forming up in an orderly way before his door, and as soon as he +showed himself, all falling on their knees and crying out to him as to +providence itself? To my mind there is no need to see in this a mutiny +or even a deputation, for it’s a traditional, historical mode of +action; the Russian people have always loved to parley with “the general +himself” for the mere satisfaction of doing so, regardless of how the +conversation may end. +</p> +<p> +And so I am quite convinced that, even though Pyotr Stepanovitch, +Liputin, and perhaps some others—perhaps even Fedka too—had been +flitting about among the workpeople talking to them (and there is fairly +good evidence of this), they had only approached two, three, five at the +most, trying to sound them, and nothing had come of their conversation. +As for the mutiny they advocated, if the factory-workers did understand +anything of their propaganda, they would have left off listening to it +at once as to something stupid that had nothing to do with them. Fedka +was a different matter: he had more success, I believe, than Pyotr +Stepanovitch. Two workmen are now known for a fact to have assisted +Fedka in causing the fire in the town which occurred three days +afterwards, and a month later three men who had worked in the factory +were arrested for robbery and arson in the province. But if in these +cases Fedka did lure them to direct and immediate action, he could only +have succeeded with these five, for we heard of nothing of the sort +being done by others. +</p> +<p> +Be that as it may, the whole crowd of workpeople had at last reached the +open space in front of the governor’s house and were drawn up there in +silence and good order. Then, gaping open-mouthed at the front door, +they waited. I am told that as soon as they halted they took off their +caps, that is, a good half-hour before the appearance of the governor, +who, as ill-luck would have it, was not at home at the moment. The +police made their appearance at once, at first individual policemen and +then as large a contingent of them as could be gathered together; they +began, of course, by being menacing, ordering them to break up. But +the workmen remained obstinately, like a flock of sheep at a fence, and +replied laconically that they had come to see “the general himself”; it +was evident that they were firmly determined. The unnatural shouting +of the police ceased, and was quickly succeeded by deliberations, +mysterious whispered instructions, and stern, fussy perplexity, which +wrinkled the brows of the police officers. The head of the police +preferred to await the arrival of the “governor himself.” It was not +true that he galloped to the spot with three horses at full speed, and +began hitting out right and left before he alighted from his carriage. +It’s true that he used to dash about and was fond of dashing about at +full speed in a carriage with a yellow back, and while his trace-horses, +who were so trained to carry their heads that they looked “positively +perverted,” galloped more and more frantically, rousing the enthusiasm +of all the shopkeepers in the bazaar, he would rise up in the carriage, +stand erect, holding on by a strap which had been fixed on purpose at +the side, and with his right arm extended into space like a figure on a +monument, survey the town majestically. But in the present case he did +not use his fists, and though as he got out of the carriage he could not +refrain from a forcible expression, this was simply done to keep up +his popularity. There is a still more absurd story that soldiers were +brought up with bayonets, and that a telegram was sent for artillery and +Cossacks; those are legends which are not believed now even by those +who invented them. It’s an absurd story, too, that barrels of water were +brought from the fire brigade, and that people were drenched with water +from them. The simple fact is that Ilya Ilyitch shouted in his heat that +he wouldn’t let one of them come dry out of the water; probably this was +the foundation of the barrel legend which got into the columns of the +Petersburg and Moscow newspapers. Probably the most accurate version was +that at first all the available police formed a cordon round the crowd, +and a messenger was sent for Lembke, a police superintendent, who dashed +off in the carriage belonging to the head of the police on the way to +Skvoreshniki, knowing that Lembke had gone there in his carriage half an +hour before. +</p> +<p> +But I must confess that I am still unable to answer the question how +they could at first sight, from the first moment, have transformed an +insignificant, that is to say an ordinary, crowd of petitioners, even +though there were several of them, into a rebellion which threatened to +shake the foundations of the state. Why did Lembke himself rush at that +idea when he arrived twenty minutes after the messenger? I imagine (but +again it’s only my private opinion) that it was to the interest of Ilya +Ilyitch, who was a crony of the factory manager’s, to represent the +crowd in this light to Lembke, in order to prevent him from going into +the case; and Lembke himself had put the idea into his head. In the +course of the last two days, he had had two unusual and mysterious +conversations with him. It is true they were exceedingly obscure, +but Ilya Ilyitch was able to gather from them that the governor had +thoroughly made up his mind that there were political manifestoes, and +that Shpigulins’ factory hands were being incited to a Socialist rising, +and that he was so persuaded of it that he would perhaps have regretted +it if the story had turned out to be nonsense. “He wants to get +distinction in Petersburg,” our wily Ilya Ilyitch thought to himself as +he left Von Lembke; “well, that just suits me.” +</p> +<p> +But I am convinced that poor Andrey Antonovitch would not have desired +a rebellion even for the sake of distinguishing himself. He was a most +conscientious official, who had lived in a state of innocence up to the +time of his marriage. And was it his fault that, instead of an innocent +allowance of wood from the government and an equally innocent Minnchen, +a princess of forty summers had raised him to her level? I know almost +for certain that the unmistakable symptoms of the mental condition +which brought poor Andrey Antonovitch to a well-known establishment in +Switzerland, where, I am told, he is now regaining his energies, +were first apparent on that fatal morning. But once we admit that +unmistakable signs of something were visible that morning, it may well +be allowed that similar symptoms may have been evident the day before, +though not so clearly. I happen to know from the most private sources +(well, you may assume that Yulia Mihailovna later on, not in triumph +but <i>almost</i> in remorse—for a woman is incapable of <i>complete</i> +remorse—revealed part of it to me herself) that Andrey Antonovitch had +gone into his wife’s room in the middle of the previous night, past +two o’clock in the morning, had waked her up, and had insisted on her +listening to his “ultimatum.” He demanded it so insistently that she +was obliged to get up from her bed in indignation and curl-papers, +and, sitting down on a couch, she had to listen, though with sarcastic +disdain. Only then she grasped for the first time how far gone her +Andrey Antonovitch was, and was secretly horrified. She ought to have +thought what she was about and have been softened, but she concealed her +horror and was more obstinate than ever. Like every wife she had her +own method of treating Andrey Antonovitch, which she had tried more than +once already and with it driven him to frenzy. Yulia Mihailovna’s method +was that of contemptuous silence, for one hour, two, a whole day and +almost for three days and nights—silence whatever happened, whatever he +said, whatever he did, even if he had clambered up to throw himself +out of a three-story window—a method unendurable for a sensitive man! +Whether Yulia Mihailovna meant to punish her husband for his blunders of +the last few days and the jealous envy he, as the chief authority in the +town, felt for her administrative abilities; whether she was indignant +at his criticism of her behaviour with the young people and local +society generally, and lack of comprehension of her subtle and +far-sighted political aims; or was angry with his stupid and senseless +jealousy of Pyotr Stepanovitch—however that may have been, she made +up her mind not to be softened even now, in spite of its being three +o’clock at night, and though Andrey Antonovitch was in a state of +emotion such as she had never seen him in before. +</p> +<p> +Pacing up and down in all directions over the rugs of her boudoir, +beside himself, he poured out everything, everything, quite +disconnectedly, it’s true, but everything that had been rankling in +his heart, for—“it was outrageous.” He began by saying that he was a +laughing-stock to every one and “was being led by the nose.” +</p> +<p> +“Curse the expression,” he squealed, at once catching her smile, “let it +stand, it’s true.… No, madam, the time has come; let me tell you it’s +not a time for laughter and feminine arts now. We are not in the boudoir +of a mincing lady, but like two abstract creatures in a balloon who have +met to speak the truth.” (He was no doubt confused and could not find +the right words for his ideas, however just they were.) “It is you, +madam, you who have destroyed my happy past. I took up this post +simply for your sake, for the sake of your ambition.… You smile +sarcastically? Don’t triumph, don’t be in a hurry. Let me tell you, +madam, let me tell you that I should have been equal to this position, +and not only this position but a dozen positions like it, for I have +abilities; but with you, madam, with you—it’s impossible, for with +you here I have no abilities. There cannot be two centres, and you have +created two—one of mine and one in your boudoir—two centres of power, +madam, but I won’t allow it, I won’t allow it! In the service, as in +marriage, there must be one centre, two are impossible.… How have you +repaid me?” he went on. “Our marriage has been nothing but your proving +to me all the time, every hour, that I am a nonentity, a fool, and +even a rascal, and I have been all the time, every hour, forced in a +degrading way to prove to you that I am not a nonentity, not a fool at +all, and that I impress every one with my honourable character. Isn’t +that degrading for both sides?” +</p> +<p> +At this point he began rapidly stamping with both feet on the carpet, +so that Yulia Mihailovna was obliged to get up with stern dignity. He +subsided quickly, but passed to being pathetic and began sobbing (yes, +sobbing!), beating himself on the breast almost for five minutes, +getting more and more frantic at Yulia Mihailovna’s profound silence. At +last he made a fatal blunder, and let slip that he was jealous of Pyotr +Stepanovitch. Realising that he had made an utter fool of himself, he +became savagely furious, and shouted that he “would not allow them to +deny God” and that he would “send her <i>salon</i> of irresponsible infidels +packing,” that the governor of a province was bound to believe in God +“and so his wife was too,” that he wouldn’t put up with these young +men; that “you, madam, for the sake of your own dignity, ought to have +thought of your husband and to have stood up for his intelligence even +if he were a man of poor abilities (and I’m by no means a man of poor +abilities!), and yet it’s your doing that every one here despises me, it +was you put them all up to it!” He shouted that he would annihilate +the woman question, that he would eradicate every trace of it, that +to-morrow he would forbid and break up their silly fête for the benefit +of the governesses (damn them!), that the first governess he came across +to-morrow morning he would drive out of the province “with a Cossack! +I’ll make a point of it!” he shrieked. “Do you know,” he screamed, “do +you know that your rascals are inciting men at the factory, and that I +know it? Let me tell you, I know the names of four of these rascals and +that I am going out of my mind, hopelessly, hopelessly!…” +</p> +<p> +But at this point Yulia Mihailovna suddenly broke her silence and +sternly announced that she had long been aware of these criminal +designs, and that it was all foolishness, and that he had taken it too +seriously, and that as for these mischievous fellows, she knew not only +those four but all of them (it was a lie); but that she had not the +faintest intention of going out of her mind on account of it, but, on +the contrary, had all the more confidence in her intelligence and hoped +to bring it all to a harmonious conclusion: to encourage the young +people, to bring them to reason, to show them suddenly and unexpectedly +that their designs were known, and then to point out to them new aims +for rational and more noble activity. +</p> +<p> +Oh, how can I describe the effect of this on Andrey Antonovitch! Hearing +that Pyotr Stepanovitch had duped him again and had made a fool of him +so coarsely, that he had told her much more than he had told him, and +sooner than him, and that perhaps Pyotr Stepanovitch was the chief +instigator of all these criminal designs—he flew into a frenzy. +“Senseless but malignant woman,” he cried, snapping his bonds at one +blow, “let me tell you, I shall arrest your worthless lover at once, I +shall put him in fetters and send him to the fortress, or—I shall jump +out of a window before your eyes this minute!” +</p> +<p> +Yulia Mihailovna, turning green with anger, greeted this tirade at once +with a burst of prolonged, ringing laughter, going off into peals such +as one hears at the French theatre when a Parisian actress, imported for +a fee of a hundred thousand to play a coquette, laughs in her husband’s +face for daring to be jealous of her. +</p> +<p> +Von Lembke rushed to the window, but suddenly stopped as though rooted +to the spot, folded his arms across his chest, and, white as a corpse, +looked with a sinister gaze at the laughing lady. “Do you know, Yulia, +do you know,” he said in a gasping and suppliant voice, “do you know +that even I can do something?” But at the renewed and even louder +laughter that followed his last words he clenched his teeth, groaned, +and suddenly rushed, not towards the window, but at his spouse, with his +fist raised! He did not bring it down—no, I repeat again and again, no; +but it was the last straw. He ran to his own room, not knowing what he +was doing, flung himself, dressed as he was, face downwards on his bed, +wrapped himself convulsively, head and all, in the sheet, and lay so for +two hours—incapable of sleep, incapable of thought, with a load on his +heart and blank, immovable despair in his soul. Now and then he shivered +all over with an agonising, feverish tremor. Disconnected and irrelevant +things kept coming into his mind: at one minute he thought of the old +clock which used to hang on his wall fifteen years ago in Petersburg and +had lost the minute-hand; at another of the cheerful clerk, Millebois, +and how they had once caught a sparrow together in Alexandrovsky +Park and had laughed so that they could be heard all over the park, +remembering that one of them was already a college assessor. I imagine +that about seven in the morning he must have fallen asleep without being +aware of it himself, and must have slept with enjoyment, with agreeable +dreams. +</p> +<p> +Waking about ten o’clock, he jumped wildly out of bed remembered +everything at once, and slapped himself on the head; he refused his +breakfast, and would see neither Blum nor the chief of the police nor +the clerk who came to remind him that he was expected to preside over +a meeting that morning; he would listen to nothing, and did not want to +understand. He ran like one possessed to Yulia Mihailovna’s part of the +house. There Sofya Antropovna, an old lady of good family who had lived +for years with Yulia Mihailovna, explained to him that his wife had set +off at ten o’clock that morning with a large company in three carriages +to Varvara Petrovna Stavrogin’s, to Skvoreshniki, to look over the place +with a view to the second fête which was planned for a fortnight later, +and that the visit to-day had been arranged with Varvara Petrovna three +days before. Overwhelmed with this news, Andrey Antonovitch returned to +his study and impulsively ordered the horses. He could hardly wait for +them to be got ready. His soul was hungering for Yulia Mihailovna—to +look at her, to be near her for five minutes; perhaps she would glance +at him, notice him, would smile as before, forgive him … “O-oh! Aren’t +the horses ready?” Mechanically he opened a thick book lying on the +table. (He sometimes used to try his fortune in this way with a book, +opening it at random and reading the three lines at the top of the +right-hand page.) What turned up was: <i>“Tout est pour le mieux dans +le meilleur des mondes possibles.”</i>—Voltaire, <i>Candide.</i> He uttered +an ejaculation of contempt and ran to get into the carriage. +“Skvoreshniki!” +</p> +<p> +The coachman said afterwards that his master urged him on all the way, +but as soon as they were getting near the mansion he suddenly told him +to turn and drive back to the town, bidding him “Drive fast; please +drive fast!” Before they reached the town wall “master told me to stop +again, got out of the carriage, and went across the road into the field; +I thought he felt ill but he stopped and began looking at the flowers, +and so he stood for a time. It was strange, really; I began to feel +quite uneasy.” This was the coachman’s testimony. I remember the weather +that morning: it was a cold, clear, but windy September day; before +Andrey Antonovitch stretched a forbidding landscape of bare fields from +which the crop had long been harvested; there were a few dying yellow +flowers, pitiful relics blown about by the howling wind. Did he want to +compare himself and his fate with those wretched flowers battered by the +autumn and the frost? I don’t think so; in fact I feel sure it was +not so, and that he realised nothing about the flowers in spite of the +evidence of the coachman and of the police superintendent, who drove up +at that moment and asserted afterwards that he found the governor with +a bunch of yellow flowers in his hand. This police superintendent, +Flibusterov by name, was an ardent champion of authority who had only +recently come to our town but had already distinguished himself and +become famous by his inordinate zeal, by a certain vehemence in the +execution of his duties, and his inveterate inebriety. Jumping out of +the carriage, and not the least disconcerted at the sight of what the +governor was doing, he blurted out all in one breath, with a frantic +expression, yet with an air of conviction, that “There’s an upset in the +town.” +</p> +<p> +“Eh? What?” said Andrey Antonovitch, turning to him with a stern face, +but without a trace of surprise or any recollection of his carriage and +his coachman, as though he had been in his own study. +</p> +<p> +“Police-superintendent Flibusterov, your Excellency. There’s a riot in +the town.” +</p> +<p> +“Filibusters?” Andrey Antonovitch said thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +“Just so, your Excellency. The Shpigulin men are making a riot.” +</p> +<p> +“The Shpigulin men!…” +</p> +<p> +The name “Shpigulin” seemed to remind him of something. He started and +put his finger to his forehead: “The Shpigulin men!” In silence, and +still plunged in thought, he walked without haste to the carriage, +took his seat, and told the coachman to drive to the town. The +police-superintendent followed in the droshky. +</p> +<p> +I imagine that he had vague impressions of many interesting things of +all sorts on the way, but I doubt whether he had any definite idea or +any settled intention as he drove into the open space in front of his +house. But no sooner did he see the resolute and orderly ranks of “the +rioters,” the cordon of police, the helpless (and perhaps purposely +helpless) chief of police, and the general expectation of which he was +the object, than all the blood rushed to his heart. With a pale face he +stepped out of his carriage. +</p> +<p> +“Caps off!” he said breathlessly and hardly audibly. “On your knees!” +he squealed, to the surprise of every one, to his own surprise too, and +perhaps the very unexpectedness of the position was the explanation of +what followed. Can a sledge on a switchback at carnival stop short as it +flies down the hill? What made it worse, Andrey Antonovitch had been all +his life serene in character, and never shouted or stamped at anyone; +and such people are always the most dangerous if it once happens that +something sets their sledge sliding downhill. Everything was whirling +before his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Filibusters!” he yelled still more shrilly and absurdly, and his voice +broke. He stood, not knowing what he was going to do, but knowing +and feeling in his whole being that he certainly would do something +directly. +</p> +<p> +“Lord!” was heard from the crowd. A lad began crossing himself; three or +four men actually did try to kneel down, but the whole mass moved three +steps forward, and suddenly all began talking at once: “Your +Excellency … we were hired for a term … the manager … you mustn’t +say,” and so on and so on. It was impossible to distinguish anything. +</p> +<p> +Alas! Andrey Antonovitch could distinguish nothing: the flowers were +still in his hands. The riot was as real to him as the prison carts +were to Stepan Trofimovitch. And flitting to and fro in the crowd +of “rioters” who gazed open-eyed at him, he seemed to see Pyotr +Stepanovitch, who had egged them on—Pyotr Stepanovitch, whom he hated +and whose image had never left him since yesterday. +</p> +<p> +“Rods!” he cried even more unexpectedly. A dead silence followed. +</p> +<p> +From the facts I have learnt and those I have conjectured, this must +have been what happened at the beginning; but I have no such exact +information for what followed, nor can I conjecture it so easily. There +are some facts, however. +</p> +<p> +In the first place, rods were brought on the scene with strange +rapidity; they had evidently been got ready beforehand in expectation +by the intelligent chief of the police. Not more than two, or at most +three, were actually flogged, however; that fact I wish to lay stress +on. It’s an absolute fabrication to say that the whole crowd of rioters, +or at least half of them, were punished. It is a nonsensical story, +too, that a poor but respectable lady was caught as she passed by +and promptly thrashed; yet I read myself an account of this incident +afterwards among the provincial items of a Petersburg newspaper. Many +people in the town talked of an old woman called Avdotya Petrovna +Tarapygin who lived in the almshouse by the cemetery. She was said, +on her way home from visiting a friend, to have forced her way into the +crowd of spectators through natural curiosity. Seeing what was going on, +she cried out, “What a shame!” and spat on the ground. For this it was +said she had been seized and flogged too. This story not only appeared +in print, but in our excitement we positively got up a subscription for +her benefit. I subscribed twenty kopecks myself. And would you believe +it? It appears now that there was no old woman called Tarapygin living +in the almshouse at all! I went to inquire at the almshouse by the +cemetery myself; they had never heard of anyone called Tarapygin there, +and, what’s more, they were quite offended when I told them the story +that was going round. I mention this fabulous Avdotya Petrovna because +what happened to her (if she really had existed) very nearly happened +to Stepan Trofimovitch. Possibly, indeed, his adventure may have been at +the bottom of the ridiculous tale about the old woman, that is, as the +gossip went on growing he was transformed into this old dame. +</p> +<p> +What I find most difficult to understand is how he came to slip away +from me as soon as he got into the square. As I had a misgiving of +something very unpleasant, I wanted to take him round the square +straight to the entrance to the governor’s, but my own curiosity was +roused, and I stopped only for one minute to question the first person +I came across, and suddenly I looked round and found Stepan Trofimovitch +no longer at my side. Instinctively I darted off to look for him in the +most dangerous place; something made me feel that his sledge, too, was +flying downhill. And I did, as a fact, find him in the very centre of +things. I remember I seized him by the arm; but he looked quietly and +proudly at me with an air of immense authority. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Cher,”</i> he pronounced in a voice which quivered on a breaking note, “if +they are dealing with people so unceremoniously before us, in an open +square, what is to be expected from that man, for instance … if he +happens to act on his own authority?” +</p> +<p> +And shaking with indignation and with an intense desire to defy them, he +pointed a menacing, accusing finger at Flibusterov, who was gazing at us +open-eyed two paces away. +</p> +<p> +“That man!” cried the latter, blind with rage. “What man? And who are +you?” He stepped up to him, clenching his fist. “Who are you?” he roared +ferociously, hysterically, and desperately. (I must mention that he +knew Stepan Trofimovitch perfectly well by sight.) Another moment and he +would have certainly seized him by the collar; but luckily, hearing him +shout, Lembke turned his head. He gazed intensely but with perplexity +at Stepan Trofimovitch, seeming to consider something, and suddenly +he shook his hand impatiently. Flibusterov was checked. I drew Stepan +Trofimovitch out of the crowd, though perhaps he may have wished to +retreat himself. +</p> +<p> +“Home, home,” I insisted; “it was certainly thanks to Lembke that we +were not beaten.” +</p> +<p> +“Go, my friend; I am to blame for exposing you to this. You have +a future and a career of a sort before you, while I—<i>mon heure est +sonnée.</i>” +</p> +<p> +He resolutely mounted the governor’s steps. The hall-porter knew me; I +said that we both wanted to see Yulia Mihailovna. +</p> +<p> +We sat down in the waiting-room and waited. I was unwilling to leave my +friend, but I thought it unnecessary to say anything more to him. He had +the air of a man who had consecrated himself to certain death for the +sake of his country. We sat down, not side by side, but in different +corners—I nearer to the entrance, he at some distance facing me, with +his head bent in thought, leaning lightly on his stick. He held his +wide-brimmed hat in his left hand. We sat like that for ten minutes. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +Lembke suddenly came in with rapid steps, accompanied by the chief of +police, looked absent-mindedly at us and, taking no notice of us, was +about to pass into his study on the right, but Stepan Trofimovitch stood +before him blocking his way. The tall figure of Stepan Trofimovitch, so +unlike other people, made an impression. Lembke stopped. +</p> +<p> +“Who is this?” he muttered, puzzled, as if he were questioning the chief +of police, though he did not turn his head towards him, and was all the +time gazing at Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Retired college assessor, Stepan Trofimovitch Verhovensky, your +Excellency,” answered Stepan Trofimovitch, bowing majestically. His +Excellency went on staring at him with a very blank expression, however. +</p> +<p> +“What is it?” And with the curtness of a great official he turned his +ear to Stepan Trofimovitch with disdainful impatience, taking him for an +ordinary person with a written petition of some sort. +</p> +<p> +“I was visited and my house was searched to-day by an official acting in +your Excellency’s name; therefore I am desirous …” +</p> +<p> +“Name? Name?” Lembke asked impatiently, seeming suddenly to have an +inkling of something. Stepan Trofimovitch repeated his name still more +majestically. +</p> +<p> +“A-a-ah! It’s … that hotbed … You have shown yourself, sir, in such a +light.… Are you a professor? a professor?” +</p> +<p> +“I once had the honour of giving some lectures to the young men of the X +university.” +</p> +<p> +“The young men!” Lembke seemed to start, though I am ready to bet that +he grasped very little of what was going on or even, perhaps, did not +know with whom he was talking. +</p> +<p> +“That, sir, I won’t allow,” he cried, suddenly getting terribly angry. +“I won’t allow young men! It’s all these manifestoes? It’s an assault +on society, sir, a piratical attack, filibustering.… What is your +request?” +</p> +<p> +“On the contrary, your wife requested me to read something to-morrow at +her fête. I’ve not come to make a request but to ask for my rights….” +</p> +<p> +“At the fête? There’ll be no fête. I won’t allow your fête. A lecture? A +lecture?” he screamed furiously. +</p> +<p> +“I should be very glad if you would speak to me rather more politely, +your Excellency, without stamping or shouting at me as though I were a +boy.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you understand whom you are speaking to?” said Lembke, turning +crimson. +</p> +<p> +“Perfectly, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +“I am protecting society while you are destroying it!… You … I +remember about you, though: you used to be a tutor in the house of +Madame Stavrogin?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I was in the position … of tutor … in the house of Madame +Stavrogin.” +</p> +<p> +“And have been for twenty years the hotbed of all that has now +accumulated … all the fruits.… I believe I saw you just now in the +square. You’d better look out, sir, you’d better look out; your way of +thinking is well known. You may be sure that I keep my eye on you. I +cannot allow your lectures, sir, I cannot. Don’t come with such requests +to me.” +</p> +<p> +He would have passed on again. +</p> +<p> +“I repeat that your Excellency is mistaken; it was your wife who asked +me to give, not a lecture, but a literary reading at the fête to-morrow. +But I decline to do so in any case now. I humbly request that you will +explain to me if possible how, why, and for what reason I was subjected +to an official search to-day? Some of my books and papers, private +letters to me, were taken from me and wheeled through the town in a +barrow.” +</p> +<p> +“Who searched you?” said Lembke, starting and returning to full +consciousness of the position. He suddenly flushed all over. He turned +quickly to the chief of police. At that moment the long, stooping, and +awkward figure of Blum appeared in the doorway. +</p> +<p> +“Why, this official here,” said Stepan Trofimovitch, indicating him. Blum +came forward with a face that admitted his responsibility but showed no +contrition. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Vous ne faites que des bêtises,”</i> Lembke threw at him in a tone of +vexation and anger, and suddenly he was transformed and completely +himself again. +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me,” he muttered, utterly disconcerted and turning absolutely +crimson, “all this … all this was probably a mere blunder, a +misunderstanding … nothing but a misunderstanding.” +</p> +<p> +“Your Excellency,” observed Stepan Trofimovitch, “once when I was young +I saw a characteristic incident. In the corridor of a theatre a man ran +up to another and gave him a sounding smack in the face before the whole +public. Perceiving at once that his victim was not the person whom he +had intended to chastise but someone quite different who only slightly +resembled him, he pronounced angrily, with the haste of one whose +moments are precious—as your Excellency did just now—‘I’ve made +a mistake … excuse me, it was a misunderstanding, nothing but a +misunderstanding.’ And when the offended man remained resentful and +cried out, he observed to him, with extreme annoyance: ‘Why, I tell you +it was a misunderstanding. What are you crying out about?’” +</p> +<p> +“That’s … that’s very amusing, of course”—Lembke gave a wry +smile—“but … but can’t you see how unhappy I am myself?” +</p> +<p> +He almost screamed, and seemed about to hide his face in his hands. +</p> +<p> +This unexpected and piteous exclamation, almost a sob, was almost more +than one could bear. It was probably the first moment since the previous +day that he had full, vivid consciousness of all that had happened—and +it was followed by complete, humiliating despair that could not be +disguised—who knows, in another minute he might have sobbed aloud. +For the first moment Stepan Trofimovitch looked wildly at him; then he +suddenly bowed his head and in a voice pregnant with feeling pronounced: +</p> +<p> +“Your Excellency, don’t trouble yourself with my petulant complaint, and +only give orders for my books and letters to be restored to me.…” +</p> +<p> +He was interrupted. At that very instant Yulia Mihailovna returned and +entered noisily with all the party which had accompanied her. But at +this point I should like to tell my story in as much detail as possible. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +In the first place, the whole company who had filled three carriages +crowded into the waiting-room. There was a special entrance to Yulia +Mihailovna’s apartments on the left as one entered the house; but on +this occasion they all went through the waiting-room—and I imagine just +because Stepan Trofimovitch was there, and because all that had happened +to him as well as the Shpigulin affair had reached Yulia Mihailovna’s +ears as she drove into the town. Lyamshin, who for some misdemeanour +had not been invited to join the party and so knew all that had been +happening in the town before anyone else, brought her the news. With +spiteful glee he hired a wretched Cossack nag and hastened on the way +to Skvoreshniki to meet the returning cavalcade with the diverting +intelligence. I fancy that, in spite of her lofty determination, Yulia +Mihailovna was a little disconcerted on hearing such surprising news, +but probably only for an instant. The political aspect of the affair, +for instance, could not cause her uneasiness; Pyotr Stepanovitch had +impressed upon her three or four times that the Shpigulin ruffians ought +to be flogged, and Pyotr Stepanovitch certainly had for some time past +been a great authority in her eyes. “But … anyway, I shall make him pay +for it,” she doubtless reflected, the “he,” of course, referring to +her spouse. I must observe in passing that on this occasion, as though +purposely, Pyotr Stepanovitch had taken no part in the expedition, +and no one had seen him all day. I must mention too, by the way, that +Varvara Petrovna had come back to the town with her guests (in the +same carriage with Yulia Mihailovna) in order to be present at the last +meeting of the committee which was arranging the fête for the next day. +She too must have been interested, and perhaps even agitated, by the +news about Stepan Trofimovitch communicated by Lyamshin. +</p> +<p> +The hour of reckoning for Andrey Antonovitch followed at once. Alas! he +felt that from the first glance at his admirable wife. With an open air +and an enchanting smile she went quickly up to Stepan Trofimovitch, held +out her exquisitely gloved hand, and greeted him with a perfect shower +of flattering phrases—as though the only thing she cared about that +morning was to make haste to be charming to Stepan Trofimovitch because +at last she saw him in her house. There was not one hint of the search +that morning; it was as though she knew nothing of it. There was not one +word to her husband, not one glance in his direction—as though he +had not been in the room. What’s more, she promptly confiscated Stepan +Trofimovitch and carried him off to the drawing-room—as though he had +had no interview with Lembke, or as though it was not worth prolonging +if he had. I repeat again, I think that in this, Yulia Mihailovna, +in spite of her aristocratic tone, made another great mistake. And +Karmazinov particularly did much to aggravate this. (He had taken part +in the expedition at Yulia Mihailovna’s special request, and in that way +had, incidentally, paid his visit to Varvara Petrovna, and she was so +poor-spirited as to be perfectly delighted at it.) On seeing Stepan +Trofimovitch, he called out from the doorway (he came in behind the +rest) and pressed forward to embrace him, even interrupting Yulia +Mihailovna. +</p> +<p> +“What years, what ages! At last … <i>excellent ami.</i>” +</p> +<p> +He made as though to kiss him, offering his cheek, of course, and Stepan +Trofimovitch was so fluttered that he could not avoid saluting it. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Cher,”</i> he said to me that evening, recalling all the events of that +day, “I wondered at that moment which of us was the most contemptible: +he, embracing me only to humiliate me, or I, despising him and his face +and kissing it on the spot, though I might have turned away.… Foo!” +</p> +<p> +“Come, tell me about yourself, tell me everything,” Karmazinov drawled +and lisped, as though it were possible for him on the spur of the moment +to give an account of twenty-five years of his life. But this foolish +trifling was the height of “chic.” +</p> +<p> +“Remember that the last time we met was at the Granovsky dinner in +Moscow, and that twenty-four years have passed since then …” Stepan +Trofimovitch began very reasonably (and consequently not at all in the +same “chic” style). +</p> +<p> +<i>“Ce cher homme,”</i> Karmazinov interrupted with shrill familiarity, +squeezing his shoulder with exaggerated friendliness. “Make haste and +take us to your room, Yulia Mihailovna; there he’ll sit down and tell us +everything.” +</p> +<p> +“And yet I was never at all intimate with that peevish old woman,” +Stepan Trofimovitch went on complaining to me that same evening, shaking +with anger; “we were almost boys, and I’d begun to detest him even +then … just as he had me, of course.” +</p> +<p> +Yulia Mihailovna’s drawing-room filled up quickly. Varvara Petrovna +was particularly excited, though she tried to appear indifferent, but +I caught her once or twice glancing with hatred at Karmazinov and with +wrath at Stepan Trofimovitch—the wrath of anticipation, the wrath of +jealousy and love: if Stepan Trofimovitch had blundered this time and +had let Karmazinov make him look small before every one, I believe she +would have leapt up and beaten him. I have forgotten to say that +Liza too was there, and I had never seen her more radiant, carelessly +light-hearted, and happy. Mavriky Nikolaevitch was there too, of course. +In the crowd of young ladies and rather vulgar young men who made up +Yulia Mihailovna’s usual retinue, and among whom this vulgarity was +taken for sprightliness, and cheap cynicism for wit, I noticed two or +three new faces: a very obsequious Pole who was on a visit in the town; +a German doctor, a sturdy old fellow who kept loudly laughing with great +zest at his own wit; and lastly, a very young princeling from Petersburg +like an automaton figure, with the deportment of a state dignitary and +a fearfully high collar. But it was evident that Yulia Mihailovna had a +very high opinion of this visitor, and was even a little anxious of the +impression her salon was making on him. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Cher M. Karmazinov,”</i> said Stepan Trofimovitch, sitting in a picturesque +pose on the sofa and suddenly beginning to lisp as daintily as +Karmazinov himself, “<i>cher M. Karmazinov,</i> the life of a man of our time +and of certain convictions, even after an interval of twenty-five years, +is bound to seem monotonous …” +</p> +<p> +The German went off into a loud abrupt guffaw like a neigh, evidently +imagining that Stepan Trofimovitch had said something exceedingly funny. +The latter gazed at him with studied amazement but produced no effect +on him whatever. The prince, too, looked at the German, turning head, +collar and all, towards him and putting up his pince-nez, though without +the slightest curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“… Is bound to seem monotonous,” Stepan Trofimovitch intentionally +repeated, drawling each word as deliberately and nonchalantly as +possible. “And so my life has been throughout this quarter of a century, +<i>et comme on trouve partout plus de moines que de raison,</i> and as I am +entirely of this opinion, it has come to pass that throughout this +quarter of a century I …” +</p> +<p> +<i>“C’est charmant, les moines,”</i> whispered Yulia Mihailovna, turning to +Varvara Petrovna, who was sitting beside her. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna responded with a look of pride. But Karmazinov could +not stomach the success of the French phrase, and quickly and shrilly +interrupted Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“As for me, I am quite at rest on that score, and for the past seven +years I’ve been settled at Karlsruhe. And last year, when it was +proposed by the town council to lay down a new water-pipe, I felt in +my heart that this question of water-pipes in Karlsruhe was dearer and +closer to my heart than all the questions of my precious Fatherland … +in this period of so-called reform.” +</p> +<p> +“I can’t help sympathising, though it goes against the grain,” sighed +Stepan Trofimovitch, bowing his head significantly. +</p> +<p> +Yulia Mihailovna was triumphant: the conversation was becoming profound +and taking a political turn. +</p> +<p> +“A drain-pipe?” the doctor inquired in a loud voice. +</p> +<p> +“A water-pipe, doctor, a water-pipe, and I positively assisted them in +drawing up the plan.” +</p> +<p> +The doctor went off into a deafening guffaw. Many people followed his +example, laughing in the face of the doctor, who remained unconscious of +it and was highly delighted that every one was laughing. +</p> +<p> +“You must allow me to differ from you, Karmazinov,” Yulia Mihailovna +hastened to interpose. “Karlsruhe is all very well, but you are fond +of mystifying people, and this time we don’t believe you. What Russian +writer has presented so many modern types, has brought forward so many +contemporary problems, has put his finger on the most vital modern +points which make up the type of the modern man of action? You, only +you, and no one else. It’s no use your assuring us of your coldness +towards your own country and your ardent interest in the water-pipes of +Karlsruhe. Ha ha!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, no doubt,” lisped Karmazinov. “I have portrayed in the character +of Pogozhev all the failings of the Slavophils and in the character of +Nikodimov all the failings of the Westerners.…” +</p> +<p> +“I say, hardly <i>all!</i>” Lyamshin whispered slyly. +</p> +<p> +“But I do this by the way, simply to while away the tedious hours and to +satisfy the persistent demands of my fellow-countrymen.” +</p> +<p> +“You are probably aware, Stepan Trofimovitch,” Yulia Mihailovna went on +enthusiastically, “that to-morrow we shall have the delight of hearing +the charming lines … one of the last of Semyon Yakovlevitch’s exquisite +literary inspirations—it’s called <i>Merci.</i> He announces in this piece +that he will write no more, that nothing in the world will induce him +to, if angels from Heaven or, what’s more, all the best society were to +implore him to change his mind. In fact he is laying down the pen for +good, and this graceful <i>Merci</i> is addressed to the public in grateful +acknowledgment of the constant enthusiasm with which it has for so many +years greeted his unswerving loyalty to true Russian thought.” +</p> +<p> +Yulia Mihailovna was at the acme of bliss. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I shall make my farewell; I shall say my <i>Merci</i> and depart and +there … in Karlsruhe … I shall close my eyes.” Karmazinov was gradually +becoming maudlin. +</p> +<p> +Like many of our great writers (and there are numbers of them amongst +us), he could not resist praise, and began to be limp at once, in spite +of his penetrating wit. But I consider this is pardonable. They say that +one of our Shakespeares positively blurted out in private conversation +that “we <i>great men</i> can’t do otherwise,” and so on, and, what’s more, was +unaware of it. +</p> +<p> +“There in Karlsruhe I shall close my eyes. When we have done our duty, +all that’s left for us great men is to make haste to close our eyes +without seeking a reward. I shall do so too.” +</p> +<p> +“Give me the address and I shall come to Karlsruhe to visit your tomb,” +said the German, laughing immoderately. +</p> +<p> +“They send corpses by rail nowadays,” one of the less important young +men said unexpectedly. +</p> +<p> +Lyamshin positively shrieked with delight. Yulia Mihailovna frowned. +Nikolay Stavrogin walked in. +</p> +<p> +“Why, I was told that you were locked up?” he said aloud, addressing +Stepan Trofimovitch before every one else. +</p> +<p> +“No, it was a case of unlocking,” jested Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“But I hope that what’s happened will have no influence on what I asked +you to do,” Yulia Mihailovna put in again. “I trust that you will not +let this unfortunate annoyance, of which I had no idea, lead you to +disappoint our eager expectations and deprive us of the enjoyment of +hearing your reading at our literary matinée.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know, I … now …” +</p> +<p> +“Really, I am so unlucky, Varvara Petrovna … and only fancy, just when +I was so longing to make the personal acquaintance of one of the +most remarkable and independent intellects of Russia—and here Stepan +Trofimovitch suddenly talks of deserting us.” +</p> +<p> +“Your compliment is uttered so audibly that I ought to pretend not to +hear it,” Stepan Trofimovitch said neatly, “but I cannot believe that +my insignificant presence is so indispensable at your fête to-morrow. +However, I …” +</p> +<p> +“Why, you’ll spoil him!” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, bursting into the +room. “I’ve only just got him in hand—and in one morning he has been +searched, arrested, taken by the collar by a policeman, and here ladies +are cooing to him in the governor’s drawing-room. Every bone in his body +is aching with rapture; in his wildest dreams he had never hoped for +such good fortune. Now he’ll begin informing against the Socialists +after this!” +</p> +<p> +“Impossible, Pyotr Stepanovitch! Socialism is too grand an idea to +be unrecognised by Stepan Trofimovitch.” Yulia Mihailovna took up the +gauntlet with energy. +</p> +<p> +“It’s a great idea but its exponents are not always great men, <i>et +brisons-là, mon cher,</i>” Stepan Trofimovitch ended, addressing his son and +rising gracefully from his seat. +</p> +<p> +But at this point an utterly unexpected circumstance occurred. Von +Lembke had been in the room for some time but seemed unnoticed by +anyone, though every one had seen him come in. In accordance with her +former plan, Yulia Mihailovna went on ignoring him. He took up his +position near the door and with a stern face listened gloomily to the +conversation. Hearing an allusion to the events of the morning, he +began fidgeting uneasily, stared at the prince, obviously struck by his +stiffly starched, prominent collar; then suddenly he seemed to start on +hearing the voice of Pyotr Stepanovitch and seeing him burst in; and no +sooner had Stepan Trofimovitch uttered his phrase about Socialists than +Lembke went up to him, pushing against Lyamshin, who at once skipped out +of the way with an affected gesture of surprise, rubbing his shoulder +and pretending that he had been terribly bruised. +</p> +<p> +“Enough!” said Von Lembke to Stepan Trofimovitch, vigorously gripping +the hand of the dismayed gentleman and squeezing it with all his might +in both of his. “Enough! The filibusters of our day are unmasked. Not +another word. Measures have been taken.…” +</p> +<p> +He spoke loudly enough to be heard by all the room, and concluded with +energy. The impression he produced was poignant. Everybody felt that +something was wrong. I saw Yulia Mihailovna turn pale. The effect was +heightened by a trivial accident. After announcing that measures had +been taken, Lembke turned sharply and walked quickly towards the door, +but he had hardly taken two steps when he stumbled over a rug, swerved +forward, and almost fell. For a moment he stood still, looked at the rug +at which he had stumbled, and, uttering aloud “Change it!” went out of +the room. Yulia Mihailovna ran after him. Her exit was followed by an +uproar, in which it was difficult to distinguish anything. Some said he +was “deranged,” others that he was “liable to attacks”; others put their +fingers to their forehead; Lyamshin, in the corner, put his two fingers +above his forehead. People hinted at some domestic difficulties—in a +whisper, of course. No one took up his hat; all were waiting. I don’t +know what Yulia Mihailovna managed to do, but five minutes later she +came back, doing her utmost to appear composed. She replied evasively +that Andrey Antonovitch was rather excited, but that it meant nothing, +that he had been like that from a child, that she knew “much better,” +and that the fête next day would certainly cheer him up. Then followed a +few flattering words to Stepan Trofimovitch simply from civility, and a +loud invitation to the members of the committee to open the meeting now, +at once. Only then, all who were not members of the committee prepared +to go home; but the painful incidents of this fatal day were not yet +over. +</p> +<p> +I noticed at the moment when Nikolay Stavrogin came in that Liza looked +quickly and intently at him and was for a long time unable to take her +eyes off him—so much so that at last it attracted attention. I saw +Mavriky Nikolaevitch bend over her from behind; he seemed to mean to +whisper something to her, but evidently changed his intention and drew +himself up quickly, looking round at every one with a guilty air. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch too excited curiosity; his face was paler than usual and +there was a strangely absent-minded look in his eyes. After flinging +his question at Stepan Trofimovitch he seemed to forget about him +altogether, and I really believe he even forgot to speak to his hostess. +He did not once look at Liza—not because he did not want to, but I am +certain because he did not notice her either. And suddenly, after the +brief silence that followed Yulia Mihailovna’s invitation to open the +meeting without loss of time, Liza’s musical voice, intentionally loud, +was heard. She called to Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, a captain who calls himself a relation of +yours, the brother of your wife, and whose name is Lebyadkin, keeps +writing impertinent letters to me, complaining of you and offering to +tell me some secrets about you. If he really is a connection of yours, +please tell him not to annoy me, and save me from this unpleasantness.” +</p> +<p> +There was a note of desperate challenge in these words—every one +realised it. The accusation was unmistakable, though perhaps it was a +surprise to herself. She was like a man who shuts his eyes and throws +himself from the roof. +</p> +<p> +But Nikolay Stavrogin’s answer was even more astounding. +</p> +<p> +To begin with, it was strange that he was not in the least surprised and +listened to Liza with unruffled attention. There was no trace of either +confusion or anger in his face. Simply, firmly, even with an air of +perfect readiness, he answered the fatal question: +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I have the misfortune to be connected with that man. I have been +the husband of his sister for nearly five years. You may be sure I will +give him your message as soon as possible, and I’ll answer for it that +he shan’t annoy you again.” +</p> +<p> +I shall never forget the horror that was reflected on the face of +Varvara Petrovna. With a distracted air she got up from her seat, +lifting up her right hand as though to ward off a blow. Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch looked at her, looked at Liza, at the spectators, and +suddenly smiled with infinite disdain; he walked deliberately out of the +room. Every one saw how Liza leapt up from the sofa as soon as he +turned to go and unmistakably made a movement to run after him. But she +controlled herself and did not run after him; she went quietly out of +the room without saying a word or even looking at anyone, accompanied, +of course, by Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who rushed after her. +</p> +<p> +The uproar and the gossip that night in the town I will not attempt to +describe. Varvara Petrovna shut herself up in her town house and Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch, it was said, went straight to Skvoreshniki without +seeing his mother. Stepan Trofimovitch sent me that evening to <i>cette +chère amie</i> to implore her to allow him to come to her, but she would not +see me. He was terribly overwhelmed; he shed tears. “Such a marriage! +Such a marriage! Such an awful thing in the family!” he kept repeating. +He remembered Karmazinov, however, and abused him terribly. He set +to work vigorously to prepare for the reading too and—the artistic +temperament!—rehearsed before the looking-glass and went over all the +jokes and witticisms uttered in the course of his life which he had +written down in a separate notebook, to insert into his reading next +day. +</p> +<p> +“My dear, I do this for the sake of a great idea,” he said to me, +obviously justifying himself. “<i>Cher ami,</i> I have been stationary for +twenty-five years and suddenly I’ve begun to move—whither, I know +not—but I’ve begun to move.…” +</p> +<a id="H2_PART3"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + PART III +</h2> +<a id="H2CH0016"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER I. THE FETE—FIRST PART +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +The fête took place in spite of all the perplexities of the preceding +“Shpigulin” day. I believe that even if Lembke had died the previous +night, the fête would still have taken place next morning—so peculiar +was the significance Yulia Mihailovna attached to it. Alas! up to the +last moment she was blind and had no inkling of the state of public +feeling. No one believed at last that the festive day would pass without +some tremendous scandal, some “catastrophe” as some people expressed it, +rubbing their hands in anticipation. Many people, it is true, tried to +assume a frowning and diplomatic countenance; but, speaking generally, +every Russian is inordinately delighted at any public scandal and +disorder. It is true that we did feel something much more serious +than the mere craving for a scandal: there was a general feeling +of irritation, a feeling of implacable resentment; every one seemed +thoroughly disgusted with everything. A kind of bewildered cynicism, a +forced, as it were, strained cynicism was predominant in every one. The +only people who were free from bewilderment were the ladies, and they +were clear on only one point: their remorseless detestation of Yulia +Mihailovna. Ladies of all shades of opinion were agreed in this. And +she, poor dear, had no suspicion; up to the last hour she was persuaded +that she was “surrounded by followers,” and that they were still +“fanatically devoted to her.” +</p> +<p> +I have already hinted that some low fellows of different sorts had +made their appearance amongst us. In turbulent times of upheaval or +transition low characters always come to the front everywhere. I am +not speaking now of the so-called “advanced” people who are always in a +hurry to be in advance of every one else (their absorbing anxiety) and +who always have some more or less definite, though often very stupid, +aim. No, I am speaking only of the riff-raff. In every period of +transition this riff-raff, which exists in every society, rises to the +surface, and is not only without any aim but has not even a symptom of +an idea, and merely does its utmost to give expression to uneasiness and +impatience. Moreover, this riff-raff almost always falls unconsciously +under the control of the little group of “advanced people” who do act +with a definite aim, and this little group can direct all this rabble +as it pleases, if only it does not itself consist of absolute idiots, +which, however, is sometimes the case. It is said among us now that it +is all over, that Pyotr Stepanovitch was directed by the <i>Internationale,</i> +and Yulia Mihailovna by Pyotr Stepanovitch, while she controlled, under +his rule, a rabble of all sorts. The more sober minds amongst us wonder +at themselves now, and can’t understand how they came to be so foolish +at the time. +</p> +<p> +What constituted the turbulence of our time and what transition it was +we were passing through I don’t know, nor I think does anyone, unless +it were some of those visitors of ours. Yet the most worthless fellows +suddenly gained predominant influence, began loudly criticising +everything sacred, though till then they had not dared to open their +mouths, while the leading people, who had till then so satisfactorily +kept the upper hand, began listening to them and holding their peace, +some even simpered approval in a most shameless way. People like +Lyamshin and Telyatnikov, like Gogol’s Tentyotnikov, drivelling +home-bred editions of Radishtchev, wretched little Jews with a mournful +but haughty smile, guffawing foreigners, poets of advanced tendencies +from the capital, poets who made up with peasant coats and tarred boots +for the lack of tendencies or talents, majors and colonels who ridiculed +the senselessness of the service, and who would have been ready for an +extra rouble to unbuckle their swords, and take jobs as railway clerks; +generals who had abandoned their duties to become lawyers; advanced +mediators, advancing merchants, innumerable divinity students, women +who were the embodiment of the woman question—all these suddenly gained +complete sway among us and over whom? Over the club, the venerable +officials, over generals with wooden legs, over the very strict and +inaccessible ladies of our local society. Since even Varvara Petrovna +was almost at the beck and call of this rabble, right up to the time +of the catastrophe with her son, our other local Minervas may well be +pardoned for their temporary aberration. Now all this is attributed, +as I have mentioned already, to the <i>Internationale.</i> This idea has taken +such root that it is given as the explanation to visitors from other +parts. Only lately councillor Kubrikov, a man of sixty-two, with the +Stanislav Order on his breast, came forward uninvited and confessed in +a voice full of feeling that he had beyond a shadow of doubt been for +fully three months under the influence of the <i>Internationale.</i> When with +every deference for his years and services he was invited to be more +definite, he stuck firmly to his original statement, though he could +produce no evidence except that “he had felt it in all his feelings,” so +that they cross-examined him no further. +</p> +<p> +I repeat again, there was still even among us a small group who held +themselves aloof from the beginning, and even locked themselves up. But +what lock can stand against a law of nature? Daughters will grow up even +in the most careful families, and it is essential for grown-up daughters +to dance. +</p> +<p> +And so all these people, too, ended by subscribing to the governesses’ +fund. +</p> +<p> +The ball was assumed to be an entertainment so brilliant, so +unprecedented; marvels were told about it; there were rumours of princes +from a distance with lorgnettes; of ten stewards, all young dandies, +with rosettes on their left shoulder; of some Petersburg people who +were setting the thing going; there was a rumour that Karmazinov had +consented to increase the subscriptions to the fund by reading his <i>Merci</i> +in the costume of the governesses of the district; that there would be +a literary quadrille all in costume, and every costume would symbolise +some special line of thought; and finally that “honest Russian thought” +would dance in costume—which would certainly be a complete novelty in +itself. Who could resist subscribing? Every one subscribed. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +The programme of the fête was divided into two parts: the literary +matinée from midday till four o’clock, and afterwards a ball from ten +o’clock onwards through the night. But in this very programme there lay +concealed germs of disorder. In the first place, from the very beginning +a rumour had gained ground among the public concerning a luncheon +immediately after the literary matinée, or even while it was going +on, during an interval arranged expressly for it—a free luncheon, of +course, which would form part of the programme and be accompanied by +champagne. The immense price of the tickets (three roubles) tended to +confirm this rumour. “As though one would subscribe for nothing? The +fête is arranged for twenty-four hours, so food must be provided. People +will get hungry.” This was how people reasoned in the town. I must admit +that Yulia Mihailovna did much to confirm this disastrous rumour by her +own heedlessness. A month earlier, under the first spell of the great +project, she would babble about it to anyone she met; and even sent a +paragraph to one of the Petersburg papers about the toasts and speeches +arranged for her fête. What fascinated her most at that time was +the idea of these toasts; she wanted to propose them herself and was +continually composing them in anticipation. They were to make clear what +was their banner (what was it? I don’t mind betting that the poor dear +composed nothing after all), they were to get into the Petersburg and +Moscow papers, to touch and fascinate the higher powers and then to +spread the idea over all the provinces of Russia, rousing people to +wonder and imitation. +</p> +<p> +But for toasts, champagne was essential, and as champagne can’t be +drunk on an empty stomach, it followed that a lunch was essential too. +Afterwards, when by her efforts a committee had been formed and had +attacked the subject more seriously, it was proved clearly to her at +once that if they were going to dream of banquets there would be very +little left for the governesses, however well people subscribed. There +were two ways out of the difficulty: either Belshazzar’s feast with +toasts and speeches, and ninety roubles for the governesses, or a +considerable sum of money with the fête only as a matter of form to +raise it. The committee, however, only wanted to scare her, and had of +course worked out a third course of action, which was reasonable and +combined the advantages of both, that is, a very decent fête in every +respect only without champagne, and so yielding a very respectable sum, +much more than ninety roubles. But Yulia Mihailovna would not agree to +it: her proud spirit revolted from paltry compromise. She decided at +once that if the original idea could not be carried out they should rush +to the opposite extreme, that is, raise an enormous subscription that +would be the envy of other provinces. “The public must understand,” +she said at the end of her flaming speech to the committee, “that +the attainment of an object of universal human interest is infinitely +loftier than the corporeal enjoyments of the passing moment, that the +fête in its essence is only the proclamation of a great idea, and so we +ought to be content with the most frugal German ball simply as a symbol, +that is, if we can’t dispense with this detestable ball altogether,” +so great was the aversion she suddenly conceived for it. But she was +pacified at last. It was then that “the literary quadrille” and the +other æsthetic items were invented and proposed as substitutes for the +corporeal enjoyments. It was then that Karmazinov finally consented to +read <i>Merci</i> (until then he had only tantalised them by his hesitation) and +so eradicate the very idea of victuals from the minds of our incontinent +public. So the ball was once more to be a magnificent function, though +in a different style. And not to be too ethereal it was decided that tea +with lemon and round biscuits should be served at the beginning of the +ball, and later on “orchade” and lemonade and at the end even ices—but +nothing else. For those who always and everywhere are hungry and, still +more, thirsty, they might open a buffet in the farthest of the suite of +rooms and put it in charge of Prohorovitch, the head cook of the club, +who would, subject to the strict supervision of the committee, serve +whatever was wanted, at a fixed charge, and a notice should be put up +on the door of the hall that refreshments were extra. But on the morning +they decided not to open the buffet at all for fear of disturbing the +reading, though the buffet would have been five rooms off the White Hall +in which Karmazinov had consented to read <i>Merci.</i> +</p> +<p> +It is remarkable that the committee, and even the most practical people +in it, attached enormous consequence to this reading. As for people +of poetical tendencies, the marshal’s wife, for instance, informed +Karmazinov that after the reading she would immediately order a marble +slab to be put up in the wall of the White Hall with an inscription +in gold letters, that on such a day and year, here, in this place, the +great writer of Russia and of Europe had read <i>Merci</i> on laying aside his +pen, and so had for the first time taken leave of the Russian public +represented by the leading citizens of our town, and that this +inscription would be read by all at the ball, that is, only five hours +after <i>Merci</i> had been read. I know for a fact that Karmazinov it was who +insisted that there should be no buffet in the morning on any account, +while he was reading, in spite of some protests from members of the +committee that this was rather opposed to our way of doing things. +</p> +<p> +This was the position of affairs, while in the town people were still +reckoning on a Belshazzar feast, that is, on refreshments provided by +the committee; they believed in this to the last hour. Even the young +ladies were dreaming of masses of sweets and preserves, and something +more beyond their imagination. Every one knew that the subscriptions had +reached a huge sum, that all the town was struggling to go, that people +were driving in from the surrounding districts, and that there were +not tickets enough. It was known, too, that there had been some large +subscriptions apart from the price paid for tickets: Varvara Petrovna, +for instance, had paid three hundred roubles for her ticket and had +given almost all the flowers from her conservatory to decorate the room. +The marshal’s wife, who was a member of the committee, provided the +house and the lighting; the club furnished the music, the attendants, +and gave up Prohorovitch for the whole day. There were other +contributions as well, though lesser ones, so much so indeed that the +idea was mooted of cutting down the price of tickets from three roubles +to two. Indeed, the committee were afraid at first that three roubles +would be too much for young ladies to pay, and suggested that they might +have family tickets, so that every family should pay for one daughter +only, while the other young ladies of the family, even if there were a +dozen specimens, should be admitted free. But all their apprehensions +turned out to be groundless: it was just the young ladies who did come. +Even the poorest clerks brought their girls, and it was quite evident +that if they had had no girls it would never have occurred to them to +subscribe for tickets. One insignificant little secretary brought all +his seven daughters, to say nothing of his wife and a niece into the +bargain, and every one of these persons held in her hand an entrance +ticket that cost three roubles. +</p> +<p> +It may be imagined what an upheaval it made in the town! One has only to +remember that as the fête was divided into two parts every lady needed +two costumes for the occasion—a morning one for the matinée and a +ball dress for the evening. Many middle-class people, as it appeared +afterwards, had pawned everything they had for that day, even the family +linen, even the sheets, and possibly the mattresses, to the Jews, who +had been settling in our town in great numbers during the previous two +years and who became more and more numerous as time went on. Almost all +the officials had asked for their salary in advance, and some of the +landowners sold beasts they could ill spare, and all simply to bring +their ladies got up as marchionesses, and to be as good as anybody. The +magnificence of dresses on this occasion was something unheard of in our +neighbourhood. For a fortnight beforehand the town was overflowing with +funny stories which were all brought by our wits to Yulia Mihailovna’s +court. Caricatures were passed from hand to hand. I have seen some +drawings of the sort myself, in Yulia Mihailovna’s album. All this +reached the ears of the families who were the source of the jokes; I +believe this was the cause of the general hatred of Yulia Mihailovna +which had grown so strong in the town. People swear and gnash their +teeth when they think of it now. But it was evident, even at the time, +that if the committee were to displease them in anything, or if anything +went wrong at the ball, the outburst of indignation would be something +surprising. That’s why every one was secretly expecting a scandal; and +if it was so confidently expected, how could it fail to come to pass? +</p> +<p> +The orchestra struck up punctually at midday. Being one of the stewards, +that is, one of the twelve “young men with a rosette,” I saw with my own +eyes how this day of ignominious memory began. It began with an enormous +crush at the doors. How was it that everything, including the police, +went wrong that day? I don’t blame the genuine public: the fathers of +families did not crowd, nor did they push against anyone, in spite of +their position. On the contrary, I am told that they were disconcerted +even in the street, at the sight of the crowd shoving in a way unheard +of in our town, besieging the entry and taking it by assault, instead +of simply going in. Meanwhile the carriages kept driving up, and at last +blocked the street. Now, at the time I write, I have good grounds for +affirming that some of the lowest rabble of our town were brought in +without tickets by Lyamshin and Liputin, possibly, too, by other people +who were stewards like me. Anyway, some complete strangers, who had come +from the surrounding districts and elsewhere, were present. As soon as +these savages entered the hall they began asking where the buffet was, +as though they had been put up to it beforehand, and learning that +there was no buffet they began swearing with brutal directness, and an +unprecedented insolence; some of them, it is true, were drunk when they +came. Some of them were dazed like savages at the splendour of the +hall, as they had never seen anything like it, and subsided for a minute +gazing at it open-mouthed. This great White Hall really was magnificent, +though the building was falling into decay: it was of immense size, with +two rows of windows, with an old-fashioned ceiling covered with gilt +carving, with a gallery with mirrors on the walls, red and white +draperies, marble statues (nondescript but still statues) with heavy old +furniture of the Napoleonic period, white and gold, upholstered in red +velvet. At the moment I am describing, a high platform had been put +up for the literary gentlemen who were to read, and the whole hall was +filled with chairs like the parterre of a theatre with wide aisles for +the audience. +</p> +<p> +But after the first moments of surprise the most senseless questions and +protests followed. “Perhaps we don’t care for a reading.… We’ve paid +our money.… The audience has been impudently swindled.… This is our +entertainment, not the Lembkes!” They seemed, in fact, to have been +let in for this purpose. I remember specially an encounter in which the +princeling with the stand-up collar and the face of a Dutch doll, whom I +had met the morning before at Yulia Mihailovna’s, distinguished himself. +He had, at her urgent request, consented to pin a rosette on his left +shoulder and to become one of our stewards. It turned out that this dumb +wax figure could act after a fashion of his own, if he could not talk. +When a colossal pockmarked captain, supported by a herd of rabble +following at his heels, pestered him by asking “which way to the +buffet?” he made a sign to a police sergeant. His hint was promptly +acted upon, and in spite of the drunken captain’s abuse he was +dragged out of the hall. Meantime the genuine public began to make its +appearance, and stretched in three long files between the chairs. The +disorderly elements began to subside, but the public, even the most +“respectable” among them, had a dissatisfied and perplexed air; some of +the ladies looked positively scared. +</p> +<p> +At last all were seated; the music ceased. People began blowing their +noses and looking about them. They waited with too solemn an air—which +is always a bad sign. But nothing was to be seen yet of the Lembkes. +Silks, velvets, diamonds glowed and sparkled on every side; whiffs of +fragrance filled the air. The men were wearing all their decorations, +and the old men were even in uniform. At last the marshal’s wife came in +with Liza. Liza had never been so dazzlingly charming or so splendidly +dressed as that morning. Her hair was done up in curls, her eyes +sparkled, a smile beamed on her face. She made an unmistakable +sensation: people scrutinised her and whispered about her. They said +that she was looking for Stavrogin, but neither Stavrogin nor Varvara +Petrovna were there. At the time I did not understand the expression +of her face: why was there so much happiness, such joy, such energy and +strength in that face? I remembered what had happened the day before and +could not make it out. +</p> +<p> +But still the Lembkes did not come. This was distinctly a blunder. I +learned that Yulia Mihailovna waited till the last minute for Pyotr +Stepanovitch, without whom she could not stir a step, though she never +admitted it to herself. I must mention, in parenthesis, that on the +previous day Pyotr Stepanovitch had at the last meeting of the committee +declined to wear the rosette of a steward, which had disappointed her +dreadfully, even to the point of tears. To her surprise and, later on, +her extreme discomfiture (to anticipate things) he vanished for the +whole morning and did not make his appearance at the literary matinée at +all, so that no one met him till evening. At last the audience began +to manifest unmistakable signs of impatience. No one appeared on the +platform either. The back rows began applauding, as in a theatre. The +elderly gentlemen and the ladies frowned. “The Lembkes are really giving +themselves unbearable airs.” Even among the better part of the audience +an absurd whisper began to gain ground that perhaps there would not be a +fête at all, that Lembke perhaps was really unwell, and so on and so +on. But, thank God, the Lembkes at last appeared, she was leaning on +his arm; I must confess I was in great apprehension myself about +their appearance. But the legends were disproved, and the truth +was triumphant. The audience seemed relieved. Lembke himself seemed +perfectly well. Every one, I remember, was of that opinion, for it +can be imagined how many eyes were turned on him. I may mention, +as characteristic of our society, that there were very few of the +better-class people who saw reason to suppose that there was anything +wrong with him; his conduct seemed to them perfectly normal, and so much +so that the action he had taken in the square the morning before was +accepted and approved. +</p> +<p> +“That’s how it should have been from the first,” the higher officials +declared. “If a man begins as a philanthropist he has to come to the +same thing in the end, though he does not see that it was necessary +from the point of view of philanthropy itself”—that, at least, was the +opinion at the club. They only blamed him for having lost his temper. +“It ought to have been done more coolly, but there, he is a new man,” +said the authorities. +</p> +<p> +All eyes turned with equal eagerness to Yulia Mihailovna. Of course no +one has the right to expect from me an exact account in regard to one +point: that is a mysterious, a feminine question. But I only know one +thing: on the evening of the previous day she had gone into Andrey +Antonovitch’s study and was there with him till long after midnight. +Andrey Antonovitch was comforted and forgiven. The husband and wife came +to a complete understanding, everything was forgotten, and when at +the end of the interview Lembke went down on his knees, recalling with +horror the final incident of the previous night, the exquisite hand, +and after it the lips of his wife, checked the fervent flow of penitent +phrases of the chivalrously delicate gentleman who was limp with +emotion. Every one could see the happiness in her face. She walked in +with an open-hearted air, wearing a magnificent dress. She seemed to +be at the very pinnacle of her heart’s desires, the fête—the goal and +crown of her diplomacy—was an accomplished fact. As they walked +to their seats in front of the platform, the Lembkes bowed in all +directions and responded to greetings. They were at once surrounded. The +marshal’s wife got up to meet them. +</p> +<p> +But at that point a horrid misunderstanding occurred; the orchestra, +apropos of nothing, struck up a flourish, not a triumphal march of any +kind, but a simple flourish such as was played at the club when some +one’s health was drunk at an official dinner. I know now that Lyamshin, +in his capacity of steward, had arranged this, as though in honour of +the Lembkes’ entrance. Of course he could always excuse it as a blunder +or excessive zeal.… Alas! I did not know at the time that they no +longer cared even to find excuses, and that all such considerations were +from that day a thing of the past. But the flourish was not the end of +it: in the midst of the vexatious astonishment and the smiles of the +audience there was a sudden “hurrah” from the end of the hall and from +the gallery also, apparently in Lembke’s honour. The hurrahs were few, +but I must confess they lasted for some time. Yulia Mihailovna flushed, +her eyes flashed. Lembke stood still at his chair, and turning towards +the voices sternly and majestically scanned the audience.… They +hastened to make him sit down. I noticed with dismay the same dangerous +smile on his face as he had worn the morning before, in his wife’s +drawing-room, when he stared at Stepan Trofimovitch before going up to +him. It seemed to me that now, too, there was an ominous, and, worst of +all, a rather comic expression on his countenance, the expression of a +man resigned to sacrifice himself to satisfy his wife’s lofty aims.… +Yulia Mihailovna beckoned to me hurriedly, and whispered to me to run +to Karmazinov and entreat him to begin. And no sooner had I turned away +than another disgraceful incident, much more unpleasant than the first, +took place. +</p> +<p> +On the platform, the empty platform, on which till that moment all eyes +and all expectations were fastened, and where nothing was to be seen but +a small table, a chair in front of it, and on the table a glass of water +on a silver salver—on the empty platform there suddenly appeared the +colossal figure of Captain Lebyadkin wearing a dress-coat and a white +tie. I was so astounded I could not believe my eyes. The captain seemed +confused and remained standing at the back of the platform. Suddenly +there was a shout in the audience, “Lebyadkin! You?” The captain’s +stupid red face (he was hopelessly drunk) expanded in a broad vacant +grin at this greeting. He raised his hand, rubbed his forehead with it, +shook his shaggy head and, as though making up his mind to go through +with it, took two steps forward and suddenly went off into a series +of prolonged, blissful, gurgling, but not loud guffaws, which made him +screw up his eyes and set all his bulky person heaving. This spectacle +set almost half the audience laughing, twenty people applauded. The +serious part of the audience looked at one another gloomily; it all +lasted only half a minute, however. Liputin, wearing his steward’s +rosette, ran on to the platform with two servants; they carefully took +the captain by both arms, while Liputin whispered something to him. +The captain scowled, muttered “Ah, well, if that’s it!” waved his hand, +turned his huge back to the public and vanished with his escort. But a +minute later Liputin skipped on to the platform again. He was wearing +the sweetest of his invariable smiles, which usually suggested vinegar +and sugar, and carried in his hands a sheet of note-paper. With tiny but +rapid steps he came forward to the edge of the platform. +</p> +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, addressing the public, “through our +inadvertency there has arisen a comical misunderstanding which has been +removed; but I’ve hopefully undertaken to do something at the earnest +and most respectful request of one of our local poets. Deeply touched by +the humane and lofty object … in spite of his appearance … the object +which has brought us all together … to wipe away the tears of the poor +but well-educated girls of our province … this gentleman, I mean this +local poet … although desirous of preserving his incognito, would +gladly have heard his poem read at the beginning of the ball … that is, +I mean, of the matinée. Though this poem is not in the programme … +for it has only been received half an hour ago … yet it has seemed to +<i>us</i>”—(Us? Whom did he mean by us? I report his confused and incoherent +speech word for word)—“that through its remarkable naïveté of feeling, +together with its equally remarkable gaiety, the poem might well be +read, that is, not as something serious, but as something appropriate to +the occasion, that is to the idea … especially as some lines … And I +wanted to ask the kind permission of the audience.” +</p> +<p> +“Read it!” boomed a voice at the back of the hall. +</p> +<p> +“Then I am to read it?” +</p> +<p> +“Read it, read it!” cried many voices. +</p> +<p> +“With the permission of the audience I will read it,” Liputin minced +again, still with the same sugary smile. He still seemed to hesitate, +and I even thought that he was rather excited. These people are +sometimes nervous in spite of their impudence. A divinity student would +have carried it through without winking, but Liputin did, after all, +belong to the last generation. +</p> +<p> +“I must say, that is, I have the honour to say by way of preface, that +it is not precisely an ode such as used to be written for fêtes, but is +rather, so to say, a jest, but full of undoubted feeling, together with +playful humour, and, so to say, the most realistic truthfulness.” +</p> +<p> +“Read it, read it!” +</p> +<p> +He unfolded the paper. No one of course was in time to stop him. +Besides, he was wearing his steward’s badge. In a ringing voice he +declaimed: +</p> +<p> +“To the local governesses of the Fatherland from the poet at the fête: +</p> +<pre> + “Governesses all, good morrow, + Triumph on this festive day. + Retrograde or vowed George-Sander— + Never mind, just frisk away!” +</pre> +<p> +“But that’s Lebyadkin’s! Lebyadkin’s!” cried several voices. There was +laughter and even applause, though not from very many. +</p> +<pre> + “Teaching French to wet-nosed children, + You are glad enough to think + You can catch a worn-out sexton— + Even he is worth a wink!” +</pre> +<p> +“Hurrah! hurrah!” +</p> +<pre> + “But in these great days of progress, + Ladies, to your sorrow know, + You can’t even catch a sexton, + If you have not got a ‘dot’.” +</pre> +<p> +“To be sure, to be sure, that’s realism. You can’t hook a husband +without a ‘dot’!” +</p> +<pre> + “But, henceforth, since through our feasting + Capital has flowed from all, + And we send you forth to conquest + Dancing, dowried from this hall— + Retrograde or vowed George-Sander, + Never mind, rejoice you may, + You’re a governess with a dowry, + Spit on all and frisk away!” +</pre> +<p> +I must confess I could not believe my ears. The insolence of it was so +unmistakable that there was no possibility of excusing Liputin on +the ground of stupidity. Besides, Liputin was by no means stupid. The +intention was obvious, to me, anyway; they seemed in a hurry to create +disorder. Some lines in these idiotic verses, for instance the last, +were such that no stupidity could have let them pass. Liputin himself +seemed to feel that he had undertaken too much; when he had achieved +his exploit he was so overcome by his own impudence that he did not even +leave the platform but remained standing, as though there were something +more he wanted to say. He had probably imagined that it would somehow +produce a different effect; but even the group of ruffians who had +applauded during the reading suddenly sank into silence, as though they, +too, were overcome. What was silliest of all, many of them took the +whole episode seriously, that is, did not regard the verses as a lampoon +but actually thought it realistic and true as regards the governesses—a +poem with a tendency, in fact. But the excessive freedom of the verses +struck even them at last; as for the general public they were not only +scandalised but obviously offended. I am sure I am not mistaken as to +the impression. Yulia Mihailovna said afterwards that in another moment +she would have fallen into a swoon. One of the most respectable old +gentlemen helped his old wife on to her feet, and they walked out of the +hall accompanied by the agitated glances of the audience. Who knows, +the example might have infected others if Karmazinov himself, wearing a +dress-coat and a white tie and carrying a manuscript, in his hand, had +not appeared on the platform at that moment. Yulia Mihailovna turned +an ecstatic gaze at him as on her deliverer.… But I was by that time +behind the scenes. I was in quest of Liputin. +</p> +<p> +“You did that on purpose!” I said, seizing him indignantly by the arm. +</p> +<p> +“I assure you I never thought …” he began, cringing and lying at once, +pretending to be unhappy. “The verses had only just been brought and I +thought that as an amusing pleasantry.…” +</p> +<p> +“You did not think anything of the sort. You can’t really think that +stupid rubbish an amusing pleasantry?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I do.” +</p> +<p> +“You are simply lying, and it wasn’t brought to you just now. You helped +Lebyadkin to compose it yourself, yesterday very likely, to create a +scandal. The last verse must have been yours, the part about the sexton +too. Why did he come on in a dress-coat? You must have meant him to read +it, too, if he had not been drunk?” +</p> +<p> +Liputin looked at me coldly and ironically. +</p> +<p> +“What business is it of yours?” he asked suddenly with strange calm. +</p> +<p> +“What business is it of mine? You are wearing the steward’s badge, +too.… Where is Pyotr Stepanovitch?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know, somewhere here; why do you ask?” +</p> +<p> +“Because now I see through it. It’s simply a plot against Yulia +Mihailovna so as to ruin the day by a scandal.…” +</p> +<p> +Liputin looked at me askance again. +</p> +<p> +“But what is it to you?” he said, grinning. He shrugged his shoulders +and walked away. +</p> +<p> +It came over me with a rush. All my suspicions were confirmed. Till +then, I had been hoping I was mistaken! What was I to do? I was on the +point of asking the advice of Stepan Trofimovitch, but he was standing +before the looking-glass, trying on different smiles, and continually +consulting a piece of paper on which he had notes. He had to go +on immediately after Karmazinov, and was not in a fit state for +conversation. Should I run to Yulia Mihailovna? But it was too soon +to go to her: she needed a much sterner lesson to cure her of +her conviction that she had “a following,” and that every one was +“fanatically devoted” to her. She would not have believed me, and would +have thought I was dreaming. Besides, what help could she be? “Eh,” I +thought, “after all, what business is it of mine? I’ll take off my +badge and go home <i>when it begins.</i>” That was my mental phrase, “when it +begins”; I remember it. +</p> +<p> +But I had to go and listen to Karmazinov. Taking a last look round +behind the scenes, I noticed that a good number of outsiders, even women +among them, were flitting about, going in and out. “Behind the scenes” +was rather a narrow space completely screened from the audience by a +curtain and communicating with other rooms by means of a passage. Here +our readers were awaiting their turns. But I was struck at that moment +by the reader who was to follow Stepan Trofimovitch. He, too, was some +sort of professor (I don’t know to this day exactly what he was) who had +voluntarily left some educational institution after a disturbance among +the students, and had arrived in the town only a few days before. He, +too, had been recommended to Yulia Mihailovna, and she had received him +with reverence. I know now that he had only spent one evening in her +company before the reading; he had not spoken all that evening, had +listened with an equivocal smile to the jests and the general tone of +the company surrounding Yulia Mihailovna, and had made an unpleasant +impression on every one by his air of haughtiness, and at the same +time almost timorous readiness to take offence. It was Yulia Mihailovna +herself who had enlisted his services. Now he was walking from corner to +corner, and, like Stepan Trofimovitch, was muttering to himself, though +he looked on the ground instead of in the looking-glass. He was not +trying on smiles, though he often smiled rapaciously. It was obvious +that it was useless to speak to him either. He looked about forty, was +short and bald, had a greyish beard, and was decently dressed. But what +was most interesting about him was that at every turn he took he threw +up his right fist, brandished it above his head and suddenly brought it +down again as though crushing an antagonist to atoms. He went through +this by-play every moment. It made me uncomfortable. I hastened away to +listen to Karmazinov. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +There was a feeling in the hall that something was wrong again. Let me +state to begin with that I have the deepest reverence for genius, but +why do our geniuses in the decline of their illustrious years behave +sometimes exactly like little boys? What though he was Karmazinov, and +came forward with as much dignity as five <i>Kammerherrs</i> rolled into one? +How could he expect to keep an audience like ours listening for a whole +hour to a single paper? I have observed, in fact, that however big a +genius a man may be, he can’t monopolise the attention of an audience at +a frivolous literary matinée for more than twenty minutes with impunity. +The entrance of the great writer was received, indeed, with the utmost +respect: even the severest elderly men showed signs of approval and +interest, and the ladies even displayed some enthusiasm. The applause +was brief, however, and somehow uncertain and not unanimous. Yet there +was no unseemly behaviour in the back rows, till Karmazinov began to +speak, not that anything very bad followed then, but only a sort of +misunderstanding. I have mentioned already that he had rather a shrill +voice, almost feminine in fact, and at the same time a genuinely +aristocratic lisp. He had hardly articulated a few words when someone +had the effrontery to laugh aloud—probably some ignorant simpleton who +knew nothing of the world, and was congenitally disposed to laughter. +But there was nothing like a hostile demonstration; on the contrary +people said “sh-h!” and the offender was crushed. But Mr. Karmazinov, +with an affected air and intonation, announced that “at first he had +declined absolutely to read.” (Much need there was to mention it!) +“There are some lines which come so deeply from the heart that it is +impossible to utter them aloud, so that these holy things cannot be laid +before the public”—(Why lay them then?)—“but as he had been begged +to do so, he was doing so, and as he was, moreover, laying down his +pen forever, and had sworn to write no more, he had written this last +farewell; and as he had sworn never, on any inducement, to read anything +in public,” and so on, and so on, all in that style. +</p> +<p> +But all that would not have mattered; every one knows what authors’ +prefaces are like, though, I may observe, that considering the lack of +culture of our audience and the irritability of the back rows, all this +may have had an influence. Surely it would have been better to have +read a little story, a short tale such as he had written in the +past—over-elaborate, that is, and affected, but sometimes witty. It +would have saved the situation. No, this was quite another story! It was +a regular oration! Good heavens, what wasn’t there in it! I am positive +that it would have reduced to rigidity even a Petersburg audience, let +alone ours. Imagine an article that would have filled some thirty pages +of print of the most affected, aimless prattle; and to make matters +worse, the gentleman read it with a sort of melancholy condescension +as though it were a favour, so that it was almost insulting to the +audience. The subject.… Who could make it out? It was a sort of +description of certain impressions and reminiscences. But of what? And +about what? Though the leading intellects of the province did their +utmost during the first half of the reading, they could make nothing +of it, and they listened to the second part simply out of politeness. +A great deal was said about love, indeed, of the love of the genius for +some person, but I must admit it made rather an awkward impression. For +the great writer to tell us about his first kiss seemed to my mind a +little incongruous with his short and fat little figure … Another thing +that was offensive; these kisses did not occur as they do with the rest +of mankind. There had to be a framework of gorse (it had to be gorse or +some such plant that one must look up in a flora) and there had to be a +tint of purple in the sky, such as no mortal had ever observed before, +or if some people had seen it, they had never noticed it, but he seemed +to say, “I have seen it and am describing it to you, fools, as if it +were a most ordinary thing.” The tree under which the interesting couple +sat had of course to be of an orange colour. They were sitting somewhere +in Germany. Suddenly they see Pompey or Cassius on the eve of a battle, +and both are penetrated by a thrill of ecstasy. Some wood-nymph squeaked +in the bushes. Gluck played the violin among the reeds. The title of the +piece he was playing was given in full, but no one knew it, so that one +would have had to look it up in a musical dictionary. Meanwhile a fog +came on, such a fog, such a fog, that it was more like a million pillows +than a fog. And suddenly everything disappears and the great genius is +crossing the frozen Volga in a thaw. Two and a half pages are filled +with the crossing, and yet he falls through the ice. The genius is +drowning—you imagine he was drowned? Not a bit of it; this was simply +in order that when he was drowning and at his last gasp, he might catch +sight of a bit of ice, the size of a pea, but pure and crystal “as a +frozen tear,” and in that tear was reflected Germany, or more accurately +the sky of Germany, and its iridescent sparkle recalled to his mind the +very tear which “dost thou remember, fell from thine eyes when we were +sitting under that emerald tree, and thou didst cry out joyfully: ‘There +is no crime!’ ‘No,’ I said through my tears, ‘but if that is so, there +are no righteous either.’ We sobbed and parted forever.” She went off +somewhere to the sea coast, while he went to visit some caves, and then +he descends and descends and descends for three years under Suharev +Tower in Moscow, and suddenly in the very bowels of the earth, he finds +in a cave a lamp, and before the lamp a hermit. The hermit is praying. +The genius leans against a little barred window, and suddenly hears a +sigh. Do you suppose it was the hermit sighing? Much he cares about the +hermit! Not a bit of it, this sigh simply reminds him of her first sigh, +thirty-seven years before, “in Germany, when, dost thou remember, we sat +under an agate tree and thou didst say to me, ‘Why love? See ochra is +growing all around and I love thee; but the ochra will cease to grow, +and I shall cease to love.’” Then the fog comes on again, Hoffman +appears on the scene, the wood-nymph whistles a tune from Chopin, and +suddenly out of the fog appears Ancus Marcius over the roofs of Rome, +wearing a laurel wreath. “A chill of ecstasy ran down our backs and we +parted forever”—and so on and so on. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps I am not reporting it quite right and don’t know how to report +it, but the drift of the babble was something of that sort. And after +all, how disgraceful this passion of our great intellects for jesting in +a superior way really is! The great European philosopher, the great man +of science, the inventor, the martyr—all these who labour and are heavy +laden, are to the great Russian genius no more than so many cooks in his +kitchen. He is the master and they come to him, cap in hand, awaiting +orders. It is true he jeers superciliously at Russia too, and there +is nothing he likes better than exhibiting the bankruptcy of Russia in +every relation before the great minds of Europe, but as regards himself, +no, he is at a higher level than all the great minds of Europe; they are +only material for his jests. He takes another man’s idea, tacks on to it +its antithesis, and the epigram is made. There is such a thing as crime, +there is no such thing as crime; there is no such thing as justice, +there are no just men; atheism, Darwinism, the Moscow bells.… But +alas, he no longer believes in the Moscow bells; Rome, laurels.… But +he has no belief in laurels even.… We have a conventional attack of +Byronic spleen, a grimace from Heine, something of Petchorin—and the +machine goes on rolling, whistling, at full speed. “But you may praise +me, you may praise me, that I like extremely; it’s only in a manner of +speaking that I lay down the pen; I shall bore you three hundred times +more, you’ll grow weary of reading me.…” +</p> +<p> +Of course it did not end without trouble; but the worst of it was that +it was his own doing. People had for some time begun shuffling their +feet, blowing their noses, coughing, and doing everything that people +do when a lecturer, whoever he may be, keeps an audience for longer than +twenty minutes at a literary matinée. But the genius noticed nothing of +all this. He went on lisping and mumbling, without giving a thought to +the audience, so that every one began to wonder. Suddenly in a back row +a solitary but loud voice was heard: +</p> +<p> +“Good Lord, what nonsense!” +</p> +<p> +The exclamation escaped involuntarily, and I am sure was not intended +as a demonstration. The man was simply worn out. But Mr. Karmazinov +stopped, looked sarcastically at the audience, and suddenly lisped with +the deportment of an aggrieved <i>kammerherr.</i> +</p> +<p> +“I’m afraid I’ve been boring you dreadfully, gentlemen?” +</p> +<p> +That was his blunder, that he was the first to speak; for provoking an +answer in this way he gave an opening for the rabble to speak, too, and +even legitimately, so to say, while if he had restrained himself, people +would have gone on blowing their noses and it would have passed off +somehow. Perhaps he expected applause in response to his question, but +there was no sound of applause; on the contrary, every one seemed to +subside and shrink back in dismay. +</p> +<p> +“You never did see Ancus Marcius, that’s all brag,” cried a voice that +sounded full of irritation and even nervous exhaustion. +</p> +<p> +“Just so,” another voice agreed at once. “There are no such things as +ghosts nowadays, nothing but natural science. Look it up in a scientific +book.” +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, there was nothing I expected less than such objections,” +said Karmazinov, extremely surprised. The great genius had completely +lost touch with his Fatherland in Karlsruhe. +</p> +<p> +“Nowadays it’s outrageous to say that the world stands on three fishes,” +a young lady snapped out suddenly. “You can’t have gone down to the +hermit’s cave, Karmazinov. And who talks about hermits nowadays?” +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, what surprises me most of all is that you take it all so +seriously. However … however, you are perfectly right. No one has +greater respect for truth and realism than I have.…” +</p> +<p> +Though he smiled ironically he was tremendously overcome. His face +seemed to express: “I am not the sort of man you think, I am on your +side, only praise me, praise me more, as much as possible, I like it +extremely.…” +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen,” he cried, completely mortified at last, “I see that my poor +poem is quite out of place here. And, indeed, I am out of place here +myself, I think.” +</p> +<p> +“You threw at the crow and you hit the cow,” some fool, probably drunk, +shouted at the top of his voice, and of course no notice ought to +have been taken of him. It is true there was a sound of disrespectful +laughter. +</p> +<p> +“A cow, you say?” Karmazinov caught it up at once, his voice grew +shriller and shriller. “As for crows and cows, gentlemen, I will +refrain. I’ve too much respect for any audience to permit myself +comparisons, however harmless; but I did think …” +</p> +<p> +“You’d better be careful, sir,” someone shouted from a back row. +</p> +<p> +“But I had supposed that laying aside my pen and saying farewell to my +readers, I should be heard …” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, we want to hear you, we want to,” a few voices from the front +row plucked up spirit to exclaim at last. +</p> +<p> +“Read, read!” several enthusiastic ladies’ voices chimed in, and at last +there was an outburst of applause, sparse and feeble, it is true. +</p> +<p> +“Believe me, Karmazinov, every one looks on it as an honour …” the +marshal’s wife herself could not resist saying. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Karmazinov!” cried a fresh young voice in the back of the hall +suddenly. It was the voice of a very young teacher from the district +school who had only lately come among us, an excellent young man, quiet +and gentlemanly. He stood up in his place. “Mr. Karmazinov, if I had +the happiness to fall in love as you have described to us, I really +shouldn’t refer to my love in an article intended for public +reading.…” He flushed red all over. +</p> +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen,” cried Karmazinov, “I have finished. I will omit +the end and withdraw. Only allow me to read the six last lines: +</p> +<p> +“Yes, dear reader, farewell!” he began at once from the manuscript +without sitting down again in his chair. “Farewell, reader; I do not +greatly insist on our parting friends; what need to trouble you, +indeed. You may abuse me, abuse me as you will if it affords you any +satisfaction. But best of all if we forget one another forever. And +if you all, readers, were suddenly so kind as to fall on your knees and +begin begging me with tears, ‘Write, oh, write for us, Karmazinov—for +the sake of Russia, for the sake of posterity, to win laurels,’ even +then I would answer you, thanking you, of course, with every courtesy, +‘No, we’ve had enough of one another, dear fellow-countrymen, <i>merci!</i> +It’s time we took our separate ways!’ <i>Merci, merci, merci!</i>” +</p> +<p> +Karmazinov bowed ceremoniously, and, as red as though he had been +cooked, retired behind the scenes. +</p> +<p> +“Nobody would go down on their knees; a wild idea!” +</p> +<p> +“What conceit!” +</p> +<p> +“That’s only humour,” someone more reasonable suggested. +</p> +<p> +“Spare me your humour.” +</p> +<p> +“I call it impudence, gentlemen!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, he’s finished now, anyway!” +</p> +<p> +“Ech, what a dull show!” +</p> +<p> +But all these ignorant exclamations in the back rows (though they were +confined to the back rows) were drowned in applause from the other half +of the audience. They called for Karmazinov. Several ladies with Yulia +Mihailovna and the marshal’s wife crowded round the platform. In Yulia +Mihailovna’s hands was a gorgeous laurel wreath resting on another +wreath of living roses on a white velvet cushion. +</p> +<p> +“Laurels!” Karmazinov pronounced with a subtle and rather sarcastic +smile. “I am touched, of course, and accept with real emotion this +wreath prepared beforehand, but still fresh and unwithered, but I assure +you, mesdames, that I have suddenly become so realistic that I feel +laurels would in this age be far more appropriate in the hands of a +skilful cook than in mine.…” +</p> +<p> +“Well, a cook is more useful,” cried the divinity student, who had been +at the “meeting” at Virginsky’s. +</p> +<p> +There was some disorder. In many rows people jumped up to get a better +view of the presentation of the laurel wreath. +</p> +<p> +“I’d give another three roubles for a cook this minute,” another voice +assented loudly, too loudly; insistently, in fact. +</p> +<p> +“So would I.” +</p> +<p> +“And I.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it possible there’s no buffet?…” +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, it’s simply a swindle.…” +</p> +<p> +It must be admitted, however, that all these unbridled gentlemen still +stood in awe of our higher officials and of the police superintendent, +who was present in the hall. Ten minutes later all had somehow got back +into their places, but there was not the same good order as before. +And it was into this incipient chaos that poor Stepan Trofimovitch was +thrust. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +I ran out to him behind the scenes once more, and had time to warn him +excitedly that in my opinion the game was up, that he had better not +appear at all, but had better go home at once on the excuse of his usual +ailment, for instance, and I would take off my badge and come with him. +At that instant he was on his way to the platform; he stopped suddenly, +and haughtily looking me up and down he pronounced solemnly: +</p> +<p> +“What grounds have you, sir, for thinking me capable of such baseness?” +</p> +<p> +I drew back. I was as sure as twice two make four that he would not get +off without a catastrophe. Meanwhile, as I stood utterly dejected, I saw +moving before me again the figure of the professor, whose turn it was to +appear after Stepan Trofimovitch, and who kept lifting up his fist +and bringing it down again with a swing. He kept walking up and down, +absorbed in himself and muttering something to himself with a diabolical +but triumphant smile. I somehow almost unintentionally went up to him. +I don’t know what induced me to meddle again. “Do you know,” I said, +“judging from many examples, if a lecturer keeps an audience for more +than twenty minutes it won’t go on listening. No celebrity is able to +hold his own for half an hour.” +</p> +<p> +He stopped short and seemed almost quivering with resentment. Infinite +disdain was expressed in his countenance. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t trouble yourself,” he muttered contemptuously and walked on. At +that moment Stepan Trofimovitch’s voice rang out in the hall. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, hang you all,” I thought, and ran to the hall. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch took his seat in the lecturer’s chair in the midst +of the still persisting disorder. He was greeted by the first rows with +looks which were evidently not over-friendly. (Of late, at the club, +people almost seemed not to like him, and treated him with much less +respect than formerly.) But it was something to the good that he was not +hissed. I had had a strange idea in my head ever since the previous +day: I kept fancying that he would be received with hisses as soon as +he appeared. They scarcely noticed him, however, in the disorder. What +could that man hope for if Karmazinov was treated like this? He was +pale; it was ten years since he had appeared before an audience. From +his excitement and from all that I knew so well in him, it was clear to +me that he, too, regarded his present appearance on the platform as a +turning-point of his fate, or something of the kind. That was just what +I was afraid of. The man was dear to me. And what were my feelings when +he opened his lips and I heard his first phrase? +</p> +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen,” he pronounced suddenly, as though resolved to +venture everything, though in an almost breaking voice. “Ladies and +gentlemen! Only this morning there lay before me one of the illegal +leaflets that have been distributed here lately, and I asked myself for +the hundredth time, ‘Wherein lies its secret?’” +</p> +<p> +The whole hall became instantly still, all looks were turned to him, +some with positive alarm. There was no denying, he knew how to secure +their interest from the first word. Heads were thrust out from behind +the scenes; Liputin and Lyamshin listened greedily. Yulia Mihailovna +waved to me again. +</p> +<p> +“Stop him, whatever happens, stop him,” she whispered in agitation. +I could only shrug my shoulders: how could one stop a man resolved to +venture everything? Alas, I understood what was in Stepan Trofimovitch’s +mind. +</p> +<p> +“Ha ha, the manifestoes!” was whispered in the audience; the whole hall +was stirred. +</p> +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve solved the whole mystery. The whole secret +of their effect lies in their stupidity.” (His eyes flashed.) “Yes, +gentlemen, if this stupidity were intentional, pretended and calculated, +oh, that would be a stroke of genius! But we must do them justice: +they don’t pretend anything. It’s the barest, most simple-hearted, +most shallow stupidity. <i>C’est la bêtise dans son essence la plus pure, +quelque chose comme un simple chimique.</i> If it were expressed ever so +little more cleverly, every one would see at once the poverty of this +shallow stupidity. But as it is, every one is left wondering: no one +can believe that it is such elementary stupidity. ‘It’s impossible that +there’s nothing more in it,’ every one says to himself and tries to +find the secret of it, sees a mystery in it, tries to read between the +lines—the effect is attained! Oh, never has stupidity been so solemnly +rewarded, though it has so often deserved it.… For, <i>en parenthese,</i> +stupidity is of as much service to humanity as the loftiest genius.…” +</p> +<p> +“Epigram of 1840” was commented, in a very modest voice, however, but it +was followed by a general outbreak of noise and uproar. +</p> +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen, hurrah! I propose a toast to stupidity!” cried +Stepan Trofimovitch, defying the audience in a perfect frenzy. +</p> +<p> +I ran up on the pretext of pouring out some water for him. +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch, leave off, Yulia Mihailovna entreats you to.” +</p> +<p> +“No, you leave me alone, idle young man,” he cried out at me at the top +of his voice. I ran away. “Messieurs,” he went on, “why this excitement, +why the outcries of indignation I hear? I have come forward with an +olive branch. I bring you the last word, for in this business I have the +last word—and we shall be reconciled.” +</p> +<p> +“Down with him!” shouted some. +</p> +<p> +“Hush, let him speak, let him have his say!” yelled another section. The +young teacher was particularly excited; having once brought himself to +speak he seemed now unable to be silent. +</p> +<p> +“Messieurs, the last word in this business—is forgiveness. I, an old +man at the end of my life, I solemnly declare that the spirit of life +breathes in us still, and there is still a living strength in the young +generation. The enthusiasm of the youth of today is as pure and bright +as in our age. All that has happened is a change of aim, the replacing +of one beauty by another! The whole difficulty lies in the question +which is more beautiful, Shakespeare or boots, Raphael or petroleum?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s treachery!” growled some. +</p> +<p> +“Compromising questions!” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Agent provocateur!”</i> +</p> +<p> +“But I maintain,” Stepan Trofimovitch shrilled at the utmost pitch of +excitement, “I maintain that Shakespeare and Raphael are more precious +than the emancipation of the serfs, more precious than Nationalism, more +precious than Socialism, more precious than the young generation, more +precious than chemistry, more precious than almost all humanity because +they are the fruit, the real fruit of all humanity and perhaps the +highest fruit that can be. A form of beauty already attained, but for +the attaining of which I would not perhaps consent to live.… Oh, +heavens!” he cried, clasping his hands, “ten years ago I said the same +thing from the platform in Petersburg, exactly the same thing, in the +same words, and in just the same way they did not understand it, they +laughed and hissed as now; shallow people, what is lacking in you that +you cannot understand? But let me tell you, let me tell you, without the +English, life is still possible for humanity, without Germany, life is +possible, without the Russians it is only too possible, without science, +without bread, life is possible—only without beauty it is impossible, +for there will be nothing left in the world. That’s the secret at the +bottom of everything, that’s what history teaches! Even science would +not exist a moment without beauty—do you know that, you who laugh—it +will sink into bondage, you won’t invent a nail even!… I won’t yield an +inch!” he shouted absurdly in confusion, and with all his might banged +his fist on the table. +</p> +<p> +But all the while that he was shrieking senselessly and incoherently, +the disorder in the hall increased. Many people jumped up from their +seats, some dashed forward, nearer to the platform. It all happened much +more quickly than I describe it, and there was no time to take steps, +perhaps no wish to, either. +</p> +<p> +“It’s all right for you, with everything found for you, you pampered +creatures!” the same divinity student bellowed at the foot of the +platform, grinning with relish at Stepan Trofimovitch, who noticed it +and darted to the very edge of the platform. +</p> +<p> +“Haven’t I, haven’t I just declared that the enthusiasm of the young +generation is as pure and bright as it was, and that it is coming to +grief through being deceived only in the forms of beauty! Isn’t that +enough for you? And if you consider that he who proclaims this is a +father crushed and insulted, can one—oh, shallow hearts—can one +rise to greater heights of impartiality and fairness?… Ungrateful … +unjust.… Why, why can’t you be reconciled!” +</p> +<p> +And he burst into hysterical sobs. He wiped away his dropping tears with +his fingers. His shoulders and breast were heaving with sobs. He was +lost to everything in the world. +</p> +<p> +A perfect panic came over the audience, almost all got up from their +seats. Yulia Mihailovna, too, jumped up quickly, seizing her husband by +the arm and pulling him up too.… The scene was beyond all belief. +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch!” the divinity student roared gleefully. “There’s +Fedka the convict wandering about the town and the neighbourhood, +escaped from prison. He is a robber and has recently committed another +murder. Allow me to ask you: if you had not sold him as a recruit +fifteen years ago to pay a gambling debt, that is, more simply, lost +him at cards, tell me, would he have got into prison? Would he have cut +men’s throats now, in his struggle for existence? What do you say, Mr. +Æsthete?” +</p> +<p> +I decline to describe the scene that followed. To begin with there was a +furious volley of applause. The applause did not come from all—probably +from some fifth part of the audience—but they applauded furiously. The +rest of the public made for the exit, but as the applauding part of the +audience kept pressing forward towards the platform, there was a regular +block. The ladies screamed, some of the girls began to cry and asked to +go home. Lembke, standing up by his chair, kept gazing wildly about him. +Yulia Mihailovna completely lost her head—for the first time during her +career amongst us. As for Stepan Trofimovitch, for the first moment +he seemed literally crushed by the divinity student’s words, but he +suddenly raised his arms as though holding them out above the public and +yelled: +</p> +<p> +“I shake the dust from off my feet and I curse you.… It’s the end, the +end.…” +</p> +<p> +And turning, he ran behind the scenes, waving his hands menacingly. +</p> +<p> +“He has insulted the audience!… Verhovensky!” the angry section +roared. They even wanted to rush in pursuit of him. It was impossible to +appease them, at the moment, any way, and—a final catastrophe broke +like a bomb on the assembly and exploded in its midst: the third reader, +the maniac who kept waving his fist behind the scenes, suddenly ran +on to the platform. He looked like a perfect madman. With a broad, +triumphant smile, full of boundless self-confidence, he looked round at +the agitated hall and he seemed to be delighted at the disorder. He was +not in the least disconcerted at having to speak in such an uproar, on +the contrary, he was obviously delighted. This was so obvious that it +attracted attention at once. +</p> +<p> +“What’s this now?” people were heard asking. “Who is this? Sh-h! What +does he want to say?” +</p> +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen,” the maniac shouted with all his might, standing +at the very edge of the platform and speaking with almost as shrill, +feminine a voice as Karmazinov’s, but without the aristocratic lisp. +“Ladies and gentlemen! Twenty years ago, on the eve of war with half +Europe, Russia was regarded as an ideal country by officials of all +ranks! Literature was in the service of the censorship; military drill +was all that was taught at the universities; the troops were trained +like a ballet, and the peasants paid the taxes and were mute under the +lash of serfdom. Patriotism meant the wringing of bribes from the quick +and the dead. Those who did not take bribes were looked upon as rebels +because they disturbed the general harmony. The birch copses were +extirpated in support of discipline. Europe trembled.… But never in +the thousand years of its senseless existence had Russia sunk to such +ignominy.…” +</p> +<p> +He raised his fist, waved it ecstatically and menacingly over his head +and suddenly brought it down furiously, as though pounding an adversary +to powder. A frantic yell rose from the whole hall, there was a +deafening roar of applause; almost half the audience was applauding: +their enthusiasm was excusable. Russia was being put to shame publicly, +before every one. Who could fail to roar with delight? +</p> +<p> +“This is the real thing! Come, this is something like! Hurrah! Yes, this +is none of your æsthetics!” +</p> +<p> +The maniac went on ecstatically: +</p> +<p> +“Twenty years have passed since then. Universities have been opened and +multiplied. Military drill has passed into a legend; officers are too +few by thousands, the railways have eaten up all the capital and have +covered Russia as with a spider’s web, so that in another fifteen years +one will perhaps get somewhere. Bridges are rarely on fire, and fires in +towns occur only at regular intervals, in turn, at the proper season. +In the law courts judgments are as wise as Solomon’s, and the jury only +take bribes through the struggle for existence, to escape starvation. +The serfs are free, and flog one another instead of being flogged by +the land-owners. Seas and oceans of vodka are consumed to support the +budget, and in Novgorod, opposite the ancient and useless St. Sophia, +there has been solemnly put up a colossal bronze globe to celebrate a +thousand years of disorder and confusion; Europe scowls and begins to +be uneasy again.… Fifteen years of reforms! And yet never even in the +most grotesque periods of its madness has Russia sunk …” +</p> +<p> +The last words could not be heard in the roar of the crowd. One could +see him again raise his arm and bring it down triumphantly again. +Enthusiasm was beyond all bounds: people yelled, clapped their hands, +even some of the ladies shouted: “Enough, you can’t beat that!” Some +might have been drunk. The orator scanned them all and seemed revelling +in his own triumph. I caught a glimpse of Lembke in indescribable +excitement, pointing something out to somebody. Yulia Mihailovna, with a +pale face, said something in haste to the prince, who had run up to her. +But at that moment a group of six men, officials more or less, burst on +to the platform, seized the orator and dragged him behind the scenes. I +can’t understand how he managed to tear himself away from them, but he +did escape, darted up to the edge of the platform again and succeeded in +shouting again, at the top of his voice, waving his fist: “But never has +Russia sunk …” +</p> +<p> +But he was dragged away again. I saw some fifteen men dash behind the +scenes to rescue him, not crossing the platform but breaking down the +light screen at the side of it.… I saw afterwards, though I could +hardly believe my eyes, the girl student (Virginsky’s sister) leap on +to the platform with the same roll under her arm, dressed as before, +as plump and rosy as ever, surrounded by two or three women and two or +three men, and accompanied by her mortal enemy, the schoolboy. I even +caught the phrase: +</p> +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve come to call attention to the sufferings +of poor students and to rouse them to a general protest …” +</p> +<p> +But I ran away. Hiding my badge in my pocket I made my way from the +house into the street by back passages which I knew of. First of all, of +course, I went to Stepan Trofimovitch’s. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0017"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER II. THE END OF THE FETE +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +HE WOULD NOT SEE ME. He had shut himself up and was writing. At my +repeated knocks and appeals he answered through the door: +</p> +<p> +“My friend, I have finished everything. Who can ask anything more of +me?” +</p> +<p> +“You haven’t finished anything, you’ve only helped to make a mess of the +whole thing. For God’s sake, no epigrams, Stepan Trofimovitch! Open the +door. We must take steps; they may still come and insult you.…” +</p> +<p> +I thought myself entitled to be particularly severe and even rigorous. +I was afraid he might be going to do something still more mad. But to my +surprise I met an extraordinary firmness. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be the first to insult me then. I thank you for the past, but +I repeat I’ve done with all men, good and bad. I am writing to Darya +Pavlovna, whom I’ve forgotten so unpardonably till now. You may take it +to her to-morrow, if you like, now <i>merci</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch, I assure you that the matter is more serious +than you think. Do you think that you’ve crushed someone there? You’ve +pulverised no one, but have broken yourself to pieces like an empty +bottle.” (Oh, I was coarse and discourteous, I remember it with +regret.) “You’ve absolutely no reason to write to Darya Pavlovna … and +what will you do with yourself without me? What do you understand about +practical life? I expect you are plotting something else? You’ll simply +come to grief again if you go plotting something more.…” +</p> +<p> +He rose and came close up to the door. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve not been long with them, but you’ve caught the infection of +their tone and language. <i>Dieu vous pardonne, mon ami, et Dieu vous +garde.</i> But I’ve always seen in you the germs of delicate feeling, and +you will get over it perhaps—<i>après le temps,</i> of course, like all of us +Russians. As for what you say about my impracticability, I’ll remind you +of a recent idea of mine: a whole mass of people in Russia do nothing +whatever but attack other people’s impracticability with the utmost fury +and with the tiresome persistence of flies in the summer, accusing every +one of it except themselves. <i>Cher,</i> remember that I am excited, and +don’t distress me. Once more <i>merci</i> for everything, and let us part like +Karmazinov and the public; that is, let us forget each other with as +much generosity as we can. He was posing in begging his former readers +so earnestly to forget him; <i>quant à moi,</i> I am not so conceited, and I +rest my hopes on the youth of your inexperienced heart. How should you +remember a useless old man for long? ‘Live more,’ my friend, as Nastasya +wished me on my last name-day <i>(ces pauvres gens ont quelquefois des +mots charmants et pleins de philosophie).</i> I do not wish you much +happiness—it will bore you. I do not wish you trouble either, but, +following the philosophy of the peasant, I will repeat simply ‘live +more’ and try not to be much bored; this useless wish I add from myself. +Well, good-bye, and good-bye for good. Don’t stand at my door, I will +not open it.” +</p> +<p> +He went away and I could get nothing more out of him. In spite of his +“excitement,” he spoke smoothly, deliberately, with weight, obviously +trying to be impressive. Of course he was rather vexed with me and was +avenging himself indirectly, possibly even for the yesterday’s “prison +carts” and “floors that give way.” His tears in public that morning, in +spite of a triumph of a sort, had put him, he knew, in rather a comic +position, and there never was a man more solicitous of dignity and +punctilio in his relations with his friends than Stepan Trofimovitch. +Oh, I don’t blame him. But this fastidiousness and irony which he +preserved in spite of all shocks reassured me at the time. A man who was +so little different from his ordinary self was, of course, not in the +mood at that moment for anything tragic or extraordinary. So I reasoned +at the time, and, heavens, what a mistake I made! I left too much out of +my reckoning. +</p> +<p> +In anticipation of events I will quote the few first lines of the letter +to Darya Pavlovna, which she actually received the following day: +</p> +<p> +“<i>Mon enfant,</i> my hand trembles, but I’ve done with everything. You were +not present at my last struggle: you did not come to that matinée, and +you did well to stay away. But you will be told that in our Russia, +which has grown so poor in men of character, one man had the courage to +stand up and, in spite of deadly menaces showered on him from all +sides, to tell the fools the truth, that is, that they are fools. <i>Oh, +ce sont—des pauvres petits vauriens et rien de plus, des +petits</i>—fools—<i>voilà le mot!</i> The die is cast; I am going from this town +forever and I know not whither. Every one I loved has turned from me. +But you, you are a pure and naïve creature; you, a gentle being whose +life has been all but linked with mine at the will of a capricious and +imperious heart; you who looked at me perhaps with contempt when I shed +weak tears on the eve of our frustrated marriage; you, who cannot in any +case look on me except as a comic figure—for you, for you is the last +cry of my heart, for you my last duty, for you alone! I cannot leave +you forever thinking of me as an ungrateful fool, a churlish egoist, as +probably a cruel and ungrateful heart—whom, alas, I cannot forget—is +every day describing me to you.…” +</p> +<p> +And so on and so on, four large pages. +</p> +<p> +Answering his “I won’t open” with three bangs with my fist on the door, +and shouting after him that I was sure he would send Nastasya for me +three times that day, but I would not come, I gave him up and ran off to +Yulia Mihailovna. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +There I was the witness of a revolting scene: the poor woman was +deceived to her face, and I could do nothing. Indeed, what could I say +to her? I had had time to reconsider things a little and reflect that +I had nothing to go upon but certain feelings and suspicious +presentiments. I found her in tears, almost in hysterics, with +compresses of eau-de-Cologne and a glass of water. Before her stood +Pyotr Stepanovitch, who talked without stopping, and the prince, who +held his tongue as though it had been under a lock. With tears and +lamentations she reproached Pyotr Stepanovitch for his “desertion.” I +was struck at once by the fact that she ascribed the whole failure, +the whole ignominy of the matinée, everything in fact, to Pyotr +Stepanovitch’s absence. +</p> +<p> +In him I observed an important change: he seemed a shade too anxious, +almost serious. As a rule he never seemed serious; he was always +laughing, even when he was angry, and he was often angry. Oh, he was +angry now! He was speaking coarsely, carelessly, with vexation and +impatience. He said that he had been taken ill at Gaganov’s lodging, +where he had happened to go early in the morning. Alas, the poor woman +was so anxious to be deceived again! The chief question which I found +being discussed was whether the ball, that is, the whole second half of +the fête, should or should not take place. Yulia Mihailovna could not be +induced to appear at the ball “after the insults she had received that +morning”; in other words, her heart was set on being compelled to do so, +and by him, by Pyotr Stepanovitch. She looked upon him as an oracle, and +I believe if he had gone away she would have taken to her bed at once. +But he did not want to go away; he was desperately anxious that the ball +should take place and that Yulia Mihailovna should be present at it. +</p> +<p> +“Come, what is there to cry about? Are you set on having a scene? On +venting your anger on somebody? Well, vent it on me; only make haste +about it, for the time is passing and you must make up your mind. We +made a mess of it with the matinée; we’ll pick up on the ball. Here, the +prince thinks as I do. Yes, if it hadn’t been for the prince, how would +things have ended there?” +</p> +<p> +The prince had been at first opposed to the ball (that is, opposed to +Yulia Mihailovna’s appearing at it; the ball was bound to go on in any +case), but after two or three such references to his opinion he began +little by little to grunt his acquiescence. +</p> +<p> +I was surprised too at the extraordinary rudeness of Pyotr +Stepanovitch’s tone. Oh, I scout with indignation the contemptible +slander which was spread later of some supposed liaison between Yulia +Mihailovna and Pyotr Stepanovitch. There was no such thing, nor could +there be. He gained his ascendency over her from the first only by +encouraging her in her dreams of influence in society and in the +ministry, by entering into her plans, by inventing them for her, and +working upon her with the grossest flattery. He had got her completely +into his toils and had become as necessary to her as the air she +breathed. Seeing me, she cried, with flashing eyes: +</p> +<p> +“Here, ask him. He kept by my side all the while, just like the prince +did. Tell me, isn’t it plain that it was all a preconcerted plot, a +base, designing plot to damage Andrey Antonovitch and me as much as +possible? Oh, they had arranged it beforehand. They had a plan! It’s a +party, a regular party.” +</p> +<p> +“You are exaggerating as usual. You’ve always some romantic notion in +your head. But I am glad to see Mr.…” (He pretended to have forgotten +my name.) “He’ll give us his opinion.” +</p> +<p> +“My opinion,” I hastened to put in, “is the same as Yulia Mihailovna’s. +The plot is only too evident. I have brought you these ribbons, Yulia +Mihailovna. Whether the ball is to take place or not is not my business, +for it’s not in my power to decide; but my part as steward is over. +Forgive my warmth, but I can’t act against the dictates of common sense +and my own convictions.” +</p> +<p> +“You hear! You hear!” She clasped her hands. +</p> +<p> +“I hear, and I tell you this.” He turned to me. “I think you must +have eaten something which has made you all delirious. To my thinking, +nothing has happened, absolutely nothing but what has happened before +and is always liable to happen in this town. A plot, indeed! It was an +ugly failure, disgracefully stupid. But where’s the plot? A plot against +Yulia Mihailovna, who has spoiled them and protected them and fondly +forgiven them all their schoolboy pranks! Yulia Mihailovna! What have I +been hammering into you for the last month continually? What did I warn +you? What did you want with all these people—what did you want with +them? What induced you to mix yourself up with these fellows? What was +the motive, what was the object of it? To unite society? But, mercy on +us! will they ever be united?” +</p> +<p> +“When did you warn me? On the contrary, you approved of it, you even +insisted on it.… I confess I am so surprised.… You brought all sorts +of strange people to see me yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“On the contrary, I opposed you; I did not approve of it. As for +bringing them to see you, I certainly did, but only after they’d got +in by dozens and only of late to make up ‘the literary quadrille’—we +couldn’t get on without these rogues. Only I don’t mind betting that a +dozen or two more of the same sort were let in without tickets to-day.” +</p> +<p> +“Not a doubt of it,” I agreed. +</p> +<p> +“There, you see, you are agreeing already. Think what the tone has been +lately here—I mean in this wretched town. It’s nothing but insolence, +impudence; it’s been a crying scandal all the time. And who’s been +encouraging it? Who’s screened it by her authority? Who’s upset them +all? Who has made all the small fry huffy? All their family secrets are +caricatured in your album. Didn’t you pat them on the back, your poets +and caricaturists? Didn’t you let Lyamshin kiss your hand? Didn’t a +divinity student abuse an actual state councillor in your presence and +spoil his daughter’s dress with his tarred boots? Now, can you wonder +that the public is set against you?” +</p> +<p> +“But that’s all your doing, yours! Oh, my goodness!” +</p> +<p> +“No, I warned you. We quarrelled. Do you hear, we quarrelled?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, you are lying to my face!” +</p> +<p> +“Of course it’s easy for you to say that. You need a victim to vent your +wrath on. Well, vent it on me as I’ve said already. I’d better appeal to +you, Mr.…” (He was still unable to recall my name.) “We’ll reckon +on our fingers. I maintain that, apart from Liputin, there was nothing +preconcerted, nothing! I will prove it, but first let us analyse +Liputin. He came forward with that fool Lebyadkin’s verses. Do you +maintain that that was a plot? But do you know it might simply have +struck Liputin as a clever thing to do. Seriously, seriously. He simply +came forward with the idea of making every one laugh and entertaining +them—his protectress Yulia Mihailovna first of all. That was all. Don’t +you believe it? Isn’t that in keeping with all that has been going +on here for the last month? Do you want me to tell the whole truth? I +declare that under other circumstances it might have gone off all right. +It was a coarse joke—well, a bit strong, perhaps; but it was amusing, +you know, wasn’t it?” +</p> +<p> +“What! You think what Liputin did was clever?” Yulia Mihailovna cried +in intense indignation. “Such stupidity, such tactlessness, so +contemptible, so mean! It was intentional! Oh, you are saying it on +purpose! I believe after that you are in the plot with them yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course I was behind the scenes, I was in hiding, I set it all going. +But if I were in the plot—understand that, anyway—it wouldn’t have +ended with Liputin. So according to you I had arranged with my papa too +that he should cause such a scene on purpose? Well, whose fault is it +that my papa was allowed to read? Who tried only yesterday to prevent +you from allowing it, only yesterday?” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Oh, hier il avait tant d’esprit,</i> I was so reckoning on him; and then he +has such manners. I thought with him and Karmazinov … Only think!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, only think. But in spite of <i>tant d’esprit</i> papa has made things +worse, and if I’d known beforehand that he’d make such a mess of it, I +should certainly not have persuaded you yesterday to keep the goat +out of the kitchen garden, should I—since I am taking part in this +conspiracy against your fête that you are so positive about? And yet I +did try to dissuade you yesterday; I tried to because I foresaw it. To +foresee everything was, of course, impossible; he probably did not know +himself a minute before what he would fire off—these nervous old men +can’t be reckoned on like other people. But you can still save +the situation: to satisfy the public, send to him to-morrow by +administrative order, and with all the ceremonies, two doctors to +inquire into his health. Even to-day, in fact, and take him straight to +the hospital and apply cold compresses. Every one would laugh, anyway, +and see that there was nothing to take offence at. I’ll tell people +about it in the evening at the ball, as I am his son. Karmazinov is +another story. He was a perfect ass and dragged out his article for a +whole hour. He certainly must have been in the plot with me! ‘I’ll make +a mess of it too,’ he thought, ‘to damage Yulia Mihailovna.’” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Karmazinov! <i>Quelle honte!</i> I was burning, burning with shame for his +audience!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I shouldn’t have burnt, but have cooked him instead. The audience +was right, you know. Who was to blame for Karmazinov, again? Did I foist +him upon you? Was I one of his worshippers? Well, hang him! But the +third maniac, the political—that’s a different matter. That was every +one’s blunder, not only my plot.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, don’t speak of it! That was awful, awful! That was my fault, +entirely my fault!” +</p> +<p> +“Of course it was, but I don’t blame you for that. No one can control +them, these candid souls! You can’t always be safe from them, even in +Petersburg. He was recommended to you, and in what terms too! So you +will admit that you are bound to appear at the ball to-night. It’s an +important business. It was you put him on to the platform. You must make +it plain now to the public that you are not in league with him, that +the fellow is in the hands of the police, and that you were in some +inexplicable way deceived. You ought to declare with indignation that +you were the victim of a madman. Because he is a madman and nothing +more. That’s how you must put it about him. I can’t endure these people +who bite. I say worse things perhaps, but not from the platform, you +know. And they are talking about a senator too.” +</p> +<p> +“What senator? Who’s talking?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t understand it myself, you know. Do you know anything about a +senator, Yulia Mihailovna?” +</p> +<p> +“A senator?” +</p> +<p> +“You see, they are convinced that a senator has been appointed to be +governor here, and that you are being superseded from Petersburg. I’ve +heard it from lots of people.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve heard it too,” I put in. +</p> +<p> +“Who said so?” asked Yulia Mihailovna, flushing all over. +</p> +<p> +“You mean, who said so first? How can I tell? But there it is, people +say so. Masses of people are saying so. They were saying so yesterday +particularly. They are all very serious about it, though I can’t make it +out. Of course the more intelligent and competent don’t talk, but even +some of those listen.” +</p> +<p> +“How mean! And … how stupid!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s just why you must make your appearance, to show these +fools.” +</p> +<p> +“I confess I feel myself that it’s my duty, but … what if there’s +another disgrace in store for us? What if people don’t come? No one will +come, you know, no one!” +</p> +<p> +“How hot you are! They not come! What about the new clothes? What about +the girls’ dresses? I give you up as a woman after that! Is that your +knowledge of human nature?” +</p> +<p> +“The marshal’s wife won’t come, she won’t.” +</p> +<p> +“But, after all, what has happened? Why won’t they come?” he cried at +last with angry impatience. +</p> +<p> +“Ignominy, disgrace—that’s what’s happened. I don’t know what to call +it, but after it I can’t face people.” +</p> +<p> +“Why? How are you to blame for it, after all? Why do you take the blame +of it on yourself? Isn’t it rather the fault of the audience, of +your respectable residents, your patresfamilias? They ought to have +controlled the roughs and the rowdies—for it was all the work of roughs +and rowdies, nothing serious. You can never manage things with the +police alone in any society, anywhere. Among us every one asks for +a special policeman to protect him wherever he goes. People don’t +understand that society must protect itself. And what do our +patresfamilias, the officials, the wives and daughters, do in such +cases? They sit quiet and sulk. In fact there’s not enough social +initiative to keep the disorderly in check.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, that’s the simple truth! They sit quiet, sulk and … gaze about +them.” +</p> +<p> +“And if it’s the truth, you ought to say so aloud, proudly, sternly, +just to show that you are not defeated, to those respectable residents +and mothers of families. Oh, you can do it; you have the gift when your +head is clear. You will gather them round you and say it aloud. And +then a paragraph in the <i>Voice</i> and the <i>Financial News.</i> Wait a bit, I’ll +undertake it myself, I’ll arrange it all for you. Of course there must +be more superintendence: you must look after the buffet; you must ask +the prince, you must ask Mr.… You must not desert us, monsieur, just +when we have to begin all over again. And finally, you must appear +arm-in-arm with Andrey Antonovitch.… How is Andrey Antonovitch?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, how unjustly, how untruly, how cruelly you have always judged that +angelic man!” Yulia Mihailovna cried in a sudden, outburst, almost with +tears, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch was positively taken aback for the moment. “Good +heavens! I.… What have I said? I’ve always …” +</p> +<p> +“You never have, never! You have never done him justice.” +</p> +<p> +“There’s no understanding a woman,” grumbled Pyotr Stepanovitch, with a +wry smile. +</p> +<p> +“He is the most sincere, the most delicate, the most angelic of men! The +most kind-hearted of men!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, really, as for kind-heartedness … I’ve always done him +justice.…” +</p> +<p> +“Never! But let us drop it. I am too awkward in my defence of him. +This morning that little Jesuit, the marshal’s wife, also dropped some +sarcastic hints about what happened yesterday.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, she has no thoughts to spare for yesterday now, she is full of +to-day. And why are you so upset at her not coming to the ball to-night? +Of course, she won’t come after getting mixed up in such a scandal. +Perhaps it’s not her fault, but still her reputation … her hands are +soiled.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean; I don’t understand? Why are her hands soiled?” Yulia +Mihailovna looked at him in perplexity. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t vouch for the truth of it, but the town is ringing with the +story that it was she brought them together.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean? Brought whom together?” +</p> +<p> +“What, do you mean to say you don’t know?” he exclaimed with +well-simulated wonder. “Why Stavrogin and Lizaveta Nikolaevna.” +</p> +<p> +“What? How?” we all cried out at once. +</p> +<p> +“Is it possible you don’t know? Phew! Why, it is quite a tragic romance: +Lizaveta Nikolaevna was pleased to get out of that lady’s carriage +and get straight into Stavrogin’s carriage, and slipped off with ‘the +latter’ to Skvoreshniki in full daylight. Only an hour ago, hardly an +hour.” +</p> +<p> +We were flabbergasted. Of course we fell to questioning him, but to our +wonder, although he “happened” to be a witness of the scene himself, +he could give us no detailed account of it. The thing seemed to have +happened like this: when the marshal’s wife was driving Liza and Mavriky +Nikolaevitch from the matinée to the house of Praskovya Ivanovna (whose +legs were still bad) they saw a carriage waiting a short distance, about +twenty-five paces, to one side of the front door. When Liza jumped out, +she ran straight to this carriage; the door was flung open and shut +again; Liza called to Mavriky Nikolaevitch, “Spare me,” and the carriage +drove off at full speed to Skvoreshniki. To our hurried questions +whether it was by arrangement? Who was in the carriage? Pyotr +Stepanovitch answered that he knew nothing about it; no doubt it had +been arranged, but that he did not see Stavrogin himself; possibly the +old butler, Alexey Yegorytch, might have been in the carriage. To the +question “How did he come to be there, and how did he know for a fact +that she had driven to Skvoreshniki?” he answered that he happened to be +passing and, at seeing Liza, he had run up to the carriage (and yet he +could not make out who was in it, an inquisitive man like him!) and +that Mavriky Nikolaevitch, far from setting off in pursuit, had not +even tried to stop Liza, and had even laid a restraining hand on the +marshal’s wife, who was shouting at the top of her voice: “She is going +to Stavrogin, to Stavrogin.” At this point I lost patience, and cried +furiously to Pyotr Stepanovitch: +</p> +<p> +“It’s all your doing, you rascal! This was what you were doing this +morning. You helped Stavrogin, you came in the carriage, you helped her +into it … it was you, you, you! Yulia Mihailovna, he is your enemy; he +will be your ruin too! Beware of him!” +</p> +<p> +And I ran headlong out of the house. I wonder myself and cannot make out +to this day how I came to say that to him. But I guessed quite right: +it had all happened almost exactly as I said, as appeared later. What +struck me most was the obviously artificial way in which he broke +the news. He had not told it at once on entering the house as an +extraordinary piece of news, but pretended that we knew without his +telling us which was impossible in so short a time. And if we had known +it, we could not possibly have refrained from mentioning it till he +introduced the subject. Besides, he could not have heard yet that the +town was “ringing with gossip” about the marshal’s wife in so short a +time. Besides, he had once or twice given a vulgar, frivolous smile +as he told the story, probably considering that we were fools and +completely taken in. +</p> +<p> +But I had no thought to spare for him; the central fact I believed, and +ran from Yulia Mihailovna’s, beside myself. The catastrophe cut me +to the heart. I was wounded almost to tears; perhaps I did shed +some indeed. I was at a complete loss what to do. I rushed to Stepan +Trofimovitch’s, but the vexatious man still refused to open the door. +Nastasya informed me, in a reverent whisper, that he had gone to bed, +but I did not believe it. At Liza’s house I succeeded in questioning the +servants. They confirmed the story of the elopement, but knew nothing +themselves. There was great commotion in the house; their mistress had +been attacked by fainting fits, and Mavriky Nikolaevitch was with her. +I did not feel it possible to ask for Mavriky Nikolaevitch. To my +inquiries about Pyotr Stepanovitch they told me that he had been in and +out continually of late, sometimes twice in the day. The servants were +sad, and showed particular respectfulness in speaking of Liza; they were +fond of her. That she was ruined, utterly ruined, I did not doubt; +but the psychological aspect of the matter I was utterly unable to +understand, especially after her scene with Stavrogin the previous day. +To run about the town and inquire at the houses of acquaintances, who +would, of course, by now have heard the news and be rejoicing at it, +seemed to me revolting, besides being humiliating for Liza. But, strange +to say, I ran to see Darya Pavlovna, though I was not admitted (no one +had been admitted into the house since the previous morning). I don’t +know what I could have said to her and what made me run to her. From her +I went to her brother’s. Shatov listened sullenly and in silence. I may +observe that I found him more gloomy than I had ever seen him before; he +was awfully preoccupied and seemed only to listen to me with an effort. +He said scarcely anything and began walking up and down his cell from +corner to corner, treading more noisily than usual. As I was going down +the stairs he shouted after me to go to Liputin’s: “There you’ll hear +everything.” Yet I did not go to Liputin’s, but after I’d gone a good +way towards home I turned back to Shatov’s again, and, half opening the +door without going in, suggested to him laconically and with no kind of +explanation, “Won’t you go to Marya Timofyevna to-day?” At this Shatov +swore at me, and I went away. I note here that I may not forget it that +he did purposely go that evening to the other end of the town to see +Marya Timofyevna, whom he had not seen for some time. He found her in +excellent health and spirits and Lebyadkin dead drunk, asleep on the +sofa in the first room. This was at nine o’clock. He told me so himself +next day when we met for a moment in the street. Before ten o’clock I +made up my mind to go to the ball, but not in the capacity of a steward +(besides my rosette had been left at Yulia Mihailovna’s). I was tempted +by irresistible curiosity to listen, without asking any questions, +to what people were saying in the town about all that had happened. I +wanted, too, to have a look at Yulia Mihailovna, if only at a distance. +I reproached myself greatly that I had left her so abruptly that +afternoon. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +All that night, with its almost grotesque incidents, and the terrible +<i>dénouement</i> that followed in the early morning, still seems to me like a +hideous nightmare, and is, for me at least, the most painful chapter +in my chronicle. I was late for the ball, and it was destined to end +so quickly that I arrived not long before it was over. It was eleven +o’clock when I reached the entrance of the marshal’s house, where the +same White Hall in which the matinée had taken place had, in spite of +the short interval between, been cleared and made ready to serve as the +chief ballroom for the whole town, as we expected, to dance in. But far +as I had been that morning from expecting the ball to be a success, I +had had no presentiment of the full truth. Not one family of the +higher circles appeared; even the subordinate officials of rather more +consequence were absent—and this was a very striking fact. As for +ladies and girls, Pyotr Stepanovitch’s arguments (the duplicity of which +was obvious now) turned out to be utterly incorrect: exceedingly few +had come; to four men there was scarcely one lady—and what ladies +they were! Regimental ladies of a sort, three doctors’ wives with +their daughters, two or three poor ladies from the country, the seven +daughters and the niece of the secretary whom I have mentioned already, +some wives of tradesmen, of post-office clerks and other small fry—was +this what Yulia Mihailovna expected? Half the tradespeople even were +absent. As for the men, in spite of the complete absence of all persons +of consequence, there was still a crowd of them, but they made a +doubtful and suspicious impression. There were, of course, some quiet +and respectful officers with their wives, some of the most docile +fathers of families, like that secretary, for instance, the father of +his seven daughters. All these humble, insignificant people had come, as +one of these gentlemen expressed it, because it was “inevitable.” But, +on the other hand, the mass of free-and-easy people and the mass too of +those whom Pyotr Stepanovitch and I had suspected of coming in without +tickets, seemed even bigger than in the afternoon. So far they were all +sitting in the refreshment bar, and had gone straight there on arriving, +as though it were the meeting-place they had agreed upon. So at least it +seemed to me. The refreshment bar had been placed in a large room, +the last of several opening out of one another. Here Prohoritch was +installed with all the attractions of the club cuisine and with a +tempting display of drinks and dainties. I noticed several persons whose +coats were almost in rags and whose get-up was altogether suspicious and +utterly unsuitable for a ball. They had evidently been with great pains +brought to a state of partial sobriety which would not last long; and +goodness knows where they had been brought from, they were not local +people. I knew, of course, that it was part of Yulia Mihailovna’s idea +that the ball should be of the most democratic character, and that “even +working people and shopmen should not be excluded if any one of that +class chanced to pay for a ticket.” She could bravely utter such words +in her committee with absolute security that none of the working people +of our town, who all lived in extreme poverty, would dream of taking a +ticket. But in spite of the democratic sentiments of the committee, I +could hardly believe that such sinister-looking and shabby people could +have been admitted in the regular way. But who could have admitted them, +and with what object? Lyamshin and Liputin had already been deprived of +their steward’s rosettes, though they were present at the ball, as they +were taking part in the “literary quadrille.” But, to my amazement, +Liputin’s place was taken by the divinity student, who had caused +the greatest scandal at the matinée by his skirmish with Stepan +Trofimovitch; and Lyamshin’s was taken by Pyotr Stepanovitch himself. +What was to be looked for under the circumstances? +</p> +<p> +I tried to listen to the conversation. I was struck by the wildness +of some ideas I heard expressed. It was maintained in one group, for +instance, that Yulia Mihailovna had arranged Liza’s elopement with +Stavrogin and had been paid by the latter for doing so. Even the sum +paid was mentioned. It was asserted that she had arranged the whole fête +with a view to it, and that that was the reason why half the town had +not turned up at the ball, and that Lembke himself was so upset about it +that “his mind had given way,” and that, crazy as he was, “she had got +him in tow.” There was a great deal of laughter too, hoarse, wild +and significant. Every one was criticising the ball, too, with great +severity, and abusing Yulia Mihailovna without ceremony. In fact it was +disorderly, incoherent, drunken and excited babble, so it was difficult +to put it together and make anything of it. At the same time there were +simple-hearted people enjoying themselves at the refreshment-bar; there +were even some ladies of the sort who are surprised and frightened at +nothing, very genial and festive, chiefly military ladies with their +husbands. They made parties at the little tables, were drinking tea, and +were very merry. The refreshment-bar made a snug refuge for almost half +of the guests. Yet in a little time all this mass of people must stream +into the ballroom. It was horrible to think of it! +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile the prince had succeeded in arranging three skimpy quadrilles +in the White Hall. The young ladies were dancing, while their parents +were enjoying watching them. But many of these respectable persons had +already begun to think how they could, after giving their girls a treat, +get off in good time before “the trouble began.” Absolutely every one +was convinced that it certainly would begin. It would be difficult for +me to describe Yulia Mihailovna’s state of mind. I did not talk to her +though I went close up to her. She did not respond to the bow I made her +on entering; she did not notice me (really did not notice). There was a +painful look in her face and a contemptuous and haughty though restless +and agitated expression in her eyes. She controlled herself with evident +suffering—for whose sake, with what object? She certainly ought to have +gone away, still more to have got her husband away, and she remained! +From her face one could see that her eyes were “fully opened,” and +that it was useless for her to expect any thing more. She did not even +summon Pyotr Stepanovitch (he seemed to avoid her; I saw him in the +refreshment-room, he was extremely lively). But she remained at the ball +and did not let Andrey Antonovitch leave her side for a moment. Oh, up +to the very last moment, even that morning she would have repudiated any +hint about his health with genuine indignation. But now her eyes were +to be opened on this subject too. As for me, I thought from the first +glance that Andrey Antonovitch looked worse than he had done in the +morning. He seemed to be plunged into a sort of oblivion and hardly +to know where he was. Sometimes he looked about him with unexpected +severity—at me, for instance, twice. Once he tried to say something; +he began loudly and audibly but did not finish the sentence, throwing +a modest old clerk who happened to be near him almost into a panic. But +even this humble section of the assembly held sullenly and timidly +aloof from Yulia Mihailovna and at the same time turned upon her husband +exceedingly strange glances, open and staring, quite out of keeping with +their habitually submissive demeanour. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that struck me, and I suddenly began to guess about Andrey +Antonovitch,” Yulia Mihailovna confessed to me afterwards. +</p> +<p> +Yes, she was to blame again! Probably when after my departure she had +settled with Pyotr Stepanovitch that there should be a ball and that +she should be present she must have gone again to the study where Andrey +Antonovitch was sitting, utterly “shattered” by the matinée; must again +have used all her fascinations to persuade him to come with her. But +what misery she must have been in now! And yet she did not go away. +Whether it was pride or simply she lost her head, I do not know. In +spite of her haughtiness, she attempted with smiles and humiliation +to enter into conversation with some ladies, but they were confused, +confined themselves to distrustful monosyllables, “Yes” and “No,” and +evidently avoided her. +</p> +<p> +The only person of undoubted consequence who was present at the ball was +that distinguished general whom I have described already, the one who +after Stavrogin’s duel with Gaganov opened the door to public impatience +at the marshal’s wife’s. He walked with an air of dignity through the +rooms, looked about, and listened, and tried to appear as though he had +come rather for the sake of observation than for the sake of enjoying +himself.… He ended by establishing himself beside Yulia Mihailovna +and not moving a step away from her, evidently trying to keep up her +spirits, and reassure her. He certainly was a most kind-hearted man, +of very high rank, and so old that even compassion from him was not +wounding. But to admit to herself that this old gossip was venturing to +pity her and almost to protect her, knowing that he was doing her honour +by his presence, was very vexatious. The general stayed by her and never +ceased chattering. +</p> +<p> +“They say a town can’t go on without seven righteous men … seven, I +think it is, I am not sure of the number fixed.… I don’t know how many +of these seven, the certified righteous of the town … have the honour +of being present at your ball. Yet in spite of their presence I begin +to feel unsafe. <i>Vous me pardonnez, charmante dame, n’est-ce pas?</i> I speak +allegorically, but I went into the refreshment-room and I am glad I +escaped alive.… Our priceless Prohoritch is not in his place there, +and I believe his bar will be destroyed before morning. But I am +laughing. I am only waiting to see what the ‘literary quadrille’ is +going to be like, and then home to bed. You must excuse a gouty old +fellow. I go early to bed, and I would advise you too to go ‘by-by,’ as +they say <i>aux enfants.</i> I’ve come, you know, to have a look at the pretty +girls … whom, of course, I could meet nowhere in such profusion as +here. They all live beyond the river and I don’t drive out so far. +There’s a wife of an officer … in the chasseurs I believe he is … +who is distinctly pretty, distinctly, and … she knows it herself. I’ve +talked to the sly puss; she is a sprightly one … and the girls too are +fresh-looking; but that’s all, there’s nothing but freshness. Still, +it’s a pleasure to look at them. There are some rosebuds, but their +lips are thick. As a rule there’s an irregularity about female beauty +in Russia, and … they are a little like buns.… <i>vous me pardonnez, +n’est-ce pas?</i> … with good eyes, however, laughing eyes.… These +rose buds are charming for two years when they are young … even for +three … then they broaden out and are spoilt forever … producing +in their husbands that deplorable indifference which does so much to +promote the woman movement … that is, if I understand it correctly.… +H’m! It’s a fine hall; the rooms are not badly decorated. It might be +worse. The music might be much worse.… I don’t say it ought to have +been. What makes a bad impression is that there are so few ladies. I say +nothing about the dresses. It’s bad that that chap in the grey trousers +should dare to dance the cancan so openly. I can forgive him if he does +it in the gaiety of his heart, and since he is the local chemist.… +Still, eleven o’clock is a bit early even for chemists. There were two +fellows fighting in the refreshment-bar and they weren’t turned out. At +eleven o’clock people ought to be turned out for fighting, whatever the +standard of manners.… Three o’clock is a different matter; then one +has to make concessions to public opinion—if only this ball survives +till three o’clock. Varvara Petrovna has not kept her word, though, and +hasn’t sent flowers. H’m! She has no thoughts for flowers, <i>pauvre mère!</i> +And poor Liza! Have you heard? They say it’s a mysterious story … +and Stavrogin is to the front again.… H’m! I would have gone home +to bed … I can hardly keep my eyes open. But when is this ‘literary +quadrille’ coming on?” +</p> +<p> +At last the “literary quadrille” began. Whenever of late there had been +conversation in the town on the ball it had invariably turned on this +literary quadrille, and as no one could imagine what it would be like, +it aroused extraordinary curiosity. Nothing could be more unfavourable +to its chance of success, and great was the disappointment. +</p> +<p> +The side doors of the White Hall were thrown open and several masked +figures appeared. The public surrounded them eagerly. All the occupants +of the refreshment-bar trooped to the last man into the hall. The masked +figures took their places for the dance. I succeeded in making my way to +the front and installed myself just behind Yulia Mihailovna, Von Lembke, +and the general. At this point Pyotr Stepanovitch, who had kept away +till that time, skipped up to Yulia Mihailovna. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve been in the refreshment-room all this time, watching,” he +whispered, with the air of a guilty schoolboy, which he, however, +assumed on purpose to irritate her even more. She turned crimson with +anger. +</p> +<p> +“You might give up trying to deceive me now at least, insolent man!” +broke from her almost aloud, so that it was heard by other people. Pyotr +Stepanovitch skipped away extremely well satisfied with himself. +</p> +<p> +It would be difficult to imagine a more pitiful, vulgar, dull and +insipid allegory than this “literary quadrille.” Nothing could be +imagined less appropriate to our local society. Yet they say it was +Karmazinov’s idea. It was Liputin indeed who arranged it with the help +of the lame teacher who had been at the meeting at Virginsky’s. But +Karmazinov had given the idea and had, it was said, meant to dress up +and to take a special and prominent part in it. The quadrille was +made up of six couples of masked figures, who were not in fancy dress +exactly, for their clothes were like every one else’s. Thus, for +instance, one short and elderly gentleman wearing a dress-coat—in fact, +dressed like every one else—wore a venerable grey beard, tied on (and this +constituted his disguise). As he danced he pounded up and down, taking +tiny and rapid steps on the same spot with a stolid expression of +countenance. He gave vent to sounds in a subdued but husky bass, and +this huskiness was meant to suggest one of the well-known papers. +Opposite this figure danced two giants, X and Z, and these letters were +pinned on their coats, but what the letters meant remained unexplained. +“Honest Russian thought” was represented by a middle-aged gentleman in +spectacles, dress-coat and gloves, and wearing fetters (real fetters). +Under his arm he had a portfolio containing papers relating to some +“case.” To convince the sceptical, a letter from abroad testifying to +the honesty of “honest Russian thought” peeped out of his pocket. All +this was explained by the stewards, as the letter which peeped out of +his pocket could not be read. “Honest Russian thought” had his right +hand raised and in it held a glass as though he wanted to propose a +toast. In a line with him on each side tripped a crop-headed Nihilist +girl; while <i>vis-à-vis</i> danced another elderly gentleman in a dress-coat +with a heavy cudgel in his hand. He was meant to represent a formidable +periodical (not a Petersburg one), and seemed to be saying, “I’ll +pound you to a jelly.” But in spite of his cudgel he could not bear the +spectacles of “honest Russian thought” fixed upon him and tried to look +away, and when he did the <i>pas de deux,</i> he twisted, turned, and did not +know what to do with himself—so terrible, probably, were the stings +of his conscience! I don’t remember all the absurd tricks they played, +however; it was all in the same style, so that I felt at last painfully +ashamed. And this same expression, as it were, of shame was reflected in +the whole public, even on the most sullen figures that had come out of +the refreshment-room. For some time all were silent and gazed with angry +perplexity. When a man is ashamed he generally begins to get angry and +is disposed to be cynical. By degrees a murmur arose in the audience. +</p> +<p> +“What’s the meaning of it?” a man who had come in from the +refreshment-room muttered in one of the groups. +</p> +<p> +“It’s silly.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s something literary. It’s a criticism of the <i>Voice</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s that to me?” +</p> +<p> +From another group: +</p> +<p> +“Asses!” +</p> +<p> +“No, they are not asses; it’s we who are the asses.” +</p> +<p> +“Why are you an ass?” +</p> +<p> +“I am not an ass.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, if you are not, I am certainly not.” +</p> +<p> +From a third group: +</p> +<p> +“We ought to give them a good smacking and send them flying.” +</p> +<p> +“Pull down the hall!” +</p> +<p> +From a fourth group: +</p> +<p> +“I wonder the Lembkes are not ashamed to look on!” +</p> +<p> +“Why should they be ashamed? You are not.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I am ashamed, and he is the governor.” +</p> +<p> +“And you are a pig.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve never seen such a commonplace ball in my life,” a lady observed +viciously, quite close to Yulia Mihailovna, obviously with the intention +of being overheard. She was a stout lady of forty with rouge on her +cheeks, wearing a bright-coloured silk dress. Almost every one in the +town knew her, but no one received her. She was the widow of a civil +councillor, who had left her a wooden house and a small pension; but +she lived well and kept horses. Two months previously she had called on +Yulia Mihailovna, but the latter had not received her. +</p> +<p> +“That might have been foreseen,” she added, looking insolently into +Yulia Mihailovna’s face. +</p> +<p> +“If you could foresee it, why did you come?” Yulia Mihailovna could not +resist saying. +</p> +<p> +“Because I was too simple,” the sprightly lady answered instantly, up in +arms and eager for the fray; but the general intervened. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Chère dame”</i>—he bent over to Yulia Mihailovna—“you’d really better be +going. We are only in their way and they’ll enjoy themselves thoroughly +without us. You’ve done your part, you’ve opened the ball, now leave +them in peace. And Andrey Antonovitch doesn’t seem to be feeling quite +satisfactorily.… To avoid trouble.” +</p> +<p> +But it was too late. +</p> +<p> +All through the quadrille Andrey Antonovitch gazed at the dancers with a +sort of angry perplexity, and when he heard the comments of the audience +he began looking about him uneasily. Then for the first time he caught +sight of some of the persons who had come from the refreshment-room; +there was an expression of extreme wonder in his face. Suddenly there +was a loud roar of laughter at a caper that was cut in the quadrille. +The editor of the “menacing periodical, not a Petersburg one,” who was +dancing with the cudgel in his hands, felt utterly unable to endure +the spectacled gaze of “honest Russian thought,” and not knowing how to +escape it, suddenly in the last figure advanced to meet him standing on +his head, which was meant, by the way, to typify the continual turning +upside down of common sense by the menacing non-Petersburg gazette. As +Lyamshin was the only one who could walk standing on his head, he had +undertaken to represent the editor with the cudgel. Yulia Mihailovna had +had no idea that anyone was going to walk on his head. “They concealed +that from me, they concealed it,” she repeated to me afterwards in +despair and indignation. The laughter from the crowd was, of course, +provoked not by the allegory, which interested no one, but simply by +a man’s walking on his head in a swallow-tail coat. Lembke flew into a +rage and shook with fury. +</p> +<p> +“Rascal!” he cried, pointing to Lyamshin, “take hold of the scoundrel, +turn him over … turn his legs … his head … so that his head’s up … +up!” +</p> +<p> +Lyamshin jumped on to his feet. The laughter grew louder. +</p> +<p> +“Turn out all the scoundrels who are laughing!” Lembke prescribed +suddenly. +</p> +<p> +There was an angry roar and laughter in the crowd. +</p> +<p> +“You can’t do like that, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +“You mustn’t abuse the public.” +</p> +<p> +“You are a fool yourself!” a voice cried suddenly from a corner. +</p> +<p> +“Filibusters!” shouted someone from the other end of the room. +</p> +<p> +Lembke looked round quickly at the shout and turned pale. A vacant smile +came on to his lips, as though he suddenly understood and remembered +something. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said Yulia Mihailovna, addressing the crowd which was +pressing round them, as she drew her husband away—“gentlemen, excuse +Andrey Antonovitch. Andrey Antonovitch is unwell … excuse … forgive +him, gentlemen.” +</p> +<p> +I positively heard her say “forgive him.” It all happened very quickly. +But I remember for a fact that a section of the public rushed out of +the hall immediately after those words of Yulia Mihailovna’s as though +panic-stricken. I remember one hysterical, tearful feminine shriek: +</p> +<p> +“Ach, the same thing again!” +</p> +<p> +And in the retreat of the guests, which was almost becoming a crush, +another bomb exploded exactly as in the afternoon. +</p> +<p> +“Fire! All the riverside quarter is on fire!” +</p> +<p> +I don’t remember where this terrible cry rose first, whether it was +first raised in the hall, or whether someone ran upstairs from the +entry, but it was followed by such alarm that I can’t attempt to +describe it. More than half the guests at the ball came from the quarter +beyond the river, and were owners or occupiers of wooden houses in that +district. They rushed to the windows, pulled back the curtains in a +flash, and tore down the blinds. The riverside was in flames. The fire, +it is true, was only beginning, but it was in flames in three separate +places—and that was what was alarming. +</p> +<p> +“Arson! The Shpigulin men!” roared the crowd. +</p> +<p> +I remember some very characteristic exclamations: +</p> +<p> +“I’ve had a presentiment in my heart that there’d be arson, I’ve had a +presentiment of it these last few days!” +</p> +<p> +“The Shpigulin men, the Shpigulin men, no one else!” +</p> +<p> +“We were all lured here on purpose to set fire to it!” +</p> +<p> +This last most amazing exclamation came from a woman; it was an +unintentional involuntary shriek of a housewife whose goods were +burning. Every one rushed for the door. I won’t describe the crush in +the vestibule over sorting out cloaks, shawls, and pelisses, the shrieks +of the frightened women, the weeping of the young ladies. I doubt +whether there was any theft, but it was no wonder that in such disorder +some went away without their wraps because they were unable to find +them, and this grew into a legend with many additions, long preserved in +the town. Lembke and Yulia Mihailovna were almost crushed by the crowd +at the doors. +</p> +<p> +“Stop, every one! Don’t let anyone out!” yelled Lembke, stretching out +his arms menacingly towards the crowding people. +</p> +<p> +“Every one without exception to be strictly searched at once!” +</p> +<p> +A storm of violent oaths rose from the crowd. +</p> +<p> +“Andrey Antonovitch! Andrey Antonovitch!” cried Yulia Mihailovna in +complete despair. +</p> +<p> +“Arrest her first!” shouted her husband, pointing his finger at her +threateningly. “Search her first! The ball was arranged with a view to +the fire.…” +</p> +<p> +She screamed and fell into a swoon. (Oh, there was no doubt of its being +a real one.) The general, the prince, and I rushed to her assistance; +there were others, even among the ladies, who helped us at that +difficult moment. We carried the unhappy woman out of this hell to her +carriage, but she only regained consciousness as she reached the house, +and her first utterance was about Andrey Antonovitch again. With the +destruction of all her fancies, the only thing left in her mind was +Andrey Antonovitch. They sent for a doctor. I remained with her for a +whole hour; the prince did so too. The general, in an access of generous +feeling (though he had been terribly scared), meant to remain all night +“by the bedside of the unhappy lady,” but within ten minutes he fell +asleep in an arm-chair in the drawing-room while waiting for the doctor, +and there we left him. +</p> +<p> +The chief of the police, who had hurried from the ball to the fire, had +succeeded in getting Andrey Antonovitch out of the hall after us, and +attempted to put him into Yulia Mihailovna’s carriage, trying all he +could to persuade his Excellency “to seek repose.” But I don’t know +why he did not insist. Andrey Antonovitch, of course, would not hear of +repose, and was set on going to the fire; but that was not a sufficient +reason. It ended in his taking him to the fire in his droshky. He told +us afterwards that Lembke was gesticulating all the way and “shouting +orders that it was impossible to obey owing to their unusualness.” It +was officially reported later on that his Excellency had at that time +been in a delirious condition “owing to a sudden fright.” +</p> +<p> +There is no need to describe how the ball ended. A few dozen rowdy +fellows, and with them some ladies, remained in the hall. There were +no police present. They would not let the orchestra go, and beat +the musicians who attempted to leave. By morning they had pulled all +Prohoritch’s stall to pieces, had drunk themselves senseless, danced the +Kamarinsky in its unexpurgated form, made the rooms in a shocking mess, +and only towards daybreak part of this hopelessly drunken rabble reached +the scene of the fire to make fresh disturbances there. The other part +spent the night in the rooms dead drunk, with disastrous consequences +to the velvet sofas and the floor. Next morning, at the earliest +possibility, they were dragged out by their legs into the street. So +ended the fête for the benefit of the governesses of our province. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +The fire frightened the inhabitants of the riverside just because it +was evidently a case of arson. It was curious that at the first cry of +“fire” another cry was raised that the Shpigulin men had done it. It +is now well known that three Shpigulin men really did have a share in +setting fire to the town, but that was all; all the other factory +hands were completely acquitted, not only officially but also by public +opinion. Besides those three rascals (of whom one has been caught and +confessed and the other two have so far escaped), Fedka the convict +undoubtedly had a hand in the arson. That is all that is known for +certain about the fire till now; but when it comes to conjectures it’s +a very different matter. What had led these three rascals to do it? Had +they been instigated by anyone? It is very difficult to answer all these +questions even now. +</p> +<p> +Owing to the strong wind, the fact that the houses at the riverside were +almost all wooden, and that they had been set fire to in three +places, the fire spread quickly and enveloped the whole quarter with +extraordinary rapidity. (The fire burnt, however, only at two ends; +at the third spot it was extinguished almost as soon as it began to +burn—of which later.) But the Petersburg and Moscow papers exaggerated +our calamity. Not more than a quarter, roughly speaking, of the +riverside district was burnt down; possibly less indeed. Our fire +brigade, though it was hardly adequate to the size and population of the +town, worked with great promptitude and devotion. But it would not +have been of much avail, even with the zealous co-operation of the +inhabitants, if the wind had not suddenly dropped towards morning. When +an hour after our flight from the ball I made my way to the riverside, +the fire was at its height. A whole street parallel with the river was +in flames. It was as light as day. I won’t describe the fire; every one +in Russia knows what it looks like. The bustle and crush was immense in +the lanes adjoining the burning street. The inhabitants, fully expecting +the fire to reach their houses, were hauling out their belongings, but +had not yet left their dwellings, and were waiting meanwhile sitting +on their boxes and feather beds under their windows. Part of the male +population were hard at work ruthlessly chopping down fences and even +whole huts which were near the fire and on the windward side. None +were crying except the children, who had been waked out of their sleep, +though the women who had dragged out their chattels were lamenting +in sing-song voices. Those who had not finished their task were still +silent, busily carrying out their goods. Sparks and embers were carried +a long way in all directions. People put them out as best they could. +Some helped to put the fire out while others stood about, admiring it. A +great fire at night always has a thrilling and exhilarating effect. +This is what explains the attraction of fireworks. But in that case the +artistic regularity with which the fire is presented and the complete +lack of danger give an impression of lightness and playfulness like the +effect of a glass of champagne. A real conflagration is a very different +matter. Then the horror and a certain sense of personal danger, +together with the exhilarating effect of a fire at night, produce on the +spectator (though of course not in the householder whose goods are being +burnt) a certain concussion of the brain and, as it were, a challenge to +those destructive instincts which, alas, lie hidden in every heart, even +that of the mildest and most domestic little clerk.… This sinister +sensation is almost always fascinating. “I really don’t know whether one +can look at a fire without a certain pleasure.” This is word for word +what Stepan Trofimovitch said to me one night on returning home after he +had happened to witness a fire and was still under the influence of the +spectacle. Of course, the very man who enjoys the spectacle will rush +into the fire himself to save a child or an old woman; but that is +altogether a different matter. +</p> +<p> +Following in the wake of the crowd of sightseers, I succeeded, without +asking questions, in reaching the chief centre of danger, where at last +I saw Lembke, whom I was seeking at Yulia Mihailovna’s request. His +position was strange and extraordinary. He was standing on the ruins of +a fence. Thirty paces to the left of him rose the black skeleton of a +two-storied house which had almost burnt out. It had holes instead of +windows at each story, its roof had fallen in, and the flames were still +here and there creeping among the charred beams. At the farther end +of the courtyard, twenty paces away, the lodge, also a two-storied +building, was beginning to burn, and the firemen were doing their utmost +to save it. On the right the firemen and the people were trying to save +a rather large wooden building which was not actually burning, though +it had caught fire several times and was inevitably bound to be burnt in +the end. Lembke stood facing the lodge, shouting and gesticulating. He +was giving orders which no one attempted to carry out. It seemed to me +that every one had given him up as hopeless and left him. Anyway, +though every one in the vast crowd of all classes, among whom there +were gentlemen, and even the cathedral priest, was listening to him +with curiosity and wonder, no one spoke to him or tried to get him away. +Lembke, with a pale face and glittering eyes, was uttering the most +amazing things. To complete the picture, he had lost his hat and was +bareheaded. +</p> +<p> +“It’s all incendiarism! It’s nihilism! If anything is burning, it’s +nihilism!” I heard almost with horror; and though there was nothing to +be surprised at, yet actual madness, when one sees it, always gives one +a shock. +</p> +<p> +“Your Excellency,” said a policeman, coming up to him, “what if you were +to try the repose of home?… It’s dangerous for your Excellency even to +stand here.” +</p> +<p> +This policeman, as I heard afterwards, had been told off by the chief +of police to watch over Andrey Antonovitch, to do his utmost to get him +home, and in case of danger even to use force—a task evidently beyond +the man’s power. +</p> +<p> +“They will wipe away the tears of the people whose houses have been +burnt, but they will burn down the town. It’s all the work of four +scoundrels, four and a half! Arrest the scoundrel! He worms himself into +the honour of families. They made use of the governesses to burn down +the houses. It’s vile, vile! Aie, what’s he about?” he shouted, suddenly +noticing a fireman at the top of the burning lodge, under whom the roof +had almost burnt away and round whom the flames were beginning to flare +up. “Pull him down! Pull him down! He will fall, he will catch fire, put +him out!… What is he doing there?” +</p> +<p> +“He is putting the fire out, your Excellency.” +</p> +<p> +“Not likely. The fire is in the minds of men and not in the roofs of +houses. Pull him down and give it up! Better give it up, much better! +Let it put itself out. Aie, who is crying now? An old woman! It’s an old +woman shouting. Why have they forgotten the old woman?” +</p> +<p> +There actually was an old woman crying on the ground floor of the +burning lodge. She was an old creature of eighty, a relation of the +shopkeeper who owned the house. But she had not been forgotten; she had +gone back to the burning house while it was still possible, with the +insane idea of rescuing her feather bed from a corner room which was +still untouched. Choking with the smoke and screaming with the heat, for +the room was on fire by the time she reached it, she was still trying +with her decrepit hands to squeeze her feather bed through a broken +window pane. Lembke rushed to her assistance. Every one saw him run up +to the window, catch hold of one corner of the feather bed and try with +all his might to pull it out. As ill luck would have it, a board fell at +that moment from the roof and hit the unhappy governor. It did not +kill him, it merely grazed him on the neck as it fell, but Andrey +Antonovitch’s career was over, among us at least; the blow knocked him +off his feet and he sank on the ground unconscious. +</p> +<p> +The day dawned at last, gloomy and sullen. The fire was abating; the +wind was followed by a sudden calm, and then a fine drizzling rain fell. +I was by that time in another part, some distance from where Lembke had +fallen, and here I overheard very strange conversations in the crowd. A +strange fact had come to light. On the very outskirts of the quarter, +on a piece of waste land beyond the kitchen gardens, not less than fifty +paces from any other buildings, there stood a little wooden house which +had only lately been built, and this solitary house had been on fire at +the very beginning, almost before any other. Even had it burnt down, it +was so far from other houses that no other building in the town could +have caught fire from it, and, vice versa, if the whole riverside +had been burnt to the ground, that house might have remained intact, +whatever the wind had been. It followed that it had caught fire +separately and independently and therefore not accidentally. But the +chief point was that it was not burnt to the ground, and at daybreak +strange things were discovered within it. The owner of this new house, +who lived in the neighbourhood, rushed up as soon as he saw it in flames +and with the help of his neighbours pulled apart a pile of faggots which +had been heaped up by the side wall and set fire to. In this way he +saved the house. But there were lodgers in the house—the captain, who +was well known in the town, his sister, and their elderly servant, and +these three persons—the captain, his sister, and their servant—had +been murdered and apparently robbed in the night. (It was here that the +chief of police had gone while Lembke was rescuing the feather bed.) +</p> +<p> +By morning the news had spread and an immense crowd of all classes, even +the riverside people who had been burnt out had flocked to the waste +land where the new house stood. It was difficult to get there, so dense +was the crowd. I was told at once that the captain had been found lying +dressed on the bench with his throat cut, and that he must have been +dead drunk when he was killed, so that he had felt nothing, and he had +“bled like a bull”; that his sister Marya Timofeyevna had been “stabbed +all over” with a knife and she was lying on the floor in the doorway, so +that probably she had been awake and had fought and struggled with the +murderer. The servant, who had also probably been awake, had her skull +broken. The owner of the house said that the captain had come to see him +the morning before, and that in his drunken bragging he had shown him a +lot of money, as much as two hundred roubles. The captain’s shabby old +green pocket-book was found empty on the floor, but Marya Timofeyevna’s +box had not been touched, and the silver setting of the ikon had not +been removed either; the captain’s clothes, too, had not been disturbed. +It was evident that the thief had been in a hurry and was a man familiar +with the captain’s circumstances, who had come only for money and knew +where it was kept. If the owner of the house had not run up at that +moment the burning faggot stack would certainly have set fire to the +house and “it would have been difficult to find out from the charred +corpses how they had died.” +</p> +<p> +So the story was told. One other fact was added: that the person who +had taken this house for the Lebyadkins was no other than Mr. Stavrogin, +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, the son of Varvara Petrovna. He had come +himself to take it and had had much ado to persuade the owner to let +it, as the latter had intended to use it as a tavern; but Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch was ready to give any rent he asked and had paid for six +months in advance. +</p> +<p> +“The fire wasn’t an accident,” I heard said in the crowd. +</p> +<p> +But the majority said nothing. People’s faces were sullen, but I did +not see signs of much indignation. People persisted, however, in +gossiping about Stavrogin, saying that the murdered woman was his wife; +that on the previous day he had “dishonourably” abducted a young lady +belonging to the best family in the place, the daughter of Madame +Drozdov, and that a complaint was to be lodged against him in +Petersburg; and that his wife had been murdered evidently that he might +marry the young lady. Skvoreshniki was not more than a mile and a half +away, and I remember I wondered whether I should not let them know the +position of affairs. I did not notice, however, that there was anyone +egging the crowd on and I don’t want to accuse people falsely, though I +did see and recognised at once in the crowd at the fire two or three +of the rowdy lot I had seen in the refreshment-room. I particularly +remember one thin, tall fellow, a cabinet-maker, as I found out later, +with an emaciated face and a curly head, black as though grimed with +soot. He was not drunk, but in contrast to the gloomy passivity of the +crowd seemed beside himself with excitement. He kept addressing the +people, though I don’t remember his words; nothing coherent that he said +was longer than “I say, lads, what do you say to this? Are things to go +on like this?” and so saying he waved his arms. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0018"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER III. A ROMANCE ENDED +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +FROM THE LARGE BALLROOM of Skvoreshniki (the room in which the last +interview with Varvara Petrovna and Stepan Trofimovitch had taken place) +the fire could be plainly seen. At daybreak, soon after five in the +morning, Liza was standing at the farthest window on the right looking +intently at the fading glow. She was alone in the room. She was wearing +the dress she had worn the day before at the matinée—a very smart light +green dress covered with lace, but crushed and put on carelessly and +with haste. Suddenly noticing that some of the hooks were undone in +front she flushed, hurriedly set it right, snatched up from a chair the +red shawl she had flung down when she came in the day before, and put +it round her neck. Some locks of her luxuriant hair had come loose and +showed below the shawl on her right shoulder. Her face looked weary and +careworn, but her eyes glowed under her frowning brows. She went up to +the window again and pressed her burning forehead against the cold pane. +The door opened and Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch came in. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve sent a messenger on horseback,” he said. “In ten minutes we shall +hear all about it, meantime the servants say that part of the riverside +quarter has been burnt down, on the right side of the bridge near the +quay. It’s been burning since eleven o’clock; now the fire is going +down.” +</p> +<p> +He did not go near the window, but stood three steps behind her; she did +not turn towards him. +</p> +<p> +“It ought to have been light an hour ago by the calendar, and it’s still +almost night,” she said irritably. +</p> +<p> +“‘Calendars always tell lies,’” he observed with a polite smile, but, +a little ashamed; he made haste to add: “It’s dull to live by the +calendar, Liza.” +</p> +<p> +And he relapsed into silence, vexed at the ineptitude of the second +sentence. Liza gave a wry smile. +</p> +<p> +“You are in such a melancholy mood that you cannot even find words to +speak to me. But you need not trouble, there’s a point in what you said. +I always live by the calendar. Every step I take is regulated by the +calendar. Does that surprise you?” +</p> +<p> +She turned quickly from the window and sat down in a low chair. +</p> +<p> +“You sit down, too, please. We haven’t long to be together and I want to +say anything I like.… Why shouldn’t you, too, say anything you like?” +</p> +<p> +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sat beside her and softly, almost timidly took +her hand. +</p> +<p> +“What’s the meaning of this tone, Liza? Where has it suddenly sprung +from? What do you mean by ‘we haven’t long to be together’? That’s the +second mysterious phrase since you waked, half an hour ago.” +</p> +<p> +“You are beginning to reckon up my mysterious phrases!” she laughed. +“Do you remember I told you I was a dead woman when I came in yesterday? +That you thought fit to forget. To forget or not to notice.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t remember, Liza. Why dead? You must live.” +</p> +<p> +“And is that all? You’ve quite lost your flow of words. I’ve lived my +hour and that’s enough. Do you remember Christopher Ivanovitch?” +</p> +<p> +“No I don’t,” he answered, frowning. +</p> +<p> +“Christopher Ivanovitch at Lausanne? He bored you dreadfully. He always +used to open the door and say, ‘I’ve come for one minute,’ and then stay +the whole day. I don’t want to be like Christopher Ivanovitch and stay +the whole day.” +</p> +<p> +A look of pain came into his face. +</p> +<p> +“Liza, it grieves me, this unnatural language. This affectation must +hurt you, too. What’s it for? What’s the object of it?” +</p> +<p> +His eyes glowed. +</p> +<p> +“Liza,” he cried, “I swear I love you now more than yesterday when you +came to me!” +</p> +<p> +“What a strange declaration! Why bring in yesterday and to-day and these +comparisons?” +</p> +<p> +“You won’t leave me,” he went on, almost with despair; “we will go away +together, to-day, won’t we? Won’t we?” +</p> +<p> +“Aie, don’t squeeze my hand so painfully! Where could we go together +to-day? To ‘rise again’ somewhere? No, we’ve made experiments enough … +and it’s too slow for me; and I am not fit for it; it’s too exalted +for me. If we are to go, let it be to Moscow, to pay visits and +entertain—that’s my ideal you know; even in Switzerland I didn’t +disguise from you what I was like. As we can’t go to Moscow and pay +visits since you are married, it’s no use talking of that.” +</p> +<p> +“Liza! What happened yesterday!” +</p> +<p> +“What happened is over!” +</p> +<p> +“That’s impossible! That’s cruel!” +</p> +<p> +“What if it is cruel? You must bear it if it is cruel.” +</p> +<p> +“You are avenging yourself on me for yesterday’s caprice,” he muttered +with an angry smile. Liza flushed. +</p> +<p> +“What a mean thought!” +</p> +<p> +“Why then did you bestow on me … so great a happiness? Have I the right +to know?” +</p> +<p> +“No, you must manage without rights; don’t aggravate the meanness of +your supposition by stupidity. You are not lucky to-day. By the way, you +surely can’t be afraid of public opinion and that you will be blamed +for this ‘great happiness’? If that’s it, for God’s sake don’t alarm +yourself. It’s not your doing at all and you are not responsible to +anyone. When I opened your door yesterday, you didn’t even know who was +coming in. It was simply my caprice, as you expressed it just now, +and nothing more! You can look every one in the face boldly and +triumphantly!” +</p> +<p> +“Your words, that laugh, have been making me feel cold with horror for +the last hour. That ‘happiness’ of which you speak frantically is +worth … everything to me. How can I lose you now? I swear I loved you +less yesterday. Why are you taking everything from me to-day? Do you +know what it has cost me, this new hope? I’ve paid for it with life.” +</p> +<p> +“Your own life or another’s?” +</p> +<p> +He got up quickly. +</p> +<p> +“What does that mean?” he brought out, looking at her steadily. +</p> +<p> +“Have you paid for it with your life or with mine? is what I mean. Or +have you lost all power of understanding?” cried Liza, flushing. “Why +did you start up so suddenly? Why do you stare at me with such a look? +You frighten me. What is it you are afraid of all the time? I noticed +some time ago that you were afraid and you are now, this very minute … +Good heavens, how pale you are!” +</p> +<p> +“If you know anything, Liza, I swear I don’t … and I wasn’t talking of +<i>that</i> just now when I said that I had paid for it with life.…” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t understand you,” she brought out, faltering apprehensively. +</p> +<p> +At last a slow brooding smile came on to his lips. He slowly sat down, +put his elbows on his knees, and covered his face with his hands. +</p> +<p> +“A bad dream and delirium.… We were talking of two different things.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know what you were talking about.… Do you mean to say you did +not know yesterday that I should leave you to-day, did you know or not? +Don’t tell a lie, did you or not?” +</p> +<p> +“I did,” he said softly. +</p> +<p> +“Well then, what would you have? You knew and yet you accepted ‘that +moment’ for yourself. Aren’t we quits?” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me the whole truth,” he cried in intense distress. “When you +opened my door yesterday, did you know yourself that it was only for one +hour?” +</p> +<p> +She looked at him with hatred. +</p> +<p> +“Really, the most sensible person can ask most amazing questions. And +why are you so uneasy? Can it be vanity that a woman should leave you +first instead of your leaving her? Do you know, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, +since I’ve been with you I’ve discovered that you are very generous to +me, and it’s just that I can’t endure from you.” +</p> +<p> +He got up from his seat and took a few steps about the room. +</p> +<p> +“Very well, perhaps it was bound to end so.… But how can it all have +happened?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a question to worry about! Especially as you know the answer +yourself perfectly well, and understand it better than anyone on earth, +and were counting on it yourself. I am a young lady, my heart has been +trained on the opera, that’s how it all began, that’s the solution.” +</p> +<p> +“No.” +</p> +<p> +“There is nothing in it to fret your vanity. It is all the absolute +truth. It began with a fine moment which was too much for me to bear. +The day before yesterday, when I ‘insulted’ you before every one and you +answered me so chivalrously, I went home and guessed at once that +you were running away from me because you were married, and not from +contempt for me which, as a fashionable young lady, I dreaded more than +anything. I understood that it was for my sake, for me, mad as I was, +that you ran away. You see how I appreciate your generosity. Then Pyotr +Stepanovitch skipped up to me and explained it all to me at once. He +revealed to me that you were dominated by a ‘great idea,’ before which +he and I were as nothing, but yet that I was a stumbling-block in your +path. He brought himself in, he insisted that we three should work +together, and said the most fantastic things about a boat and about +maple-wood oars out of some Russian song. I complimented him and told +him he was a poet, which he swallowed as the real thing. And as apart +from him I had known long before that I had not the strength to do +anything for long, I made up my mind on the spot. Well, that’s all and +quite enough, and please let us have no more explanations. We might +quarrel. Don’t be afraid of anyone, I take it all on myself. I am horrid +and capricious, I was fascinated by that operatic boat, I am a young +lady … but you know I did think that you were dreadfully in love +with me. Don’t despise the poor fool, and don’t laugh at the tear that +dropped just now. I am awfully given to crying with self-pity. Come, +that’s enough, that’s enough. I am no good for anything and you are +no good for anything; it’s as bad for both of us, so let’s comfort +ourselves with that. Anyway, it eases our vanity.” +</p> +<p> +“Dream and delirium,” cried Stavrogin, wringing his hands, and pacing +about the room. “Liza, poor child, what have you done to yourself?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve burnt myself in a candle, nothing more. Surely you are not crying, +too? You should show less feeling and better breeding.…” +</p> +<p> +“Why, why did you come to me?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t you understand what a ludicrous position you put yourself in in +the eyes of the world by asking such questions?” +</p> +<p> +“Why have you ruined yourself, so grotesquely and so stupidly, and +what’s to be done now?” +</p> +<p> +“And this is Stavrogin, ‘the vampire Stavrogin,’ as you are called by a +lady here who is in love with you! Listen! I have told you already, I’ve +put all my life into one hour and I am at peace. Do the same with +yours … though you’ve no need to: you have plenty of ‘hours’ and +‘moments’ of all sorts before you.” +</p> +<p> +“As many as you; I give you my solemn word, not one hour more than you!” +</p> +<p> +He was still walking up and down and did not see the rapid penetrating +glance she turned upon him, in which there seemed a dawning hope. But +the light died away at the same moment. +</p> +<p> +“If you knew what it costs me that I can’t be sincere at this moment, +Liza, if I could only tell you …” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me? You want to tell me something, to me? God save me from your +secrets!” she broke in almost in terror. He stopped and waited uneasily. +</p> +<p> +“I ought to confess that ever since those days in Switzerland I have +had a strong feeling that you have something awful, loathsome, some +bloodshed on your conscience … and yet something that would make you +look very ridiculous. Beware of telling me, if it’s true: I shall laugh +you to scorn. I shall laugh at you for the rest of your life.… Aie, +you are turning pale again? I won’t, I won’t, I’ll go at once.” She +jumped up from her chair with a movement of disgust and contempt. +</p> +<p> +“Torture me, punish me, vent your spite on me,” he cried in despair. +“You have the full right. I knew I did not love you and yet I ruined +you! Yes, I accepted the moment for my own; I had a hope … I’ve had +it a long time … my last hope.… I could not resist the radiance that +flooded my heart when you came in to me yesterday, of yourself, alone, +of your own accord. I suddenly believed.… Perhaps I have faith in it +still.” +</p> +<p> +“I will repay such noble frankness by being as frank. I don’t want to be +a Sister of Mercy for you. Perhaps I really may become a nurse unless I +happen appropriately to die to-day; but if I do I won’t be your nurse, +though, of course, you need one as much as any crippled creature. I +always fancied that you would take me to some place where there was a +huge wicked spider, big as a man, and we should spend our lives looking +at it and being afraid of it. That’s how our love would spend itself. +Appeal to Dashenka; she will go with you anywhere you like.” +</p> +<p> +“Can’t you help thinking of her even now?” +</p> +<p> +“Poor little spaniel! Give her my greetings. Does she know that even in +Switzerland you had fixed on her for your old age? What prudence! What +foresight! Aie, who’s that?” +</p> +<p> +At the farther end of the room a door opened a crack; a head was thrust +in and vanished again hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“Is that you, Alexey Yegorytch?” asked Stavrogin. +</p> +<p> +“No, it’s only I.” Pyotr Stepanovitch thrust himself half in again. +“How do you do, Lizaveta Nikolaevna? Good morning, anyway. I guessed I +should find you both in this room. I have come for one moment literally, +Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. I was anxious to have a couple of words with +you at all costs … absolutely necessary … only a few words!” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin moved towards him but turned back to Liza at the third step. +</p> +<p> +“If you hear anything directly, Liza, let me tell you I am to blame for +it!” +</p> +<p> +She started and looked at him in dismay; but he hurriedly went out. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +The room from which Pyotr Stepanovitch had peeped in was a large +oval vestibule. Alexey Yegorytch had been sitting there before Pyotr +Stepanovitch came in, but the latter sent him away. Stavrogin closed the +door after him and stood expectant. Pyotr Stepanovitch looked rapidly +and searchingly at him. +</p> +<p> +“Well?” +</p> +<p> +“If you know already,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch hurriedly, his eyes +looking as though they would dive into Stavrogin’s soul, “then, of +course, we are none of us to blame, above all not you, for it’s such a +concatenation … such a coincidence of events … in brief, you can’t be +legally implicated and I’ve rushed here to tell you so beforehand.” +</p> +<p> +“Have they been burnt? murdered?” +</p> +<p> +“Murdered but not burnt, that’s the trouble, but I give you my word of +honour that it’s not been my fault, however much you may suspect me, +eh? Do you want the whole truth: you see the idea really did cross my +mind—you hinted it yourself, not seriously, but teasing me (for, of +course, you would not hint it seriously), but I couldn’t bring myself +to it, and wouldn’t bring myself to it for anything, not for a hundred +roubles—and what was there to be gained by it, I mean for me, for +me.…” (He was in desperate haste and his talk was like the clacking of a +rattle.) “But what a coincidence of circumstances: I gave that drunken +fool Lebyadkin two hundred and thirty roubles of my own money (do you +hear, my own money, there wasn’t a rouble of yours and, what’s more, you +know it yourself) the day before yesterday, in the evening—do you hear, +not yesterday after the matinée, but the day before yesterday, make a +note of it: it’s a very important coincidence for I did not know for +certain at that time whether Lizaveta Nikolaevna would come to you or +not; I gave my own money simply because you distinguished yourself by +taking it into your head to betray your secret to every one. Well, I +won’t go into that … that’s your affair … your chivalry, but I must +own I was amazed, it was a knock-down blow. And forasmuch as I was +exceeding weary of these tragic stories—and let me tell you, I talk +seriously though I do use Biblical language—as it was all upsetting +my plans in fact, I made up my mind at any cost, and without your +knowledge, to pack the Lebyadkins off to Petersburg, especially as he +was set on going himself. I made one mistake: I gave the money in your +name;—was it a mistake or not? Perhaps it wasn’t a mistake, eh? Listen +now, listen how it has all turned out.…” +</p> +<p> +In the heat of his talk he went close up to Stavrogin and took hold of +the revers of his coat (really, it may have been on purpose). With a +violent movement Stavrogin struck him on the arm. +</p> +<p> +“Come, what is it … give over … you’ll break my arm … what matters +is the way things have turned out,” he rattled on, not in the least +surprised at the blow. “I forked out the money in the evening on +condition that his sister and he should set off early next morning; I +trusted that rascal Liputin with the job of getting them into the train +and seeing them off. But that beast Liputin wanted to play his schoolboy +pranks on the public—perhaps you heard? At the matinée? Listen, listen: +they both got drunk, made up verses of which half are Liputin’s; he +rigged Lebyadkin out in a dress-coat, assuring me meanwhile that he had +packed him off that morning, but he kept him shut somewhere in a back +room, till he thrust him on the platform at the matinée. But Lebyadkin +got drunk quickly and unexpectedly. Then came the scandalous scene you +know of, and then they got him home more dead than alive, and Liputin +filched away the two hundred roubles, leaving him only small change. But +it appears unluckily that already that morning Lebyadkin had taken that +two hundred roubles out of his pocket, boasted of it and shown it in +undesirable quarters. And as that was just what Fedka was expecting, and +as he had heard something at Kirillov’s (do you remember, your hint?) he +made up his mind to take advantage of it. That’s the whole truth. I +am glad, anyway, that Fedka did not find the money, the rascal was +reckoning on a thousand, you know! He was in a hurry and seems to have +been frightened by the fire himself.… Would you believe it, that fire +came as a thunderbolt for me. Devil only knows what to make of it! It is +taking things into their own hands.… You see, as I expect so much of +you I will hide nothing from you: I’ve long been hatching this idea of a +fire because it suits the national and popular taste; but I was keeping +it for a critical moment, for that precious time when we should all rise +up and … And they suddenly took it into their heads to do it, on their +own initiative, without orders, now at the very moment when we ought to +be lying low and keeping quiet! Such presumption!… The fact is, I’ve +not got to the bottom of it yet, they talk about two Shpigulin men, but +if there are any of <i>our</i> fellows in it, if any one of them has had a hand +in it—so much the worse for him! You see what comes of letting people +get ever so little out of hand! No, this democratic rabble, with +its quintets, is a poor foundation; what we want is one magnificent, +despotic will, like an idol, resting on something fundamental and +external.… Then the quintets will cringe into obedience and be +obsequiously ready on occasion. But, anyway, though, they are all crying +out now that Stavrogin wanted his wife to be burnt and that that’s what +caused the fire in the town, but …” +</p> +<p> +“Why, are they all saying that?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, not yet, and I must confess I have heard nothing of the sort, but +what one can do with people, especially when they’ve been burnt out! <i>Vox +populi vox Dei</i>. A stupid rumour is soon set going. But you really have +nothing to be afraid of. From the legal point of view you are all right, +and with your conscience also. For you didn’t want it done, did you? +There’s no clue, nothing but the coincidence.… The only thing is Fedka +may remember what you said that night at Kirillov’s (and what made you +say it?) but that proves nothing and we shall stop Fedka’s mouth. I +shall stop it to-day.…” +</p> +<p> +“And weren’t the bodies burnt at all?” +</p> +<p> +“Not a bit; that ruffian could not manage anything properly. But I am +glad, anyway, that you are so calm … for though you are not in any way +to blame, even in thought, but all the same.… And you must admit that +all this settles your difficulties capitally: you are suddenly free and +a widower and can marry a charming girl this minute with a lot of money, +who is already yours, into the bargain. See what can be done by crude, +simple coincidence—eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Are you threatening me, you fool?” +</p> +<p> +“Come, leave off, leave off! Here you are, calling me a fool, and what +a tone to use! You ought to be glad, yet you … I rushed here on purpose +to let you know in good time.… Besides, how could I threaten you? +As if I cared for what I could get by threats! I want you to help from +goodwill and not from fear. You are the light and the sun.… It’s +I who am terribly afraid of you, not you of me! I am not Mavriky +Nikolaevitch.… And only fancy, as I flew here in a racing droshky I +saw Mavriky Nikolaevitch by the fence at the farthest corner of your +garden … in his greatcoat, drenched through, he must have been sitting +there all night! Queer goings on! How mad people can be!” +</p> +<p> +“Mavriky Nikolaevitch? Is that true?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes. He is sitting by the garden fence. About three hundred paces +from here, I think. I made haste to pass him, but he saw me. Didn’t you +know? In that case I am glad I didn’t forget to tell you. A man like +that is more dangerous than anyone if he happens to have a revolver +about him, and then the night, the sleet, or natural irritability—for +after all he is in a nice position, ha ha! What do you think? Why is he +sitting there?” +</p> +<p> +“He is waiting for Lizaveta Nikolaevna, of course.” +</p> +<p> +“Well! Why should she go out to him? And … in such rain too … what a +fool!” +</p> +<p> +“She is just going out to him!” +</p> +<p> +“Eh! That’s a piece of news! So then … But listen, her position is +completely changed now. What does she want with Mavriky now? You +are free, a widower, and can marry her to-morrow. She doesn’t know +yet—leave it to me and I’ll arrange it all for you. Where is she? We +must relieve her mind too.” +</p> +<p> +“Relieve her mind?” +</p> +<p> +“Rather! Let’s go.” +</p> +<p> +“And do you suppose she won’t guess what those dead bodies mean?” said +Stavrogin, screwing up his eyes in a peculiar way. +</p> +<p> +“Of course she won’t,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch with all the confidence +of a perfect simpleton, “for legally … Ech, what a man you are! What +if she did guess? Women are so clever at shutting their eyes to such +things, you don’t understand women! Apart from it’s being altogether +to her interest to marry you now, because there’s no denying she’s +disgraced herself; apart from that, I talked to her of ‘the boat’ and I +saw that one could affect her by it, so that shows you what the girl is +made of. Don’t be uneasy, she will step over those dead bodies without +turning a hair—especially as you are not to blame for them; not in the +least, are you? She will only keep them in reserve to use them against +you when you’ve been married two or three years. Every woman saves up +something of the sort out of her husband’s past when she gets married, +but by that time … what may not happen in a year? Ha ha!” +</p> +<p> +“If you’ve come in a racing droshky, take her to Mavriky Nikolaevitch +now. She said just now that she could not endure me and would leave me, +and she certainly will not accept my carriage.” +</p> +<p> +“What! Can she really be leaving? How can this have come about?” said +Pyotr Stepanovitch, staring stupidly at him. +</p> +<p> +“She’s guessed somehow during this night that I don’t love her … which +she knew all along, indeed.” +</p> +<p> +“But don’t you love her?” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, with an expression +of extreme surprise. “If so, why did you keep her when she came to you +yesterday, instead of telling her plainly like an honourable man that +you didn’t care for her? That was horribly shabby on your part; and how +mean you make me look in her eyes!” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin suddenly laughed. +</p> +<p> +“I am laughing at my monkey,” he explained at once. +</p> +<p> +“Ah! You saw that I was putting it on!” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, +laughing too, with great enjoyment. “I did it to amuse you! Only fancy, +as soon as you came out to me I guessed from your face that you’d been +‘unlucky.’ A complete fiasco, perhaps. Eh? There! I’ll bet anything,” +he cried, almost gasping with delight, “that you’ve been sitting side by +side in the drawing-room all night wasting your precious time discussing +something lofty and elevated.… There, forgive me, forgive me; it’s not +my business. I felt sure yesterday that it would all end in foolishness. +I brought her to you simply to amuse you, and to show you that you +wouldn’t have a dull time with me. I shall be of use to you a hundred +times in that way. I always like pleasing people. If you don’t want her +now, which was what I was reckoning on when I came, then …” +</p> +<p> +“So you brought her simply for my amusement?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, what else?” +</p> +<p> +“Not to make me kill my wife?” +</p> +<p> +“Come. You’ve not killed her? What a tragic fellow you are! +</p> +<p> +“It’s just the same; you killed her.” +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t kill her! I tell you I had no hand in it.… You are beginning +to make me uneasy, though.…” +</p> +<p> +“Go on. You said, ‘if you don’t want her now, then … ‘” +</p> +<p> +“Then, leave it to me, of course. I can quite easily marry her off to +Mavriky Nikolaevitch, though I didn’t make him sit down by the fence. +Don’t take that notion into your head. I am afraid of him, now. You talk +about my droshky, but I simply dashed by.… What if he has a revolver? +It’s a good thing I brought mine. Here it is.” He brought a revolver out +of his pocket, showed it, and hid it again at once. “I took it as I +was coming such a long way.… But I’ll arrange all that for you in a +twinkling: her little heart is aching at this moment for Mavriky; it +should be, anyway.… And, do you know, I am really rather sorry for +her? If I take her to Mavriky she will begin about you directly; she +will praise you to him and abuse him to his face. You know the heart of +woman! There you are, laughing again! I am awfully glad that you are so +cheerful now. Come, let’s go. I’ll begin with Mavriky right away, and +about them … those who’ve been murdered … hadn’t we better keep quiet +now? She’ll hear later on, anyway.” +</p> +<p> +“What will she hear? Who’s been murdered? What were you saying about +Mavriky Nikolaevitch?” said Liza, suddenly opening the door. +</p> +<p> +“Ah! You’ve been listening?” +</p> +<p> +“What were you saying just now about Mavriky Nikolaevitch? Has he been +murdered?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! Then you didn’t hear? Don’t distress yourself, Mavriky Nikolaevitch +is alive and well, and you can satisfy yourself of it in an instant, +for he is here by the wayside, by the garden fence … and I believe he’s +been sitting there all night. He is drenched through in his greatcoat! +He saw me as I drove past.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s not true. You said ‘murdered.’ … Who’s been murdered?” she +insisted with agonising mistrust. +</p> +<p> +“The only people who have been murdered are my wife, her brother +Lebyadkin, and their servant,” Stavrogin brought out firmly. +</p> +<p> +Liza trembled and turned terribly pale. +</p> +<p> +“A strange brutal outrage, Lizaveta Nikolaevna. A simple case of +robbery,” Pyotr Stepanovitch rattled off at once “Simply robbery, under +cover of the fire. The crime was committed by Fedka the convict, and it +was all that fool Lebyadkin’s fault for showing every one his +money.… I rushed here with the news … it fell on me like a +thunderbolt. Stavrogin could hardly stand when I told him. We were +deliberating here whether to tell you at once or not?” +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, is he telling the truth?” Liza articulated +faintly. +</p> +<p> +“No; it’s false.” +</p> +<p> +“False?” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, starting. “What do you mean by that?” +</p> +<p> +“Heavens! I shall go mad!” cried Liza. +</p> +<p> +“Do you understand, anyway, that he is mad now!” Pyotr Stepanovitch +cried at the top of his voice. “After all, his wife has just been +murdered. You see how white he is.… Why, he has been with you the +whole night. He hasn’t left your side a minute. How can you suspect +him?” +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, tell me, as before God, are you guilty or not, +and I swear I’ll believe your word as though it were God’s, and I’ll +follow you to the end of the earth. Yes, I will. I’ll follow you like a +dog.” +</p> +<p> +“Why are you tormenting her, you fantastic creature?” cried Pyotr +Stepanovitch in exasperation. “Lizaveta Nikolaevna, upon my oath, you +can crush me into powder, but he is not guilty. On the contrary, it has +crushed him, and he is raving, you see that. He is not to blame in +any way, not in any way, not even in thought!… It’s all the work of +robbers who will probably be found within a week and flogged.… It’s +all the work of Fedka the convict, and some Shpigulin men, all the town +is agog with it. That’s why I say so too.” +</p> +<p> +“Is that right? Is that right?” Liza waited trembling for her final +sentence. +</p> +<p> +“I did not kill them, and I was against it, but I knew they were +going to be killed and I did not stop the murderers. Leave me, Liza,” +Stavrogin brought out, and he walked into the drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +Liza hid her face in her hands and walked out of the house. Pyotr +Stepanovitch was rushing after her, but at once hurried back and went +into the drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +“So that’s your line? That’s your line? So there’s nothing you are +afraid of?” He flew at Stavrogin in an absolute fury, muttering +incoherently, scarcely able to find words and foaming at the mouth. +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin stood in the middle of the room and did not answer a word. +He clutched a lock of his hair in his left hand and smiled helplessly. +Pyotr Stepanovitch pulled him violently by the sleeve. +</p> +<p> +“Is it all over with you? So that’s the line you are taking? You’ll +inform against all of us, and go to a monastery yourself, or to the +devil.… But I’ll do for you, though you are not afraid of me!” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! That’s you chattering!” said Stavrogin, noticing him at last. +“Run,” he said, coming to himself suddenly, “run after her, order the +carriage, don’t leave her.… Run, run! Take her home so that no one +may know … and that she mayn’t go there … to the bodies … to the +bodies.… Force her to get into the carriage … Alexey Yegorytch! +Alexey Yegorytch!” +</p> +<p> +“Stay, don’t shout! By now she is in Mavriky’s arms.… Mavriky won’t +put her into your carriage.… Stay! There’s something more important +than the carriage!” +</p> +<p> +He seized his revolver again. Stavrogin looked at him gravely. +</p> +<p> +“Very well, kill me,” he said softly, almost conciliatorily. +</p> +<p> +“Foo. Damn it! What a maze of false sentiment a man can get into!” said +Pyotr Stepanovitch, shaking with rage. “Yes, really, you ought to be +killed! She ought simply to spit at you! Fine sort of ‘magic boat,’ +you are; you are a broken-down, leaky old hulk!… You ought to pull +yourself together if only from spite! Ech! Why, what difference would it +make to you since you ask for a bullet through your brains yourself?” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin smiled strangely. +</p> +<p> +“If you were not such a buffoon I might perhaps have said yes now.… If +you had only a grain of sense …” +</p> +<p> +“I am a buffoon, but I don’t want you, my better half, to be one! Do you +understand me?” +</p> +<p> +Stavrogin did understand, though perhaps no one else did. Shatov, for +instance, was astonished when Stavrogin told him that Pyotr Stepanovitch +had enthusiasm. +</p> +<p> +“Go to the devil now, and to-morrow perhaps I may wring something out of +myself. Come to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes? Yes?” +</p> +<p> +“How can I tell?… Go to hell. Go to hell.” And he walked out of the +room. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps, after all, it may be for the best,” Pyotr Stepanovitch +muttered to himself as he hid the revolver. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +He rushed off to overtake Lizaveta Nikolaevna. She had not got far +away, only a few steps, from the house. She had been detained by Alexey +Yegorytch, who was following a step behind her, in a tail coat, and +without a hat; his head was bowed respectfully. He was persistently +entreating her to wait for a carriage; the old man was alarmed and +almost in tears. +</p> +<p> +“Go along. Your master is asking for tea, and there’s no one to give it +to him,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, pushing him away. He took Liza’s arm. +</p> +<p> +She did not pull her arm away, but she seemed hardly to know what she +was doing; she was still dazed. +</p> +<p> +“To begin with, you are going the wrong way,” babbled Pyotr +Stepanovitch. “We ought to go this way, and not by the garden, and, +secondly, walking is impossible in any case. It’s over two miles, and +you are not properly dressed. If you would wait a second, I came in a +droshky; the horse is in the yard. I’ll get it instantly, put you in, +and get you home so that no one sees you.” +</p> +<p> +“How kind you are,” said Liza graciously. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, not at all. Any humane man in my position would do the same.…” +</p> +<p> +Liza looked at him, and was surprised. +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens! Why I thought it was that old man here still.” +</p> +<p> +“Listen. I am awfully glad that you take it like this, because it’s +all such a frightfully stupid convention, and since it’s come to that, +hadn’t I better tell the old man to get the carriage at once. It’s only +a matter of ten minutes and we’ll turn back and wait in the porch, eh?” +</p> +<p> +“I want first … where are those murdered people?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! What next? That was what I was afraid of.… No, we’d better leave +those wretched creatures alone; it’s no use your looking at them.” +</p> +<p> +“I know where they are. I know that house.” +</p> +<p> +“Well? What if you do know it? Come; it’s raining, and there’s a fog. +(A nice job this sacred duty I’ve taken upon myself.) Listen, Lizaveta +Nikolaevna! It’s one of two alternatives. Either you come with me in the +droshky—in that case wait here, and don’t take another step, for if we +go another twenty steps we must be seen by Mavriky Nikolaevitch.” +</p> +<p> +“Mavriky Nikolaevitch! Where? Where?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, if you want to go with him, I’ll take you a little farther, if +you like, and show you where he sits, but I don’t care to go up to him +just now. No, thank you.” +</p> +<p> +“He is waiting for me. Good God!” she suddenly stopped, and a flush of +colour flooded her face. +</p> +<p> +“Oh! Come now. If he is an unconventional man! You know, Lizaveta +Nikolaevna, it’s none of my business. I am a complete outsider, and you +know that yourself. But, still, I wish you well.… If your ‘fairy boat’ +has failed you, if it has turned out to be nothing more than a rotten +old hulk, only fit to be chopped up …” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! That’s fine, that’s lovely,” cried Liza. +</p> +<p> +“Lovely, and yet your tears are falling. You must have spirit. You must +be as good as a man in every way. In our age, when woman.… Foo, hang +it,” Pyotr Stepanovitch was on the point of spitting. “And the chief +point is that there is nothing to regret. It may all turn out for the +best. Mavriky Nikolaevitch is a man.… In fact, he is a man of feeling +though not talkative, but that’s a good thing, too, as long as he has no +conventional notions, of course.…” +</p> +<p> +“Lovely, lovely!” Liza laughed hysterically. +</p> +<p> +“Well, hang it all … Lizaveta Nikolaevna,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch +suddenly piqued. “I am simply here on your account.… It’s nothing to +me.… I helped you yesterday when you wanted it yourself. To-day … +well, you can see Mavriky Nikolaevitch from here; there he’s sitting; he +doesn’t see us. I say, Lizaveta Nikolaevna, have you ever read ‘Polenka +Saxe’?” +</p> +<p> +“What’s that?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s the name of a novel, ‘Polenka Saxe.’ I read it when I was a +student.… In it a very wealthy official of some sort, Saxe, arrested +his wife at a summer villa for infidelity.… But, hang it; it’s no +consequence! You’ll see, Mavriky Nikolaevitch will make you an offer +before you get home. He doesn’t see us yet.” +</p> +<p> +“Ach! Don’t let him see us!” Liza cried suddenly, like a mad creature. +“Come away, come away! To the woods, to the fields!” +</p> +<p> +And she ran back. +</p> +<p> +“Lizaveta Nikolaevna, this is such cowardice,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, +running after her. “And why don’t you want him to see you? On the +contrary, you must look him straight in the face, with pride.… If it’s +some feeling about that … some maidenly … that’s such a prejudice, so +out of date … But where are you going? Where are you going? Ech! she is +running! Better go back to Stavrogin’s and take my droshky.… Where are +you going? That’s the way to the fields! There! She’s fallen down!…” +</p> +<p> +He stopped. Liza was flying along like a bird, not conscious where she +was going, and Pyotr Stepanovitch was already fifty paces behind her. +She stumbled over a mound of earth and fell down. At the same moment +there was the sound of a terrible shout from behind. It came from +Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who had seen her flight and her fall, and was +running to her across the field. In a flash Pyotr Stepanovitch had +retired into Stavrogin’s gateway to make haste and get into his droshky. +</p> +<p> +Mavriky Nikolaevitch was already standing in terrible alarm by Liza, who +had risen to her feet; he was bending over her and holding her hands in +both of his. All the incredible surroundings of this meeting overwhelmed +him, and tears were rolling down his cheeks. He saw the woman for whom +he had such reverent devotion running madly across the fields, at such +an hour, in such weather, with nothing over her dress, the gay dress she +wore the day before now crumpled and muddy from her fall.… He could +not utter a word; he took off his greatcoat, and with trembling hands +put it round her shoulders. Suddenly he uttered a cry, feeling that she +had pressed her lips to his hand. +</p> +<p> +“Liza,” he cried, “I am no good for anything, but don’t drive me away +from you!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no! Let us make haste away from here. Don’t leave me!” and, seizing +his hand, she drew him after her. “Mavriky Nikolaevitch,” she suddenly +dropped her voice timidly, “I kept a bold face there all the time, but +now I am afraid of death. I shall die soon, very soon, but I am afraid, +I am afraid to die.…” she whispered, pressing his hand tight. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, if there were someone,” he looked round in despair. “Some +passer-by! You will get your feet wet, you … will lose your reason!” +</p> +<p> +“It’s all right; it’s all right,” she tried to reassure him. “That’s +right. I am not so frightened with you. Hold my hand, lead me.… Where +are we going now? Home? No! I want first to see the people who have been +murdered. His wife has been murdered they say, and he says he killed +her himself. But that’s not true, is it? I want to see for myself those +three who’ve been killed … on my account … it’s because of them his +love for me has grown cold since last night.… I shall see and find out +everything. Make haste, make haste, I know the house … there’s a fire +there.… Mavriky Nikolaevitch, my dear one, don’t forgive me in my +shame! Why forgive me? Why are you crying? Give me a blow and kill me +here in the field, like a dog!” +</p> +<p> +“No one is your judge now,” Mavriky Nikolaevitch pronounced firmly. “God +forgive you. I least of all can be your judge.” +</p> +<p> +But it would be strange to describe their conversation. And meanwhile +they walked hand in hand quickly, hurrying as though they were crazy. +They were going straight towards the fire. Mavriky Nikolaevitch still +had hopes of meeting a cart at least, but no one came that way. A mist +of fine, drizzling rain enveloped the whole country, swallowing up every +ray of light, every gleam of colour, and transforming everything into +one smoky, leaden, indistinguishable mass. It had long been daylight, +yet it seemed as though it were still night. And suddenly in this cold +foggy mist there appeared coming towards them a strange and absurd +figure. Picturing it now I think I should not have believed my eyes if +I had been in Lizaveta Nikolaevna’s place, yet she uttered a cry of +joy, and recognised the approaching figure at once. It was Stepan +Trofimovitch. How he had gone off, how the insane, impracticable idea +of his flight came to be carried out, of that later. I will only mention +that he was in a fever that morning, yet even illness did not prevent +his starting. He was walking resolutely on the damp ground. It was +evident that he had planned the enterprise to the best of his ability, +alone with his inexperience and lack of practical sense. He wore +“travelling dress,” that is, a greatcoat with a wide patent-leather +belt, fastened with a buckle and a pair of new high boots pulled over +his trousers. Probably he had for some time past pictured a traveller as +looking like this, and the belt and the high boots with the shining tops +like a hussar’s, in which he could hardly walk, had been ready some time +before. A broad-brimmed hat, a knitted scarf, twisted close round his +neck, a stick in his right hand, and an exceedingly small but extremely +tightly packed bag in his left, completed his get-up. He had, besides, +in the same right hand, an open umbrella. These three objects—the +umbrella, the stick, and the bag—had been very awkward to carry for the +first mile, and had begun to be heavy by the second. +</p> +<p> +“Can it really be you?” cried Liza, looking at him with distressed +wonder, after her first rush of instinctive gladness. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Lise,”</i> cried Stepan Trofimovitch, rushing to her almost in delirium too. +“<i>Chère, chère</i>.… Can you be out, too … in such a fog? You see the glow +of fire. <i>Vous êtes malheureuse, n’est-ce pas?</i> I see, I see. Don’t tell +me, but don’t question me either. <i>Nous sommes tous malheureux mais il +faut les pardonner tous. Pardonnons, Lise,</i> and let us be free forever. +To be quit of the world and be completely free. <i>Il faut pardonner, +pardonner, et pardonner!”</i> +</p> +<p> +“But why are you kneeling down?” +</p> +<p> +“Because, taking leave of the world, I want to take leave of all my past +in your person!” He wept and raised both her hands to his tear-stained +eyes. “I kneel to all that was beautiful in my life. I kiss and give +thanks! Now I’ve torn myself in half; left behind a mad visionary who +dreamed of soaring to the sky. <i>Vingt-deux ans,</i> here. A shattered, frozen +old man. A tutor <i>chez ce marchand, s’il existe pourtant ce +marchand.</i>… But how drenched you are, <i>Lise!”</i> he cried, jumping on to +his feet, feeling that his knees too were soaked by the wet earth. “And +how is it possible … you are in such a dress … and on foot, and in +these fields?… You are crying! <i>Vous êtes malheureuse.</i> Bah, I did hear +something.… But where have you come from now?” He asked hurried +questions with an uneasy air, looking in extreme bewilderment at Mavriky +Nikolaevitch. <i>“Mais savez-vous l’heure qu’il est?”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch, have you heard anything about the people who’ve +been murdered?… Is it true? Is it true?” +</p> +<p> +“These people! I saw the glow of their work all night. They were bound +to end in this.…” His eyes flashed again. “I am fleeing away from +madness, from a delirious dream. I am fleeing away to seek for Russia. +<i>Existe-t-elle, la Russie? Bah! C’est vous, cher capitaine!</i> +I’ve never doubted that I should meet you somewhere on some high +adventure.… But take my umbrella, and—why must you be on foot? For +God’s sake, do at least take my umbrella, for I shall hire a carriage +somewhere in any case. I am on foot because Stasie (I mean, Nastasya) +would have shouted for the benefit of the whole street if she’d found out +I was going away. So I slipped away as far as possible incognito. I don’t +know; in the <i>Voice</i> they write of there being brigands everywhere, but I +thought surely I shouldn’t meet a brigand the moment I came out on the +road. <i>Chère Lise,</i> I thought you said something of someone’s being +murdered. <i>Oh, mon Dieu!</i> You are ill!” +</p> +<p> +“Come along, come along!” cried Liza, almost in hysterics, drawing +Mavriky Nikolaevitch after her again. “Wait a minute, Stepan +Trofimovitch!” she came back suddenly to him. “Stay, poor darling, let +me sign you with the cross. Perhaps, it would be better to put you under +control, but I’d rather make the sign of the cross over you. You, too, +pray for ‘poor’ Liza—just a little, don’t bother too much about it. +Mavriky Nikolaevitch, give that baby back his umbrella. You must give it +him. That’s right.… Come, let us go, let us go!” +</p> +<p> +They reached the fatal house at the very moment when the huge crowd, +which had gathered round it, had already heard a good deal of Stavrogin, +and of how much it was to his interest to murder his wife. Yet, I +repeat, the immense majority went on listening without moving or +uttering a word. The only people who were excited were bawling drunkards +and excitable individuals of the same sort as the gesticulatory +cabinet-maker. Every one knew the latter as a man really of mild +disposition, but he was liable on occasion to get excited and to fly off +at a tangent if anything struck him in a certain way. I did not see +Liza and Mavriky Nikolaevitch arrive. Petrified with amazement, I first +noticed Liza some distance away in the crowd, and I did not at once +catch sight of Mavriky Nikolaevitch. I fancy there was a moment when +he fell two or three steps behind her or was pressed back by the crush. +Liza, forcing her way through the crowd, seeing and noticing nothing +round her, like one in a delirium, like a patient escaped from a +hospital, attracted attention only too quickly, of course. There arose +a hubbub of loud talking and at last sudden shouts. Some one bawled out, +“It’s Stavrogin’s woman!” And on the other side, “It’s not enough to +murder them, she wants to look at them!” All at once I saw an arm raised +above her head from behind and suddenly brought down upon it. Liza fell +to the ground. We heard a fearful scream from Mavriky Nikolaevitch as +he dashed to her assistance and struck with all his strength the man who +stood between him and Liza. But at that instant the same cabinetmaker +seized him with both arms from behind. For some minutes nothing could be +distinguished in the scrimmage that followed. I believe Liza got up but +was knocked down by another blow. Suddenly the crowd parted and a +small space was left empty round Liza’s prostrate figure, and Mavriky +Nikolaevitch, frantic with grief and covered with blood, was standing +over her, screaming, weeping, and wringing his hands. I don’t remember +exactly what followed after; I only remember that they began to carry +Liza away. I ran after her. She was still alive and perhaps still +conscious. The cabinet-maker and three other men in the crowd were +seized. These three still deny having taken any part in the dastardly +deed, stubbornly maintaining that they have been arrested by mistake. +Perhaps it’s the truth. Though the evidence against the cabinet-maker +is clear, he is so irrational that he is still unable to explain what +happened coherently. I too, as a spectator, though at some distance, +had to give evidence at the inquest. I declared that it had all happened +entirely accidentally through the action of men perhaps moved by +ill-feeling, yet scarcely conscious of what they were doing—drunk and +irresponsible. I am of that opinion to this day. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0019"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE LAST RESOLUTION +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +THAT MORNING MANY people saw Pyotr Stepanovitch. All who saw him +remembered that he was in a particularly excited state. At two o’clock +he went to see Gaganov, who had arrived from the country only the day +before, and whose house was full of visitors hotly discussing the events +of the previous day. Pyotr Stepanovitch talked more than anyone and made +them listen to him. He was always considered among us as a “chatterbox +of a student with a screw loose,” but now he talked of Yulia Mihailovna, +and in the general excitement the theme was an enthralling one. As one +who had recently been her intimate and confidential friend, he disclosed +many new and unexpected details concerning her; incidentally (and of +course unguardedly) he repeated some of her own remarks about persons +known to all in the town, and thereby piqued their vanity. He dropped +it all in a vague and rambling way, like a man free from guile driven +by his sense of honour to the painful necessity of clearing up a perfect +mountain of misunderstandings, and so simple-hearted that he hardly knew +where to begin and where to leave off. He let slip in a rather unguarded +way, too, that Yulia Mihailovna knew the whole secret of Stavrogin and +that she had been at the bottom of the whole intrigue. She had taken +him in too, for he, Pyotr Stepanovitch, had also been in love with this +unhappy Liza, yet he had been so hoodwinked that he had <i>almost</i> taken her +to Stavrogin himself in the carriage. “Yes, yes, it’s all very well +for you to laugh, gentlemen, but if only I’d known, if I’d known how it +would end!” he concluded. To various excited inquiries about Stavrogin +he bluntly replied that in his opinion the catastrophe to the Lebyadkins +was a pure coincidence, and that it was all Lebyadkin’s own fault for +displaying his money. He explained this particularly well. One of his +listeners observed that it was no good his “pretending”; that he had +eaten and drunk and almost slept at Yulia Mihailovna’s, yet now he was +the first to blacken her character, and that this was by no means such +a fine thing to do as he supposed. But Pyotr Stepanovitch immediately +defended himself. +</p> +<p> +“I ate and drank there not because I had no money, and it’s not my fault +that I was invited there. Allow me to judge for myself how far I need to +be grateful for that.” +</p> +<p> +The general impression was in his favour. “He may be rather absurd, and +of course he is a nonsensical fellow, yet still he is not responsible +for Yulia Mihailovna’s foolishness. On the contrary, it appears that he +tried to stop her.” +</p> +<p> +About two o’clock the news suddenly came that Stavrogin, about whom +there was so much talk, had suddenly left for Petersburg by the midday +train. This interested people immensely; many of them frowned. Pyotr +Stepanovitch was so much struck that I was told he turned quite pale and +cried out strangely, “Why, how could they have let him go?” He hurried +away from Gaganov’s forthwith, yet he was seen in two or three other +houses. +</p> +<p> +Towards dusk he succeeded in getting in to see Yulia Mihailovna though +he had the greatest pains to do so, as she had absolutely refused to see +him. I heard of this from the lady herself only three weeks afterwards, +just before her departure for Petersburg. She gave me no details, but +observed with a shudder that “he had on that occasion astounded her +beyond all belief.” I imagine that all he did was to terrify her +by threatening to charge her with being an accomplice if she “said +anything.” The necessity for this intimidation arose from his plans at +the moment, of which she, of course, knew nothing; and only later, +five days afterwards, she guessed why he had been so doubtful of her +reticence and so afraid of a new outburst of indignation on her part. +</p> +<p> +Between seven and eight o’clock, when it was dark, all the five members +of the quintet met together at Ensign Erkel’s lodgings in a little +crooked house at the end of the town. The meeting had been fixed by +Pyotr Stepanovitch himself, but he was unpardonably late, and the +members waited over an hour for him. This Ensign Erkel was that young +officer who had sat the whole evening at Virginsky’s with a pencil in +his hand and a notebook before him. He had not long been in the town; +he lodged alone with two old women, sisters, in a secluded by-street and +was shortly to leave the town; a meeting at his house was less likely +to attract notice than anywhere. This strange boy was distinguished by +extreme taciturnity: he was capable of sitting for a dozen evenings in +succession in noisy company, with the most extraordinary conversation +going on around him, without uttering a word, though he listened with +extreme attention, watching the speakers with his childlike eyes. His +face was very pretty and even had a certain look of cleverness. He did +not belong to the quintet; it was supposed that he had some special job +of a purely practical character. It is known now that he had nothing of +the sort and probably did not understand his position himself. It was +simply that he was filled with hero-worship for Pyotr Stepanovitch, +whom he had only lately met. If he had met a monster of iniquity who had +incited him to found a band of brigands on the pretext of some romantic +and socialistic object, and as a test had bidden him rob and murder the +first peasant he met, he would certainly have obeyed and done it. He had +an invalid mother to whom he sent half of his scanty pay—and how +she must have kissed that poor little flaxen head, how she must have +trembled and prayed over it! I go into these details about him because I +feel very sorry for him. +</p> +<p> +“Our fellows” were excited. The events of the previous night had made a +great impression on them, and I fancy they were in a panic. The simple +disorderliness in which they had so zealously and systematically taken +part had ended in a way they had not expected. The fire in the night, +the murder of the Lebyadkins, the savage brutality of the crowd with +Liza, had been a series of surprises which they had not anticipated in +their programme. They hotly accused the hand that had guided them of +despotism and duplicity. In fact, while they were waiting for Pyotr +Stepanovitch they worked each other up to such a point that they +resolved again to ask him for a definite explanation, and if he evaded +again, as he had done before, to dissolve the quintet and to found +instead a new secret society “for the propaganda of ideas” and on +their own initiative on the basis of democracy and equality. Liputin, +Shigalov, and the authority on the peasantry supported this plan; +Lyamshin said nothing, though he looked approving. Virginsky hesitated +and wanted to hear Pyotr Stepanovitch first. It was decided to hear +Pyotr Stepanovitch, but still he did not come; such casualness added +fuel to the flames. Erkel was absolutely silent and did nothing but +order the tea, which he brought from his landladies in glasses on a +tray, not bringing in the samovar nor allowing the servant to enter. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch did not turn up till half-past eight. With rapid +steps he went up to the circular table before the sofa round which the +company were seated; he kept his cap in his hand and refused tea. He +looked angry, severe, and supercilious. He must have observed at once +from their faces that they were “mutinous.” +</p> +<p> +“Before I open my mouth, you’ve got something hidden; out with it.” +</p> +<p> +Liputin began “in the name of all,” and declared in a voice quivering +with resentment “that if things were going on like that they might as +well blow their brains out.” Oh, they were not at all afraid to blow +their brains out, they were quite ready to, in fact, but only to serve +the common cause (a general movement of approbation). So he must be more +open with them so that they might always know beforehand, “or else what +would things be coming to?” (Again a stir and some guttural sounds.) To +behave like this was humiliating and dangerous. “We don’t say so because +we are afraid, but if one acts and the rest are only pawns, then one +would blunder and all would be lost.” (Exclamations. “Yes, yes.” General +approval.) +</p> +<p> +“Damn it all, what do you want?” +</p> +<p> +“What connection is there between the common cause and the petty +intrigues of Mr. Stavrogin?” cried Liputin, boiling over. “Suppose he +is in some mysterious relation to the centre, if that legendary centre +really exists at all, it’s no concern of ours. And meantime a murder has +been committed, the police have been roused; if they follow the thread +they may find what it starts from.” +</p> +<p> +“If Stavrogin and you are caught, we shall be caught too,” added the +authority on the peasantry. +</p> +<p> +“And to no good purpose for the common cause,” Virginsky concluded +despondently. +</p> +<p> +“What nonsense! The murder is a chance crime; it was committed by Fedka +for the sake of robbery.” +</p> +<p> +“H’m! Strange coincidence, though,” said Liputin, wriggling. +</p> +<p> +“And if you will have it, it’s all through you.” +</p> +<p> +“Through us?” +</p> +<p> +“In the first place, you, Liputin, had a share in the intrigue yourself; +and the second chief point is, you were ordered to get Lebyadkin away +and given money to do it; and what did you do? If you’d got him away +nothing would have happened.” +</p> +<p> +“But wasn’t it you yourself who suggested the idea that it would be a +good thing to set him on to read his verses?” +</p> +<p> +“An idea is not a command. The command was to get him away.” +</p> +<p> +“Command! Rather a queer word.… On the contrary, your orders were to +delay sending him off.” +</p> +<p> +“You made a mistake and showed your foolishness and self-will. The +murder was the work of Fedka, and he carried it out alone for the sake +of robbery. You heard the gossip and believed it. You were scared. +Stavrogin is not such a fool, and the proof of that is he left the town +at twelve o’clock after an interview with the vice-governor; if there +were anything in it they would not let him go to Petersburg in broad +daylight.” +</p> +<p> +“But we are not making out that Mr. Stavrogin committed the murder +himself,” Liputin rejoined spitefully and unceremoniously. “He may have +known nothing about it, like me; and you know very well that I knew +nothing about it, though I am mixed up in it like mutton in a hash.” +</p> +<p> +“Whom are you accusing?” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, looking at him darkly. +</p> +<p> +“Those whose interest it is to burn down towns.” +</p> +<p> +“You make matters worse by wriggling out of it. However, won’t you read +this and pass it to the others, simply as a fact of interest?” +</p> +<p> +He pulled out of his pocket Lebyadkin’s anonymous letter to Lembke and +handed it to Liputin. The latter read it, was evidently surprised, and +passed it thoughtfully to his neighbour; the letter quickly went the +round. +</p> +<p> +“Is that really Lebyadkin’s handwriting?” observed Shigalov. +</p> +<p> +“It is,” answered Liputin and Tolkatchenko (the authority on the +peasantry). +</p> +<p> +“I simply brought it as a fact of interest and because I knew you were +so sentimental over Lebyadkin,” repeated Pyotr Stepanovitch, taking the +letter back. “So it turns out, gentlemen, that a stray Fedka relieves us +quite by chance of a dangerous man. That’s what chance does sometimes! +It’s instructive, isn’t it?” +</p> +<p> +The members exchanged rapid glances. +</p> +<p> +“And now, gentlemen, it’s my turn to ask questions,” said Pyotr +Stepanovitch, assuming an air of dignity. “Let me know what business you +had to set fire to the town without permission.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s this! We, we set fire to the town? That is laying the blame on +others!” they exclaimed. +</p> +<p> +“I quite understand that you carried the game too far,” Pyotr +Stepanovitch persisted stubbornly, “but it’s not a matter of petty +scandals with Yulia Mihailovna. I’ve brought you here gentlemen, +to explain to you the greatness of the danger you have so stupidly +incurred, which is a menace to much besides yourselves.” +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me, we, on the contrary, were intending just now to point out +to you the greatness of the despotism and unfairness you have shown +in taking such a serious and also strange step without consulting the +members,” Virginsky, who had been hitherto silent, protested, almost +with indignation. +</p> +<p> +“And so you deny it? But I maintain that you set fire to the town, you +and none but you. Gentlemen, don’t tell lies! I have good evidence. By +your rashness you exposed the common cause to danger. You are only one +knot in an endless network of knots—and your duty is blind obedience to +the centre. Yet three men of you incited the Shpigulin men to set fire +to the town without the least instruction to do so, and the fire has +taken place.” +</p> +<p> +“What three? What three of us?” +</p> +<p> +“The day before yesterday, at three o’clock in the night, you, +Tolkatchenko, were inciting Fomka Zavyalov at the ‘Forget-me-not.’” +</p> +<p> +“Upon my word!” cried the latter, jumping up, “I scarcely said a word +to him, and what I did say was without intention, simply because he had +been flogged that morning. And I dropped it at once; I saw he was too +drunk. If you had not referred to it I should not have thought of it +again. A word could not set the place on fire.” +</p> +<p> +“You are like a man who should be surprised that a tiny spark could blow +a whole powder magazine into the air.” +</p> +<p> +“I spoke in a whisper in his ear, in a corner; how could you have heard +of it?” +</p> +<p> +Tolkatchenko reflected suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“I was sitting there under the table. Don’t disturb yourselves, +gentlemen; I know every step you take. You smile sarcastically, Mr. +Liputin? But I know, for instance, that you pinched your wife black and +blue at midnight, three days ago, in your bedroom as you were going to +bed.” +</p> +<p> +Liputin’s mouth fell open and he turned pale. (It was afterwards found +out that he knew of this exploit of Liputin’s from Agafya, Liputin’s +servant, whom he had paid from the beginning to spy on him; this only +came out later.) +</p> +<p> +“May I state a fact?” said Shigalov, getting up. +</p> +<p> +“State it.” +</p> +<p> +Shigalov sat down and pulled himself together. +</p> +<p> +“So far as I understand—and it’s impossible not to understand it—you +yourself at first and a second time later, drew with great eloquence, +but too theoretically, a picture of Russia covered with an endless +network of knots. Each of these centres of activity, proselytising +and ramifying endlessly, aims by systematic denunciation to injure the +prestige of local authority, to reduce the villages to confusion, +to spread cynicism and scandals, together with complete disbelief in +everything and an eagerness for something better, and finally, by means +of fires, as a pre-eminently national method, to reduce the country at +a given moment, if need be, to desperation. Are those your words which +I tried to remember accurately? Is that the programme you gave us as the +authorised representative of the central committee, which is to this day +utterly unknown to us and almost like a myth?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s correct, only you are very tedious.” +</p> +<p> +“Every one has a right to express himself in his own way. Giving us +to understand that the separate knots of the general network already +covering Russia number by now several hundred, and propounding the +theory that if every one does his work successfully, all Russia at a +given moment, at a signal …” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, damn it all, I have enough to do without you!” cried Pyotr +Stepanovitch, twisting in his chair. +</p> +<p> +“Very well, I’ll cut it short and I’ll end simply by asking if we’ve +seen the disorderly scenes, we’ve seen the discontent of the people, +we’ve seen and taken part in the downfall of local administration, and +finally, we’ve seen with our own eyes the town on fire? What do you find +amiss? Isn’t that your programme? What can you blame us for?” +</p> +<p> +“Acting on your own initiative!” Pyotr Stepanovitch cried furiously. +“While I am here you ought not to have dared to act without my +permission. Enough. We are on the eve of betrayal, and perhaps to-morrow +or to-night you’ll be seized. So there. I have authentic information.” +</p> +<p> +At this all were agape with astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“You will be arrested not only as the instigators of the fire, but as a +quintet. The traitor knows the whole secret of the network. So you see +what a mess you’ve made of it!” +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin, no doubt,” cried Liputin. +</p> +<p> +“What … why Stavrogin?” Pyotr Stepanovitch seemed suddenly taken aback. +“Hang it all,” he cried, pulling himself together at once, “it’s Shatov! +I believe you all know now that Shatov in his time was one of the +society. I must tell you that, watching him through persons he does +not suspect, I found out to my amazement that he knows all about the +organisation of the network and … everything, in fact. To save +himself from being charged with having formerly belonged, he will give +information against all. He has been hesitating up till now and I have +spared him. Your fire has decided him: he is shaken and will hesitate +no longer. To-morrow we shall be arrested as incendiaries and political +offenders.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it true? How does Shatov know?” The excitement was indescribable. +</p> +<p> +“It’s all perfectly true. I have no right to reveal the source from +which I learnt it or how I discovered it, but I tell you what I can +do for you meanwhile: through one person I can act on Shatov so that +without his suspecting it he will put off giving information, but not +more than for twenty-four hours.” All were silent. +</p> +<p> +“We really must send him to the devil!” Tolkatchenko was the first to +exclaim. +</p> +<p> +“It ought to have been done long ago,” Lyamshin put in malignantly, +striking the table with his fist. +</p> +<p> +“But how is it to be done?” muttered Liputin. Pyotr Stepanovitch at once +took up the question and unfolded his plan. The plan was the following +day at nightfall to draw Shatov away to a secluded spot to hand over +the secret printing press which had been in his keeping and was buried +there, and there “to settle things.” He went into various essential +details which we will omit here, and explained minutely Shatov’s present +ambiguous attitude to the central society, of which the reader knows +already. +</p> +<p> +“That’s all very well,” Liputin observed irresolutely, “but since it +will be another adventure … of the same sort … it will make too great +a sensation.” +</p> +<p> +“No doubt,” assented Pyotr Stepanovitch, “but I’ve provided against +that. We have the means of averting suspicion completely.” +</p> +<p> +And with the same minuteness he told them about Kirillov, of his +intention to shoot himself, and of his promise to wait for a signal from +them and to leave a letter behind him taking on himself anything they +dictated to him (all of which the reader knows already). +</p> +<p> +“His determination to take his own life—a philosophic, or as I should +call it, insane decision—has become known <i>there</i>” Pyotr Stepanovitch +went on to explain. “<i>There</i> not a thread, not a grain of dust is +overlooked; everything is turned to the service of the cause. Foreseeing +how useful it might be and satisfying themselves that his intention was +quite serious, they had offered him the means to come to Russia (he was +set for some reason on dying in Russia), gave him a commission which he +promised to carry out (and he had done so), and had, moreover, bound him +by a promise, as you already know, to commit suicide only when he was +told to. He promised everything. You must note that he belongs to the +organisation on a particular footing and is anxious to be of service; +more than that I can’t tell you. To-morrow, <i>after Shatov’s affair</i>, I’ll +dictate a note to him saying that he is responsible for his death. That +will seem very plausible: they were friends and travelled together to +America, there they quarrelled; and it will all be explained in the +letter … and … and perhaps, if it seems feasible, we might dictate +something more to Kirillov—something about the manifestoes, for +instance, and even perhaps about the fire. But I’ll think about +that. You needn’t worry yourselves, he has no prejudices; he’ll sign +anything.” +</p> +<p> +There were expressions of doubt. It sounded a fantastic story. But they +had all heard more or less about Kirillov; Liputin more than all. +</p> +<p> +“He may change his mind and not want to,” said Shigalov; “he is a madman +anyway, so he is not much to build upon.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be uneasy, gentlemen, he will want to,” Pyotr Stepanovitch +snapped out. “I am obliged by our agreement to give him warning the day +before, so it must be to-day. I invite Liputin to go with me at once to +see him and make certain, and he will tell you, gentlemen, when he comes +back—to-day if need be—whether what I say is true. However,” he broke +off suddenly with intense exasperation, as though he suddenly felt he +was doing people like them too much honour by wasting time in persuading +them, “however, do as you please. If you don’t decide to do it, +the union is broken up—but solely through your insubordination and +treachery. In that case we are all independent from this moment. But +under those circumstances, besides the unpleasantness of Shatov’s +betrayal and its consequences, you will have brought upon yourselves +another little unpleasantness of which you were definitely warned when +the union was formed. As far as I am concerned, I am not much afraid of +you, gentlemen.… Don’t imagine that I am so involved with you.… But +that’s no matter.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, we decide to do it,” Liputin pronounced. +</p> +<p> +“There’s no other way out of it,” muttered Tolkatchenko, “and if only +Liputin confirms about Kirillov, then … +</p> +<p> +“I am against it; with all my soul and strength I protest against such a +murderous decision,” said Virginsky, standing up. +</p> +<p> +“But?” asked Pyotr Stepanovitch.… +</p> +<p> +“<i>But</i> what?” +</p> +<p> +“You said <i>but</i> … and I am waiting.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t think I did say <i>but</i> … I only meant to say that if you decide +to do it, then …” +</p> +<p> +“Then?” +</p> +<p> +Virginsky did not answer. +</p> +<p> +“I think that one is at liberty to neglect danger to one’s own life,” +said Erkel, suddenly opening his mouth, “but if it may injure the cause, +then I consider one ought not to dare to neglect danger to one’s +life.…” +</p> +<p> +He broke off in confusion, blushing. Absorbed as they all were in their +own ideas, they all looked at him in amazement—it was such a surprise +that he too could speak. +</p> +<p> +“I am for the cause,” Virginsky pronounced suddenly. +</p> +<p> +Every one got up. It was decided to communicate once more and make final +arrangements at midday on the morrow, though without meeting. The place +where the printing press was hidden was announced and each was assigned +his part and his duty. Liputin and Pyotr Stepanovitch promptly set off +together to Kirillov. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +All our fellows believed that Shatov was going to betray them; but they +also believed that Pyotr Stepanovitch was playing with them like pawns. +And yet they knew, too, that in any case they would all meet on the spot +next day and that Shatov’s fate was sealed. They suddenly felt like +flies caught in a web by a huge spider; they were furious, but they were +trembling with terror. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch, of course, had treated them badly; it might all have +gone off far more harmoniously and easily if he had taken the trouble +to embellish the facts ever so little. Instead of putting the facts in a +decorous light, as an exploit worthy of ancient Rome or something of the +sort, he simply appealed to their animal fears and laid stress on the +danger to their own skins, which was simply insulting; of course there +was a struggle for existence in everything and there was no other +principle in nature, they all knew that, but still.… +</p> +<p> +But Pyotr Stepanovitch had no time to trot out the Romans; he was +completely thrown out of his reckoning. Stavrogin’s flight had astounded +and crushed him. It was a lie when he said that Stavrogin had seen the +vice-governor; what worried Pyotr Stepanovitch was that Stavrogin had +gone off without seeing anyone, even his mother—and it was certainly +strange that he had been allowed to leave without hindrance. +(The authorities were called to account for it afterwards.) Pyotr +Stepanovitch had been making inquiries all day, but so far had found out +nothing, and he had never been so upset. And how could he, how could he +give up Stavrogin all at once like this! That was why he could not +be very tender with the quintet. Besides, they tied his hands: he had +already decided to gallop after Stavrogin at once; and meanwhile he was +detained by Shatov; he had to cement the quintet together once for all, +in case of emergency. “Pity to waste them, they might be of use.” That, +I imagine, was his way of reasoning. +</p> +<p> +As for Shatov, Pyotr Stepanovitch was firmly convinced that he would +betray them. All that he had told the others about it was a lie: he had +never seen the document nor heard of it, but he thought it as certain as +that twice two makes four. It seemed to him that what had happened—the +death of Liza, the death of Marya Timofyevna—would be too much for +Shatov, and that he would make up his mind at once. Who knows? perhaps +he had grounds for supposing it. It is known, too, that he hated Shatov +personally; there had at some time been a quarrel between them, and +Pyotr Stepanovitch never forgave an offence. I am convinced, indeed, +that this was his leading motive. +</p> +<p> +We have narrow brick pavements in our town, and in some streets only +raised wooden planks instead of a pavement. Pyotr Stepanovitch walked +in the middle of the pavement, taking up the whole of it, utterly +regardless of Liputin, who had no room to walk beside him and so had to +hurry a step behind or run in the muddy road if he wanted to speak to +him. Pyotr Stepanovitch suddenly remembered how he had lately splashed +through the mud to keep pace with Stavrogin, who had walked, as he was +doing now, taking up the whole pavement. He recalled the whole scene, +and rage choked him. +</p> +<p> +But Liputin, too, was choking with resentment. Pyotr Stepanovitch might +treat the others as he liked, but him! Why, he knew more than all the +rest, was in closer touch with the work and taking more intimate part +in it than anyone, and hitherto his services had been continual, though +indirect. Oh, he knew that even now Pyotr Stepanovitch might ruin him <i>if +it came to the worst.</i> But he had long hated Pyotr Stepanovitch, and not +because he was a danger but because of his overbearing manner. Now, when +he had to make up his mind to such a deed, he raged inwardly more than +all the rest put together. Alas! he knew that next day “like a slave” +he would be the first on the spot and would bring the others, and if +he could somehow have murdered Pyotr Stepanovitch before the morrow, +without ruining himself, of course, he would certainly have murdered +him. +</p> +<p> +Absorbed in his sensations, he trudged dejectedly after his tormentor, +who seemed to have forgotten his existence, though he gave him a +rude and careless shove with his elbow now and then. Suddenly Pyotr +Stepanovitch halted in one of the principal thoroughfares and went into +a restaurant. +</p> +<p> +“What are you doing?” cried Liputin, boiling over. “This is a +restaurant.” +</p> +<p> +“I want a beefsteak.” +</p> +<p> +“Upon my word! It is always full of people.” +</p> +<p> +“What if it is?” +</p> +<p> +“But … we shall be late. It’s ten o’clock already.” +</p> +<p> +“You can’t be too late to go there.” +</p> +<p> +“But I shall be late! They are expecting me back.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, let them; but it would be stupid of you to go to them. With all +your bobbery I’ve had no dinner. And the later you go to Kirillov’s the +more sure you are to find him.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch went to a room apart. Liputin sat in an easy chair on +one side, angry and resentful, and watched him eating. Half an hour +and more passed. Pyotr Stepanovitch did not hurry himself; he ate with +relish, rang the bell, asked for a different kind of mustard, then for +beer, without saying a word to Liputin. He was pondering deeply. He was +capable of doing two things at once—eating with relish and pondering +deeply. Liputin loathed him so intensely at last that he could not tear +himself away. It was like a nervous obsession. He counted every morsel +of beefsteak that Pyotr Stepanovitch put into his mouth; he loathed him +for the way he opened it, for the way he chewed, for the way he smacked +his lips over the fat morsels, he loathed the steak itself. At last +things began to swim before his eyes; he began to feel slightly giddy; +he felt hot and cold run down his spine by turns. +</p> +<p> +“You are doing nothing; read that,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch suddenly, +throwing him a sheet of paper. Liputin went nearer to the candle. The +paper was closely covered with bad handwriting, with corrections in +every line. By the time he had mastered it Pyotr Stepanovitch had paid +his bill and was ready to go. When they were on the pavement Liputin +handed him back the paper. +</p> +<p> +“Keep it; I’ll tell you afterwards.… What do you say to it, though?” +</p> +<p> +Liputin shuddered all over. +</p> +<p> +“In my opinion … such a manifesto … is nothing but a ridiculous +absurdity.” +</p> +<p> +His anger broke out; he felt as though he were being caught up and +carried along. +</p> +<p> +“If we decide to distribute such manifestoes,” he said, quivering +all over, “we’ll make ourselves, contemptible by our stupidity and +incompetence.” +</p> +<p> +“H’m! I think differently,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, walking on +resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“So do I; surely it isn’t your work?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s not your business.” +</p> +<p> +“I think too that doggerel, ‘A Noble Personality,’ is the most utter +trash possible, and it couldn’t have been written by Herzen.” +</p> +<p> +“You are talking nonsense; it’s a good poem.” +</p> +<p> +“I am surprised, too, for instance,” said Liputin, still dashing along +with desperate leaps, “that it is suggested that we should act so as +to bring everything to the ground. It’s natural in Europe to wish to +destroy everything because there’s a proletariat there, but we are only +amateurs here and in my opinion are only showing off.” +</p> +<p> +“I thought you were a Fourierist.” +</p> +<p> +“Fourier says something quite different, quite different.” +</p> +<p> +“I know it’s nonsense.” +</p> +<p> +“No, Fourier isn’t nonsense.… Excuse me, I can’t believe that there +will be a rising in May.” +</p> +<p> +Liputin positively unbuttoned his coat, he was so hot. +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s enough; but now, that I mayn’t forget it,” said Pyotr +Stepanovitch, passing with extraordinary coolness to another subject, +“you will have to print this manifesto with your own hands. We’re going +to dig up Shatov’s printing press, and you will take it to-morrow. As +quickly as possible you must print as many copies as you can, and then +distribute them all the winter. The means will be provided. You must +do as many copies as possible, for you’ll be asked for them from other +places.” +</p> +<p> +“No, excuse me; I can’t undertake such a … I decline.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ll take it all the same. I am acting on the instructions of the +central committee, and you are bound to obey.” +</p> +<p> +“And I consider that our centres abroad have forgotten what Russia is +like and have lost all touch, and that’s why they talk such +nonsense.… I even think that instead of many hundreds of quintets in +Russia, we are the only one that exists, and there is no network at +all,” Liputin gasped finally. +</p> +<p> +“The more contemptible of you, then, to run after the cause without +believing in it … and you are running after me now like a mean little +cur.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I’m not. We have a full right to break off and found a new +society.” +</p> +<p> +“Fool!” Pyotr Stepanovitch boomed at him threateningly all of a sudden, +with flashing eyes. +</p> +<p> +They stood facing one another for some time. Pyotr Stepanovitch turned +and pursued his way confidently. +</p> +<p> +The idea flashed through Liputin’s mind, “Turn and go back; if I don’t +turn now I shall never go back.” He pondered this for ten steps, but at +the eleventh a new and desperate idea flashed into his mind: he did not +turn and did not go back. +</p> +<p> +They were approaching Filipov’s house, but before reaching it they +turned down a side street, or, to be more accurate, an inconspicuous +path under a fence, so that for some time they had to walk along a steep +slope above a ditch where they could not keep their footing without +holding the fence. At a dark corner in the slanting fence Pyotr +Stepanovitch took out a plank, leaving a gap, through which he promptly +scrambled. Liputin was surprised, but he crawled through after him; then +they replaced the plank after them. This was the secret way by which +Fedka used to visit Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“Shatov mustn’t know that we are here,” Pyotr Stepanovitch whispered +sternly to Liputin. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +Kirillov was sitting on his leather sofa drinking tea, as he always was +at that hour. He did not get up to meet them, but gave a sort of start +and looked at the new-comers anxiously. +</p> +<p> +“You are not mistaken,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, “it’s just that I’ve +come about.” +</p> +<p> +“To-day?” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, to-morrow … about this time.” And he hurriedly sat down at +the table, watching Kirillov’s agitation with some uneasiness. But the +latter had already regained his composure and looked as usual. +</p> +<p> +“These people still refuse to believe in you. You are not vexed at my +bringing Liputin?” +</p> +<p> +“To-day I am not vexed; to-morrow I want to be alone.” +</p> +<p> +“But not before I come, and therefore in my presence.” +</p> +<p> +“I should prefer not in your presence.” +</p> +<p> +“You remember you promised to write and to sign all I dictated.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t care. And now will you be here long?” +</p> +<p> +“I have to see one man and to remain half an hour, so whatever you say I +shall stay that half-hour.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov did not speak. Liputin meanwhile sat down on one side under the +portrait of the bishop. That last desperate idea gained more and more +possession of him. Kirillov scarcely noticed him. Liputin had heard +of Kirillov’s theory before and always laughed at him; but now he was +silent and looked gloomily round him. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve no objection to some tea,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, moving up. +“I’ve just had some steak and was reckoning on getting tea with you.” +</p> +<p> +“Drink it. You can have some if you like.” +</p> +<p> +“You used to offer it to me,” observed Pyotr Stepanovitch sourly. +</p> +<p> +“That’s no matter. Let Liputin have some too.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I … can’t.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t want to or can’t?” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, turning quickly to +him. +</p> +<p> +“I am not going to here,” Liputin said expressively. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch frowned. +</p> +<p> +“There’s a flavour of mysticism about that; goodness knows what to make +of you people!” +</p> +<p> +No one answered; there was a full minute of silence. +</p> +<p> +“But I know one thing,” he added abruptly, “that no superstition will +prevent any one of us from doing his duty.” +</p> +<p> +“Has Stavrogin gone?” asked Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“He’s done well.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch’s eyes gleamed, but he restrained himself. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t care what you think as long as every one keeps his word.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll keep my word.” +</p> +<p> +“I always knew that you would do your duty like an independent and +progressive man.” +</p> +<p> +“You are an absurd fellow.” +</p> +<p> +“That may be; I am very glad to amuse you. I am always glad if I can +give people pleasure.” +</p> +<p> +“You are very anxious I should shoot myself and are afraid I might +suddenly not?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, you see, it was your own doing—connecting your plan with our +work. Reckoning on your plan we have already done something, so that you +couldn’t refuse now because you’ve let us in for it.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve no claim at all.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand, I understand; you are perfectly free, and we don’t come +in so long as your free intention is carried out.” +</p> +<p> +“And am I to take on myself all the nasty things you’ve done?” +</p> +<p> +“Listen, Kirillov, are you afraid? If you want to cry off, say so at +once.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not afraid.” +</p> +<p> +“I ask because you are making so many inquiries.” +</p> +<p> +“Are you going soon?” +</p> +<p> +“Asking questions again?” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov scanned him contemptuously. +</p> +<p> +“You see,” Pyotr Stepanovitch went on, getting angrier and angrier, and +unable to take the right tone, “you want me to go away, to be alone, to +concentrate yourself, but all that’s a bad sign for you—for you above +all. You want to think a great deal. To my mind you’d better not think. +And really you make me uneasy.” +</p> +<p> +“There’s only one thing I hate, that at such a moment I should have a +reptile like you beside me.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, that doesn’t matter. I’ll go away at the time and stand on the +steps if you like. If you are so concerned about trifles when it comes +to dying, then … it’s all a very bad sign. I’ll go out on to the +steps and you can imagine I know nothing about it, and that I am a man +infinitely below you.” +</p> +<p> +“No, not infinitely; you’ve got abilities, but there’s a lot you don’t +understand because you are a low man.” +</p> +<p> +“Delighted, delighted. I told you already I am delighted to provide +entertainment … at such a moment.” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t understand anything.” +</p> +<p> +“That is, I … well, I listen with respect, anyway.” +</p> +<p> +“You can do nothing; even now you can’t hide your petty spite, though +it’s not to your interest to show it. You’ll make me cross, and then I +may want another six months.” Pyotr Stepanovitch looked at his watch. +“I never understood your theory, but I know you didn’t invent it for our +sakes, so I suppose you would carry it out apart from us. And I know too +that you haven’t mastered the idea but the idea has mastered you, so you +won’t put it off.” +</p> +<p> +“What? The idea has mastered me?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“And not I mastered the idea? That’s good. You have a little sense. Only +you tease me and I am proud.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a good thing, that’s a good thing. Just what you need, to be +proud.” +</p> +<p> +“Enough. You’ve drunk your tea; go away.” +</p> +<p> +“Damn it all, I suppose I must”—Pyotr Stepanovitch got up—“though +it’s early. Listen, Kirillov. Shall I find that man—you know whom I +mean—at Myasnitchiha’s? Or has she too been lying?” +</p> +<p> +“You won’t find him, because he is here and not there.” +</p> +<p> +“Here! Damn it all, where?” +</p> +<p> +“Sitting in the kitchen, eating and drinking.” +</p> +<p> +“How dared he?” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, flushing angrily. “It was his +duty to wait … what nonsense! He has no passport, no money!” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know. He came to say good-bye; he is dressed and ready. He +is going away and won’t come back. He says you are a scoundrel and he +doesn’t want to wait for your money.” +</p> +<p> +“Ha ha! He is afraid that I’ll … But even now I can … if … Where is +he, in the kitchen?” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov opened a side door into a tiny dark room; from this room three +steps led straight to the part of the kitchen where the cook’s bed was +usually put, behind the partition. Here, in the corner under the ikons, +Fedka was sitting now, at a bare deal table. Before him stood a +pint bottle, a plate of bread, and some cold beef and potatoes on an +earthenware dish. He was eating in a leisurely way and was already half +drunk, but he was wearing his sheep-skin coat and was evidently ready +for a journey. A samovar was boiling the other side of the screen, but +it was not for Fedka, who had every night for a week or more zealously +blown it up and got it ready for “Alexey Nilitch, for he’s such a habit +of drinking tea at nights.” I am strongly disposed to believe that, +as Kirillov had not a cook, he had cooked the beef and potatoes that +morning with his own hands for Fedka. +</p> +<p> +“What notion is this?” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, whisking into the room. +“Why didn’t you wait where you were ordered?” +</p> +<p> +And swinging his fist, he brought it down heavily on the table. +</p> +<p> +Fedka assumed an air of dignity. +</p> +<p> +“You wait a bit, Pyotr Stepanovitch, you wait a bit,” he began, with a +swaggering emphasis on each word, “it’s your first duty to understand +here that you are on a polite visit to Mr. Kirillov, Alexey Nilitch, +whose boots you might clean any day, because beside you he is a man of +culture and you are only—foo!” +</p> +<p> +And he made a jaunty show of spitting to one side. Haughtiness and +determination were evident in his manner, and a certain very threatening +assumption of argumentative calm that suggested an outburst to follow. +But Pyotr Stepanovitch had no time to realise the danger, and it did not +fit in with his preconceived ideas. The incidents and disasters of the +day had quite turned his head. Liputin, at the top of the three steps, +stared inquisitively down from the little dark room. +</p> +<p> +“Do you or don’t you want a trustworthy passport and good money to go +where you’ve been told? Yes or no?” +</p> +<p> +“D’you see, Pyotr Stepanovitch, you’ve been deceiving me from the first, +and so you’ve been a regular scoundrel to me. For all the world like a +filthy human louse—that’s how I look on you. You’ve promised me a lot +of money for shedding innocent blood and swore it was for Mr. Stavrogin, +though it turns out to be nothing but your want of breeding. I didn’t +get a farthing out of it, let alone fifteen hundred, and Mr. Stavrogin +hit you in the face, which has come to our ears. Now you are threatening +me again and promising me money—what for, you don’t say. And I +shouldn’t wonder if you are sending me to Petersburg to plot some +revenge in your spite against Mr. Stavrogin, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, +reckoning on my simplicity. And that proves you are the chief murderer. +And do you know what you deserve for the very fact that in the depravity +of your heart you’ve given up believing in God Himself, the true +Creator? You are no better than an idolater and are on a level with +the Tatar and the Mordva. Alexey Nilitch, who is a philosopher, has +expounded the true God, the Creator, many a time to you, as well as the +creation of the world and the fate that’s to come and the transformation +of every sort of creature and every sort of beast out of the Apocalypse, +but you’ve persisted like a senseless idol in your deafness and your +dumbness and have brought Ensign Erkel to the same, like the veriest +evil seducer and so-called atheist.…” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, you drunken dog! He strips the ikons of their setting and then +preaches about God!” +</p> +<p> +“D’you see, Pyotr Stepanovitch, I tell you truly that I have stripped +the ikons, but I only took out the pearls; and how do you know? Perhaps +my own tear was transformed into a pearl in the furnace of the Most High +to make up for my sufferings, seeing I am just that very orphan, having +no daily refuge. Do you know from the books that once, in ancient times, +a merchant with just such tearful sighs and prayers stole a pearl from +the halo of the Mother of God, and afterwards, in the face of all the +people, laid the whole price of it at her feet, and the Holy Mother +sheltered him with her mantle before all the people, so that it was a +miracle, and the command was given through the authorities to write it +all down word for word in the Imperial books. And you let a mouse in, +so you insulted the very throne of God. And if you were not my natural +master, whom I dandled in my arms when I was a stripling, I would have +done for you now, without budging from this place!” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch flew into a violent rage. +</p> +<p> +“Tell me, have you seen Stavrogin to-day?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t you dare to question me. Mr. Stavrogin is fairly amazed at you, +and he had no share in it even in wish, let alone instructions or giving +money. You’ve presumed with me.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ll get the money and you’ll get another two thousand in Petersburg, +when you get there, in a lump sum, and you’ll get more.” +</p> +<p> +“You are lying, my fine gentleman, and it makes me laugh to see how +easily you are taken in. Mr. Stavrogin stands at the top of the ladder +above you, and you yelp at him from below like a silly puppy dog, while +he thinks it would be doing you an honour to spit at you.” +</p> +<p> +“But do you know,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch in a rage, “that I won’t +let you stir a step from here, you scoundrel, and I’ll hand you straight +over to the police.” +</p> +<p> +Fedka leapt on to his feet and his eyes gleamed with fury. Pyotr +Stepanovitch pulled out his revolver. Then followed a rapid and +revolting scene: before Pyotr Stepanovitch could take aim, Fedka swung +round and in a flash struck him on the cheek with all his might. Then +there was the thud of a second blow, a third, then a fourth, all on the +cheek. Pyotr Stepanovitch was dazed; with his eyes starting out of his +head, he muttered something, and suddenly crashed full length to the +ground. +</p> +<p> +“There you are; take him,” shouted Fedka with a triumphant swagger; he +instantly took up his cap, his bag from under the bench, and was gone. +Pyotr Stepanovitch lay gasping and unconscious. Liputin even imagined +that he had been murdered. Kirillov ran headlong into the kitchen. +</p> +<p> +“Water!” he cried, and ladling some water in an iron dipper from a +bucket, he poured it over the injured man’s head. Pyotr Stepanovitch +stirred, raised his head, sat up, and looked blankly about him. +</p> +<p> +“Well, how are you?” asked Kirillov. Pyotr Stepanovitch looked at him +intently, still not recognising him; but seeing Liputin peeping in from +the kitchen, he smiled his hateful smile and suddenly got up, picking up +his revolver from the floor. +</p> +<p> +“If you take it into your head to run away to-morrow like that scoundrel +Stavrogin,” he cried, pouncing furiously on Kirillov, pale, stammering, +and hardly able to articulate his words, “I’ll hang you … like a +fly … or crush you … if it’s at the other end of the world … do you +understand!” +</p> +<p> +And he held the revolver straight at Kirillov’s head; but almost at the +same minute, coming completely to himself, he drew back his hand, thrust +the revolver into his pocket, and without saying another word ran out of +the house. Liputin followed him. They clambered through the same gap and +again walked along the slope holding to the fence. Pyotr Stepanovitch +strode rapidly down the street so that Liputin could scarcely keep up +with him. At the first crossing he suddenly stopped. +</p> +<p> +“Well?” He turned to Liputin with a challenge. +</p> +<p> +Liputin remembered the revolver and was still trembling all over after +the scene he had witnessed; but the answer seemed to come of itself +irresistibly from his tongue: +</p> +<p> +“I think … I think that …” +</p> +<p> +“Did you see what Fedka was drinking in the kitchen?” +</p> +<p> +“What he was drinking? He was drinking vodka.” +</p> +<p> +“Well then, let me tell you it’s the last time in his life he will drink +vodka. I recommend you to remember that and reflect on it. And now go to +hell; you are not wanted till to-morrow. But mind now, don’t be a fool!” +</p> +<p> +Liputin rushed home full speed. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +He had long had a passport in readiness made out in a false name. It +seems a wild idea that this prudent little man, the petty despot of +his family, who was, above all things, a sharp man of business and a +capitalist, and who was an official too (though he was a Fourierist), +should long before have conceived the fantastic project of procuring +this passport in case of emergency, that he might escape abroad by means +of it <i>if</i> … he did admit the possibility of this if, though no doubt he +was never able himself to formulate what this <i>if</i> might mean. +</p> +<p> +But now it suddenly formulated itself, and in a most unexpected way. +That desperate idea with which he had gone to Kirillov’s after that +“fool” he had heard from Pyotr Stepanovitch on the pavement, had been +to abandon everything at dawn next day and to emigrate abroad. If anyone +doubts that such fantastic incidents occur in everyday Russian life, +even now, let him look into the biographies of all the Russian exiles +abroad. Not one of them escaped with more wisdom or real justification. +It has always been the unrestrained domination of phantoms and nothing +more. +</p> +<p> +Running home, he began by locking himself in, getting out his travelling +bag, and feverishly beginning to pack. His chief anxiety was the +question of money, and how much he could rescue from the impending +ruin—and by what means. He thought of it as “rescuing,” for it seemed +to him that he could not linger an hour, and that by daylight he must +be on the high road. He did not know where to take the train either; he +vaguely determined to take it at the second or third big station from +the town, and to make his way there on foot, if necessary. In that way, +instinctively and mechanically he busied himself in his packing with a +perfect whirl of ideas in his head—and suddenly stopped short, gave it +all up, and with a deep groan stretched himself on the sofa. +</p> +<p> +He felt clearly, and suddenly realised that he might escape, but that +he was by now utterly incapable of deciding whether he ought to make off +<i>before or after</i> Shatov’s death; that he was simply a lifeless body, a +crude inert mass; that he was being moved by an awful outside power; and +that, though he had a passport to go abroad, that though he could run +away from Shatov (otherwise what need was there of such haste?), yet he +would run away, not from Shatov, not before his murder, but <i>after</i> it, +and that that was determined, signed, and sealed. +</p> +<p> +In insufferable distress, trembling every instant and wondering at +himself, alternately groaning aloud and numb with terror, he managed to +exist till eleven o’clock next morning locked in and lying on the sofa; +then came the shock he was awaiting, and it at once determined him. When +he unlocked his door and went out to his household at eleven o’clock +they told him that the runaway convict and brigand, Fedka, who was a +terror to every one, who had pillaged churches and only lately been +guilty of murder and arson, who was being pursued and could not be +captured by our police, had been found at daybreak murdered, five miles +from the town, at a turning off the high road, and that the whole town +was talking of it already. He rushed headlong out of the house at once +to find out further details, and learned, to begin with, that Fedka, who +had been found with his skull broken, had apparently been robbed and, +secondly, that the police already had strong suspicion and even good +grounds for believing that the murderer was one of the Shpigulin men +called Fomka, the very one who had been his accomplice in murdering the +Lebyadkins and setting fire to their house, and that there had been a +quarrel between them on the road about a large sum of money stolen from +Lebyadkin, which Fedka was supposed to have hidden. Liputin ran to Pyotr +Stepanovitch’s lodgings and succeeded in learning at the back door, on +the sly, that though Pyotr Stepanovitch had not returned home till about +one o’clock at night, he had slept there quietly all night till eight +o’clock next morning. Of course, there could be no doubt that there was +nothing extraordinary about Fedka’s death, and that such careers usually +have such an ending; but the coincidence of the fatal words that “it was +the last time Fedka would drink vodka,” with the prompt fulfilment of +the prediction, was so remarkable that Liputin no longer hesitated. The +shock had been given; it was as though a stone had fallen upon him and +crushed him forever. Returning home, he thrust his travelling-bag under +the bed without a word, and in the evening at the hour fixed he was the +first to appear at the appointed spot to meet Shatov, though it’s true +he still had his passport in his pocket. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0020"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER V. A WANDERER +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +THE CATASTROPHE WITH Liza and the death of Marya Timofyevna made an +overwhelming impression on Shatov. I have already mentioned that that +morning I met him in passing; he seemed to me not himself. He told me +among other things that on the evening before at nine o’clock (that +is, three hours before the fire had broken out) he had been at Marya +Timofyevna’s. He went in the morning to look at the corpses, but as far +as I know gave no evidence of any sort that morning. Meanwhile, towards +the end of the day there was a perfect tempest in his soul, and … I +think I can say with certainty that there was a moment at dusk when he +wanted to get up, go out and tell everything. What that <i>everything</i> was, +no one but he could say. Of course he would have achieved nothing, and +would have simply betrayed himself. He had no proofs whatever with which +to convict the perpetrators of the crime, and, indeed, he had nothing +but vague conjectures to go upon, though to him they amounted to +complete certainty. But he was ready to ruin himself if he could only +“crush the scoundrels”—his own words. Pyotr Stepanovitch had guessed +fairly correctly at this impulse in him, and he knew himself that he +was risking a great deal in putting off the execution of his new +awful project till next day. On his side there was, as usual, great +self-confidence and contempt for all these “wretched creatures” and for +Shatov in particular. He had for years despised Shatov for his “whining +idiocy,” as he had expressed it in former days abroad, and he was +absolutely confident that he could deal with such a guileless creature, +that is, keep an eye on him all that day, and put a check on him at the +first sign of danger. Yet what saved “the scoundrels” for a short time +was something quite unexpected which they had not foreseen.… +</p> +<p> +Towards eight o’clock in the evening (at the very time when the quintet +was meeting at Erkel’s, and waiting in indignation and excitement for +Pyotr Stepanovitch) Shatov was lying in the dark on his bed with a +headache and a slight chill; he was tortured by uncertainty, he was +angry, he kept making up his mind, and could not make it up finally, and +felt, with a curse, that it would all lead to nothing. Gradually he sank +into a brief doze and had something like a nightmare. He dreamt that +he was lying on his bed, tied up with cords and unable to stir, and +meantime he heard a terrible banging that echoed all over the house, a +banging on the fence, at the gate, at his door, in Kirillov’s lodge, +so that the whole house was shaking, and a far-away familiar voice that +wrung his heart was calling to him piteously. He suddenly woke and sat +up in bed. To his surprise the banging at the gate went on, though +not nearly so violent as it had seemed in his dream. The knocks were +repeated and persistent, and the strange voice “that wrung his heart” +could still be heard below at the gate, though not piteously but angrily +and impatiently, alternating with another voice, more restrained and +ordinary. He jumped up, opened the casement pane and put his head out. +</p> +<p> +“Who’s there?” he called, literally numb with terror. +</p> +<p> +“If you are Shatov,” the answer came harshly and resolutely from below, +“be so good as to tell me straight out and honestly whether you agree to +let me in or not?” +</p> +<p> +It was true: he recognised the voice! +</p> +<p> +“Marie!… Is it you?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, Marya Shatov, and I assure you I can’t keep the driver a +minute longer.” +</p> +<p> +“This minute … I’ll get a candle,” Shatov cried faintly. Then he rushed +to look for the matches. The matches, as always happens at such moments, +could not be found. He dropped the candlestick and the candle on the +floor and as soon as he heard the impatient voice from below again, he +abandoned the search and dashed down the steep stairs to open the gate. +</p> +<p> +“Be so good as to hold the bag while I settle with this blockhead,” was +how Madame Marya Shatov greeted him below, and she thrust into his hands +a rather light cheap canvas handbag studded with brass nails, of Dresden +manufacture. She attacked the driver with exasperation. +</p> +<p> +“Allow me to tell you, you are asking too much. If you’ve been driving +me for an extra hour through these filthy streets, that’s your fault, +because it seems you didn’t know where to find this stupid street and +imbecile house. Take your thirty kopecks and make up your mind that +you’ll get nothing more.” +</p> +<p> +“Ech, lady, you told me yourself Voznesensky Street and this is +Bogoyavlensky; Voznesensky is ever so far away. You’ve simply put the +horse into a steam.” +</p> +<p> +“Voznesensky, Bogoyavlensky—you ought to know all those stupid names +better than I do, as you are an inhabitant; besides, you are unfair, I +told you first of all Filipov’s house and you declared you knew it. In +any case you can have me up to-morrow in the local court, but now I beg +you to let me alone.” +</p> +<p> +“Here, here’s another five kopecks.” With eager haste Shatov pulled a +five-kopeck piece out of his pocket and gave it to the driver. +</p> +<p> +“Do me a favour, I beg you, don’t dare to do that!” Madame Shatov flared +up, but the driver drove off and Shatov, taking her hand, drew her +through the gate. +</p> +<p> +“Make haste, Marie, make haste … that’s no matter, and … you are wet +through. Take care, we go up here—how sorry I am there’s no light—the +stairs are steep, hold tight, hold tight! Well, this is my room. Excuse +my having no light … One minute!” +</p> +<p> +He picked up the candlestick but it was a long time before the matches +were found. Madame Shatov stood waiting in the middle of the room, +silent and motionless. +</p> +<p> +“Thank God, here they are at last!” he cried joyfully, lighting up the +room. Marya Shatov took a cursory survey of his abode. +</p> +<p> +“They told me you lived in a poor way, but I didn’t expect it to be +as bad as this,” she pronounced with an air of disgust, and she moved +towards the bed. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I am tired!” she sat down on the hard bed, with an exhausted air. +“Please put down the bag and sit down on the chair yourself. Just as you +like though; you are in the way standing there. I have come to you for +a time, till I can get work, because I know nothing of this place and I +have no money. But if I shall be in your way I beg you again, be so good +as to tell me so at once, as you are bound to do if you are an honest +man. I could sell something to-morrow and pay for a room at an hotel, +but you must take me to the hotel yourself.… Oh, but I am tired!” +</p> +<p> +Shatov was all of a tremor. +</p> +<p> +“You mustn’t, Marie, you mustn’t go to an hotel! An hotel! What for? +What for?” +</p> +<p> +He clasped his hands imploringly.… +</p> +<p> +“Well, if I can get on without the hotel … I must, any way, explain the +position. Remember, Shatov, that we lived in Geneva as man and wife for +a fortnight and a few days; it’s three years since we parted, without +any particular quarrel though. But don’t imagine that I’ve come back +to renew any of the foolishness of the past. I’ve come back to look for +work, and that I’ve come straight to this town is just because it’s all +the same to me. I’ve not come to say I am sorry for anything; please +don’t imagine anything so stupid as that.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Marie! This is unnecessary, quite unnecessary,” Shatov muttered +vaguely. +</p> +<p> +“If so, if you are so far developed as to be able to understand that, I +may allow myself to add, that if I’ve come straight to you now and am +in your lodging, it’s partly because I always thought you were far +from being a scoundrel and were perhaps much better than other … +blackguards!” +</p> +<p> +Her eyes flashed. She must have had to bear a great deal at the hands of +some “blackguards.” +</p> +<p> +“And please believe me, I wasn’t laughing at you just now when I told +you you were good. I spoke plainly, without fine phrases and I can’t +endure them. But that’s all nonsense. I always hoped you would have +sense enough not to pester me.… Enough, I am tired.” +</p> +<p> +And she bent on him a long, harassed and weary gaze. Shatov stood +facing her at the other end of the room, which was five paces away, and +listened to her timidly with a look of new life and unwonted radiance +on his face. This strong, rugged man, all bristles on the surface, +was suddenly all softness and shining gladness. There was a thrill +of extraordinary and unexpected feeling in his soul. Three years of +separation, three years of the broken marriage had effaced nothing from +his heart. And perhaps every day during those three years he had dreamed +of her, of that beloved being who had once said to him, “I love you.” +Knowing Shatov I can say with certainty that he could never have allowed +himself even to dream that a woman might say to him, “I love you.” +He was savagely modest and chaste, he looked on himself as a perfect +monster, detested his own face as well as his character, compared +himself to some freak only fit to be exhibited at fairs. Consequently +he valued honesty above everything and was fanatically devoted to his +convictions; he was gloomy, proud, easily moved to wrath, and sparing +of words. But here was the one being who had loved him for a fortnight +(that he had never doubted, never!), a being he had always considered +immeasurably above him in spite of his perfectly sober understanding of +her errors; a being to whom he could forgive everything, <i>everything</i> (of +that there could be no question; indeed it was quite the other way, his +idea was that he was entirely to blame); this woman, this Marya Shatov, +was in his house, in his presence again … it was almost inconceivable! +He was so overcome, there was so much that was terrible and at the same +time so much happiness in this event that he could not, perhaps would +not—perhaps was afraid to—realise the position. It was a dream. But +when she looked at him with that harassed gaze he suddenly understood +that this woman he loved so dearly was suffering, perhaps had been +wronged. His heart went cold. He looked at her features with anguish: +the first bloom of youth had long faded from this exhausted face. It’s +true that she was still good-looking—in his eyes a beauty, as she had +always been. In reality she was a woman of twenty-five, rather strongly +built, above the medium height (taller than Shatov), with abundant dark +brown hair, a pale oval face, and large dark eyes now glittering with +feverish brilliance. But the light-hearted, naïve and good-natured +energy he had known so well in the past was replaced now by a sullen +irritability and disillusionment, a sort of cynicism which was not yet +habitual to her herself, and which weighed upon her. But the chief thing +was that she was ill, that he could see clearly. In spite of the awe in +which he stood of her he suddenly went up to her and took her by both +hands. +</p> +<p> +“Marie … you know … you are very tired, perhaps, for God’s sake, don’t +be angry.… If you’d consent to have some tea, for instance, eh? Tea +picks one up so, doesn’t it? If you’d consent!” +</p> +<p> +“Why talk about consenting! Of course I consent, what a baby you are +still. Get me some if you can. How cramped you are here. How cold it +is!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I’ll get some logs for the fire directly, some logs … I’ve got +logs.” Shatov was all astir. “Logs … that is … but I’ll get tea +directly,” he waved his hand as though with desperate determination and +snatched up his cap. +</p> +<p> +“Where are you going? So you’ve no tea in the house?” +</p> +<p> +“There shall be, there shall be, there shall be, there shall be +everything directly.… I …” he took his revolver from the shelf, “I’ll +sell this revolver directly … or pawn it.…” +</p> +<p> +“What foolishness and what a time that will take! Take my money if +you’ve nothing, there’s eighty kopecks here, I think; that’s all I have. +This is like a madhouse.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want your money, I don’t want it I’ll be here directly, in one +instant. I can manage without the revolver.…” +</p> +<p> +And he rushed straight to Kirillov’s. This was probably two hours before +the visit of Pyotr Stepanovitch and Liputin to Kirillov. Though Shatov +and Kirillov lived in the same yard they hardly ever saw each other, and +when they met they did not nod or speak: they had been too long “lying +side by side” in America.… +</p> +<p> +“Kirillov, you always have tea; have you got tea and a samovar?” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov, who was walking up and down the room, as he was in the habit +of doing all night, stopped and looked intently at his hurried visitor, +though without much surprise. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve got tea and sugar and a samovar. But there’s no need of the +samovar, the tea is hot. Sit down and simply drink it.” +</p> +<p> +“Kirillov, we lay side by side in America.… My wife has come to me … +I … give me the tea.… I shall want the samovar.” +</p> +<p> +“If your wife is here you want the samovar. But take it later. I’ve +two. And now take the teapot from the table. It’s hot, boiling hot. Take +everything, take the sugar, all of it. Bread … there’s plenty of bread; +all of it. There’s some veal. I’ve a rouble.” +</p> +<p> +“Give it me, friend, I’ll pay it back to-morrow! Ach, Kirillov!” +</p> +<p> +“Is it the same wife who was in Switzerland? That’s a good thing. And +your running in like this, that’s a good thing too.” +</p> +<p> +“Kirillov!” cried Shatov, taking the teapot under his arm and carrying +the bread and sugar in both hands. “Kirillov, if … if you could get rid +of your dreadful fancies and give up your atheistic ravings … oh, what +a man you’d be, Kirillov!” +</p> +<p> +“One can see you love your wife after Switzerland. It’s a good thing you +do—after Switzerland. When you want tea, come again. You can come all +night, I don’t sleep at all. There’ll be a samovar. Take the rouble, +here it is. Go to your wife, I’ll stay here and think about you and your +wife.” +</p> +<p> +Marya Shatov was unmistakably pleased at her husband’s haste and fell +upon the tea almost greedily, but there was no need to run for the +samovar; she drank only half a cup and swallowed a tiny piece of bread. +The veal she refused with disgust and irritation. +</p> +<p> +“You are ill, Marie, all this is a sign of illness,” Shatov remarked +timidly as he waited upon her. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I’m ill, please sit down. Where did you get the tea if you +haven’t any?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov told her about Kirillov briefly. She had heard something of him. +</p> +<p> +“I know he is mad; say no more, please; there are plenty of fools. So +you’ve been in America? I heard, you wrote.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I … I wrote to you in Paris.” +</p> +<p> +“Enough, please talk of something else. Are you a Slavophil in your +convictions?” +</p> +<p> +“I … I am not exactly.… Since I cannot be a Russian, I became a +Slavophil.” He smiled a wry smile with the effort of one who feels he +has made a strained and inappropriate jest. +</p> +<p> +“Why, aren’t you a Russian?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I’m not.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s all foolishness. Do sit down, I entreat you. Why are you +all over the place? Do you think I am lightheaded? Perhaps I shall be. +You say there are only you two in the house.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.… Downstairs …” +</p> +<p> +“And both such clever people. What is there downstairs? You said +downstairs?” +</p> +<p> +“No, nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“Why nothing? I want to know.” +</p> +<p> +“I only meant to say that now we are only two in the yard, but that the +Lebyadkins used to live downstairs.…” +</p> +<p> +“That woman who was murdered last night?” she started suddenly. “I heard +of it. I heard of it as soon as I arrived. There was a fire here, wasn’t +there?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Marie, yes, and perhaps I am doing a scoundrelly thing this moment +in forgiving the scoundrels.…” He stood up suddenly and paced about +the room, raising his arms as though in a frenzy. +</p> +<p> +But Marie had not quite understood him. She heard his answers +inattentively; she asked questions but did not listen. +</p> +<p> +“Fine things are being done among you! Oh, how contemptible it all is! +What scoundrels men all are! But do sit down, I beg you, oh, how you +exasperate me!” and she let her head sink on the pillow, exhausted. +</p> +<p> +“Marie, I won’t.… Perhaps you’ll lie down, Marie?” She made no answer +and closed her eyes helplessly. Her pale face looked death-like. She +fell asleep almost instantly. Shatov looked round, snuffed the candle, +looked uneasily at her face once more, pressed his hands tight in front +of him and walked on tiptoe out of the room into the passage. At the +top of the stairs he stood in the corner with his face to the wall and +remained so for ten minutes without sound or movement. He would have +stood there longer, but he suddenly caught the sound of soft cautious +steps below. Someone was coming up the stairs. Shatov remembered he had +forgotten to fasten the gate. +</p> +<p> +“Who’s there?” he asked in a whisper. The unknown visitor went on slowly +mounting the stairs without answering. When he reached the top he stood +still; it was impossible to see his face in the dark; suddenly Shatov +heard the cautious question: +</p> +<p> +“Ivan Shatov?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov said who he was, but at once held out his hand to check his +advance. The latter took his hand, and Shatov shuddered as though he had +touched some terrible reptile. +</p> +<p> +“Stand here,” he whispered quickly. “Don’t go in, I can’t receive you +just now. My wife has come back. I’ll fetch the candle.” +</p> +<p> +When he returned with the candle he found a young officer standing +there; he did not know his name but he had seen him before. +</p> +<p> +“Erkel,” said the lad, introducing himself. “You’ve seen me at +Virginsky’s.” +</p> +<p> +“I remember; you sat writing. Listen,” said Shatov in sudden excitement, +going up to him frantically, but still talking in a whisper. “You gave +me a sign just now when you took my hand. But you know I can treat all +these signals with contempt! I don’t acknowledge them.… I don’t want +them.… I can throw you downstairs this minute, do you know that?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I know nothing about that and I don’t know what you are in such a +rage about,” the visitor answered without malice and almost ingenuously. +“I have only to give you a message, and that’s what I’ve come for, being +particularly anxious not to lose time. You have a printing press which +does not belong to you, and of which you are bound to give an account, +as you know yourself. I have received instructions to request you to +give it up to-morrow at seven o’clock in the evening to Liputin. I have +been instructed to tell you also that nothing more will be asked of +you.” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing?” +</p> +<p> +“Absolutely nothing. Your request is granted, and you are struck off our +list. I was instructed to tell you that positively.” +</p> +<p> +“Who instructed you to tell me?” +</p> +<p> +“Those who told me the sign.” +</p> +<p> +“Have you come from abroad?” +</p> +<p> +“I … I think that’s no matter to you.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, hang it! Why didn’t you come before if you were told to?” +</p> +<p> +“I followed certain instructions and was not alone.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand, I understand that you were not alone. Eh … hang it! But +why didn’t Liputin come himself?” +</p> +<p> +“So I shall come for you to-morrow at exactly six o’clock in the +evening, and we’ll go there on foot. There will be no one there but us +three.” +</p> +<p> +“Will Verhovensky be there?” +</p> +<p> +“No, he won’t. Verhovensky is leaving the town at eleven o’clock +to-morrow morning.” +</p> +<p> +“Just what I thought!” Shatov whispered furiously, and he struck his +fist on his hip. “He’s run off, the sneak!” +</p> +<p> +He sank into agitated reflection. Erkel looked intently at him and +waited in silence. +</p> +<p> +“But how will you take it? You can’t simply pick it up in your hands and +carry it.” +</p> +<p> +“There will be no need to. You’ll simply point out the place and we’ll +just make sure that it really is buried there. We only know whereabouts +the place is, we don’t know the place itself. And have you pointed the +place out to anyone else yet?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov looked at him. +</p> +<p> +“You, you, a chit of a boy like you, a silly boy like you, you too have +got caught in that net like a sheep? Yes, that’s just the young blood +they want! Well, go along. E-ech! that scoundrel’s taken you all in and +run away.” +</p> +<p> +Erkel looked at him serenely and calmly but did not seem to understand. +</p> +<p> +“Verhovensky, Verhovensky has run away!” Shatov growled fiercely. +</p> +<p> +“But he is still here, he is not gone away. He is not going till +to-morrow,” Erkel observed softly and persuasively. “I particularly +begged him to be present as a witness; my instructions all referred to +him (he explained frankly like a young and inexperienced boy). But I +regret to say he did not agree on the ground of his departure, and he +really is in a hurry.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov glanced compassionately at the simple youth again, but suddenly +gave a gesture of despair as though he thought “they are not worth +pitying.” +</p> +<p> +“All right, I’ll come,” he cut him short. “And now get away, be off.” +</p> +<p> +“So I’ll come for you at six o’clock punctually.” Erkel made a courteous +bow and walked deliberately downstairs. +</p> +<p> +“Little fool!” Shatov could not help shouting after him from the top. +</p> +<p> +“What is it?” responded the lad from the bottom. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing, you can go.” +</p> +<p> +“I thought you said something.” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +Erkel was a “little fool” who was only lacking in the higher form +of reason, the ruling power of the intellect; but of the lesser, the +subordinate reasoning faculties, he had plenty—even to the point of +cunning. Fanatically, childishly devoted to “the cause” or rather in +reality to Pyotr Verhovensky, he acted on the instructions given to him +when at the meeting of the quintet they had agreed and had distributed +the various duties for the next day. When Pyotr Stepanovitch gave him +the job of messenger, he succeeded in talking to him aside for ten +minutes. +</p> +<p> +A craving for active service was characteristic of this shallow, +unreflecting nature, which was forever yearning to follow the lead +of another man’s will, of course for the good of “the common” or “the +great” cause. Not that that made any difference, for little fanatics +like Erkel can never imagine serving a cause except by identifying +it with the person who, to their minds, is the expression of it. The +sensitive, affectionate and kind-hearted Erkel was perhaps the most +callous of Shatov’s would-be murderers, and, though he had no personal +spite against him, he would have been present at his murder without the +quiver of an eyelid. He had been instructed, for instance, to have a +good look at Shatov’s surroundings while carrying out his commission, +and when Shatov, receiving him at the top of the stairs, blurted out to +him, probably unaware in the heat of the moment, that his wife had come +back to him—Erkel had the instinctive cunning to avoid displaying the +slightest curiosity, though the idea flashed through his mind that the +fact of his wife’s return was of great importance for the success of +their undertaking. +</p> +<p> +And so it was in reality; it was only that fact that saved the +“scoundrels” from Shatov’s carrying out his intention, and at the same +time helped them “to get rid of him.” To begin with, it agitated Shatov, +threw him out of his regular routine, and deprived him of his usual +clear-sightedness and caution. Any idea of his own danger would be the +last thing to enter his head at this moment when he was absorbed with +such different considerations. On the contrary, he eagerly believed that +Pyotr Verhovensky was running away the next day: it fell in exactly with +his suspicions! Returning to the room he sat down again in a corner, +leaned his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands. Bitter +thoughts tormented him.… +</p> +<p> +Then he would raise his head again and go on tiptoe to look at her. +“Good God! she will be in a fever by to-morrow morning; perhaps it’s +begun already! She must have caught cold. She is not accustomed to this +awful climate, and then a third-class carriage, the storm, the rain, and +she has such a thin little pelisse, no wrap at all.… And to leave +her like this, to abandon her in her helplessness! Her bag, too, her +bag—what a tiny, light thing, all crumpled up, scarcely weighs ten +pounds! Poor thing, how worn out she is, how much she’s been through! +She is proud, that’s why she won’t complain. But she is irritable, very +irritable. It’s illness; an angel will grow irritable in illness. What +a dry forehead, it must be hot—how dark she is under the eyes, +and … and yet how beautiful the oval of her face is and her rich hair, +how …” +</p> +<p> +And he made haste to turn away his eyes, to walk away as though he were +frightened at the very idea of seeing in her anything but an unhappy, +exhausted fellow-creature who needed <i>help</i>—“how could he think of +<i>hopes</i>, oh, how mean, how base is man!” And he would go back to his +corner, sit down, hide his face in his hands and again sink into dreams +and reminiscences … and again he was haunted by hopes. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I am tired, I am tired,” he remembered her exclamations, her +weak broken voice. “Good God! Abandon her now, and she has only eighty +kopecks; she held out her purse, a tiny old thing! She’s come to look +for a job. What does she know about jobs? What do they know about +Russia? Why, they are like naughty children, they’ve nothing but their +own fancies made up by themselves, and she is angry, poor thing, +that Russia is not like their foreign dreams! The luckless, innocent +creatures!… It’s really cold here, though.” +</p> +<p> +He remembered that she had complained, that he had promised to heat the +stove. “There are logs here, I can fetch them if only I don’t wake her. +But I can do it without waking her. But what shall I do about the veal? +When she gets up perhaps she will be hungry.… Well, that will do +later: Kirillov doesn’t go to bed all night. What could I cover her +with, she is sleeping so soundly, but she must be cold, ah, she must be +cold!” And once more he went to look at her; her dress had worked up +a little and her right leg was half uncovered to the knee. He suddenly +turned away almost in dismay, took off his warm overcoat, and, remaining +in his wretched old jacket, covered it up, trying not to look at it. +</p> +<p> +A great deal of time was spent in righting the fire, stepping about +on tiptoe, looking at the sleeping woman, dreaming in the corner, then +looking at her again. Two or three hours had passed. During that time +Verhovensky and Liputin had been at Kirillov’s. At last he, too, began +to doze in the corner. He heard her groan; she waked up and called him; +he jumped up like a criminal. +</p> +<p> +“Marie, I was dropping asleep.… Ah, what a wretch I am, Marie!” +</p> +<p> +She sat up, looking about her with wonder, seeming not to recognise +where she was, and suddenly leapt up in indignation and anger. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve taken your bed, I fell asleep so tired I didn’t know what I was +doing; how dared you not wake me? How could you dare imagine I meant to +be a burden to you?” +</p> +<p> +“How could I wake you, Marie?” +</p> +<p> +“You could, you ought to have! You’ve no other bed here, and I’ve taken +yours. You had no business to put me into a false position. Or do you +suppose that I’ve come to take advantage of your charity? Kindly get +into your bed at once and I’ll lie down in the corner on some chairs.” +</p> +<p> +“Marie, there aren’t chairs enough, and there’s nothing to put on them.” +</p> +<p> +“Then simply oil the floor. Or you’ll have to lie on the floor yourself. +I want to lie on the floor at once, at once!” +</p> +<p> +She stood up, tried to take a step, but suddenly a violent spasm of pain +deprived her of all power and all determination, and with a loud groan +she fell back on the bed. Shatov ran up, but Marie, hiding her face in +the pillow, seized his hand and gripped and squeezed it with all her +might. This lasted a minute. +</p> +<p> +“Marie darling, there’s a doctor Frenzel living here, a friend of +mine.… I could run for him.” +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense!” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by nonsense? Tell me, Marie, what is it hurting you? +For we might try fomentations … on the stomach for instance.… I can +do that without a doctor.… Or else mustard poultices.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s this,” she asked strangely, raising her head and looking at him +in dismay. +</p> +<p> +“What’s what, Marie?” said Shatov, not understanding. “What are you +asking about? Good heavens! I am quite bewildered, excuse my not +understanding.” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, let me alone; it’s not your business to understand. And it would +be too absurd …” she said with a bitter smile. “Talk to me about +something. Walk about the room and talk. Don’t stand over me and don’t +look at me, I particularly ask you that for the five-hundredth time!” +</p> +<p> +Shatov began walking up and down the room, looking at the floor, and +doing his utmost not to glance at her. +</p> +<p> +“There’s—don’t be angry, Marie, I entreat you—there’s some veal here, +and there’s tea not far off.… You had so little before.” +</p> +<p> +She made an angry gesture of disgust. Shatov bit his tongue in despair. +</p> +<p> +“Listen, I intend to open a bookbinding business here, on rational +co-operative principles. Since you live here what do you think of it, +would it be successful?” +</p> +<p> +“Ech, Marie, people don’t read books here, and there are none here at +all. And are they likely to begin binding them!” +</p> +<p> +“Who are they?” +</p> +<p> +“The local readers and inhabitants generally, Marie.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, speak more clearly. <i>They</i> indeed, and one doesn’t know who +they are. You don’t know grammar!” +</p> +<p> +“It’s in the spirit of the language,” Shatov muttered. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, get along with your spirit, you bore me. Why shouldn’t the local +inhabitant or reader have his books bound?” +</p> +<p> +“Because reading books and having them bound are two different stages of +development, and there’s a vast gulf between them. To begin with, a man +gradually gets used to reading, in the course of ages of course, but +takes no care of his books and throws them about, not thinking them +worth attention. But binding implies respect for books, and implies +that not only he has grown fond of reading, but that he looks upon it as +something of value. That period has not been reached anywhere in Russia +yet. In Europe books have been bound for a long while.” +</p> +<p> +“Though that’s pedantic, anyway, it’s not stupid, and reminds me of the +time three years ago; you used to be rather clever sometimes three years +ago.” +</p> +<p> +She said this as disdainfully as her other capricious remarks. +</p> +<p> +“Marie, Marie,” said Shatov, turning to her, much moved, “oh, Marie! +If you only knew how much has happened in those three years! I heard +afterwards that you despised me for changing my convictions. But what +are the men I’ve broken with? The enemies of all true life, out-of-date +Liberals who are afraid of their own independence, the flunkeys +of thought, the enemies of individuality and freedom, the decrepit +advocates of deadness and rottenness! All they have to offer is +senility, a glorious mediocrity of the most bourgeois kind, contemptible +shallowness, a jealous equality, equality without individual dignity, +equality as it’s understood by flunkeys or by the French in ’93. And +the worst of it is there are swarms of scoundrels among them, swarms of +scoundrels!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, there are a lot of scoundrels,” she brought out abruptly with +painful effort. She lay stretched out, motionless, as though afraid +to move, with her head thrown back on the pillow, rather on one side, +staring at the ceiling with exhausted but glowing eyes. Her face was +pale, her lips were dry and hot. +</p> +<p> +“You recognise it, Marie, you recognise it,” cried Shatov. She tried to +shake her head, and suddenly the same spasm came over her again. Again +she hid her face in the pillow, and again for a full minute she squeezed +Shatov’s hand till it hurt. He had run up, beside himself with alarm. +</p> +<p> +“Marie, Marie! But it may be very serious, Marie!” +</p> +<p> +“Be quiet … I won’t have it, I won’t have it,” she screamed almost +furiously, turning her face upwards again. “Don’t dare to look at me +with your sympathy! Walk about the room, say something, talk.…” +</p> +<p> +Shatov began muttering something again, like one distraught. +</p> +<p> +“What do you do here?” she asked, interrupting him with contemptuous +impatience. +</p> +<p> +“I work in a merchant’s office. I could get a fair amount of money even +here if I cared to, Marie.” +</p> +<p> +“So much the better for you.…” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, don’t suppose I meant anything, Marie. I said it without thinking.” +</p> +<p> +“And what do you do besides? What are you preaching? You can’t exist +without preaching, that’s your character!” +</p> +<p> +“I am preaching God, Marie.” +</p> +<p> +“In whom you don’t believe yourself. I never could see the idea of that.” +</p> +<p> +“Let’s leave that, Marie; we’ll talk of that later.” +</p> +<p> +“What sort of person was this Marya Timofyevna here?” +</p> +<p> +“We’ll talk of that later too, Marie.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t dare to say such things to me! Is it true that her death may have +been caused by … the wickedness … of these people?” +</p> +<p> +“Not a doubt of it,” growled Shatov. +</p> +<p> +Marie suddenly raised her head and cried out painfully: +</p> +<p> +“Don’t dare speak of that to me again, don’t dare to, never, never!” +</p> +<p> +And she fell back in bed again, overcome by the same convulsive agony; +it was the third time, but this time her groans were louder, in fact she +screamed. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you insufferable man! Oh, you unbearable man,” she cried, tossing +about recklessly, and pushing away Shatov as he bent over her. +</p> +<p> +“Marie, I’ll do anything you like.… I’ll walk about and talk.…” +</p> +<p> +“Surely you must see that it has begun!” +</p> +<p> +“What’s begun, Marie?” +</p> +<p> +“How can I tell! Do I know anything about it?… I curse myself! Oh, +curse it all from the beginning!” +</p> +<p> +“Marie, if you’d tell me what’s beginning … or else I … if you don’t, +what am I to make of it?” +</p> +<p> +“You are a useless, theoretical babbler. Oh, curse everything on earth!” +</p> +<p> +“Marie, Marie!” He seriously thought that she was beginning to go mad. +</p> +<p> +“Surely you must see that I am in the agonies of childbirth,” she said, +sitting up and gazing at him with a terrible, hysterical vindictiveness +that distorted her whole face. “I curse him before he is born, this +child!” +</p> +<p> +“Marie,” cried Shatov, realising at last what it meant. “Marie … but +why didn’t you tell me before.” He pulled himself together at once and +seized his cap with an air of vigorous determination. +</p> +<p> +“How could I tell when I came in here? Should I have come to you if I’d +known? I was told it would be another ten days! Where are you going?… +Where are you going? You mustn’t dare!” +</p> +<p> +“To fetch a midwife! I’ll sell the revolver. We must get money before +anything else now.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t dare to do anything, don’t dare to fetch a midwife! Bring a +peasant woman, any old woman, I’ve eighty kopecks in my purse.… +Peasant women have babies without midwives.… And if I die, so much the +better.…” +</p> +<p> +“You shall have a midwife and an old woman too. But how am I to leave +you alone, Marie!” +</p> +<p> +But reflecting that it was better to leave her alone now in spite of +her desperate state than to leave her without help later, he paid +no attention to her groans, nor her angry exclamations, but rushed +downstairs, hurrying all he could. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +First of all he went to Kirillov. It was by now about one o’clock in the +night. Kirillov was standing in the middle of the room. +</p> +<p> +“Kirillov, my wife is in childbirth.” +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Childbirth, bearing a child!” +</p> +<p> +“You … are not mistaken?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no, no, she is in agonies! I want a woman, any old woman, I must +have one at once.… Can you get one now? You used to have a lot of old +women.…” +</p> +<p> +“Very sorry that I am no good at childbearing,” Kirillov answered +thoughtfully; “that is, not at childbearing, but at doing anything for +childbearing … or … no, I don’t know how to say it.” +</p> +<p> +“You mean you can’t assist at a confinement yourself? But that’s not +what I’ve come for. An old woman, I want a woman, a nurse, a servant!” +</p> +<p> +“You shall have an old woman, but not directly, perhaps … If you like +I’ll come instead.…” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, impossible; I am running to Madame Virginsky, the midwife, now.” +</p> +<p> +“A horrid woman!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, Kirillov, yes, but she is the best of them all. Yes, it’ll all +be without reverence, without gladness, with contempt, with abuse, with +blasphemy in the presence of so great a mystery, the coming of a new +creature! Oh, she is cursing it already!” +</p> +<p> +“If you like I’ll …” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, but while I’m running (oh, I’ll make Madame Virginsky come), +will you go to the foot of my staircase and quietly listen? But don’t +venture to go in, you’ll frighten her; don’t go in on any account, you +must only listen … in case anything dreadful happens. If anything very +bad happens, then run in.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand. I’ve another rouble. Here it is. I meant to have a fowl +to-morrow, but now I don’t want to, make haste, run with all your might. +There’s a samovar all the night.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov knew nothing of the present design against Shatov, nor had he +had any idea in the past of the degree of danger that threatened him. +He only knew that Shatov had some old scores with “those people,” +and although he was to some extent involved with them himself through +instructions he had received from abroad (not that these were of +much consequence, however, for he had never taken any direct share in +anything), yet of late he had given it all up, having left off doing +anything especially for the “cause,” and devoted himself entirely to a +life of contemplation. Although Pyotr Stepanovitch had at the meeting +invited Liputin to go with him to Kirillov’s to make sure that the +latter would take upon himself, at a given moment, the responsibility +for the “Shatov business,” yet in his interview with Kirillov he had +said no word about Shatov nor alluded to him in any way—probably +considering it impolitic to do so, and thinking that Kirillov could +not be relied upon. He put off speaking about it till next day, when it +would be all over and would therefore not matter to Kirillov; such at +least was Pyotr Stepanovitch’s judgment of him. Liputin, too, was +struck by the fact that Shatov was not mentioned in spite of what Pyotr +Stepanovitch had promised, but he was too much agitated to protest. +</p> +<p> +Shatov ran like a hurricane to Virginsky’s house, cursing the distance +and feeling it endless. +</p> +<p> +He had to knock a long time at Virginsky’s; every one had been asleep a +long while. But Shatov did not scruple to bang at the shutters with +all his might. The dog chained up in the yard dashed about barking +furiously. The dogs caught it up all along the street, and there was a +regular babel of barking. +</p> +<p> +“Why are you knocking and what do you want?” Shatov heard at the window +at last Virginsky’s gentle voice, betraying none of the resentment +appropriate to the “outrage.” The shutter was pushed back a little and +the casement was opened. +</p> +<p> +“Who’s there, what scoundrel is it?” shrilled a female voice which +betrayed all the resentment appropriate to the “outrage.” It was the old +maid, Virginsky’s relation. +</p> +<p> +“I am Shatov, my wife has come back to me and she is just confined.…” +</p> +<p> +“Well, let her be, get along.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve come for Arina Prohorovna; I won’t go without Arina Prohorovna!” +</p> +<p> +“She can’t attend to every one. Practice at night is a special line. +Take yourself off to Maksheyev’s and don’t dare to make that din,” +rattled the exasperated female voice. He could hear Virginsky checking +her; but the old maid pushed him away and would not desist. +</p> +<p> +“I am not going away!” Shatov cried again. +</p> +<p> +“Wait a little, wait a little,” Virginsky cried at last, overpowering +the lady. “I beg you to wait five minutes, Shatov. I’ll wake Arina +Prohorovna. Please don’t knock and don’t shout.… Oh, how awful it all +is!” +</p> +<p> +After five endless minutes, Arina Prohorovna made her appearance. +</p> +<p> +“Has your wife come?” Shatov heard her voice at the window, and to his +surprise it was not at all ill-tempered, only as usual peremptory, but +Arina Prohorovna could not speak except in a peremptory tone. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my wife, and she is in labour.” +</p> +<p> +“Marya Ignatyevna?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Marya Ignatyevna. Of course it’s Marya Ignatyevna.” +</p> +<p> +A silence followed. Shatov waited. He heard a whispering in the house. +</p> +<p> +“Has she been here long?” Madame Virginsky asked again. +</p> +<p> +“She came this evening at eight o’clock. Please make haste.” +</p> +<p> +Again he heard whispering, as though they were consulting. “Listen, you +are not making a mistake? Did she send you for me herself?” +</p> +<p> +“No, she didn’t send for you, she wants a peasant woman, so as not to +burden me with expense, but don’t be afraid, I’ll pay you.” +</p> +<p> +“Very good, I’ll come, whether you pay or not. I always thought highly +of Marya Ignatyevna for the independence of her sentiments, though +perhaps she won’t remember me. Have you got the most necessary things?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve nothing, but I’ll get everything, everything.” +</p> +<p> +“There is something generous even in these people,” Shatov reflected, +as he set off to Lyamshin’s. “The convictions and the man are two very +different things, very likely I’ve been very unfair to them!… We are +all to blame, we are all to blame … and if only all were convinced of +it!” +</p> +<p> +He had not to knock long at Lyamshin’s; the latter, to Shatov’s +surprise, opened his casement at once, jumping out of bed, barefoot +and in his night-clothes at the risk of catching cold; and he was +hypochondriacal and always anxious about his health. But there was +a special cause for such alertness and haste: Lyamshin had been in a +tremor all the evening, and had not been able to sleep for excitement +after the meeting of the quintet; he was haunted by the dread +of uninvited and undesired visitors. The news of Shatov’s giving +information tormented him more than anything.… And suddenly there +was this terrible loud knocking at the window as though to justify his +fears. +</p> +<p> +He was so frightened at seeing Shatov that he at once slammed the +casement and jumped back into bed. Shatov began furiously knocking and +shouting. +</p> +<p> +“How dare you knock like that in the middle of the night?” shouted +Lyamshin, in a threatening voice, though he was numb with fear, when at +least two minutes later he ventured to open the casement again, and was +at last convinced that Shatov had come alone. +</p> +<p> +“Here’s your revolver for you; take it back, give me fifteen roubles.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s the matter, are you drunk? This is outrageous, I shall simply +catch cold. Wait a minute, I’ll just throw my rug over me.” +</p> +<p> +“Give me fifteen roubles at once. If you don’t give it me, I’ll knock +and shout till daybreak; I’ll break your window-frame.” +</p> +<p> +“And I’ll shout police and you’ll be taken to the lock-up.” +</p> +<p> +“And am I dumb? Can’t I shout ‘police’ too? Which of us has most reason +to be afraid of the police, you or I?” +</p> +<p> +“And you can hold such contemptible opinions! I know what you are +hinting at.… Stop, stop, for God’s sake don’t go on knocking! Upon my +word, who has money at night? What do you want money for, unless you are +drunk?” +</p> +<p> +“My wife has come back. I’ve taken ten roubles off the price, I haven’t +fired it once; take the revolver, take it this minute!” +</p> +<p> +Lyamshin mechanically put his hand out of the casement and took the +revolver; he waited a little, and suddenly thrusting his head out of the +casement, and with a shiver running down his spine, faltered as though +he were beside himself. +</p> +<p> +“You are lying, your wife hasn’t come back to you.… It’s … it’s +simply that you want to run away.” +</p> +<p> +“You are a fool. Where should I run to? It’s for your Pyotr Verhovensky +to run away, not for me. I’ve just been to the midwife, Madame +Virginsky, and she consented at once to come to me. You can ask them. My +wife is in agony; I need the money; give it me!” +</p> +<p> +A swarm of ideas flared up in Lyamshin’s crafty mind like a shower of +fireworks. It all suddenly took a different colour, though still panic +prevented him from reflecting. +</p> +<p> +“But how … you are not living with your wife?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll break your skull for questions like that.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh dear, I understand, forgive me, I was struck all of a heap.… But I +understand, I understand … is Arina Prohorovna really coming? You said +just now that she had gone? You know, that’s not true. You see, you see, +you see what lies you tell at every step.” +</p> +<p> +“By now, she must be with my wife … don’t keep me … it’s not my fault +you are a fool.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a lie, I am not a fool. Excuse me, I really can’t …” +</p> +<p> +And utterly distraught he began shutting the casement again for the +third time, but Shatov gave such a yell that he put his head out again. +</p> +<p> +“But this is simply an unprovoked assault! What do you want of me, what +is it, what is it, formulate it? And think, only think, it’s the middle +of the night!” +</p> +<p> +“I want fifteen roubles, you sheep’s-head!” +</p> +<p> +“But perhaps I don’t care to take back the revolver. You have no right +to force me. You bought the thing and the matter is settled, and you’ve +no right.… I can’t give you a sum like that in the night, anyhow. +Where am I to get a sum like that?” +</p> +<p> +“You always have money. I’ve taken ten roubles off the price, but every +one knows you are a skinflint.” +</p> +<p> +“Come the day after to-morrow, do you hear, the day after to-morrow at +twelve o’clock, and I’ll give you the whole of it, that will do, won’t +it?” +</p> +<p> +Shatov knocked furiously at the window-frame for the third time. +</p> +<p> +“Give me ten roubles, and to-morrow early the other five.” +</p> +<p> +“No, the day after to-morrow the other five, to-morrow I swear I shan’t +have it. You’d better not come, you’d better not come.” +</p> +<p> +“Give me ten, you scoundrel!” +</p> +<p> +“Why are you so abusive. Wait a minute, I must light a candle; you’ve +broken the window.… Nobody swears like that at night. Here you are!” +He held a note to him out of the window. +</p> +<p> +Shatov seized it—it was a note for five roubles. +</p> +<p> +“On my honour I can’t do more, if you were to murder me, I couldn’t; the +day after to-morrow I can give you it all, but now I can do nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not going away!” roared Shatov. +</p> +<p> +“Very well, take it, here’s some more, see, here’s some more, and I +won’t give more. You can shout at the top of your voice, but I won’t +give more, I won’t, whatever happens, I won’t, I won’t.” +</p> +<p> +He was in a perfect frenzy, desperate and perspiring. The two notes +he had just given him were each for a rouble. Shatov had seven roubles +altogether now. +</p> +<p> +“Well, damn you, then, I’ll come to-morrow. I’ll thrash you, Lyamshin, +if you don’t give me the other eight.” +</p> +<p> +“You won’t find me at home, you fool!” Lyamshin reflected quickly. +</p> +<p> +“Stay, stay!” he shouted frantically after Shatov, who was already +running off. “Stay, come back. Tell me please, is it true what you said +that your wife has come back?” +</p> +<p> +“Fool!” cried Shatov, with a gesture of disgust, and ran home as hard as +he could. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +IV +</p> +<p> +I may mention that Anna Prohorovna knew nothing of the resolutions +that had been taken at the meeting the day before. On returning home +overwhelmed and exhausted, Virginsky had not ventured to tell her of the +decision that had been taken, yet he could not refrain from telling her +half—that is, all that Verhovensky had told them of the certainty of +Shatov’s intention to betray them; but he added at the same time that +he did not quite believe it. Arina Prohorovna was terribly alarmed. This +was why she decided at once to go when Shatov came to fetch her, though +she was tired out, as she had been hard at work at a confinement all the +night before. She had always been convinced that “a wretched creature +like Shatov was capable of any political baseness,” but the arrival of +Marya Ignatyevna put things in a different light. Shatov’s alarm, the +despairing tone of his entreaties, the way he begged for help, clearly +showed a complete change of feeling in the traitor: a man who was ready +to betray himself merely for the sake of ruining others would, she +thought, have had a different air and tone. In short, Arina Prohorovna +resolved to look into the matter for herself, with her own eyes. +Virginsky was very glad of her decision, he felt as though a +hundredweight had been lifted off him! He even began to feel +hopeful: Shatov’s appearance seemed to him utterly incompatible with +Verhovensky’s supposition. +</p> +<p> +Shatov was not mistaken: on getting home he found Arina Prohorovna +already with Marie. She had just arrived, had contemptuously dismissed +Kirillov, whom she found hanging about the foot of the stairs, had +hastily introduced herself to Marie, who had not recognised her as +her former acquaintance, found her in “a very bad way,” that is +ill-tempered, irritable and in “a state of cowardly despair,” and within +five minutes had completely silenced all her protests. +</p> +<p> +“Why do you keep on that you don’t want an expensive midwife?” she was +saying at the moment when Shatov came in. “That’s perfect nonsense, +it’s a false idea arising from the abnormality of your condition. In the +hands of some ordinary old woman, some peasant midwife, you’d have fifty +chances of going wrong and then you’d have more bother and expense than +with a regular midwife. How do you know I am an expensive midwife? You +can pay afterwards; I won’t charge you much and I answer for my success; +you won’t die in my hands, I’ve seen worse cases than yours. And I can +send the baby to a foundling asylum to-morrow, if you like, and then to +be brought up in the country, and that’s all it will mean. And meantime +you’ll grow strong again, take up some rational work, and in a very +short time you’ll repay Shatov for sheltering you and for the expense, +which will not be so great.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s not that … I’ve no right to be a burden.…” +</p> +<p> +“Rational feelings and worthy of a citizen, but you can take my word for +it, Shatov will spend scarcely anything, if he is willing to become ever +so little a man of sound ideas instead of the fantastic person he is. +He has only not to do anything stupid, not to raise an alarm, not to run +about the town with his tongue out. If we don’t restrain him he will be +knocking up all the doctors of the town before the morning; he waked +all the dogs in my street. There’s no need of doctors I’ve said already. +I’ll answer for everything. You can hire an old woman if you like +to wait on you, that won’t cost much. Though he too can do something +besides the silly things he’s been doing. He’s got hands and feet, he +can run to the chemist’s without offending your feelings by being too +benevolent. As though it were a case of benevolence! Hasn’t he brought +you into this position? Didn’t he make you break with the family in +which you were a governess, with the egoistic object of marrying you? We +heard of it, you know … though he did run for me like one possessed and +yell so all the street could hear. I won’t force myself upon anyone and +have come only for your sake, on the principle that all of us are bound +to hold together! And I told him so before I left the house. If you +think I am in the way, good-bye, I only hope you won’t have trouble +which might so easily be averted.” +</p> +<p> +And she positively got up from the chair. Marie was so helpless, in such +pain, and—the truth must be confessed—so frightened of what was before +her that she dared not let her go. But this woman was suddenly hateful +to her, what she said was not what she wanted, there was something quite +different in Marie’s soul. Yet the prediction that she might possibly +die in the hands of an inexperienced peasant woman overcame her +aversion. But she made up for it by being more exacting and more +ruthless than ever with Shatov. She ended by forbidding him not only to +look at her but even to stand facing her. Her pains became more violent. +Her curses, her abuse became more and more frantic. +</p> +<p> +“Ech, we’ll send him away,” Arina Prohorovna rapped out. “I don’t know +what he looks like, he is simply frightening you; he is as white as a +corpse! What is it to you, tell me please, you absurd fellow? What a +farce!” +</p> +<p> +Shatov made no reply, he made up his mind to say nothing. “I’ve seen +many a foolish father, half crazy in such cases. But they, at any +rate …” +</p> +<p> +“Be quiet or leave me to die! Don’t say another word! I won’t have it, I +won’t have it!” screamed Marie. +</p> +<p> +“It’s impossible not to say another word, if you are not out of your +mind, as I think you are in your condition. We must talk of what we +want, anyway: tell me, have you anything ready? You answer, Shatov, she +is incapable.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me what’s needed?” +</p> +<p> +“That means you’ve nothing ready.” She reckoned up all that was quite +necessary, and one must do her the justice to say she only asked for +what was absolutely indispensable, the barest necessaries. Some things +Shatov had. Marie took out her key and held it out to him, for him to +look in her bag. As his hands shook he was longer than he should have +been opening the unfamiliar lock. Marie flew into a rage, but when Arina +Prohorovna rushed up to take the key from him, she would not allow her +on any account to look into her bag and with peevish cries and tears +insisted that no one should open the bag but Shatov. +</p> +<p> +Some things he had to fetch from Kirillov’s. No sooner had Shatov turned +to go for them than she began frantically calling him back and was only +quieted when Shatov had rushed impetuously back from the stairs, and +explained that he should only be gone a minute to fetch something +indispensable and would be back at once. +</p> +<p> +“Well, my lady, it’s hard to please you,” laughed Arina Prohorovna, “one +minute he must stand with his face to the wall and not dare to look at +you, and the next he mustn’t be gone for a minute, or you begin crying. +He may begin to imagine something. Come, come, don’t be silly, don’t +blubber, I was laughing, you know.” +</p> +<p> +“He won’t dare to imagine anything.” +</p> +<p> +“Tut, tut, tut, if he didn’t love you like a sheep he wouldn’t run about +the streets with his tongue out and wouldn’t have roused all the dogs in +the town. He broke my window-frame.” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +V +</p> +<p> +He found Kirillov still pacing up and down his room so preoccupied that +he had forgotten the arrival of Shatov’s wife, and heard what he said +without understanding him. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes!” he recollected suddenly, as though tearing himself with an +effort and only for an instant from some absorbing idea, “yes … an +old woman.… A wife or an old woman? Stay a minute: a wife and an old +woman, is that it? I remember. I’ve been, the old woman will come, only +not just now. Take the pillow. Is there anything else? Yes.… Stay, do +you have moments of the eternal harmony, Shatov?” +</p> +<p> +“You know, Kirillov, you mustn’t go on staying up every night.” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov came out of his reverie and, strange to say, spoke far more +coherently than he usually did; it was clear that he had formulated it +long ago and perhaps written it down. +</p> +<p> +“There are seconds—they come five or six at a time—when you suddenly +feel the presence of the eternal harmony perfectly attained. It’s +something not earthly—I don’t mean in the sense that it’s heavenly—but +in that sense that man cannot endure it in his earthly aspect. He must +be physically changed or die. This feeling is clear and unmistakable; +it’s as though you apprehend all nature and suddenly say, ‘Yes, that’s +right.’ God, when He created the world, said at the end of each day +of creation, ‘Yes, it’s right, it’s good.’ It … it’s not being deeply +moved, but simply joy. You don’t forgive anything because there is no +more need of forgiveness. It’s not that you love—oh, there’s something +in it higher than love—what’s most awful is that it’s terribly clear +and such joy. If it lasted more than five seconds, the soul could +not endure it and must perish. In those five seconds I live through a +lifetime, and I’d give my whole life for them, because they are worth +it. To endure ten seconds one must be physically changed. I think man +ought to give up having children—what’s the use of children, what’s the +use of evolution when the goal has been attained? In the gospel it is +written that there will be no child-bearing in the resurrection, but +that men will be like the angels of the Lord. That’s a hint. Is your +wife bearing a child?” +</p> +<p> +“Kirillov, does this often happen?” +</p> +<p> +“Once in three days, or once a week.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t you have fits, perhaps?” +</p> +<p> +“No.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, you will. Be careful, Kirillov. I’ve heard that’s just how fits +begin. An epileptic described exactly that sensation before a fit, word +for word as you’ve done. He mentioned five seconds, too, and said that +more could not be endured. Remember Mahomet’s pitcher from which no drop +of water was spilt while he circled Paradise on his horse. That was a +case of five seconds too; that’s too much like your eternal harmony, and +Mahomet was an epileptic. Be careful, Kirillov, it’s epilepsy!” +</p> +<p> +“It won’t have time,” Kirillov smiled gently. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +VI +</p> +<p> +The night was passing. Shatov was sent hither and thither, abused, +called back. Marie was reduced to the most abject terror for life. She +screamed that she wanted to live, that “she must, she must,” and was +afraid to die. “I don’t want to, I don’t want to!” she repeated. If +Arina Prohorovna had not been there, things would have gone very badly. +By degrees she gained complete control of the patient—who began to obey +every word, every order from her like a child. Arina Prohorovna ruled by +sternness not by kindness, but she was first-rate at her work. It began +to get light … Arina Prohorovna suddenly imagined that Shatov had just +run out on to the stairs to say his prayers and began laughing. Marie +laughed too, spitefully, malignantly, as though such laughter relieved +her. At last they drove Shatov away altogether. A damp, cold morning +dawned. He pressed his face to the wall in the corner just as he had +done the evening before when Erkel came. He was trembling like a leaf, +afraid to think, but his mind caught at every thought as it does in +dreams. +</p> +<p> +He was continually being carried away by day-dreams, which snapped off +short like a rotten thread. From the room came no longer groans but +awful animal cries, unendurable, incredible. He tried to stop up his +ears, but could not, and he fell on his knees, repeating unconsciously, +“Marie, Marie!” Then suddenly he heard a cry, a new cry, which made +Shatov start and jump up from his knees, the cry of a baby, a weak +discordant cry. He crossed himself and rushed into the room. Arina +Prohorovna held in her hands a little red wrinkled creature, screaming, +and moving its little arms and legs, fearfully helpless, and looking +as though it could be blown away by a puff of wind, but screaming and +seeming to assert its full right to live. Marie was lying as though +insensible, but a minute later she opened her eyes, and bent a strange, +strange look on Shatov: it was something quite new, that look. What it +meant exactly he was not able to understand yet, but he had never known +such a look on her face before. +</p> +<p> +“Is it a boy? Is it a boy?” she asked Arina Prohorovna in an exhausted +voice. +</p> +<p> +“It is a boy,” the latter shouted in reply, as she bound up the child. +</p> +<p> +When she had bound him up and was about to lay him across the bed +between the two pillows, she gave him to Shatov for a minute to hold. +Marie signed to him on the sly as though afraid of Arina Prohorovna. He +understood at once and brought the baby to show her. +</p> +<p> +“How … pretty he is,” she whispered weakly with a smile. +</p> +<p> +“Foo, what does he look like,” Arina Prohorovna laughed gaily in +triumph, glancing at Shatov’s face. “What a funny face!” +</p> +<p> +“You may be merry, Arina Prohorovna.… It’s a great joy,” Shatov +faltered with an expression of idiotic bliss, radiant at the phrase +Marie had uttered about the child. +</p> +<p> +“Where does the great joy come in?” said Arina Prohorovna +good-humouredly, bustling about, clearing up, and working like a +convict. +</p> +<p> +“The mysterious coming of a new creature, a great and inexplicable +mystery; and what a pity it is, Arina Prohorovna, that you don’t +understand it.” +</p> +<p> +Shatov spoke in an incoherent, stupefied and ecstatic way. Something +seemed to be tottering in his head and welling up from his soul apart +from his own will. +</p> +<p> +“There were two and now there’s a third human being, a new spirit, +finished and complete, unlike the handiwork of man; a new thought and a +new love … it’s positively frightening.… And there’s nothing grander +in the world.” +</p> +<p> +“Ech, what nonsense he talks! It’s simply a further development of +the organism, and there’s nothing else in it, no mystery,” said Arina +Prohorovna with genuine and good-humoured laughter. “If you talk like +that, every fly is a mystery. But I tell you what: superfluous people +ought not to be born. We must first remould everything so that they +won’t be superfluous and then bring them into the world. As it is, we +shall have to take him to the Foundling, the day after to-morrow.… +Though that’s as it should be.” +</p> +<p> +“I will never let him go to the Foundling,” Shatov pronounced +resolutely, staring at the floor. +</p> +<p> +“You adopt him as your son?” +</p> +<p> +“He is my son.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course he is a Shatov, legally he is a Shatov, and there’s no need +for you to pose as a humanitarian. Men can’t get on without fine words. +There, there, it’s all right, but look here, my friends,” she added, +having finished clearing up at last, “it’s time for me to go. I’ll come +again this morning, and again in the evening if necessary, but now, +since everything has gone off so well, I must run off to my other +patients, they’ve been expecting me long ago. I believe you got an old +woman somewhere, Shatov; an old woman is all very well, but don’t you, +her tender husband, desert her; sit beside her, you may be of use; Marya +Ignatyevna won’t drive you away, I fancy.… There, there, I was only +laughing.” +</p> +<p> +At the gate, to which Shatov accompanied her, she added to him alone. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve given me something to laugh at for the rest of my life; I shan’t +charge you anything; I shall laugh at you in my sleep! I have never seen +anything funnier than you last night.” +</p> +<p> +She went off very well satisfied. Shatov’s appearance and conversation +made it as clear as daylight that this man “was going in for being a +father and was a ninny.” She ran home on purpose to tell Virginsky about +it, though it was shorter and more direct to go to another patient. +</p> +<p> +“Marie, she told you not to go to sleep for a little time, though, I +see, it’s very hard for you,” Shatov began timidly. “I’ll sit here by +the window and take care of you, shall I?” +</p> +<p> +And he sat down, by the window behind the sofa so that she could not see +him. But before a minute had passed she called him and fretfully asked +him to arrange the pillow. He began arranging it. She looked angrily at +the wall. +</p> +<p> +“That’s not right, that’s not right.… What hands!” +</p> +<p> +Shatov did it again. +</p> +<p> +“Stoop down to me,” she said wildly, trying hard not to look at him. +</p> +<p> +He started but stooped down. +</p> +<p> +“More … not so … nearer,” and suddenly her left arm was impulsively +thrown round his neck and he felt her warm moist kiss on his forehead. +</p> +<p> +“Marie!” +</p> +<p> +Her lips were quivering, she was struggling with herself, but suddenly +she raised herself and said with flashing eyes: +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Stavrogin is a scoundrel!” And she fell back helplessly with +her face in the pillow, sobbing hysterically, and tightly squeezing +Shatov’s hand in hers. +</p> +<p> +From that moment she would not let him leave her; she insisted on his +sitting by her pillow. She could not talk much but she kept gazing at +him and smiling blissfully. She seemed suddenly to have become a silly +girl. Everything seemed transformed. Shatov cried like a boy, then +talked of God knows what, wildly, crazily, with inspiration, kissed +her hands; she listened entranced, perhaps not understanding him, but +caressingly ruffling his hair with her weak hand, smoothing it and +admiring it. He talked about Kirillov, of how they would now begin “a +new life” for good, of the existence of God, of the goodness of all men.… +She took out the child again to gaze at it rapturously. +</p> +<p> +“Marie,” he cried, as he held the child in his arms, “all the old +madness, shame, and deadness is over, isn’t it? Let us work hard and +begin a new life, the three of us, yes, yes!… Oh, by the way, what +shall we call him, Marie?” +</p> +<p> +“What shall we call him?” she repeated with surprise, and there was a +sudden look of terrible grief in her face. +</p> +<p> +She clasped her hands, looked reproachfully at Shatov and hid her face +in the pillow. +</p> +<p> +“Marie, what is it?” he cried with painful alarm. +</p> +<p> +“How could you, how could you … Oh, you ungrateful man!” +</p> +<p> +“Marie, forgive me, Marie … I only asked you what his name should be. I +don’t know.…” +</p> +<p> +“Ivan, Ivan.” She raised her flushed and tear-stained face. “How could +you suppose we should call him by another <i>horrible</i> name?” +</p> +<p> +“Marie, calm yourself; oh, what a nervous state you are in!” +</p> +<p> +“That’s rude again, putting it down to my nerves. I bet that if I’d said +his name was to be that other … horrible name, you’d have agreed +at once and not have noticed it even! Oh, men, the mean ungrateful +creatures, they are all alike!” +</p> +<p> +A minute later, of course, they were reconciled. Shatov persuaded her to +have a nap. She fell asleep but still kept his hand in hers; she waked +up frequently, looked at him, as though afraid he would go away, and +dropped asleep again. +</p> +<p> +Kirillov sent an old woman “to congratulate them,” as well as some hot +tea, some freshly cooked cutlets, and some broth and white bread for +Marya Ignatyevna. The patient sipped the broth greedily, the old woman +undid the baby’s wrappings and swaddled it afresh, Marie made Shatov +have a cutlet too. +</p> +<p> +Time was passing. Shatov, exhausted, fell asleep himself in his chair, +with his head on Marie’s pillow. So they were found by Arina Prohorovna, +who kept her word. She waked them up gaily, asked Marie some necessary +questions, examined the baby, and again forbade Shatov to leave her. +Then, jesting at the “happy couple,” with a shade of contempt and +superciliousness she went away as well satisfied as before. +</p> +<p> +It was quite dark when Shatov waked up. He made haste to light the +candle and ran for the old woman; but he had hardly begun to go down the +stairs when he was struck by the sound of the soft, deliberate steps of +someone coming up towards him. Erkel came in. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t come in,” whispered Shatov, and impulsively seizing him by the +hand he drew him back towards the gate. “Wait here, I’ll come directly, +I’d completely forgotten you, completely! Oh, how you brought it back!” +</p> +<p> +He was in such haste that he did not even run in to Kirillov’s, but +only called the old woman. Marie was in despair and indignation that “he +could dream of leaving her alone.” +</p> +<p> +“But,” he cried ecstatically, “this is the very last step! And then for +a new life and we’ll never, never think of the old horrors again!” +</p> +<p> +He somehow appeased her and promised to be back at nine o’clock; he +kissed her warmly, kissed the baby and ran down quickly to Erkel. +</p> +<p> +They set off together to Stavrogin’s park at Skvoreshniki, where, in a +secluded place at the very edge of the park where it adjoined the pine +wood, he had, eighteen months before, buried the printing press which +had been entrusted to him. It was a wild and deserted place, quite +hidden and at some distance from the Stavrogins’ house. It was two or +perhaps three miles from Filipov’s house. +</p> +<p> +“Are we going to walk all the way? I’ll take a cab.” +</p> +<p> +“I particularly beg you not to,” replied Erkel. +</p> +<p> +They insisted on that. A cabman would be a witness. +</p> +<p> +“Well … bother! I don’t care, only to make an end of it.” +</p> +<p> +They walked very fast. +</p> +<p> +“Erkel, you little boy,” cried Shatov, “have you ever been happy?” +</p> +<p> +“You seem to be very happy just now,” observed Erkel with curiosity. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0021"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER VI. A BUSY NIGHT +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +During that day Virginsky had spent two hours in running round to +see the members of the quintet and to inform them that Shatov would +certainly not give information, because his wife had come back and given +birth to a child, and no one “who knew anything of human nature” could +suppose that Shatov could be a danger at this moment. But to his +discomfiture he found none of them at home except Erkel and Lyamshin. +Erkel listened in silence, looking candidly into his eyes, and in answer +to the direct question “Would he go at six o’clock or not?” he replied +with the brightest of smiles that “of course he would go.” +</p> +<p> +Lyamshin was in bed, seriously ill, as it seemed, with his head covered +with a quilt. He was alarmed at Virginsky’s coming in, and as soon as +the latter began speaking he waved him off from under the bedclothes, +entreating him to let him alone. He listened to all he said about +Shatov, however, and seemed for some reason extremely struck by the news +that Virginsky had found no one at home. It seemed that Lyamshin +knew already (through Liputin) of Fedka’s death, and hurriedly and +incoherently told Virginsky about it, at which the latter seemed struck +in his turn. To Virginsky’s direct question, “Should they go or not?” he +began suddenly waving his hands again, entreating him to let him alone, +and saying that it was not his business, and that he knew nothing about +it. +</p> +<p> +Virginsky returned home dejected and greatly alarmed. It weighed upon +him that he had to hide it from his family; he was accustomed to tell +his wife everything; and if his feverish brain had not hatched a new +idea at that moment, a new plan of conciliation for further action, he +might have taken to his bed like Lyamshin. But this new idea sustained +him; what’s more, he began impatiently awaiting the hour fixed, and set +off for the appointed spot earlier than was necessary. It was a very +gloomy place at the end of the huge park. I went there afterwards on +purpose to look at it. How sinister it must have looked on that chill +autumn evening! It was at the edge of an old wood belonging to the +Crown. Huge ancient pines stood out as vague sombre blurs in the +darkness. It was so dark that they could hardly see each other two paces +off, but Pyotr Stepanovitch, Liputin, and afterwards Erkel, brought +lanterns with them. At some unrecorded date in the past a rather +absurd-looking grotto had for some reason been built here of rough +unhewn stones. The table and benches in the grotto had long ago decayed +and fallen. Two hundred paces to the right was the bank of the third +pond of the park. These three ponds stretched one after another for +a mile from the house to the very end of the park. One could scarcely +imagine that any noise, a scream, or even a shot, could reach the +inhabitants of the Stavrogins’ deserted house. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s +departure the previous day and Alexey Yegorytch’s absence left only five +or six people in the house, all more or less invalided, so to speak. In +any case it might be assumed with perfect confidence that if cries or +shouts for help were heard by any of the inhabitants of the isolated +house they would only have excited terror; no one would have moved from +his warm stove or snug shelf to give assistance. +</p> +<p> +By twenty past six almost all of them except Erkel, who had been told +off to fetch Shatov, had turned up at the trysting-place. This time +Pyotr Stepanovitch was not late; he came with Tolkatchenko. Tolkatchenko +looked frowning and anxious; all his assumed determination and insolent +bravado had vanished. He scarcely left Pyotr Stepanovitch’s side, and +seemed to have become all at once immensely devoted to him. He was +continually thrusting himself forward to whisper fussily to him, but the +latter scarcely answered him, or muttered something irritably to get rid +of him. +</p> +<p> +Shigalov and Virginsky had arrived rather before Pyotr Stepanovitch, and +as soon as he came they drew a little apart in profound and obviously +intentional silence. Pyotr Stepanovitch raised his lantern and examined +them with unceremonious and insulting minuteness. “They mean to speak,” +flashed through his mind. +</p> +<p> +“Isn’t Lyamshin here?” he asked Virginsky. “Who said he was ill?” +</p> +<p> +“I am here,” responded Lyamshin, suddenly coming from behind a tree. +He was in a warm greatcoat and thickly muffled in a rug, so that it was +difficult to make out his face even with a lantern. +</p> +<p> +“So Liputin is the only one not here?” +</p> +<p> +Liputin too came out of the grotto without speaking. Pyotr Stepanovitch +raised the lantern again. +</p> +<p> +“Why were you hiding in there? Why didn’t you come out?” +</p> +<p> +“I imagine we still keep the right of freedom … of our actions,” +Liputin muttered, though probably he hardly knew what he wanted to +express. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, raising his voice for the first +time above a whisper, which produced an effect, “I think you fully +understand that it’s useless to go over things again. Everything +was said and fully thrashed out yesterday, openly and directly. +But perhaps—as I see from your faces—someone wants to make some +statement; in that case I beg you to make haste. Damn it all! there’s +not much time, and Erkel may bring him in a minute.…” +</p> +<p> +“He is sure to bring him,” Tolkatchenko put in for some reason. +</p> +<p> +“If I am not mistaken, the printing press will be handed over, to begin +with?” inquired Liputin, though again he seemed hardly to understand why +he asked the question. +</p> +<p> +“Of course. Why should we lose it?” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, lifting the +lantern to his face. “But, you see, we all agreed yesterday that it was +not really necessary to take it. He need only show you the exact spot +where it’s buried; we can dig it up afterwards for ourselves. I know +that it’s somewhere ten paces from a corner of this grotto. But, damn +it all! how could you have forgotten, Liputin? It was agreed that you +should meet him alone and that we should come out afterwards.… It’s +strange that you should ask—or didn’t you mean what you said?” +</p> +<p> +Liputin kept gloomily silent. All were silent. The wind shook the tops +of the pine-trees. +</p> +<p> +“I trust, however, gentlemen, that every one will do his duty,” Pyotr +Stepanovitch rapped out impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“I know that Shatov’s wife has come back and has given birth to a +child,” Virginsky said suddenly, excited and gesticulating and scarcely +able to speak distinctly. “Knowing what human nature is, we can be sure +that now he won’t give information … because he is happy.… So I +went to every one this morning and found no one at home, so perhaps now +nothing need be done.…” +</p> +<p> +He stopped short with a catch in his breath. +</p> +<p> +“If you suddenly became happy, Mr. Virginsky,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, +stepping up to him, “would you abandon—not giving information; there’s +no question of that—but any perilous public action which you had +planned before you were happy and which you regarded as a duty and +obligation in spite of the risk and loss of happiness?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I wouldn’t abandon it! I wouldn’t on any account!” said Virginsky +with absurd warmth, twitching all over. +</p> +<p> +“You would rather be unhappy again than be a scoundrel?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes.… Quite the contrary.… I’d rather be a complete +scoundrel … that is no … not a scoundrel at all, but on the contrary +completely unhappy rather than a scoundrel.” +</p> +<p> +“Well then, let me tell you that Shatov looks on this betrayal as a +public duty. It’s his most cherished conviction, and the proof of it is +that he runs some risk himself; though, of course, they will pardon him +a great deal for giving information. A man like that will never give up +the idea. No sort of happiness would overcome him. In another day he’ll +go back on it, reproach himself, and will go straight to the police. +What’s more, I don’t see any happiness in the fact that his wife +has come back after three years’ absence to bear him a child of +Stavrogin’s.” +</p> +<p> +“But no one has seen Shatov’s letter,” Shigalov brought out all at once, +emphatically. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve seen it,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch. “It exists, and all this is +awfully stupid, gentlemen.” +</p> +<p> +“And I protest …” Virginsky cried, boiling over suddenly: “I protest +with all my might.… I want … this is what I want. I suggest that when +he arrives we all come out and question him, and if it’s true, we induce +him to repent of it; and if he gives us his word of honour, let him +go. In any case we must have a trial; it must be done after trial. We +mustn’t lie in wait for him and then fall upon him.” +</p> +<p> +“Risk the cause on his word of honour—that’s the acme of stupidity! +Damnation, how stupid it all is now, gentlemen! And a pretty part you +are choosing to play at the moment of danger!” +</p> +<p> +“I protest, I protest!” Virginsky persisted. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t bawl, anyway; we shan’t hear the signal. Shatov, gentlemen.… +(Damnation, how stupid this is now!) I’ve told you already that Shatov +is a Slavophil, that is, one of the stupidest set of people.… But, +damn it all, never mind, that’s no matter! You put me out!… Shatov is +an embittered man, gentlemen, and since he has belonged to the party, +anyway, whether he wanted to or no, I had hoped till the last minute +that he might have been of service to the cause and might have been +made use of as an embittered man. I spared him and was keeping him +in reserve, in spite of most exact instructions.… I’ve spared him a +hundred times more than he deserved! But he’s ended by betraying +us.… But, hang it all, I don’t care! You’d better try running away +now, any of you! No one of you has the right to give up the job! You can +kiss him if you like, but you haven’t the right to stake the cause on +his word of honour! That’s acting like swine and spies in government +pay!” +</p> +<p> +“Who’s a spy in government pay here?” Liputin filtered out. +</p> +<p> +“You, perhaps. You’d better hold your tongue, Liputin; you talk for the +sake of talking, as you always do. All men are spies, gentlemen, who +funk their duty at the moment of danger. There will always be some fools +who’ll run in a panic at the last moment and cry out, ‘Aie, forgive +me, and I’ll give them all away!’ But let me tell you, gentlemen, +no betrayal would win you a pardon now. Even if your sentence were +mitigated it would mean Siberia; and, what’s more, there’s no escaping +the weapons of the other side—and their weapons are sharper than the +government’s.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch was furious and said more than he meant to. With a +resolute air Shigalov took three steps towards him. “Since yesterday +evening I’ve thought over the question,” he began, speaking with his +usual pedantry and assurance. (I believe that if the earth had given way +under his feet he would not have raised his voice nor have varied one +tone in his methodical exposition.) “Thinking the matter over, I’ve come +to the conclusion that the projected murder is not merely a waste of +precious time which might be employed in a more suitable and befitting +manner, but presents, moreover, that deplorable deviation from the +normal method which has always been most prejudicial to the cause +and has delayed its triumph for scores of years, under the guidance of +shallow thinkers and pre-eminently of men of political instead of purely +socialistic leanings. I have come here solely to protest against the +projected enterprise, for the general edification, intending then +to withdraw at the actual moment, which you, for some reason I don’t +understand, speak of as a moment of danger to you. I am going—not from +fear of that danger nor from a sentimental feeling for Shatov, whom I +have no inclination to kiss, but solely because all this business from +beginning to end is in direct contradiction to my programme. As for my +betraying you and my being in the pay of the government, you can set +your mind completely at rest. I shall not betray you.” +</p> +<p> +He turned and walked away. +</p> +<p> +“Damn it all, he’ll meet them and warn Shatov!” cried Pyotr +Stepanovitch, pulling out his revolver. They heard the click of the +trigger. +</p> +<p> +“You may be confident,” said Shigalov, turning once more, “that if I +meet Shatov on the way I may bow to him, but I shall not warn him.” +</p> +<p> +“But do you know, you may have to pay for this, Mr. Fourier?” +</p> +<p> +“I beg you to observe that I am not Fourier. If you mix me up with that +mawkish theoretical twaddler you simply prove that you know nothing of +my manuscript, though it has been in your hands. As for your vengeance, +let me tell you that it’s a mistake to cock your pistol: that’s +absolutely against your interests at the present moment. But if you +threaten to shoot me to-morrow, or the day after, you’ll gain nothing by +it but unnecessary trouble. You may kill me, but sooner or later you’ll +come to my system all the same. Good-bye.” +</p> +<p> +At that instant a whistle was heard in the park, two hundred paces away +from the direction of the pond. Liputin at once answered, whistling also +as had been agreed the evening before. (As he had lost several teeth and +distrusted his own powers, he had this morning bought for a farthing +in the market a child’s clay whistle for the purpose.) Erkel had warned +Shatov on the way that they would whistle as a signal, so that the +latter felt no uneasiness. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be uneasy, I’ll avoid them and they won’t notice me at all,” +Shigalov declared in an impressive whisper; and thereupon deliberately +and without haste he walked home through the dark park. +</p> +<p> +Everything, to the smallest detail of this terrible affair, is now fully +known. To begin with, Liputin met Erkel and Shatov at the entrance +to the grotto. Shatov did not bow or offer him his hand, but at once +pronounced hurriedly in a loud voice: +</p> +<p> +“Well, where have you put the spade, and haven’t you another lantern? +You needn’t be afraid, there’s absolutely no one here, and they wouldn’t +hear at Skvoreshniki now if we fired a cannon here. This is the place, +here this very spot.” +</p> +<p> +And he stamped with his foot ten paces from the end of the grotto +towards the wood. At that moment Tolkatchenko rushed out from behind +a tree and sprang at him from behind, while Erkel seized him by the +elbows. Liputin attacked him from the front. The three of them at once +knocked him down and pinned him to the ground. At this point Pyotr +Stepanovitch darted up with his revolver. It is said that Shatov had +time to turn his head and was able to see and recognise him. Three +lanterns lighted up the scene. Shatov suddenly uttered a short and +desperate scream. But they did not let him go on screaming. Pyotr +Stepanovitch firmly and accurately put his revolver to Shatov’s +forehead, pressed it to it, and pulled the trigger. The shot seems not +to have been loud; nothing was heard at Skvoreshniki, anyway. Shigalov, +who was scarcely three paces away, of course heard it—he heard the +shout and the shot, but, as he testified afterwards, he did not turn nor +even stop. Death was almost instantaneous. Pyotr Stepanovitch was the +only one who preserved all his faculties, but I don’t think he was quite +cool. Squatting on his heels, he searched the murdered man’s pockets +hastily, though with steady hand. No money was found (his purse had been +left under Marya Ignatyevna’s pillow). Two or three scraps of paper +of no importance were found: a note from his office, the title of some +book, and an old bill from a restaurant abroad which had been preserved, +goodness knows why, for two years in his pocket. Pyotr Stepanovitch +transferred these scraps of paper to his own pocket, and suddenly +noticing that they had all gathered round, were gazing at the corpse and +doing nothing, he began rudely and angrily abusing them and urging them +on. Tolkatchenko and Erkel recovered themselves, and running to the +grotto brought instantly from it two stones which they had got ready +there that morning. These stones, which weighed about twenty pounds +each, were securely tied with cord. As they intended to throw the body +in the nearest of the three ponds, they proceeded to tie the stones to +the head and feet respectively. Pyotr Stepanovitch fastened the stones +while Tolkatchenko and Erkel only held and passed them. Erkel was +foremost, and while Pyotr Stepanovitch, grumbling and swearing, tied the +dead man’s feet together with the cord and fastened the stone to them—a +rather lengthy operation—Tolkatchenko stood holding the other stone +at arm’s-length, his whole person bending forward, as it were, +deferentially, to be in readiness to hand it without delay. It never +once occurred to him to lay his burden on the ground in the interval. +When at last both stones were tied on and Pyotr Stepanovitch got up from +the ground to scrutinise the faces of his companions, something strange +happened, utterly unexpected and surprising to almost every one. +</p> +<p> +As I have said already, all except perhaps Tolkatchenko and Erkel were +standing still doing nothing. Though Virginsky had rushed up to Shatov +with the others he had not seized him or helped to hold him. Lyamshin +had joined the group after the shot had been fired. Afterwards, +while Pyotr Stepanovitch was busy with the corpse—for perhaps ten +minutes—none of them seemed to have been fully conscious. They grouped +themselves around and seemed to have felt amazement rather than anxiety +or alarm. Liputin stood foremost, close to the corpse. Virginsky stood +behind him, peeping over his shoulder with a peculiar, as it were +unconcerned, curiosity; he even stood on tiptoe to get a better view. +Lyamshin hid behind Virginsky. He took an apprehensive peep from time to +time and slipped behind him again at once. When the stones had been tied +on and Pyotr Stepanovitch had risen to his feet, Virginsky began faintly +shuddering all over, clasped his hands, and cried out bitterly at the +top of his voice: +</p> +<p> +“It’s not the right thing, it’s not, it’s not at all!” He would perhaps +have added something more to his belated exclamation, but Lyamshin did +not let him finish: he suddenly seized him from behind and squeezed him +with all his might, uttering an unnatural shriek. There are moments of +violent emotion, of terror, for instance, when a man will cry out in a +voice not his own, unlike anything one could have anticipated from him, +and this has sometimes a very terrible effect. Lyamshin gave vent to a +scream more animal than human. Squeezing Virginsky from behind more and +more tightly and convulsively, he went on shrieking without a pause, +his mouth wide open and his eyes starting out of his head, keeping up +a continual patter with his feet, as though he were beating a drum. +Virginsky was so scared that he too screamed out like a madman, and +with a ferocity, a vindictiveness that one could never have expected of +Virginsky. He tried to pull himself away from Lyamshin, scratching and +punching him as far as he could with his arms behind him. Erkel at last +helped to pull Lyamshin away. But when, in his terror, Virginsky had +skipped ten paces away from him, Lyamshin, catching sight of Pyotr +Stepanovitch, began yelling again and flew at him. Stumbling over +the corpse, he fell upon Pyotr Stepanovitch, pressing his head to +the latter’s chest and gripping him so tightly in his arms that Pyotr +Stepanovitch, Tolkatchenko, and Liputin could all of them do nothing +at the first moment. Pyotr Stepanovitch shouted, swore, beat him on +the head with his fists. At last, wrenching himself away, he drew his +revolver and put it in the open mouth of Lyamshin, who was still yelling +and was by now tightly held by Tolkatchenko, Erkel, and Liputin. But +Lyamshin went on shrieking in spite of the revolver. At last Erkel, +crushing his silk handkerchief into a ball, deftly thrust it into his +mouth and the shriek ceased. Meantime Tolkatchenko tied his hands with +what was left of the rope. +</p> +<p> +“It’s very strange,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, scrutinising the madman +with uneasy wonder. He was evidently struck. “I expected something very +different from him,” he added thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +They left Erkel in charge of him for a time. They had to make haste to +get rid of the corpse: there had been so much noise that someone might +have heard. Tolkatchenko and Pyotr Stepanovitch took up the lanterns +and lifted the corpse by the head, while Liputin and Virginsky took the +feet, and so they carried it away. With the two stones it was a heavy +burden, and the distance was more than two hundred paces. Tolkatchenko +was the strongest of them. He advised them to keep in step, but no one +answered him and they all walked anyhow. Pyotr Stepanovitch walked +on the right and, bending forward, carried the dead man’s head on +his shoulder while with the left hand he supported the stone. As +Tolkatchenko walked more than half the way without thinking of helping +him with the stone, Pyotr Stepanovitch at last shouted at him with an +oath. It was a single, sudden shout. They all went on carrying the body +in silence, and it was only when they reached the pond that Virginsky, +stooping under his burden and seeming to be exhausted by the weight of +it, cried out again in the same loud and wailing voice: +</p> +<p> +“It’s not the right thing, no, no, it’s not the right thing!” +</p> +<p> +The place to which they carried the dead man at the extreme end of the +rather large pond, which was the farthest of the three from the house, +was one of the most solitary and unfrequented spots in the park, +especially at this late season of the year. At that end the pond was +overgrown with weeds by the banks. They put down the lantern, swung the +corpse and threw it into the pond. They heard a muffled and prolonged +splash. Pyotr Stepanovitch raised the lantern and every one followed his +example, peering curiously to see the body sink, but nothing could +be seen: weighted with the two stones, the body sank at once. The big +ripples spread over the surface of the water and quickly passed away. It +was over. +</p> +<p> +Virginsky went off with Erkel, who before giving up Lyamshin to +Tolkatchenko brought him to Pyotr Stepanovitch, reporting to the +latter that Lyamshin had come to his senses, was penitent and begged +forgiveness, and indeed had no recollection of what had happened to him. +Pyotr Stepanovitch walked off alone, going round by the farther side of +the pond, skirting the park. This was the longest way. To his surprise +Liputin overtook him before he got half-way home. +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch! Pyotr Stepanovitch! Lyamshin will give +information!” +</p> +<p> +“No, he will come to his senses and realise that he will be the first to +go to Siberia if he did. No one will betray us now. Even you won’t.” +</p> +<p> +“What about you?” +</p> +<p> +“No fear! I’ll get you all out of the way the minute you attempt to turn +traitors, and you know that. But you won’t turn traitors. Have you run a +mile and a half to tell me that?” +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch, Pyotr Stepanovitch, perhaps we shall never meet +again!” +</p> +<p> +“What’s put that into your head?” +</p> +<p> +“Only tell me one thing.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, what? Though I want you to take yourself off.” +</p> +<p> +“One question, but answer it truly: are we the only quintet in the +world, or is it true that there are hundreds of others? It’s a question +of the utmost importance to me, Pyotr Stepanovitch.” +</p> +<p> +“I see that from the frantic state you are in. But do you know, Liputin, +you are more dangerous than Lyamshin?” +</p> +<p> +“I know, I know; but the answer, your answer!” +</p> +<p> +“You are a stupid fellow! I should have thought it could make no +difference to you now whether it’s the only quintet or one of a +thousand.” +</p> +<p> +“That means it’s the only one! I was sure of it …” cried Liputin. +“I always knew it was the only one, I knew it all along.” And without +waiting for any reply he turned and quickly vanished into the darkness. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch pondered a little. +</p> +<p> +“No, no one will turn traitor,” he concluded with decision, “but the +group must remain a group and obey, or I’ll … What a wretched set they +are though!” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +He first went home, and carefully, without haste, packed his trunk. At +six o’clock in the morning there was a special train from the town. +This early morning express only ran once a week, and was only a recent +experiment. Though Pyotr Stepanovitch had told the members of the +quintet that he was only going to be away for a short time in the +neighbourhood, his intentions, as appeared later, were in reality +very different. Having finished packing, he settled accounts with his +landlady to whom he had previously given notice of his departure, and +drove in a cab to Erkel’s lodgings, near the station. And then just upon +one o’clock at night he walked to Kirillov’s, approaching as before by +Fedka’s secret way. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch was in a painful state of mind. Apart from other +extremely grave reasons for dissatisfaction (he was still unable to +learn anything of Stavrogin), he had, it seems—for I cannot assert +it for a fact—received in the course of that day, probably from +Petersburg, secret information of a danger awaiting him in the immediate +future. There are, of course, many legends in the town relating to this +period; but if any facts were known, it was only to those immediately +concerned. I can only surmise as my own conjecture that Pyotr +Stepanovitch may well have had affairs going on in other neighbourhoods +as well as in our town, so that he really may have received such a +warning. I am convinced, indeed, in spite of Liputin’s cynical and +despairing doubts, that he really had two or three other quintets; +for instance, in Petersburg and Moscow, and if not quintets at least +colleagues and correspondents, and possibly was in very curious +relations with them. Not more than three days after his departure an +order for his immediate arrest arrived from Petersburg—whether in +connection with what had happened among us, or elsewhere, I don’t know. +This order only served to increase the overwhelming, almost panic terror +which suddenly came upon our local authorities and the society of +the town, till then so persistently frivolous in its attitude, on +the discovery of the mysterious and portentous murder of the student +Shatov—the climax of the long series of senseless actions in +our midst—as well as the extremely mysterious circumstances that +accompanied that murder. But the order came too late: Pyotr Stepanovitch +was already in Petersburg, living under another name, and, learning +what was going on, he made haste to make his escape abroad.… But I am +anticipating in a shocking way. +</p> +<p> +He went in to Kirillov, looking ill-humoured and quarrelsome. Apart from +the real task before him, he felt, as it were, tempted to satisfy some +personal grudge, to avenge himself on Kirillov for something. Kirillov +seemed pleased to see him; he had evidently been expecting him a long +time with painful impatience. His face was paler than usual; there was a +fixed and heavy look in his black eyes. +</p> +<p> +“I thought you weren’t coming,” he brought out drearily from his corner +of the sofa, from which he had not, however, moved to greet him. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch stood before him and, before uttering a word, looked +intently at his face. +</p> +<p> +“Everything is in order, then, and we are not drawing back from our +resolution. Bravo!” He smiled an offensively patronising smile. “But, +after all,” he added with unpleasant jocosity, “if I am behind my time, +it’s not for you to complain: I made you a present of three hours.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want extra hours as a present from you, and you can’t make me a +present … you fool!” +</p> +<p> +“What?” Pyotr Stepanovitch was startled, but instantly controlled +himself. “What huffiness! So we are in a savage temper?” he rapped +out, still with the same offensive superciliousness. “At such a moment +composure is what you need. The best thing you can do is to consider +yourself a Columbus and me a mouse, and not to take offence at anything +I say. I gave you that advice yesterday.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want to look upon you as a mouse.” +</p> +<p> +“What’s that, a compliment? But the tea is cold—and that shows that +everything is topsy-turvy. Bah! But I see something in the window, on a +plate.” He went to the window. “Oh oh, boiled chicken and rice!… But +why haven’t you begun upon it yet? So we are in such a state of mind +that even chicken …” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve dined, and it’s not your business. Hold your tongue!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, of course; besides, it’s no consequence—though for me at the +moment it is of consequence. Only fancy, I scarcely had any dinner, and +so if, as I suppose, that chicken is not wanted now … eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Eat it if you can.” +</p> +<p> +“Thank you, and then I’ll have tea.” +</p> +<p> +He instantly settled himself at the other end of the sofa and fell upon +the chicken with extraordinary greediness; at the same time he kept a +constant watch on his victim. Kirillov looked at him fixedly with angry +aversion, as though unable to tear himself away. +</p> +<p> +“I say, though,” Pyotr Stepanovitch fired off suddenly, while he still +went on eating, “what about our business? We are not crying off, are we? +How about that document?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve decided in the night that it’s nothing to me. I’ll write it. About +the manifestoes?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, about the manifestoes too. But I’ll dictate it. Of course, that’s +nothing to you. Can you possibly mind what’s in the letter at such a +moment?” +</p> +<p> +“That’s not your business.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s not mine, of course. It need only be a few lines, though: that you +and Shatov distributed the manifestoes and with the help of Fedka, who +hid in your lodgings. This last point about Fedka and your lodgings is +very important—the most important of all, indeed. You see, I am talking +to you quite openly.” +</p> +<p> +“Shatov? Why Shatov? I won’t mention Shatov for anything.” +</p> +<p> +“What next! What is it to you? You can’t hurt him now.” +</p> +<p> +“His wife has come back to him. She has waked up and has sent to ask me +where he is.” +</p> +<p> +“She has sent to ask you where he is? H’m … that’s unfortunate. She may +send again; no one ought to know I am here.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch was uneasy. +</p> +<p> +“She won’t know, she’s gone to sleep again. There’s a midwife with her, +Arina Virginsky.” +</p> +<p> +“So that’s how it was.… She won’t overhear, I suppose? I say, you’d +better shut the front door.” +</p> +<p> +“She won’t overhear anything. And if Shatov comes I’ll hide you in +another room.” +</p> +<p> +“Shatov won’t come; and you must write that you quarrelled with him +because he turned traitor and informed the police … this evening … +and caused his death.” +</p> +<p> +“He is dead!” cried Kirillov, jumping up from the sofa. +</p> +<p> +“He died at seven o’clock this evening, or rather, at seven o’clock +yesterday evening, and now it’s one o’clock.” +</p> +<p> +“You have killed him!… And I foresaw it yesterday!” +</p> +<p> +“No doubt you did! With this revolver here.” (He drew out his revolver +as though to show it, but did not put it back again and still held it in +his right hand as though in readiness.) “You are a strange man, though, +Kirillov; you knew yourself that the stupid fellow was bound to end +like this. What was there to foresee in that? I made that as plain as +possible over and over again. Shatov was meaning to betray us; I was +watching him, and it could not be left like that. And you too had +instructions to watch him; you told me so yourself three weeks ago.…” +</p> +<p> +“Hold your tongue! You’ve done this because he spat in your face in +Geneva!” +</p> +<p> +“For that and for other things too—for many other things; not from +spite, however. Why do you jump up? Why look like that? Oh oh, so that’s +it, is it?” +</p> +<p> +He jumped up and held out his revolver before him. Kirillov had suddenly +snatched up from the window his revolver, which had been loaded and put +ready since the morning. Pyotr Stepanovitch took up his position and +aimed his weapon at Kirillov. The latter laughed angrily. +</p> +<p> +“Confess, you scoundrel, that you brought your revolver because I might +shoot you.… But I shan’t shoot you … though … though …” +</p> +<p> +And again he turned his revolver upon Pyotr Stepanovitch, as it were +rehearsing, as though unable to deny himself the pleasure of imagining +how he would shoot him. Pyotr Stepanovitch, holding his ground, waited +for him, waited for him till the last minute without pulling the +trigger, at the risk of being the first to get a bullet in his head: it +might well be expected of “the maniac.” But at last “the maniac” dropped +his hand, gasping and trembling and unable to speak. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve played your little game and that’s enough.” Pyotr Stepanovitch, +too, dropped his weapon. “I knew it was only a game; only you ran a +risk, let me tell you: I might have fired.” +</p> +<p> +And he sat down on the sofa with a fair show of composure and poured +himself out some tea, though his hand trembled a little. Kirillov laid +his revolver on the table and began walking up and down. +</p> +<p> +“I won’t write that I killed Shatov … and I won’t write anything now. +You won’t have a document!” +</p> +<p> +“I shan’t?” +</p> +<p> +“No, you won’t.” +</p> +<p> +“What meanness and what stupidity!” Pyotr Stepanovitch turned green with +resentment. “I foresaw it, though. You’ve not taken me by surprise, let +me tell you. As you please, however. If I could make you do it by force, +I would. You are a scoundrel, though.” Pyotr Stepanovitch was more and +more carried away and unable to restrain himself. “You asked us for +money out there and promised us no end of things.… I won’t go away +with nothing, however: I’ll see you put the bullet through your brains +first, anyway.” +</p> +<p> +“I want you to go away at once.” Kirillov stood firmly before him. +</p> +<p> +“No, that’s impossible.” Pyotr Stepanovitch took up his revolver again. +“Now in your spite and cowardice you may think fit to put it off and to +turn traitor to-morrow, so as to get money again; they’ll pay you for +that, of course. Damn it all, fellows like you are capable of anything! +Only don’t trouble yourself; I’ve provided for all contingencies: I am +not going till I’ve dashed your brains out with this revolver, as I did +to that scoundrel Shatov, if you are afraid to do it yourself and put +off your intention, damn you!” +</p> +<p> +“You are set on seeing my blood, too?” +</p> +<p> +“I am not acting from spite; let me tell you, it’s nothing to me. I am +doing it to be at ease about the cause. One can’t rely on men; you see +that for yourself. I don’t understand what fancy possesses you to put +yourself to death. It wasn’t my idea; you thought of it yourself before +I appeared, and talked of your intention to the committee abroad before +you said anything to me. And you know, no one has forced it out of you; +no one of them knew you, but you came to confide in them yourself, from +sentimentalism. And what’s to be done if a plan of action here, which +can’t be altered now, was founded upon that with your consent and upon +your suggestion?… your suggestion, mind that! You have put yourself +in a position in which you know too much. If you are an ass and go off +to-morrow to inform the police, that would be rather a disadvantage to +us; what do you think about it? Yes, you’ve bound yourself; you’ve given +your word, you’ve taken money. That you can’t deny.…” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch was much excited, but for some time past Kirillov +had not been listening. He paced up and down the room, lost in thought +again. +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry for Shatov,” he said, stopping before Pyotr Stepanovitch +again. +</p> +<p> +“Why so? I am sorry, if that’s all, and do you suppose …” +</p> +<p> +“Hold your tongue, you scoundrel,” roared Kirillov, making an alarming +and unmistakable movement; “I’ll kill you.” +</p> +<p> +“There, there, there! I told a lie, I admit it; I am not sorry at all. +Come, that’s enough, that’s enough.” Pyotr Stepanovitch started up +apprehensively, putting out his hand. +</p> +<p> +Kirillov subsided and began walking up and down again. +</p> +<p> +“I won’t put it off; I want to kill myself now: all are scoundrels.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s an idea; of course all are scoundrels; and since life is a +beastly thing for a decent man …” +</p> +<p> +“Fool, I am just such a scoundrel as you, as all, not a decent man. +There’s never been a decent man anywhere.” +</p> +<p> +“He’s guessed the truth at last! Can you, Kirillov, with your sense, +have failed to see till now that all men are alike, that there are none +better or worse, only some are stupider, than others, and that if all +are scoundrels (which is nonsense, though) there oughtn’t to be any +people that are not?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! Why, you are really in earnest?” Kirillov looked at him with some +wonder. “You speak with heat and simply.… Can it be that even fellows +like you have convictions?” +</p> +<p> +“Kirillov, I’ve never been able to understand why you mean to kill +yourself. I only know it’s from conviction … strong conviction. But +if you feel a yearning to express yourself, so to say, I am at your +service.… Only you must think of the time.” +</p> +<p> +“What time is it?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh oh, just two.” Pyotr Stepanovitch looked at his watch and lighted a +cigarette. +</p> +<p> +“It seems we can come to terms after all,” he reflected. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve nothing to say to you,” muttered Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“I remember that something about God comes into it … you explained it +to me once—twice, in fact. If you stopped yourself, you become God; +that’s it, isn’t it?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I become God.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch did not even smile; he waited. Kirillov looked at him +subtly. +</p> +<p> +“You are a political impostor and intriguer. You want to lead me on into +philosophy and enthusiasm and to bring about a reconciliation so as to +disperse my anger, and then, when I am reconciled with you, beg from me +a note to say I killed Shatov.” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch answered with almost natural frankness. +</p> +<p> +“Well, supposing I am such a scoundrel. But at the last moments does +that matter to you, Kirillov? What are we quarrelling about? Tell me, +please. You are one sort of man and I am another—what of it? And what’s +more, we are both of us …” +</p> +<p> +“Scoundrels.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, scoundrels if you like. But you know that that’s only words.” +</p> +<p> +“All my life I wanted it not to be only words. I lived because I did not +want it to be. Even now every day I want it to be not words.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, every one seeks to be where he is best off. The fish … that is, +every one seeks his own comfort, that’s all. That’s been a commonplace +for ages and ages.” +</p> +<p> +“Comfort, do you say?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, it’s not worth while quarrelling over words.” +</p> +<p> +“No, you were right in what you said; let it be comfort. God is +necessary and so must exist.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s all right, then.” +</p> +<p> +“But I know He doesn’t and can’t.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s more likely.” +</p> +<p> +“Surely you must understand that a man with two such ideas can’t go on +living?” +</p> +<p> +“Must shoot himself, you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Surely you must understand that one might shoot oneself for that +alone? You don’t understand that there may be a man, one man out of your +thousands of millions, one man who won’t bear it and does not want to.” +</p> +<p> +“All I understand is that you seem to be hesitating.… That’s very +bad.” +</p> +<p> +“Stavrogin, too, is consumed by an idea,” Kirillov said gloomily, pacing +up and down the room. He had not noticed the previous remark. +</p> +<p> +“What?” Pyotr Stepanovitch pricked up his ears. “What idea? Did he tell +you something himself?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I guessed it myself: if Stavrogin has faith, he does not believe +that he has faith. If he hasn’t faith, he does not believe that he +hasn’t.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, Stavrogin has got something else worse than that in his head,” +Pyotr Stepanovitch muttered peevishly, uneasily watching the turn the +conversation had taken and the pallor of Kirillov. +</p> +<p> +“Damn it all, he won’t shoot himself!” he was thinking. “I always +suspected it; it’s a maggot in the brain and nothing more; what a rotten +lot of people!” +</p> +<p> +“You are the last to be with me; I shouldn’t like to part on bad terms +with you,” Kirillov vouchsafed suddenly. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch did not answer at once. “Damn it all, what is it +now?” he thought again. +</p> +<p> +“I assure you, Kirillov, I have nothing against you personally as a man, +and always …” +</p> +<p> +“You are a scoundrel and a false intellect. But I am just the same as +you are, and I will shoot myself while you will remain living.” +</p> +<p> +“You mean to say, I am so abject that I want to go on living.” +</p> +<p> +He could not make up his mind whether it was judicious to keep up such +a conversation at such a moment or not, and resolved “to be guided by +circumstances.” But the tone of superiority and of contempt for him, +which Kirillov had never disguised, had always irritated him, and +now for some reason it irritated him more than ever—possibly because +Kirillov, who was to die within an hour or so (Pyotr Stepanovitch still +reckoned upon this), seemed to him, as it were, already only half a man, +some creature whom he could not allow to be haughty. +</p> +<p> +“You seem to be boasting to me of your shooting yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve always been surprised at every one’s going on living,” said +Kirillov, not hearing his remark. +</p> +<p> +“H’m! Admitting that’s an idea, but …” +</p> +<p> +“You ape, you assent to get the better of me. Hold your tongue; you +won’t understand anything. If there is no God, then I am God.” +</p> +<p> +“There, I could never understand that point of yours: why are you God?” +</p> +<p> +“If God exists, all is His will and from His will I cannot escape. If +not, it’s all my will and I am bound to show self-will.” +</p> +<p> +“Self-will? But why are you bound?” +</p> +<p> +“Because all will has become mine. Can it be that no one in the whole +planet, after making an end of God and believing in his own will, will +dare to express his self-will on the most vital point? It’s like a +beggar inheriting a fortune and being afraid of it and not daring to +approach the bag of gold, thinking himself too weak to own it. I want to +manifest my self-will. I may be the only one, but I’ll do it.” +</p> +<p> +“Do it by all means.” +</p> +<p> +“I am bound to shoot myself because the highest point of my self-will is +to kill myself with my own hands.” +</p> +<p> +“But you won’t be the only one to kill yourself; there are lots of +suicides.” +</p> +<p> +“With good cause. But to do it without any cause at all, simply for +self-will, I am the only one.” +</p> +<p> +“He won’t shoot himself,” flashed across Pyotr Stepanovitch’s mind +again. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know,” he observed irritably, “if I were in your place I should +kill someone else to show my self-will, not myself. You might be of +use. I’ll tell you whom, if you are not afraid. Then you needn’t shoot +yourself to-day, perhaps. We may come to terms.” +</p> +<p> +“To kill someone would be the lowest point of self-will, and you show +your whole soul in that. I am not you: I want the highest point and I’ll +kill myself.” +</p> +<p> +“He’s come to it of himself,” Pyotr Stepanovitch muttered malignantly. +</p> +<p> +“I am bound to show my unbelief,” said Kirillov, walking about the room. +“I have no higher idea than disbelief in God. I have all the history of +mankind on my side. Man has done nothing but invent God so as to go on +living, and not kill himself; that’s the whole of universal history up +till now. I am the first one in the whole history of mankind who would +not invent God. Let them know it once for all.” +</p> +<p> +“He won’t shoot himself,” Pyotr Stepanovitch thought anxiously. +</p> +<p> +“Let whom know it?” he said, egging him on. “It’s only you and me here; +you mean Liputin?” +</p> +<p> +“Let every one know; all will know. There is nothing secret that will +not be made known. <i>He</i> said so.” +</p> +<p> +And he pointed with feverish enthusiasm to the image of the Saviour, +before which a lamp was burning. Pyotr Stepanovitch lost his temper +completely. +</p> +<p> +“So you still believe in Him, and you’ve lighted the lamp; ‘to be on the +safe side,’ I suppose?” +</p> +<p> +The other did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know, to my thinking, you believe perhaps more thoroughly than +any priest.” +</p> +<p> +“Believe in whom? In <i>Him?</i> Listen.” Kirillov stood still, gazing before +him with fixed and ecstatic look. “Listen to a great idea: there was a +day on earth, and in the midst of the earth there stood three crosses. +One on the Cross had such faith that he said to another, ‘To-day thou +shalt be with me in Paradise.’ The day ended; both died and passed away +and found neither Paradise nor resurrection. His words did not come +true. Listen: that Man was the loftiest of all on earth, He was that +which gave meaning to life. The whole planet, with everything on it, is +mere madness without that Man. There has never been any like Him before +or since, never, up to a miracle. For that is the miracle, that there +never was or never will be another like Him. And if that is so, if +the laws of nature did not spare even Him, have not spared even their +miracle and made even Him live in a lie and die for a lie, then all the +planet is a lie and rests on a lie and on mockery. So then, the very +laws of the planet are a lie and the vaudeville of devils. What is there +to live for? Answer, if you are a man.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a different matter. It seems to me you’ve mixed up two different +causes, and that’s a very unsafe thing to do. But excuse me, if you are +God? If the lie were ended and if you realised that all the falsity +comes from the belief in that former God?” +</p> +<p> +“So at last you understand!” cried Kirillov rapturously. “So it can be +understood if even a fellow like you understands. Do you understand now +that the salvation for all consists in proving this idea to every one? +Who will prove it? I! I can’t understand how an atheist could know that +there is no God and not kill himself on the spot. To recognise that +there is no God and not to recognise at the same instant that one is God +oneself is an absurdity, else one would certainly kill oneself. If you +recognise it you are sovereign, and then you won’t kill yourself but +will live in the greatest glory. But one, the first, must kill himself, +for else who will begin and prove it? So I must certainly kill myself, +to begin and prove it. Now I am only a god against my will and I am +unhappy, because I am bound to assert my will. All are unhappy because +all are afraid to express their will. Man has hitherto been so unhappy +and so poor because he has been afraid to assert his will in the +highest point and has shown his self-will only in little things, like a +schoolboy. I am awfully unhappy, for I’m awfully afraid. Terror is the +curse of man.… But I will assert my will, I am bound to believe that +I don’t believe. I will begin and will make an end of it and open the +door, and will save. That’s the only thing that will save mankind and +will re-create the next generation physically; for with his present +physical nature man can’t get on without his former God, I believe. For +three years I’ve been seeking for the attribute of my godhead and I’ve +found it; the attribute of my godhead is self-will! That’s all I can +do to prove in the highest point my independence and my new terrible +freedom. For it is very terrible. I am killing myself to prove my +independence and my new terrible freedom.” +</p> +<p> +His face was unnaturally pale, and there was a terribly heavy look in +his eyes. He was like a man in delirium. Pyotr Stepanovitch thought he +would drop on to the floor. +</p> +<p> +“Give me the pen!” Kirillov cried suddenly, quite unexpectedly, in a +positive frenzy. “Dictate; I’ll sign anything. I’ll sign that I killed +Shatov even. Dictate while it amuses me. I am not afraid of what the +haughty slaves will think! You will see for yourself that all that is +secret shall be made manifest! And you will be crushed.… I believe, I +believe!” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch jumped up from his seat and instantly handed him an +inkstand and paper, and began dictating, seizing the moment, quivering +with anxiety. +</p> +<p> +“I, Alexey Kirillov, declare …” +</p> +<p> +“Stay; I won’t! To whom am I declaring it?” +</p> +<p> +Kirillov was shaking as though he were in a fever. This declaration and +the sudden strange idea of it seemed to absorb him entirely, as though +it were a means of escape by which his tortured spirit strove for a +moment’s relief. +</p> +<p> +“To whom am I declaring it? I want to know to whom?” +</p> +<p> +“To no one, every one, the first person who reads it. Why define it? The +whole world!” +</p> +<p> +“The whole world! Bravo! And I won’t have any repentance. I don’t want +penitence and I don’t want it for the police!” +</p> +<p> +“No, of course, there’s no need of it, damn the police! Write, if you +are in earnest!” Pyotr Stepanovitch cried hysterically. +</p> +<p> +“Stay! I want to put at the top a face with the tongue out.” +</p> +<p> +“Ech, what nonsense,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch crossly, “you can express +all that without the drawing, by—the tone.” +</p> +<p> +“By the tone? That’s true. Yes, by the tone, by the tone of it. Dictate, +the tone.” +</p> +<p> +“I, Alexey Kirillov,” Pyotr Stepanovitch dictated firmly and +peremptorily, bending over Kirillov’s shoulder and following every +letter which the latter formed with a hand trembling with excitement, +“I, Kirillov, declare that to-day, the —th October, at about eight +o’clock in the evening, I killed the student Shatov in the park for +turning traitor and giving information of the manifestoes and of Fedka, +who has been lodging with us for ten days in Filipov’s house. I am +shooting myself to-day with my revolver, not because I repent and am +afraid of you, but because when I was abroad I made up my mind to put an +end to my life.” +</p> +<p> +“Is that all?” cried Kirillov with surprise and indignation.</p> + +<p>“Not +another word,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, waving his hand, attempting to +snatch the document from him. +</p> +<p> +“Stay.” Kirillov put his hand firmly on the paper. “Stay, it’s nonsense! +I want to say with whom I killed him. Why Fedka? And what about the +fire? I want it all and I want to be abusive in tone, too, in tone!” +</p> +<p> +“Enough, Kirillov, I assure you it’s enough,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch +almost imploringly, trembling lest he should tear up the paper; “that +they may believe you, you must say it as obscurely as possible, just +like that, simply in hints. You must only give them a peep of the truth, +just enough to tantalise them. They’ll tell a story better than ours, +and of course they’ll believe themselves more than they would us; and +you know, it’s better than anything—better than anything! Let me have +it, it’s splendid as it is; give it to me, give it to me!” +</p> +<p> +And he kept trying to snatch the paper. Kirillov listened open-eyed and +appeared to be trying to reflect, but he seemed beyond understanding +now. +</p> +<p> +“Damn it all,” Pyotr Stepanovitch cried all at once, ill-humouredly, “he +hasn’t signed it! Why are you staring like that? Sign!” +</p> +<p> +“I want to abuse them,” muttered Kirillov. He took the pen, however, and +signed. “I want to abuse them.” +</p> +<p> +“Write <i>‘Vive la république,’</i> and that will be enough.” +</p> +<p> +“Bravo!” Kirillov almost bellowed with delight. “<i>‘Vive la république +démocratique sociale et universelle ou la mort!’</i> No, no, that’s not it. +<i>‘Liberté, égalité, fraternité ou la mort.’</i> There, that’s better, that’s +better.” He wrote it gleefully under his signature. +</p> +<p> +“Enough, enough,” repeated Pyotr Stepanovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Stay, a little more. I’ll sign it again in French, you know. ‘<i>De +Kirillov, gentilhomme russe et citoyen du monde.</i>’ Ha ha!” He went off +in a peal of laughter. “No, no, no; stay. I’ve found something better +than all. Eureka! <i>‘Gentilhomme, séminariste russe et citoyen du monde +civilisé!’</i> That’s better than any.…” He jumped up from the sofa +and suddenly, with a rapid gesture, snatched up the revolver from the +window, ran with it into the next room, and closed the door behind him. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch stood for a moment, pondering and gazing at the door. +</p> +<p> +“If he does it at once, perhaps he’ll do it, but if he begins thinking, +nothing will come of it.” +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile he took up the paper, sat down, and looked at it again. The +wording of the document pleased him again. +</p> +<p> +“What’s needed for the moment? What’s wanted is to throw them all off +the scent and keep them busy for a time. The park? There’s no park in +the town and they’ll guess its Skvoreshniki of themselves. But while +they are arriving at that, time will be passing; then the search will +take time too; then when they find the body it will prove that the story +is true, and it will follow that’s it all true, that it’s true about +Fedka too. And Fedka explains the fire, the Lebyadkins; so that it was +all being hatched here, at Filipov’s, while they overlooked it and saw +nothing—that will quite turn their heads! They will never think of +the quintet; Shatov and Kirillov and Fedka and Lebyadkin, and why they +killed each other—that will be another question for them. Oh, damn it +all, I don’t hear the shot!” +</p> +<p> +Though he had been reading and admiring the wording of it, he had been +listening anxiously all the time, and he suddenly flew into a rage. He +looked anxiously at his watch; it was getting late and it was fully ten +minutes since Kirillov had gone out.… Snatching up the candle, he went +to the door of the room where Kirillov had shut himself up. He was just +at the door when the thought struck him that the candle had burnt out, +that it would not last another twenty minutes, and that there was no +other in the room. He took hold of the handle and listened warily; he +did not hear the slightest sound. He suddenly opened the door and lifted +up the candle: something uttered a roar and rushed at him. He slammed +the door with all his might and pressed his weight against it; but all +sounds died away and again there was deathlike stillness. +</p> +<p> +He stood for a long while irresolute, with the candle in his hand. He +had been able to see very little in the second he held the door open, +but he had caught a glimpse of the face of Kirillov standing at the +other end of the room by the window, and the savage fury with which the +latter had rushed upon him. Pyotr Stepanovitch started, rapidly set the +candle on the table, made ready his revolver, and retreated on tiptoe to +the farthest corner of the room, so that if Kirillov opened the door and +rushed up to the table with the revolver he would still have time to be +the first to aim and fire. +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch had by now lost all faith in the suicide. “He was +standing in the middle of the room, thinking,” flashed like a whirlwind +through Pyotr Stepanovitch’s mind, “and the room was dark and horrible +too.… He roared and rushed at me. There are two possibilities: either +I interrupted him at the very second when he was pulling the trigger +or … or he was standing planning how to kill me. Yes, that’s it, he was +planning it.… He knows I won’t go away without killing him if he funks +it himself—so that he would have to kill me first to prevent my killing +him.… And again, again there is silence. I am really frightened: he +may open the door all of a sudden.… The nuisance of it is that he +believes in God like any priest.… He won’t shoot himself for +anything! There are lots of these people nowadays ‘who’ve come to it of +themselves.’ A rotten lot! Oh, damn it, the candle, the candle! It’ll go +out within a quarter of an hour for certain.… I must put a stop to it; +come what may, I must put a stop to it.… Now I can kill him.… With +that document here no one would think of my killing him. I can put him +in such an attitude on the floor with an unloaded revolver in his hand +that they’d be certain he’d done it himself.… Ach, damn it! how is one +to kill him? If I open the door he’ll rush out again and shoot me first. +Damn it all, he’ll be sure to miss!” +</p> +<p> +He was in agonies, trembling at the necessity of action and his own +indecision. At last he took up the candle and again approached the door +with the revolver held up in readiness; he put his left hand, in which +he held the candle, on the doorhandle. But he managed awkwardly: +the handle clanked, there was a rattle and a creak. “He will fire +straightway,” flashed through Pyotr Stepanovitch’s mind. With his foot +he flung the door open violently, raised the candle, and held out the +revolver; but no shot nor cry came from within.… There was no one in +the room. +</p> +<p> +He started. The room led nowhere. There was no exit, no means of +escape from it. He lifted the candle higher and looked about him more +attentively: there was certainly no one. He called Kirillov’s name in a +low voice, then again louder; no one answered. +</p> +<p> +“Can he have got out by the window?” The casement in one window was, in +fact, open. “Absurd! He couldn’t have got away through the casement.” +Pyotr Stepanovitch crossed the room and went up to the window. “He +couldn’t possibly.” All at once he turned round quickly and was aghast +at something extraordinary. +</p> +<p> +Against the wall facing the windows on the right of the door stood a +cupboard. On the right side of this cupboard, in the corner formed by +the cupboard and the wall, stood Kirillov, and he was standing in a very +strange way; motionless, perfectly erect, with his arms held stiffly at +his sides, his head raised and pressed tightly back against the wall in +the very corner, he seemed to be trying to conceal and efface himself. +Everything seemed to show that he was hiding, yet somehow it was not +easy to believe it. Pyotr Stepanovitch was standing a little sideways +to the corner, and could only see the projecting parts of the figure. +He could not bring himself to move to the left to get a full view of +Kirillov and solve the mystery. His heart began beating violently, and +he felt a sudden rush of blind fury: he started from where he stood, +and, shouting and stamping with his feet, he rushed to the horrible +place. +</p> +<p> +But when he reached Kirillov he stopped short again, still more +overcome, horror-stricken. What struck him most was that, in spite of +his shout and his furious rush, the figure did not stir, did not move +in a single limb—as though it were of stone or of wax. The pallor of +the face was unnatural, the black eyes were quite unmoving and were +staring away at a point in the distance. Pyotr Stepanovitch lowered the +candle and raised it again, lighting up the figure from all points of +view and scrutinising it. He suddenly noticed that, although Kirillov +was looking straight before him, he could see him and was perhaps +watching him out of the corner of his eye. Then the idea occurred to him +to hold the candle right up to the wretch’s face, to scorch him and see +what he would do. He suddenly fancied that Kirillov’s chin twitched and +that something like a mocking smile passed over his lips—as though +he had guessed Pyotr Stepanovitch’s thought. He shuddered and, beside +himself, clutched violently at Kirillov’s shoulder. +</p> +<p> +Then something happened so hideous and so soon over that Pyotr +Stepanovitch could never afterwards recover a coherent impression of +it. He had hardly touched Kirillov when the latter bent down quickly and +with his head knocked the candle out of Pyotr Stepanovitch’s hand; the +candlestick fell with a clang on the ground and the candle went out. At +the same moment he was conscious of a fearful pain in the little finger +of his left hand. He cried out, and all that he could remember was that, +beside himself, he hit out with all his might and struck three blows +with the revolver on the head of Kirillov, who had bent down to him +and had bitten his finger. At last he tore away his finger and rushed +headlong to get out of the house, feeling his way in the dark. He was +pursued by terrible shouts from the room. +</p> +<p> +“Directly, directly, directly, directly.” Ten times. But he still ran +on, and was running into the porch when he suddenly heard a loud shot. +Then he stopped short in the dark porch and stood deliberating for five +minutes; at last he made his way back into the house. But he had to +get the candle. He had only to feel on the floor on the right of the +cupboard for the candlestick; but how was he to light the candle? There +suddenly came into his mind a vague recollection: he recalled that +when he had run into the kitchen the day before to attack Fedka he had +noticed in passing a large red box of matches in a corner on a shelf. +Feeling with his hands, he made his way to the door on the left leading +to the kitchen, found it, crossed the passage, and went down the steps. +On the shelf, on the very spot where he had just recalled seeing it, he +felt in the dark a full unopened box of matches. He hurriedly went up +the steps again without striking a light, and it was only when he was +near the cupboard, at the spot where he had struck Kirillov with the +revolver and been bitten by him, that he remembered his bitten finger, +and at the same instant was conscious that it was unbearably painful. +Clenching his teeth, he managed somehow to light the candle-end, set it +in the candlestick again, and looked about him: near the open casement, +with his feet towards the right-hand corner, lay the dead body of +Kirillov. The shot had been fired at the right temple and the bullet +had come out at the top on the left, shattering the skull. There were +splashes of blood and brains. The revolver was still in the suicide’s +hand on the floor. Death must have been instantaneous. After a careful +look round, Pyotr Stepanovitch got up and went out on tiptoe, closed the +door, left the candle on the table in the outer room, thought a moment, +and resolved not to put it out, reflecting that it could not possibly +set fire to anything. Looking once more at the document left on the +table, he smiled mechanically and then went out of the house, still for +some reason walking on tiptoe. He crept through Fedka’s hole again and +carefully replaced the posts after him. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +Precisely at ten minutes to six Pyotr Stepanovitch and Erkel were +walking up and down the platform at the railway-station beside a rather +long train. Pyotr Stepanovitch was setting off and Erkel was saying +good-bye to him. The luggage was in, and his bag was in the seat he had +taken in a second-class carriage. The first bell had rung already; they +were waiting for the second. Pyotr Stepanovitch looked about him, openly +watching the passengers as they got into the train. But he did not meet +anyone he knew well; only twice he nodded to acquaintances—a merchant +whom he knew slightly, and then a young village priest who was going +to his parish two stations away. Erkel evidently wanted to speak of +something of importance in the last moments, though possibly he did not +himself know exactly of what, but he could not bring himself to begin! +He kept fancying that Pyotr Stepanovitch seemed anxious to get rid of +him and was impatient for the last bell. +</p> +<p> +“You look at every one so openly,” he observed with some timidity, as +though he would have warned him. +</p> +<p> +“Why not? It would not do for me to conceal myself at present. It’s too +soon. Don’t be uneasy. All I am afraid of is that the devil might send +Liputin this way; he might scent me out and race off here.” +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch, they are not to be trusted,” Erkel brought out +resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“Liputin?” +</p> +<p> +“None of them, Pyotr Stepanovitch.” +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense! they are all bound by what happened yesterday. There isn’t +one who would turn traitor. People won’t go to certain destruction +unless they’ve lost their reason.” +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch, but they will lose their reason.” Evidently that +idea had already occurred to Pyotr Stepanovitch too, and so Erkel’s +observation irritated him the more. +</p> +<p> +“You are not in a funk too, are you, Erkel? I rely on you more than on +any of them. I’ve seen now what each of them is worth. Tell them to-day +all I’ve told you. I leave them in your charge. Go round to each of them +this morning. Read them my written instructions to-morrow, or the day +after, when you are all together and they are capable of listening +again … and believe me, they will be by to-morrow, for they’ll be in an +awful funk, and that will make them as soft as wax.… The great thing +is that you shouldn’t be downhearted.” +</p> +<p> +“Ach, Pyotr Stepanovitch, it would be better if you weren’t going away.” +</p> +<p> +“But I am only going for a few days; I shall be back in no time.” +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch,” Erkel brought out warily but resolutely, “what if +you were going to Petersburg? Of course, I understand that you are only +doing what’s necessary for the cause.” +</p> +<p> +“I expected as much from you, Erkel. If you have guessed that I am going +to Petersburg you can realise that I couldn’t tell them yesterday, at +that moment, that I was going so far for fear of frightening them. You +saw for yourself what a state they were in. But you understand that I +am going for the cause, for work of the first importance, for the common +cause, and not to save my skin, as Liputin imagines.” +</p> +<p> +“Pyotr Stepanovitch, what if you were going abroad? I should +understand … I should understand that you must be careful of yourself +because you are everything and we are nothing. I shall understand, Pyotr +Stepanovitch.” The poor boy’s voice actually quivered. +</p> +<p> +“Thank you, Erkel.… Aie, you’ve touched my bad finger.” (Erkel had +pressed his hand awkwardly; the bad finger was discreetly bound up +in black silk.) “But I tell you positively again that I am going to +Petersburg only to sniff round, and perhaps shall only be there for +twenty-four hours and then back here again at once. When I come back I +shall stay at Gaganov’s country place for the sake of appearances. If +there is any notion of danger, I should be the first to take the lead +and share it. If I stay longer in Petersburg I’ll let you know at once +… in the way we’ve arranged, and you’ll tell them.” The second bell +rang. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, then there’s only five minutes before the train starts. I don’t +want the group here to break up, you know. I am not afraid; don’t be +anxious about me. I have plenty of such centres, and it’s not much +consequence; but there’s no harm in having as many centres as possible. +But I am quite at ease about you, though I am leaving you almost alone +with those idiots. Don’t be uneasy; they won’t turn traitor, they won’t +have the pluck.… Ha ha, you going to-day too?” he cried suddenly in a +quite different, cheerful voice to a very young man, who came up gaily +to greet him. “I didn’t know you were going by the express too. Where +are you off to … your mother’s?” +</p> +<p> +The mother of the young man was a very wealthy landowner in a +neighbouring province, and the young man was a distant relation of Yulia +Mihailovna’s and had been staying about a fortnight in our town. +</p> +<p> +“No, I am going farther, to R——. I’ve eight hours to live through in +the train. Off to Petersburg?” laughed the young man. +</p> +<p> +“What makes you suppose I must be going to Petersburg?” said Pyotr +Stepanovitch, laughing even more openly. +</p> +<p> +The young man shook his gloved finger at him. +</p> +<p> +“Well, you’ve guessed right,” Pyotr Stepanovitch whispered to him +mysteriously. “I am going with letters from Yulia Mihailovna and have to +call on three or four personages, as you can imagine—bother them all, +to speak candidly. It’s a beastly job!” +</p> +<p> +“But why is she in such a panic? Tell me,” the young man whispered too. +“She wouldn’t see even me yesterday. I don’t think she has anything to +fear for her husband, quite the contrary; he fell down so creditably at +the fire—ready to sacrifice his life, so to speak.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, there it is,” laughed Pyotr Stepanovitch. “You see, she is +afraid that people may have written from here already … that is, some +gentlemen.… The fact is, Stavrogin is at the bottom of it, or rather +Prince K.… Ech, it’s a long story; I’ll tell you something about it on +the journey if you like—as far as my chivalrous feelings will allow +me, at least.… This is my relation, Lieutenant Erkel, who lives down +here.” +</p> +<p> +The young man, who had been stealthily glancing at Erkel, touched his +hat; Erkel made a bow. +</p> +<p> +“But I say, Verhovensky, eight hours in the train is an awful ordeal. +Berestov, the colonel, an awfully funny fellow, is travelling with me in +the first class. He is a neighbour of ours in the country, and his wife +is a Garin (<i>née</i> de Garine), and you know he is a very decent fellow. +He’s got ideas too. He’s only been here a couple of days. He’s +passionately fond of whist; couldn’t we get up a game, eh? I’ve already +fixed on a fourth—Pripuhlov, our merchant from T——with a beard, a +millionaire—I mean it, a real millionaire; you can take my word for +it.… I’ll introduce you; he is a very interesting money-bag. We shall +have a laugh.” +</p> +<p> +“I shall be delighted, and I am awfully fond of cards in the train, but +I am going second class.” +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense, that’s no matter. Get in with us. I’ll tell them directly to +move you to the first class. The chief guard would do anything I tell +him. What have you got?… a bag? a rug?” +</p> +<p> +“First-rate. Come along!” +</p> +<p> +Pyotr Stepanovitch took his bag, his rug, and his book, and at once and +with alacrity transferred himself to the first class. Erkel helped him. +The third bell rang. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Erkel.” Hurriedly, and with a preoccupied air, Pyotr Stepanovitch +held out his hand from the window for the last time. “You see, I am +sitting down to cards with them.” +</p> +<p> +“Why explain, Pyotr Stepanovitch? I understand, I understand it all!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, au revoir,” Pyotr Stepanovitch turned away suddenly on his +name being called by the young man, who wanted to introduce him to his +partners. And Erkel saw nothing more of Pyotr Stepanovitch. +</p> +<p> +He returned home very sad. Not that he was alarmed at Pyotr +Stepanovitch’s leaving them so suddenly, but … he had turned away from +him so quickly when that young swell had called to him and … he might +have said something different to him, not “Au revoir,” or … or at +least have pressed his hand more warmly. That last was bitterest of all. +Something else was beginning to gnaw in his poor little heart, something +which he could not understand himself yet, something connected with the +evening before. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0022"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER VII. STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING +</h2> +<p class="centered"> +I +</p> +<p> +I am persuaded that Stepan Trofimovitch was terribly frightened as +he felt the time fixed for his insane enterprise drawing near. I am +convinced that he suffered dreadfully from terror, especially on the +night before he started—that awful night. Nastasya mentioned afterwards +that he had gone to bed late and fallen asleep. But that proves nothing; +men sentenced to death sleep very soundly, they say, even the night +before their execution. Though he set off by daylight, when a nervous +man is always a little more confident (and the major, Virginsky’s +relative, used to give up believing in God every morning when the night +was over), yet I am convinced he could never, without horror, have +imagined himself alone on the high road in such a position. No doubt +a certain desperation in his feelings softened at first the terrible +sensation of sudden solitude in which he at once found himself as soon +as he had left Nastasya, and the corner in which he had been warm and +snug for twenty years. But it made no difference; even with the clearest +recognition of all the horrors awaiting him he would have gone out to +the high road and walked along it! There was something proud in the +undertaking which allured him in spite of everything. Oh, he might have +accepted Varvara Petrovna’s luxurious provision and have remained living +on her charity, “<i>comme un</i> humble dependent.” But he had not accepted her +charity and was not remaining! And here he was leaving her of himself, +and holding aloft the “standard of a great idea, and going to die for it +on the open road.” That is how he must have been feeling; that’s how his +action must have appeared to him. +</p> +<p> +Another question presented itself to me more than once. Why did he run +away, that is, literally run away on foot, rather than simply drive +away? I put it down at first to the impracticability of fifty years and +the fantastic bent of his mind under the influence of strong emotion. +I imagined that the thought of posting tickets and horses (even if +they had bells) would have seemed too simple and prosaic to him; a +pilgrimage, on the other hand, even under an umbrella, was ever so much +more picturesque and in character with love and resentment. But now that +everything is over, I am inclined to think that it all came about in a +much simpler way. To begin with, he was afraid to hire horses because +Varvara Petrovna might have heard of it and prevented him from going by +force; which she certainly would have done, and he certainly would have +given in, and then farewell to the great idea forever. Besides, to take +tickets for anywhere he must have known at least where he was going. But +to think about that was the greatest agony to him at that moment; he +was utterly unable to fix upon a place. For if he had to fix on any +particular town his enterprise would at once have seemed in his own eyes +absurd and impossible; he felt that very strongly. What should he do in +that particular town rather than in any other? Look out for <i>ce marchand</i>? +But what <i>marchand</i>? At that point his second and most terrible question +cropped up. In reality there was nothing he dreaded more than <i>ce +marchand</i>, whom he had rushed off to seek so recklessly, though, of +course, he was terribly afraid of finding him. No, better simply the +high road, better simply to set off for it, and walk along it and to +think of nothing so long as he could put off thinking. The high road is +something very very long, of which one cannot see the end—like human +life, like human dreams. There is an idea in the open road, but what +sort of idea is there in travelling with posting tickets? Posting +tickets mean an end to ideas. <i>Vive la grande route</i> and then as God +wills. +</p> +<p> +After the sudden and unexpected interview with Liza which I have +described, he rushed on, more lost in forgetfulness than ever. The high +road passed half a mile from Skvoreshniki and, strange to say, he was +not at first aware that he was on it. Logical reasoning or even distinct +consciousness was unbearable to him at this moment. A fine rain kept +drizzling, ceasing, and drizzling again; but he did not even notice +the rain. He did not even notice either how he threw his bag over his +shoulder, nor how much more comfortably he walked with it so. He must +have walked like that for nearly a mile or so when he suddenly stood +still and looked round. The old road, black, marked with wheel-ruts +and planted with willows on each side, ran before him like an endless +thread; on the right hand were bare plains from which the harvest had +long ago been carried; on the left there were bushes and in the distance +beyond them a copse. +</p> +<p> +And far, far away a scarcely perceptible line of the railway, running +aslant, and on it the smoke of a train, but no sound was heard. Stepan +Trofimovitch felt a little timid, but only for a moment. He heaved a +vague sigh, put down his bag beside a willow, and sat down to rest. +As he moved to sit down he was conscious of being chilly and wrapped +himself in his rug; noticing at the same time that it was raining, he +put up his umbrella. He sat like that for some time, moving his lips +from time to time and firmly grasping the umbrella handle. Images of all +sorts passed in feverish procession before him, rapidly succeeding one +another in his mind. +</p> +<p> +“Lise, Lise,” he thought, “and with her <i>ce Maurice</i>.… Strange +people.… But what was the strange fire, and what were they talking +about, and who were murdered? I fancy Nastasya has not found out yet and +is still waiting for me with my coffee … cards? Did I really lose men +at cards? H’m! Among us in Russia in the times of serfdom, so called.… +My God, yes—Fedka!” +</p> +<p> +He started all over with terror and looked about him. “What if that +Fedka is in hiding somewhere behind the bushes? They say he has a +regular band of robbers here on the high road. Oh, mercy, I … I’ll +tell him the whole truth then, that I was to blame … and that I’ve +been miserable about him <i>for ten years</i>. More miserable than he was as +a soldier, and … I’ll give him my purse. H’m! <i>J’ai en tout quarante +roubles; il prendra les roubles et il me tuera tout de même.</i>” +</p> +<p> +In his panic he for some reason shut up the umbrella and laid it down +beside him. A cart came into sight on the high road in the distance +coming from the town. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Grace à Dieu</i>, that’s a cart and it’s coming at a walking pace; that +can’t be dangerous. The wretched little horses here … I always said +that breed … It was Pyotr Ilyitch though, he talked at the club +about horse-breeding and I trumped him, <i>et puis</i> … but what’s that +behind?… I believe there’s a woman in the cart. A peasant and a woman, +<i>cela commence à être rassurant.</i> The woman behind and the man in front— +<i>c’est très rassurant.</i> There’s a cow behind the cart tied by the horns, +<i>c’est rassurant au plus haut degré.</i>” +</p> +<p> +The cart reached him; it was a fairly solid peasant cart. The woman was +sitting on a tightly stuffed sack and the man on the front of the cart +with his legs hanging over towards Stepan Trofimovitch. A red cow was, +in fact, shambling behind, tied by the horns to the cart. The man +and the woman gazed open-eyed at Stepan Trofimovitch, and Stepan +Trofimovitch gazed back at them with equal wonder, but after he had let +them pass twenty paces, he got up hurriedly all of a sudden and walked +after them. In the proximity of the cart it was natural that he +should feel safer, but when he had overtaken it he became oblivious +of everything again and sank back into his disconnected thoughts and +fancies. He stepped along with no suspicion, of course, that for the +two peasants he was at that instant the most mysterious and interesting +object that one could meet on the high road. +</p> +<p> +“What sort may you be, pray, if it’s not uncivil to ask?” the woman +could not resist asking at last when Stepan Trofimovitch glanced +absent-mindedly at her. She was a woman of about seven and twenty, +sturdily built, with black eyebrows, rosy cheeks, and a friendly smile +on her red lips, between which gleamed white even teeth. +</p> +<p> +“You … you are addressing me?” muttered Stepan Trofimovitch with +mournful wonder. +</p> +<p> +“A merchant, for sure,” the peasant observed confidently. He was a +well-grown man of forty with a broad and intelligent face, framed in a +reddish beard. +</p> +<p> +“No, I am not exactly a merchant, I … I … <i>moi c’est autre chose.</i>” +Stepan Trofimovitch parried the question somehow, and to be on the safe +side he dropped back a little from the cart, so that he was walking on a +level with the cow. +</p> +<p> +“Must be a gentleman,” the man decided, hearing words not Russian, and +he gave a tug at the horse. +</p> +<p> +“That’s what set us wondering. You are out for a walk seemingly?” the +woman asked inquisitively again. +</p> +<p> +“You … you ask me?” +</p> +<p> +“Foreigners come from other parts sometimes by the train; your boots +don’t seem to be from hereabouts.…” +</p> +<p> +“They are army boots,” the man put in complacently and significantly. +</p> +<p> +“No, I am not precisely in the army, I …” +</p> +<p> +“What an inquisitive woman!” Stepan Trofimovitch mused with vexation. +“And how they stare at me … <i>mais enfin</i>. In fact, it’s strange that I +feel, as it were, conscience-stricken before them, and yet I’ve done +them no harm.” +</p> +<p> +The woman was whispering to the man. +</p> +<p> +“If it’s no offence, we’d give you a lift if so be it’s agreeable.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch suddenly roused himself. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, my friends, I accept it with pleasure, for I’m very tired; +but how am I to get in?” +</p> +<p> +“How wonderful it is,” he thought to himself, “that I’ve been walking +so long beside that cow and it never entered my head to ask them for a +lift. This ‘real life’ has something very original about it.” +</p> +<p> +But the peasant had not, however, pulled up the horse. +</p> +<p> +“But where are you bound for?” he asked with some mistrustfulness. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch did not understand him at once. +</p> +<p> +“To Hatovo, I suppose?” +</p> +<p> +“Hatov? No, not to Hatov’s exactly … And I don’t know him though I’ve +heard of him.” +</p> +<p> +“The village of Hatovo, the village, seven miles from here.” +</p> +<p> +“A village? <i>C’est charmant,</i> to be sure I’ve heard of it.…” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch was still walking, they had not yet taken him into +the cart. A guess that was a stroke of genius flashed through his mind. +</p> +<p> +“You think perhaps that I am … I’ve got a passport and I am a +professor, that is, if you like, a teacher … but a head teacher. I am a +head teacher. <i>Oui, c’est comme ça qu’on peut traduire.</i> I should be very +glad of a lift and I’ll buy you … I’ll buy you a quart of vodka for +it.” +</p> +<p> +“It’ll be half a rouble, sir; it’s a bad road.” +</p> +<p> +“Or it wouldn’t be fair to ourselves,” put in the woman. +</p> +<p> +“Half a rouble? Very good then, half a rouble. <i>C’est encore mieux; j’ai +en tout quarante roubles mais</i> …” +</p> +<p> +The peasant stopped the horse and by their united efforts Stepan +Trofimovitch was dragged into the cart, and seated on the sack by the +woman. He was still pursued by the same whirl of ideas. Sometimes he was +aware himself that he was terribly absent-minded, and that he was not +thinking of what he ought to be thinking of and wondered at it. This +consciousness of abnormal weakness of mind became at moments very +painful and even humiliating to him. +</p> +<p> +“How … how is this you’ve got a cow behind?” he suddenly asked the +woman. +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean, sir, as though you’d never seen one,” laughed the +woman. +</p> +<p> +“We bought it in the town,” the peasant put in. “Our cattle died last +spring … the plague. All the beasts have died round us, all of them. +There aren’t half of them left, it’s heartbreaking.” +</p> +<p> +And again he lashed the horse, which had got stuck in a rut. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that does happen among you in Russia … in general we Russians … +Well, yes, it happens,” Stepan Trofimovitch broke off. +</p> +<p> +“If you are a teacher, what are you going to Hatovo for? Maybe you are +going on farther.” +</p> +<p> +“I … I’m not going farther precisely.… <i>C’est-à-dire,</i> I’m going to a +merchant’s.” +</p> +<p> +“To Spasov, I suppose?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, to Spasov. But that’s no matter.” +</p> +<p> +“If you are going to Spasov and on foot, it will take you a week in your +boots,” laughed the woman. +</p> +<p> +“I dare say, I dare say, no matter, <i>mes amis</i>, no matter.” Stepan +Trofimovitch cut her short impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“Awfully inquisitive people; but the woman speaks better than he does, +and I notice that since February 19,* their language has altered a +little, and … and what business is it of mine whether I’m going to +Spasov or not? Besides, I’ll pay them, so why do they pester me.” +</p> + +<pre> + *February 19, 1861, the day of the Emancipation of the Serfs, is +meant.—Translator’s note. +</pre> + +<p> +“If you are going to Spasov, you must take the steamer,” the peasant +persisted. +</p> +<p> +“That’s true indeed,” the woman put in with animation, “for if you +drive along the bank it’s twenty-five miles out of the way.” +</p> +<p> +“Thirty-five.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ll just catch the steamer at Ustyevo at two o’clock tomorrow,” the +woman decided finally. But Stepan Trofimovitch was obstinately silent. +His questioners, too, sank into silence. The peasant tugged at his horse +at rare intervals; the peasant woman exchanged brief remarks with him. +Stepan Trofimovitch fell into a doze. He was tremendously surprised when +the woman, laughing, gave him a poke and he found himself in a rather +large village at the door of a cottage with three windows. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve had a nap, sir?” +</p> +<p> +“What is it? Where am I? Ah, yes! Well … never mind,” sighed Stepan +Trofimovitch, and he got out of the cart. +</p> +<p> +He looked about him mournfully; the village scene seemed strange to him +and somehow terribly remote. +</p> + +<p> +“And the half-rouble, I was forgetting it!” he said to the peasant, +turning to him with an excessively hurried gesture; he was evidently by +now afraid to part from them. +</p> +<p> +“We’ll settle indoors, walk in,” the peasant invited him. +</p> +<p> +“It’s comfortable inside,” the woman said reassuringly. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch mounted the shaky steps. “How can it be?” he +murmured in profound and apprehensive perplexity. He went into the +cottage, however. <i>“Elle l’a voulu”</i> he felt a stab at his heart and again +he became oblivious of everything, even of the fact that he had gone +into the cottage. +</p> +<p> +It was a light and fairly clean peasant’s cottage, with three windows +and two rooms; not exactly an inn, but a cottage at which people +who knew the place were accustomed to stop on their way through the +village. Stepan Trofimovitch, quite unembarrassed, went to the foremost +corner; forgot to greet anyone, sat down and sank into thought. +Meanwhile a sensation of warmth, extremely agreeable after three hours +of travelling in the damp, was suddenly diffused throughout his person. +Even the slight shivers that spasmodically ran down his spine—such as +always occur in particularly nervous people when they are feverish and +have suddenly come into a warm room from the cold—became all at once +strangely agreeable. He raised his head and the delicious fragrance of +the hot pancakes with which the woman of the house was busy at the stove +tickled his nostrils. With a childlike smile he leaned towards the woman +and suddenly said: +</p> +<p> +“What’s that? Are they pancakes? <i>Mais … c’est charmant.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Would you like some, sir?” the woman politely offered him at once. +</p> +<p> +“I should like some, I certainly should, and … may I ask you for some +tea too,” said Stepan Trofimovitch, reviving. +</p> +<p> +“Get the samovar? With the greatest pleasure.” +</p> +<p> +On a large plate with a big blue pattern on it were served the +pancakes—regular peasant pancakes, thin, made half of wheat, covered +with fresh hot butter, most delicious pancakes. Stepan Trofimovitch +tasted them with relish. +</p> +<p> +“How rich they are and how good! And if one could only have <i>un doigt +d’eau de vie</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s a drop of vodka you would like, sir, isn’t it?” +</p> +<p> +“Just so, just so, a little, <i>un tout petit rien</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Five farthings’ worth, I suppose?” +</p> +<p> +“Five, yes, five, five, five, <i>un tout petit rien</i>,” Stepan Trofimovitch +assented with a blissful smile. +</p> +<p> +Ask a peasant to do anything for you, and if he can, and will, he +will serve you with care and friendliness; but ask him to fetch you +vodka—and his habitual serenity and friendliness will pass at once into +a sort of joyful haste and alacrity; he will be as keen in your +interest as though you were one of his family. The peasant who fetches +vodka—even though you are going to drink it and not he and he knows +that beforehand—seems, as it were, to be enjoying part of your future +gratification. Within three minutes (the tavern was only two paces +away), a bottle and a large greenish wineglass were set on the table +before Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Is that all for me!” He was extremely surprised. “I’ve always had vodka +but I never knew you could get so much for five farthings.” +</p> +<p> +He filled the wineglass, got up and with a certain solemnity crossed the +room to the other corner where his fellow-traveller, the black-browed +peasant woman, who had shared the sack with him and bothered him with +her questions, had ensconced herself. The woman was taken aback, and +began to decline, but after having said all that was prescribed by +politeness, she stood up and drank it decorously in three sips, as women +do, and, with an expression of intense suffering on her face, gave back +the wineglass and bowed to Stepan Trofimovitch. He returned the bow with +dignity and returned to the table with an expression of positive pride +on his countenance. +</p> +<p> +All this was done on the inspiration of the moment: a second before he +had no idea that he would go and treat the peasant woman. +</p> +<p> +“I know how to get on with peasants to perfection, to perfection, and +I’ve always told them so,” he thought complacently, pouring out the rest +of the vodka; though there was less than a glass left, it warmed and +revived him, and even went a little to his head. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Je suis malade tout à fait, mais ce n’est pas trop mauvais d’être +malade.”</i> +</p> +<p> +“Would you care to purchase?” a gentle feminine voice asked close by +him. +</p> +<p> +He raised his eyes and to his surprise saw a lady—<i>une dame et elle en +avait l’air,</i> somewhat over thirty, very modest in appearance, dressed not +like a peasant, in a dark gown with a grey shawl on her shoulders. +There was something very kindly in her face which attracted Stepan +Trofimovitch immediately. She had only just come back to the cottage, +where her things had been left on a bench close by the place where +Stepan Trofimovitch had seated himself. Among them was a portfolio, +at which he remembered he had looked with curiosity on going in, and a +pack, not very large, of American leather. From this pack she took out +two nicely bound books with a cross engraved on the cover, and offered +them to Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Et … mais je crois que c’est l’Evangile </i>… with the greatest +pleasure.… Ah, now I understand.… <i>Vous êtes ce qu’on appelle</i> a +gospel-woman; I’ve read more than once.… Half a rouble?” +</p> +<p> +“Thirty-five kopecks,” answered the gospel-woman. “With the greatest +pleasure. <i>Je n’ai rien contre l’Evangile,</i> and I’ve been wanting to +re-read it for a long time.…” +</p> +<p> +The idea occurred to him at the moment that he had not read the gospel +for thirty years at least, and at most had recalled some passages of it, +seven years before, when reading Renan’s “Vie de Jésus.” As he had no +small change he pulled out his four ten-rouble notes—all that he +had. The woman of the house undertook to get change, and only then +he noticed, looking round, that a good many people had come into the +cottage, and that they had all been watching him for some time past, and +seemed to be talking about him. They were talking too of the fire in the +town, especially the owner of the cart who had only just returned from +the town with the cow. They talked of arson, of the Shpigulin men. +</p> +<p> +“He said nothing to me about the fire when he brought me along, although +he talked of everything,” struck Stepan Trofimovitch for some reason. +</p> +<p> +“Master, Stepan Trofimovitch, sir, is it you I see? Well, I never should +have thought it!… Don’t you know me?” exclaimed a middle-aged man who +looked like an old-fashioned house-serf, wearing no beard and dressed +in an overcoat with a wide turn-down collar. Stepan Trofimovitch was +alarmed at hearing his own name. +</p> +<p> +“Excuse me,” he muttered, “I don’t quite remember you.” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t remember me. I am Anisim, Anisim Ivanov. I used to be in the +service of the late Mr. Gaganov, and many’s the time I’ve seen you, sir, +with Varvara Petrovna at the late Avdotya Sergyevna’s. I used to go to +you with books from her, and twice I brought you Petersburg sweets from +her.…” +</p> +<p> +“Why, yes, I remember you, Anisim,” said Stepan Trofimovitch, smiling. +“Do you live here?” +</p> +<p> +“I live near Spasov, close to the V—— Monastery, in the service +of Marta Sergyevna, Avdotya Sergyevna’s sister. Perhaps your honour +remembers her; she broke her leg falling out of her carriage on her +way to a ball. Now her honour lives near the monastery, and I am in her +service. And now as your honour sees, I am on my way to the town to see +my kinsfolk.” +</p> +<p> +“Quite so, quite so.” +</p> +<p> +“I felt so pleased when I saw you, you used to be so kind to me,” +Anisim smiled delightedly. “But where are you travelling to, sir, all by +yourself as it seems.… You’ve never been a journey alone, I fancy?” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch looked at him in alarm. +</p> +<p> +“You are going, maybe, to our parts, to Spasov?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I am going to Spasov. <i>Il me semble que tout le monde va à +Spassof.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t say it’s to Fyodor Matveyevitch’s? They will be pleased to +see you. He had such a respect for you in old days; he often speaks of +you now.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, to Fyodor Matveyevitch’s.” +</p> +<p> +“To be sure, to be sure. The peasants here are wondering; they make out +they met you, sir, walking on the high road. They are a foolish lot.” +</p> +<p> +“I … I … Yes, you know, Anisim, I made a wager, you know, like an +Englishman, that I would go on foot and I …” +</p> +<p> +The perspiration came out on his forehead. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure, to be sure.” Anisim listened with merciless curiosity. But +Stepan Trofimovitch could bear it no longer. He was so disconcerted that +he was on the point of getting up and going out of the cottage. But the +samovar was brought in, and at the same moment the gospel-woman, who +had been out of the room, returned. With the air of a man clutching at a +straw he turned to her and offered her tea. Anisim submitted and walked +away. +</p> +<p> +The peasants certainly had begun to feel perplexed: “What sort of person +is he? He was found walking on the high road, he says he is a teacher, +he is dressed like a foreigner, and has no more sense than a little +child; he answers queerly as though he had run away from someone, and +he’s got money!” An idea was beginning to gain ground that information +must be given to the authorities, “especially as things weren’t quite +right in the town.” But Anisim set all that right in a minute. Going +into the passage he explained to every one who cared to listen that +Stepan Trofimovitch was not exactly a teacher but “a very learned man +and busy with very learned studies, and was a landowner of the district +himself, and had been living for twenty-two years with her excellency, +the general’s widow, the stout Madame Stavrogin, and was by way of being +the most important person in her house, and was held in the greatest +respect by every one in the town. He used to lose by fifties and +hundreds in an evening at the club of the nobility, and in rank he was +a councillor, which was equal to a lieutenant-colonel in the army, which +was next door to being a colonel. As for his having money, he had +so much from the stout Madame Stavrogin that there was no reckoning +it”—and so on and so on. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mais c’est une dame et très comme il faut,”</i> thought Stepan +Trofimovitch, as he recovered from Anisim’s attack, gazing with +agreeable curiosity at his neighbour, the gospel pedlar, who was, +however, drinking the tea from a saucer and nibbling at a piece of +sugar. “<i>Ce petit morceau de sucre, ce n’est rien.</i>… There is something +noble and independent about her, and at the same time—gentle. <i>Le comme +il faut tout pur,</i> but rather in a different style.” +</p> +<p> +He soon learned from her that her name was Sofya Matveyevna Ulitin and +she lived at K——, that she had a sister there, a widow; that she was a +widow too, and that her husband, who was a sub-lieutenant risen from the +ranks, had been killed at Sevastopol. +</p> +<p> +“But you are still so young, <i>vous n’avez pas trente ans</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Thirty-four,” said Sofya Matveyevna, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“What, you understand French?” +</p> +<p> +“A little. I lived for four years after that in a gentleman’s family, +and there I picked it up from the children.” +</p> +<p> +She told him that being left a widow at eighteen she was for some time +in Sevastopol as a nurse, and had afterwards lived in various places, +and now she travelled about selling the gospel. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Mais, mon Dieu,</i> wasn’t it you who had a strange adventure in our town, +a very strange adventure?” +</p> +<p> +She flushed; it turned out that it had been she. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Ces vauriens, ces malheureux,”</i> he began in a voice quivering with +indignation; miserable and hateful recollections stirred painfully in +his heart. For a minute he seemed to sink into oblivion. +</p> +<p> +“Bah, but she’s gone away again,” he thought, with a start, noticing +that she was not by his side. “She keeps going out and is busy about +something; I notice that she seems upset too.… <i>Bah, je deviens +egoiste!</i>” +</p> +<p> +He raised his eyes and saw Anisim again, but this time in the most +menacing surroundings. The whole cottage was full of peasants, and it +was evidently Anisim who had brought them all in. Among them were the +master of the house, and the peasant with the cow, two other peasants +(they turned out to be cab-drivers), another little man, half drunk, +dressed like a peasant but clean-shaven, who seemed like a townsman +ruined by drink and talked more than any of them. And they were all +discussing him, Stepan Trofimovitch. The peasant with the cow insisted +on his point that to go round by the lake would be thirty-five miles out +of the way, and that he certainly must go by steamer. The half-drunken +man and the man of the house warmly retorted: +</p> +<p> +“Seeing that, though of course it will be nearer for his honour on +the steamer over the lake; that’s true enough, but maybe according to +present arrangements the steamer doesn’t go there, brother.” +</p> +<p> +“It does go, it does, it will go for another week,” cried Anisim, more +excited than any of them. +</p> +<p> +“That’s true enough, but it doesn’t arrive punctually, seeing it’s late +in the season, and sometimes it’ll stay three days together at Ustyevo.” +</p> +<p> +“It’ll be there to-morrow at two o’clock punctually. You’ll be at Spasov +punctually by the evening,” cried Anisim, eager to do his best for +Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mais qu’est-ce qu’il a cet homme,”</i> thought Stepan Trofimovitch, +trembling and waiting in terror for what was in store for him. +</p> +<p> +The cab-drivers, too, came forward and began bargaining with him; they +asked three roubles to Ustyevo. The others shouted that that was not too +much, that that was the fare, and that they had been driving from here +to Ustyevo all the summer for that fare. +</p> +<p> +“But … it’s nice here too.… And I don’t want …” Stepan Trofimovitch +mumbled in protest. +</p> +<p> +“Nice it is, sir, you are right there, it’s wonderfully nice at Spasov +now and Fyodor Matveyevitch will be so pleased to see you.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Mon Dieu, mes amis,</i> all this is such a surprise to me.” +</p> +<p> +At last Sofya Matveyevna came back. But she sat down on the bench +looking dejected and mournful. +</p> +<p> +“I can’t get to Spasov!” she said to the woman of the cottage. +</p> +<p> +“Why, you are bound to Spasov, too, then?” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, +starting. +</p> +<p> +It appeared that a lady had the day before told her to wait at Hatovo +and had promised to take her to Spasov, and now this lady had not turned +up after all. +</p> +<p> +“What am I to do now?” repeated Sofya Matveyevna. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Mais, ma chère et nouvelle amie,</i> I can take you just as well as the +lady to that village, whatever it is, to which I’ve hired horses, and +to-morrow—well, to-morrow, we’ll go on together to Spasov.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, are you going to Spasov too?” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Mais que faire, et je suis enchanté!</i> I shall take you with the greatest +pleasure; you see they want to take me, I’ve engaged them already. +Which of you did I engage?” Stepan Trofimovitch suddenly felt an intense +desire to go to Spasov. +</p> +<p> +Within a quarter of an hour they were getting into a covered trap, he +very lively and quite satisfied, she with her pack beside him, with a +grateful smile on her face. Anisim helped them in. +</p> +<p> +“A good journey to you, sir,” said he, bustling officiously round the +trap, “it has been a treat to see you.” +</p> +<p> +“Good-bye, good-bye, my friend, good-bye.” +</p> +<p> +“You’ll see Fyodor Matveyevitch, sir …” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my friend, yes … Fyodor Petrovitch … only good-bye.” +</p> +<p class="centered"> +II +</p> +<p> +“You see, my friend … you’ll allow me to call myself your friend, +n’est-ce pas?” Stepan Trofimovitch began hurriedly as soon as the trap +started. “You see I … <i>J’aime le peuple, c’est indispensable, mais il me +semble que je ne m’avais jamais vu de près. Stasie … cela va sans dire +qu’elle est aussi du peuple, mais le vrai peuple,</i> that is, the real +ones, who are on the high road, it seems to me they care for nothing, +but where exactly I am going … But let bygones be bygones. I fancy I am +talking at random, but I believe it’s from being flustered.” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t seem quite well.” Sofya Matveyevna watched him keenly though +respectfully. +</p> +<p> +“No, no, I must only wrap myself up, besides there’s a fresh wind, very +fresh in fact, but … let us forget that. That’s not what I really meant +to say. <i>Chère et incomparable amie,</i> I feel that I am almost happy, and +it’s your doing. Happiness is not good for me for it makes me rush to +forgive all my enemies at once.…” +</p> +<p> +“Why, that’s a very good thing, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Not always, <i>chère innocente. L’Evangile … voyez-vous, désormais nous +prêcherons ensemble</i> and I will gladly sell your beautiful little books. +Yes, I feel that that perhaps is an idea, <i>quelque chose de très nouveau +dans ce genre.</i> The peasants are religious, <i>c’est admis,</i> but they don’t +yet know the gospel. I will expound it to them.… By verbal explanation +one might correct the mistakes in that remarkable book, which I am of +course prepared to treat with the utmost respect. I will be of service +even on the high road. I’ve always been of use, I always told <i>them</i> so <i>et +à cette chère ingrate.</i>… Oh, we will forgive, we will forgive, first +of all we will forgive all and always.… We will hope that we too shall +be forgiven. Yes, for all, every one of us, have wronged one another, +all are guilty!” +</p> +<p> +“That’s a very good saying, I think, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes.… I feel that I am speaking well. I shall speak to them very +well, but what was the chief thing I meant to say? I keep losing the +thread and forgetting.… Will you allow me to remain with you? I +feel that the look in your eyes and … I am surprised in fact at your +manners. You are simple-hearted, you call me ‘sir,’ and turn your cup +upside down on your saucer … and that horrid lump of sugar; but there’s +something charming about you, and I see from your features.… Oh, +don’t blush and don’t be afraid of me as a man. <i>Chère et incomparable, +pour moi une femme c’est tout.</i> I can’t live without a woman, but only +at her side, only at her side … I am awfully muddled, awfully. I can’t +remember what I meant to say. Oh, blessed is he to whom God always sends +a woman and … and I fancy, indeed, that I am in a sort of ecstasy. +There’s a lofty idea in the open road too! That’s what I meant to say, +that’s it—about the idea. Now I’ve remembered it, but I kept losing it +before. And why have they taken us farther. It was nice there too, but +here—<i>cela devien trop froid. A propos, j’ai en tout quarante roubles +et voilà cet argent,</i> take it, take it, I can’t take care of it, I shall +lose it or it will be taken away from me.… I seem to be sleepy, I’ve +a giddiness in my head. Yes, I am giddy, I am giddy, I am giddy. Oh, how +kind you are, what’s that you are wrapping me up in?” +</p> +<p> +“You are certainly in a regular fever and I’ve covered you with my rug; +only about the money, I’d rather.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, for God’s sake, <i>n’en parlons plus parce que cela me fait mal.</i> Oh, +how kind you are!” +</p> +<p> +He ceased speaking, and with strange suddenness dropped into a feverish +shivery sleep. The road by which they drove the twelve miles was not a +smooth one, and their carriage jolted cruelly. Stepan Trofimovitch woke +up frequently, quickly raised his head from the little pillow which +Sofya Matveyevna had slipped under it, clutched her by the hand and +asked “Are you here?” as though he were afraid she had left him. He told +her, too, that he had dreamed of gaping jaws full of teeth, and that he +had very much disliked it. Sofya Matveyevna was in great anxiety about +him. +</p> +<p> +They were driven straight up to a large cottage with a frontage of +four windows and other rooms in the yard. Stepan Trofimovitch waked up, +hurriedly went in and walked straight into the second room, which was +the largest and best in the house. An expression of fussiness came into +his sleepy face. He spoke at once to the landlady, a tall, thick-set +woman of forty with very dark hair and a slight moustache, and explained +that he required the whole room for himself, and that the door was to be +shut and no one else was to be admitted, “<i>parce que nous avons à parler. +Oui, j’ai beaucoup à vous dire, chère amie.</i> I’ll pay you, I’ll pay you,” +he said with a wave of dismissal to the landlady. +</p> +<p> +Though he was in a hurry, he seemed to articulate with difficulty. The +landlady listened grimly, and was silent in token of consent, but there +was a feeling of something menacing about her silence. He did not notice +this, and hurriedly (he was in a terrible hurry) insisted on her going +away and bringing them their dinner as quickly as possible, without a +moment’s delay. +</p> +<p> +At that point the moustached woman could contain herself no longer. +</p> +<p> +“This is not an inn, sir; we don’t provide dinners for travellers. We +can boil you some crayfish or set the samovar, but we’ve nothing more. +There won’t be fresh fish till to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +But Stepan Trofimovitch waved his hands, repeating with wrathful +impatience: “I’ll pay, only make haste, make haste.” +</p> +<p> +They settled on fish, soup, and roast fowl; the landlady declared that +fowl was not to be procured in the whole village; she agreed, however, +to go in search of one, but with the air of doing him an immense favour. +</p> +<p> +As soon as she had gone Stepan Trofimovitch instantly sat down on the +sofa and made Sofya Matveyevna sit down beside him. There were several +arm-chairs as well as a sofa in the room, but they were of a most +uninviting appearance. The room was rather a large one, with a corner, +in which there was a bed, partitioned off. It was covered with old and +tattered yellow paper, and had horrible lithographs of mythological +subjects on the walls; in the corner facing the door there was a long +row of painted ikons and several sets of brass ones. The whole room with +its strangely ill-assorted furniture was an unattractive mixture of the +town element and of peasant traditions. But he did not even glance at it +all, nor look out of the window at the vast lake, the edge of which was +only seventy feet from the cottage. +</p> +<p> +“At last we are by ourselves and we will admit no one! I want to tell +you everything, everything from the very beginning.” +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna checked him with great uneasiness. +</p> +<p> +“Are you aware, Stepan Trofimovitch?…” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Comment, vous savez déjà mon nom?”</i> He smiled with delight. +</p> +<p> +“I heard it this morning from Anisim Ivanovitch when you were talking to +him. But I venture to tell you for my part …” +</p> +<p> +And she whispered hurriedly to him, looking nervously at the closed +door for fear anyone should overhear—that here in this village, it was +dreadful. That though all the peasants were fishermen, they made their +living chiefly by charging travellers every summer whatever they +thought fit. The village was not on the high road but an out-of-the-way +one, and people only called there because the steamers stopped there, +and that when the steamer did not call—and if the weather was in the +least unfavourable, it would not—then numbers of travellers would be +waiting there for several days, and all the cottages in the village +would be occupied, and that was just the villagers’ opportunity, for +they charged three times its value for everything—and their landlord +here was proud and stuck up because he was, for these parts, very rich; +he had a net which had cost a thousand roubles. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch looked almost reproachfully at Sofya Matveyevna’s +extremely excited face, and several times he made a motion to stop her. +But she persisted and said all she had to say: she said she had been +there before already in the summer “with a very genteel lady from the +town,” and stayed there too for two whole days till the steamer came, +and what they had to put up with did not bear thinking of. “Here, Stepan +Trofimovitch, you’ve been pleased to ask for this room for yourself +alone.… I only speak to warn you.… In the other room there are +travellers already. An elderly man and a young man and a lady with +children, and by to-morrow before two o’clock the whole house will be +filled up, for since the steamer hasn’t been here for two days it will +be sure to come to-morrow. So for a room apart and for ordering dinner, +and for putting out the other travellers, they’ll charge you a price +unheard of even in the capital.…” +</p> +<p> +But he was in distress, in real distress. “<i>Assez, mon enfant,</i> I beseech +you, <i>nous avons notre argent—et après, le bon Dieu.</i> And I am surprised +that, with the loftiness of your ideas, you … <i>Assez, assez, vous me +tourmentez,</i>” he articulated hysterically, “we have all our future before +us, and you … you fill me with alarm for the future.” +</p> +<p> +He proceeded at once to unfold his whole story with such haste that at +first it was difficult to understand him. It went on for a long time. +The soup was served, the fowl was brought in, followed at last by the +samovar, and still he talked on. He told it somewhat strangely and +hysterically, and indeed he was ill. It was a sudden, extreme effort +of his intellectual faculties, which was bound in his overstrained +condition, of course—Sofya Matveyevna foresaw it with distress all +the time he was talking—to result immediately afterwards in extreme +exhaustion. He began his story almost with his childhood, when, “with +fresh heart, he ran about the meadows; it was an hour before he reached +his two marriages and his life in Berlin. I dare not laugh, however. It +really was for him a matter of the utmost importance, and to adopt the +modern jargon, almost a question of struggling for existence.” He saw +before him the woman whom he had already elected to share his new life, +and was in haste to consecrate her, so to speak. His genius must not be +hidden from her.… Perhaps he had formed a very exaggerated estimate +of Sofya Matveyevna, but he had already chosen her. He could not exist +without a woman. He saw clearly from her face that she hardly understood +him, and could not grasp even the most essential part. “<i>Ce n’est rien, +nous attendrons,</i> and meanwhile she can feel it intuitively.… My +friend, I need nothing but your heart!” he exclaimed, interrupting his +narrative, “and that sweet enchanting look with which you are gazing at +me now. Oh, don’t blush! I’ve told you already …” The poor woman who +had fallen into his hands found much that was obscure, especially when +his autobiography almost passed into a complete dissertation on the fact +that no one had been ever able to understand Stepan Trofimovitch, +and that “men of genius are wasted in Russia.” It was all “so very +intellectual,” she reported afterwards dejectedly. She listened in +evident misery, rather round-eyed. When Stepan Trofimovitch fell into +a humorous vein and threw off witty sarcasms at the expense of our +advanced and governing classes, she twice made grievous efforts to laugh +in response to his laughter, but the result was worse than tears, so +that Stepan Trofimovitch was at last embarrassed by it himself and +attacked “the nihilists and modern people” with all the greater wrath +and zest. At this point he simply alarmed her, and it was not until he +began upon the romance of his life that she felt some slight relief, +though that too was deceptive. A woman is always a woman even if she is +a nun. She smiled, shook her head and then blushed crimson and dropped +her eyes, which roused Stepan Trofimovitch to absolute ecstasy and +inspiration so much that he began fibbing freely. Varvara Petrovna +appeared in his story as an enchanting brunette (who had been the rage +of Petersburg and many European capitals) and her husband “had been +struck down on the field of Sevastopol” simply because he had felt +unworthy of her love, and had yielded her to his rival, that is, Stepan +Trofimovitch.… “Don’t be shocked, my gentle one, my Christian,” he +exclaimed to Sofya Matveyevna, almost believing himself in all that he +was telling, “it was something so lofty, so subtle, that we never spoke +of it to one another all our lives.” As the story went on, the cause +of this position of affairs appeared to be a blonde lady (if not Darya +Pavlovna I don’t know of whom Stepan Trofimovitch could have been +thinking), this blonde owed everything to the brunette, and had grown up +in her house, being a distant relation. The brunette observing at last +the love of the blonde girl to Stepan Trofimovitch, kept her feelings +locked up in her heart. The blonde girl, noticing on her part the love +of the brunette to Stepan Trofimovitch, also locked her feelings in her +own heart. And all three, pining with mutual magnanimity, kept silent in +this way for twenty years, locking their feelings in their hearts. “Oh, +what a passion that was, what a passion that was!” he exclaimed with a +stifled sob of genuine ecstasy. “I saw the full blooming of her beauty” +(of the brunette’s, that is), “I saw daily with an ache in my heart +how she passed by me as though ashamed she was so fair” (once he said +“ashamed she was so fat”). At last he had run away, casting off all this +feverish dream of twenty years—<i>vingt ans</i>—and now here he was on the +high road.… +</p> +<p> +Then in a sort of delirium be began explaining to Sofya Matveyevna the +significance of their meeting that day, “so chance an encounter and +so fateful for all eternity.” Sofya Matveyevna got up from the sofa in +terrible confusion at last. He had positively made an attempt to drop on +his knees before her, which made her cry. It was beginning to get dark. +They had been for some hours shut up in the room.… +</p> +<p> +“No, you’d better let me go into the other room,” she faltered, “or else +there’s no knowing what people may think.…” +</p> +<p> +She tore herself away at last; he let her go, promising her to go to bed +at once. As they parted he complained that he had a bad headache. Sofya +Matveyevna had on entering the cottage left her bag and things in the +first room, meaning to spend the night with the people of the house; but +she got no rest. +</p> +<p> +In the night Stepan Trofimovitch was attacked by the malady with which +I and all his friends were so familiar—the summer cholera, which was +always the outcome of any nervous strain or moral shock with him. Poor +Sofya Matveyevna did not sleep all night. As in waiting on the invalid +she was obliged pretty often to go in and out of the cottage through the +landlady’s room, the latter, as well as the travellers who were sleeping +there, grumbled and even began swearing when towards morning she set +about preparing the samovar. Stepan Trofimovitch was half unconscious +all through the attack; at times he had a vision of the samovar being +set, of someone giving him something to drink (raspberry tea), and +putting something warm to his stomach and his chest. But he felt almost +every instant that she was here, beside him; that it was she going out +and coming in, lifting him off the bed and settling him in it again. +Towards three o’clock in the morning he began to be easier; he sat up, +put his legs out of bed and thinking of nothing he fell on the floor +at her feet. This was a very different matter from the kneeling of the +evening; he simply bowed down at her feet and kissed the hem of her +dress. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t, sir, I am not worth it,” she faltered, trying to get him back on +to the bed. +</p> +<p> +“My saviour,” he cried, clasping his hands reverently before her. “<i>Vous +êtes noble comme une marquise!</i> I—I am a wretch. Oh, I’ve been dishonest +all my life.…” +</p> +<p> +“Calm yourself!” Sofya Matveyevna implored him. +</p> +<p> +“It was all lies that I told you this evening—to glorify myself, to +make it splendid, from pure wantonness—all, all, every word, oh, I am a +wretch, I am a wretch!” +</p> +<p> +The first attack was succeeded in this way by a second—an attack +of hysterical remorse. I have mentioned these attacks already when I +described his letters to Varvara Petrovna. He suddenly recalled Lise +and their meeting the previous morning. “It was so awful, and there must +have been some disaster and I didn’t ask, didn’t find out! I thought +only of myself. Oh, what’s the matter with her? Do you know what’s the +matter with her?” he besought Sofya Matveyevna. +</p> +<p> +Then he swore that “he would never change,” that he would go back to +her (that is, Varvara Petrovna). “We” (that is, he and Sofya Matveyevna) +“will go to her steps every day when she is getting into her carriage +for her morning drive, and we will watch her in secret.… Oh, I wish +her to smite me on the other cheek; it’s a joy to wish it! I shall turn +her my other cheek <i>comme dans votre livre!</i> Only now for the first time +I understand what is meant by … turning the other cheek. I never +understood before!” +</p> +<p> +The two days that followed were among the most terrible in Sofya +Matveyevna’s life; she remembers them with a shudder to this day. Stepan +Trofimovitch became so seriously ill that he could not go on board the +steamer, which on this occasion arrived punctually at two o’clock in the +afternoon. She could not bring herself to leave him alone, so she +did not leave for Spasov either. From her account he was positively +delighted at the steamer’s going without him. +</p> +<p> +“Well, that’s a good thing, that’s capital!” he muttered in his bed. +“I’ve been afraid all the time that we should go. Here it’s so nice, +better than anywhere.… You won’t leave me? Oh, you have not left me!” +</p> +<p> +It was by no means so nice “here”, however. He did not care to hear of +her difficulties; his head was full of fancies and nothing else. He +looked upon his illness as something transitory, a trifling ailment, and +did not think about it at all; he thought of nothing but how they would +go and sell “these books.” He asked her to read him the gospel. +</p> +<p> +“I haven’t read it for a long time … in the original. Some one may ask +me about it and I shall make a mistake; I ought to prepare myself after +all.” +</p> +<p> +She sat down beside him and opened the book. +</p> +<p> +“You read beautifully,” he interrupted her after the first line. “I see, +I see I was not mistaken,” he added obscurely but ecstatically. He was, +in fact, in a continual state of enthusiasm. She read the Sermon on the +Mount. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Assez, assez, mon enfant,</i> enough.… Don’t you think that that is +enough?” +</p> +<p> +And he closed his eyes helplessly. He was very weak, but had not yet +lost consciousness. Sofya Matveyevna was getting up, thinking that he +wanted to sleep. But he stopped her. +</p> +<p> +“My friend, I’ve been telling lies all my life. Even when I told the +truth I never spoke for the sake of the truth, but always for my own +sake. I knew it before, but I only see it now.… Oh, where are those +friends whom I have insulted with my friendship all my life? And all, +all! <i>Savez-vous </i>… perhaps I am telling lies now; no doubt I am telling +lies now. The worst of it is that I believe myself when I am lying. The +hardest thing in life is to live without telling lies … and without +believing in one’s lies. Yes, yes, that’s just it.… But wait a bit, +that can all come afterwards.… We’ll be together, together,” he added +enthusiastically. +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch,” Sofya Matveyevna asked timidly, “hadn’t I better +send to the town for the doctor?” +</p> +<p> +He was tremendously taken aback. +</p> +<p> +“What for? <i>Est-ce que je suis si malade? Mais rien de sérieux.</i> What need +have we of outsiders? They may find, besides—and what will happen then? +No, no, no outsiders and we’ll be together.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you know,” he said after a pause, “read me something more, just the +first thing you come across.” +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna opened the Testament and began reading. +</p> +<p> +“Wherever it opens, wherever it happens to open,” he repeated. +</p> +<p> +“‘And unto the angel of the church of the Laodiceans …’” +</p> +<p> +“What’s that? What is it? Where is that from?” +</p> +<p> +“It’s from the Revelation.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Oh, je m’en souviens, oui, l’Apocalypse. Lisez, lisez,</i> I am trying our +future fortunes by the book. I want to know what has turned up. Read on +from there.…” +</p> +<p> + “‘And unto the angel of the church of the Laodiceans write: These things + saith the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the beginning of the + creation of God; +</p> +<p> + “‘I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot; + I would thou wert cold or hot. +</p> +<p> + “‘So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, + I will spue thee out of my mouth. +</p> +<p> + “‘Because thou sayest, I am rich and increased with goods, + and have need of nothing: and thou knowest not that thou art wretched, + and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked.’” +</p> +<p> +“That too … and that’s in your book too!” he exclaimed, with flashing +eyes and raising his head from the pillow. “I never knew that grand +passage! You hear, better be cold, better be cold than lukewarm, than +only lukewarm. Oh, I’ll prove it! Only don’t leave me, don’t leave me +alone! We’ll prove it, we’ll prove it!” +</p> +<p> +“I won’t leave you, Stepan Trofimovitch. I’ll never leave you!” She took +his hand, pressed it in both of hers, and laid it against her heart, +looking at him with tears in her eyes. (“I felt very sorry for him at +that moment,” she said, describing it afterwards.) +</p> +<p> +His lips twitched convulsively. +</p> +<p> +“But, Stepan Trofimovitch, what are we to do though? Oughtn’t we to let +some of your friends know, or perhaps your relations?” +</p> +<p> +But at that he was so dismayed that she was very sorry that she had +spoken of it again. Trembling and shaking, he besought her to fetch no +one, not to do anything. He kept insisting, “No one, no one! We’ll be +alone, by ourselves, alone, <i>nous partirons ensemble.</i>” +</p> +<p> +Another difficulty was that the people of the house too began to be +uneasy; they grumbled, and kept pestering Sofya Matveyevna. She paid +them and managed to let them see her money. This softened them for the +time, but the man insisted on seeing Stepan Trofimovitch’s “papers.” +The invalid pointed with a supercilious smile to his little bag. Sofya +Matveyevna found in it the certificate of his having resigned his post +at the university, or something of the kind, which had served him as +a passport all his life. The man persisted, and said that “he must be +taken somewhere, because their house wasn’t a hospital, and if he were +to die there might be a bother. We should have no end of trouble.” Sofya +Matveyevna tried to speak to him of the doctor, but it appeared that +sending to the town would cost so much that she had to give up all +idea of the doctor. She returned in distress to her invalid. Stepan +Trofimovitch was getting weaker and weaker. +</p> +<p> +“Now read me another passage.… About the pigs,” he said suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“What?” asked Sofya Matveyevna, very much alarmed. +</p> +<p> +“About the pigs … that’s there too … <i>ces cochons.</i> I remember the +devils entered into swine and they all were drowned. You must read me +that; I’ll tell you why afterwards. I want to remember it word for word. +I want it word for word.” +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna knew the gospel well and at once found the passage in +St. Luke which I have chosen as the motto of my record. I quote it here +again: +</p> +<p> + “‘And there was there one herd of many swine feeding on the mountain; + and they besought him that he would suffer them to enter into them. And + he suffered them. +</p> +<p> + “‘Then went the devils out of the man and entered into the swine; + and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the lake, and were + choked. +</p> +<p> + “‘When they that fed them saw what was done, they fled, and went and + told it in the city and in the country. +</p> +<p> + “‘Then they went out to see what was done; and came to Jesus and found + the man, out of whom the devils were departed, sitting at the feet of + Jesus, clothed, and in his right mind; and they were afraid.’” +</p> +<p> +“My friend,” said Stepan Trofimovitch in great excitement “<i>savez-vous,</i> +that wonderful and … extraordinary passage has been a stumbling-block +to me all my life … <i>dans ce livre</i>.… so much so that I remembered +those verses from childhood. Now an idea has occurred to me; <i>une +comparaison.</i> A great number of ideas keep coming into my mind now. You +see, that’s exactly like our Russia, those devils that come out of the +sick man and enter into the swine. They are all the sores, all the foul +contagions, all the impurities, all the devils great and small that have +multiplied in that great invalid, our beloved Russia, in the course of +ages and ages. <i>Oui, cette Russie que j’aimais toujours.</i> But a great +idea and a great Will will encompass it from on high, as with that +lunatic possessed of devils … and all those devils will come forth, all +the impurity, all the rottenness that was putrefying on the surface … +and they will beg of themselves to enter into swine; and indeed maybe +they have entered into them already! They are we, we and those … and +Petrusha and <i>les autres avec lui </i>… and I perhaps at the head of them, +and we shall cast ourselves down, possessed and raving, from the rocks +into the sea, and we shall all be drowned—and a good thing too, for +that is all we are fit for. But the sick man will be healed and +‘will sit at the feet of Jesus,’ and all will look upon him with +astonishment.… My dear, <i>vous comprendrez après,</i> but now it excites me +very much.… <i>Vous comprendrez après. Nous comprendrons ensemble.</i>” +</p> +<p> +He sank into delirium and at last lost consciousness. So it went on all +the following day. Sofya Matveyevna sat beside him, crying. She scarcely +slept at all for three nights, and avoided seeing the people of the +house, who were, she felt, beginning to take some steps. Deliverance +only came on the third day. In the morning Stepan Trofimovitch returned +to consciousness, recognised her, and held out his hand to her. She +crossed herself hopefully. He wanted to look out of the window. <i>“Tiens, +un lac!”</i> he said. “Good heavens, I had not seen it before!…” At that +moment there was the rumble of a carriage at the cottage door and a +great hubbub in the house followed. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +III +</p> +<p> +It was Varvara Petrovna herself. She had arrived, with Darya Pavlovna, +in a closed carriage drawn by four horses, with two footmen. The marvel +had happened in the simplest way: Anisim, dying of curiosity, went to +Varvara Petrovna’s the day after he reached the town and gossiped to +the servants, telling them he had met Stepan Trofimovitch alone in a +village, that the latter had been seen by peasants walking by himself +on the high road, and that he had set off for Spasov by way of Ustyevo +accompanied by Sofya Matveyevna. As Varvara Petrovna was, for her +part, in terrible anxiety and had done everything she could to find her +fugitive friend, she was at once told about Anisim. When she had heard +his story, especially the details of the departure for Ustyevo in a cart +in the company of some Sofya Matveyevna, she instantly got ready and set +off post-haste for Ustyevo herself. +</p> +<p> +Her stern and peremptory voice resounded through the cottage; even the +landlord and his wife were intimidated. She had only stopped to question +them and make inquiries, being persuaded that Stepan Trofimovitch must +have reached Spasov long before. Learning that he was still here and +ill, she entered the cottage in great agitation. +</p> +<p> +“Well, where is he? Ah, that’s you!” she cried, seeing Sofya Matveyevna, +who appeared at that very instant in the doorway of the next room. “I +can guess from your shameless face that it’s you. Go away, you vile +hussy! Don’t let me find a trace of her in the house! Turn her out, or +else, my girl, I’ll get you locked up for good. Keep her safe for a time +in another house. She’s been in prison once already in the town; she can +go back there again. And you, my good man, don’t dare to let anyone in +while I am here, I beg of you. I am Madame Stavrogin, and I’ll take the +whole house. As for you, my dear, you’ll have to give me a full account +of it all.” +</p> +<p> +The familiar sounds overwhelmed Stepan Trofimovitch. He began to +tremble. But she had already stepped behind the screen. With flashing +eyes she drew up a chair with her foot, and, sinking back in it, she +shouted to Dasha: +</p> +<p> +“Go away for a time! Stay in the other room. Why are you so inquisitive? +And shut the door properly after you.” +</p> +<p> +For some time she gazed in silence with a sort of predatory look into +his frightened face. +</p> +<p> +“Well, how are you getting on, Stepan Trofimovitch? So you’ve been +enjoying yourself?” broke from her with ferocious irony. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Chère,”</i> Stepan Trofimovitch faltered, not knowing what he was saying, +“I’ve learnt to know real life in Russia … <i>et je prêcherai l’Evangile.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, shameless, ungrateful man!” she wailed suddenly, clasping her +hands. “As though you had not disgraced me enough, you’ve taken up +with … oh, you shameless old reprobate!” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Chère …”</i> His voice failed him and he could not articulate a syllable +but simply gazed with eyes wide with horror. +</p> +<p> +“Who is she?” +</p> +<p> +“<i>C’est un ange; c’était plus qu’un ange pour moi.</i> She’s been all +night … Oh, don’t shout, don’t frighten her, <i>chère, chère </i>…” +</p> +<p> +With a loud noise, Varvara Petrovna pushed back her chair, uttering a +loud cry of alarm. +</p> +<p> +“Water, water!” +</p> +<p> +Though he returned to consciousness, she was still shaking with terror, +and, with pale cheeks, looked at his distorted face. It was only then, +for the first time, that she guessed the seriousness of his illness. +</p> +<p> +“Darya,” she whispered suddenly to Darya Pavlovna, “send at once for the +doctor, for Salzfish; let Yegorytch go at once. Let him hire horses here +and get another carriage from the town. He must be here by night.” +</p> +<p> +Dasha flew to do her bidding. Stepan Trofimovitch still gazed at her +with the same wide-open, frightened eyes; his blanched lips quivered. +</p> +<p> +“Wait a bit, Stepan Trofimovitch, wait a bit, my dear!” she said, +coaxing him like a child. “There, there, wait a bit! Darya will come +back and … My goodness, the landlady, the landlady, you come, anyway, +my good woman!” +</p> +<p> +In her impatience she ran herself to the landlady. +</p> +<p> +“Fetch that woman back at once, this minute. Bring her back, bring her +back!” +</p> +<p> +Fortunately Sofya Matveyevna had not yet had time to get away and was +only just going out of the gate with her pack and her bag. She was +brought back. She was so panic-stricken that she was trembling in every +limb. Varvara Petrovna pounced on her like a hawk on a chicken, seized +her by the hand and dragged her impulsively to Stepan Trofimovitch. +</p> +<p> +“Here, here she is, then. I’ve not eaten her. You thought I’d eaten +her.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch clutched Varvara Petrovna’s hand, raised it to his +eyes, and burst into tears, sobbing violently and convulsively. +</p> +<p> +“There, calm yourself, there, there, my dear, there, poor dear man! +Ach, mercy on us! Calm yourself, will you?” she shouted frantically. +“Oh, you bane of my life!” +</p> +<p> +“My dear,” Stepan Trofimovitch murmured at last, addressing Sofya +Matveyevna, “stay out there, my dear, I want to say something here.…” +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna hurried out at once. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Chérie … chérie …”</i> he gasped. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t talk for a bit, Stepan Trofimovitch, wait a little till you’ve +rested. Here’s some water. Do wait, will you!” +</p> +<p> +She sat down on the chair again. Stepan Trofimovitch held her hand +tight. For a long while she would not allow him to speak. He raised her +hand to his lips and fell to kissing it. She set her teeth and looked +away into the corner of the room. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Je vous aimais,”</i> broke from him at last. She had never heard such words +from him, uttered in such a voice. +</p> +<p> +“H’m!” she growled in response. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Je vous aimais toute ma vie … vingt ans!”</i> +</p> +<p> +She remained silent for two or three minutes. +</p> +<p> +“And when you were getting yourself up for Dasha you sprinkled yourself +with scent,” she said suddenly, in a terrible whisper. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch was dumbfounded. +</p> +<p> +“You put on a new tie …” +</p> +<p> +Again silence for two minutes. +</p> +<p> +“Do you remember the cigar?” +</p> +<p> +“My friend,” he faltered, overcome with horror. +</p> +<p> +“That cigar at the window in the evening … the moon was shining … +after the arbour … at Skvoreshniki? Do you remember, do you remember?” +She jumped up from her place, seized his pillow by the corners and shook +it with his head on it. “Do you remember, you worthless, worthless, +ignoble, cowardly, worthless man, always worthless!” she hissed in her +furious whisper, restraining herself from speaking loudly. At last +she left him and sank on the chair, covering her face with her hands. +“Enough!” she snapped out, drawing herself up. “Twenty years have +passed, there’s no calling them back. I am a fool too.” +</p> +<p> +<i>“Je vous aimais.”</i> He clasped his hands again. +</p> +<p> +“Why do you keep on with your <i>aimais</i> and <i>aimais</i>? Enough!” she cried, +leaping up again. “And if you don’t go to sleep at once I’ll … You need +rest; go to sleep, go to sleep at once, shut your eyes. Ach, mercy on +us, perhaps he wants some lunch! What do you eat? What does he eat? Ach, +mercy on us! Where is that woman? Where is she?” +</p> +<p> +There was a general bustle again. But Stepan Trofimovitch faltered in a +weak voice that he really would like to go to sleep <i>une heure,</i> and then +<i>un bouillon, un thé.… enfin il est si heureux.</i> He lay back and really +did seem to go to sleep (he probably pretended to). Varvara Petrovna +waited a little, and stole out on tiptoe from behind the partition. +</p> +<p> +She settled herself in the landlady’s room, turned out the landlady and +her husband, and told Dasha to bring her <i>that</i> woman. There followed an +examination in earnest. +</p> +<p> +“Tell me all about it, my good girl. Sit down beside me; that’s right. +Well?” +</p> +<p> +“I met Stepan Trofimovitch …” +</p> +<p> +“Stay, hold your tongue! I warn you that if you tell lies or conceal +anything, I’ll ferret it out. Well?” +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch and I … as soon as I came to Hatovo …” Sofya +Matveyevna began almost breathlessly. +</p> +<p> +“Stay, hold your tongue, wait a bit! Why do you gabble like that? To +begin with, what sort of creature are you?” +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna told her after a fashion, giving a very brief account +of herself, however, beginning with Sevastopol. Varvara Petrovna +listened in silence, sitting up erect in her chair, looking sternly +straight into the speaker’s eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Why are you so frightened? Why do you look at the ground? I like people +who look me straight in the face and hold their own with me. Go on.” +</p> +<p> +She told of their meeting, of her books, of how Stepan Trofimovitch had +regaled the peasant woman with vodka … “That’s right, that’s right, +don’t leave out the slightest detail,” Varvara Petrovna encouraged her. +</p> +<p> +At last she described how they had set off, and how Stepan Trofimovitch +had gone on talking, “really ill by that time,” and here had given an +account of his life from the very beginning, talking for some hours. +“Tell me about his life.” +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna suddenly stopped and was completely nonplussed. +</p> +<p> +“I can’t tell you anything about that, madam,” she brought out, almost +crying; “besides, I could hardly understand a word of it.” +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense! You must have understood something.” +</p> +<p> +“He told a long time about a distinguished lady with black hair.” Sofya +Matveyevna flushed terribly though she noticed Varvara Petrovna’s fair +hair and her complete dissimilarity with the “brunette” of the story. +</p> +<p> +“Black-haired? What exactly? Come, speak!” +</p> +<p> +“How this grand lady was deeply in love with his honour all her life +long and for twenty years, but never dared to speak, and was shamefaced +before him because she was a very stout lady.…” +</p> +<p> +“The fool!” Varvara Petrovna rapped out thoughtfully but resolutely. +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna was in tears by now. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know how to tell any of it properly, madam, because I was in a +great fright over his honour; and I couldn’t understand, as he is such +an intellectual gentleman.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s not for a goose like you to judge of his intellect. Did he offer +you his hand?” +</p> +<p> +The speaker trembled. +</p> +<p> +“Did he fall in love with you? Speak! Did he offer you his hand?” +Varvara Petrovna shouted peremptorily. +</p> +<p> +“That was pretty much how it was,” she murmured tearfully. “But I took +it all to mean nothing, because of his illness,” she added firmly, +raising her eyes. +</p> +<p> +“What is your name?” +</p> +<p> +“Sofya Matveyevna, madam.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, let me tell you, Sofya Matveyevna, that he is a wretched +and worthless little man.… Good Lord! Do you look upon me as a wicked +woman?” +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna gazed open-eyed. +</p> +<p> +“A wicked woman, a tyrant? Who has ruined his life?” +</p> +<p> +“How can that be when you are crying yourself, madam?” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna actually had tears in her eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Well, sit down, sit down, don’t be frightened. Look me straight in the +face again. Why are you blushing? Dasha, come here. Look at her. What do +you think of her? Her heart is pure.…” +</p> +<p> +And to the amazement and perhaps still greater alarm of Sofya +Matveyevna, she suddenly patted her on the cheek. +</p> +<p> +“It’s only a pity she is a fool. Too great a fool for her age. That’s +all right, my dear, I’ll look after you. I see that it’s all nonsense. +Stay near here for the time. A room shall be taken for you and you shall +have food and everything else from me … till I ask for you.” +</p> +<p> +Sofya Matveyevna stammered in alarm that she must hurry on. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve no need to hurry. I’ll buy all your books, and meantime you stay +here. Hold your tongue; don’t make excuses. If I hadn’t come you would +have stayed with him all the same, wouldn’t you?” +</p> +<p> +“I wouldn’t have left him on any account,” Sofya Matveyevna brought out +softly and firmly, wiping her tears. +</p> +<p> +It was late at night when Doctor Salzfish was brought. He was a very +respectable old man and a practitioner of fairly wide experience who had +recently lost his post in the service in consequence of some quarrel +on a point of honour with his superiors. Varvara Petrovna instantly +and actively took him under her protection. He examined the patient +attentively, questioned him, and cautiously pronounced to Varvara +Petrovna that “the sufferer’s” condition was highly dubious in +consequence of complications, and that they must be prepared “even for +the worst.” Varvara Petrovna, who had during twenty years got +accustomed to expecting nothing serious or decisive to come from Stepan +Trofimovitch, was deeply moved and even turned pale. “Is there really no +hope?” +</p> +<p> +“Can there ever be said to be absolutely no hope? But …” She did not go +to bed all night, and felt that the morning would never come. As soon +as the patient opened his eyes and returned to consciousness (he was +conscious all the time, however, though he was growing weaker every +hour), she went up to him with a very resolute air. +</p> +<p> +“Stepan Trofimovitch, one must be prepared for anything. I’ve sent for a +priest. You must do what is right.…” +</p> +<p> +Knowing his convictions, she was terribly afraid of his refusing. He +looked at her with surprise. +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense, nonsense!” she vociferated, thinking he was already refusing. +“This is no time for whims. You have played the fool enough.” +</p> +<p> +“But … am I really so ill, then?” +</p> +<p> +He agreed thoughtfully. And indeed I was much surprised to learn from +Varvara Petrovna afterwards that he showed no fear of death at all. +Possibly it was that he simply did not believe it, and still looked upon +his illness as a trifling one. +</p> +<p> +He confessed and took the sacrament very readily. Every one, Sofya +Matveyevna, and even the servants, came to congratulate him on taking +the sacrament. They were all moved to tears looking at his sunken and +exhausted face and his blanched and quivering lips. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Oui, mes amis,</i> and I only wonder that you … take so much trouble. I +shall most likely get up to-morrow, and we will … set off.… <i>Toute +cette cérémonie</i> … for which, of course, I feel every proper respect … +was …” +</p> +<p> +“I beg you, father, to remain with the invalid,” said Varvara Petrovna +hurriedly, stopping the priest, who had already taken off his vestments. +“As soon as tea has been handed, I beg you to begin to speak of +religion, to support his faith.” +</p> +<p> +The priest spoke; every one was standing or sitting round the sick-bed. +</p> +<p> +“In our sinful days,” the priest began smoothly, with a cup of tea in +his hand, “faith in the Most High is the sole refuge of the race of man +in all the trials and tribulations of life, as well as its hope for that +eternal bliss promised to the righteous.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch seemed to revive, a subtle smile strayed on his +lips. +</p> +<p> +<i>“Mon père, je vous remercie et vous êtes bien bon, mais …”</i> +</p> +<p> +“No <i>mais</i> about it, no <i>mais</i> at all!” exclaimed Varvara Petrovna, +bounding up from her chair. “Father,” she said, addressing the priest, +“he is a man who … he is a man who … You will have to confess him +again in another hour! That’s the sort of man he is.” +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch smiled faintly. +</p> +<p> +“My friends,” he said, “God is necessary to me, if only because He is +the only being whom one can love eternally.” +</p> +<p> +Whether he was really converted, or whether the stately ceremony of +the administration of the sacrament had impressed him and stirred the +artistic responsiveness of his temperament or not, he firmly and, I +am told, with great feeling uttered some words which were in flat +contradiction with many of his former convictions. +</p> +<p> +“My immortality is necessary if only because God will not be guilty +of injustice and extinguish altogether the flame of love for Him once +kindled in my heart. And what is more precious than love? Love is higher +than existence, love is the crown of existence; and how is it possible +that existence should not be under its dominance? If I have once loved +Him and rejoiced in my love, is it possible that He should extinguish me +and my joy and bring me to nothingness again? If there is a God, then I +am immortal. <i>Voilà ma profession de foi.</i>” +</p> +<p> +“There is a God, Stepan Trofimovitch, I assure you there is,” Varvara +Petrovna implored him. “Give it up, drop all your foolishness for once +in your life!” (I think she had not quite understood his <i>profession de +foi</i>.) +</p> +<p> +“My friend,” he said, growing more and more animated, though his voice +broke frequently, “as soon as I understood … that turning of the cheek, +I … understood something else as well. <i>J’ai menti toute ma vie,</i> all my +life, all! I should like … but that will do to-morrow.… To-morrow we +will all set out.” +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna burst into tears. He was looking about for someone. +</p> +<p> +“Here she is, she is here!” She seized Sofya Matveyevna by the hand and +led her to him. He smiled tenderly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I should dearly like to live again!” he exclaimed with an +extraordinary rush of energy. “Every minute, every instant of life ought +to be a blessing to man … they ought to be, they certainly ought to be! +It’s the duty of man to make it so; that’s the law of his nature, which +always exists even if hidden.… Oh, I wish I could see Petrusha … and +all of them … Shatov …” +</p> +<p> +I may remark that as yet no one had heard of Shatov’s fate—not Varvara +Petrovna nor Darya Pavlovna, nor even Salzfish, who was the last to come +from the town. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch became more and more excited, feverishly so, beyond +his strength. +</p> +<p> +“The mere fact of the ever present idea that there exists something +infinitely more just and more happy than I am fills me through and +through with tender ecstasy—and glorifies me—oh, whoever I may be, +whatever I have done! What is far more essential for man than personal +happiness is to know and to believe at every instant that there is +somewhere a perfect and serene happiness for all men and for +everything.… The one essential condition of human existence is that +man should always be able to bow down before something infinitely great. +If men are deprived of the infinitely great they will not go on living +and will die of despair. The Infinite and the Eternal are as essential +for man as the little planet on which he dwells. My friends, all, all: +hail to the Great Idea! The Eternal, Infinite Idea! It is essential to +every man, whoever he may be, to bow down before what is the Great Idea. +Even the stupidest man needs something great. Petrusha … oh, how I want +to see them all again! They don’t know, they don’t know that that same +Eternal, Grand Idea lies in them all!” +</p> +<p> +Doctor Salzfish was not present at the ceremony. Coming in suddenly, he +was horrified, and cleared the room, insisting that the patient must not +be excited. +</p> +<p> +Stepan Trofimovitch died three days later, but by that time he was +completely unconscious. He quietly went out like a candle that is burnt +down. After having the funeral service performed, Varvara Petrovna +took the body of her poor friend to Skvoreshniki. His grave is in the +precincts of the church and is already covered with a marble slab. The +inscription and the railing will be added in the spring. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna’s absence from town had lasted eight days. Sofya +Matveyevna arrived in the carriage with her and seems to have settled +with her for good. I may mention that as soon as Stepan Trofimovitch +lost consciousness (the morning that he received the sacrament) Varvara +Petrovna promptly asked Sofya Matveyevna to leave the cottage again, and +waited on the invalid herself unassisted to the end, but she sent for +her at once when he had breathed his last. Sofya Matveyevna was terribly +alarmed by Varvara Petrovna’s proposition, or rather command, that she +should settle for good at Skvoreshniki, but the latter refused to listen +to her protests. +</p> +<p> +“That’s all nonsense! I will go with you to sell the gospel. I have no +one in the world now.” +</p> +<p> +“You have a son, however,” Salzfish observed. +</p> +<p> +“I have no son!” Varvara Petrovna snapped out—and it was like a +prophecy. +</p> +<a id="H2CH0023"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br><br><br><br></div> + +<h2> + CHAPTER VIII. CONCLUSION +</h2> +<p> +ALL THE CRIMES AND VILLAINIES THAT had been perpetrated were discovered +with extraordinary rapidity, much more quickly than Pyotr Stepanovitch +had expected. To begin with, the luckless Marya Ignatyevna waked up +before daybreak on the night of her husband’s murder, missed him and +flew into indescribable agitation, not seeing him beside her. The woman +who had been hired by Anna Prohorovna, and was there for the night, +could not succeed in calming her, and as soon as it was daylight ran +to fetch Arina Prohorovna herself, assuring the invalid that the latter +knew where her husband was, and when he would be back. Meantime Arina +Prohorovna was in some anxiety too; she had already heard from her +husband of the deed perpetrated that night at Skvoreshniki. He had +returned home about eleven o’clock in a terrible state of mind and +body; wringing his hands, he flung himself face downwards on his bed and +shaking with convulsive sobs kept repeating, “It’s not right, it’s not +right, it’s not right at all!” He ended, of course, by confessing it all +to Arina Prohorovna—but to no one else in the house. She left him on +his bed, sternly impressing upon him that “if he must blubber he must do +it in his pillow so as not to be overheard, and that he would be a fool +if he showed any traces of it next day.” She felt somewhat anxious, +however, and began at once to clear things up in case of emergency; +she succeeded in hiding or completely destroying all suspicious papers, +books, manifestoes perhaps. At the same time she reflected that she, her +sister, her aunt, her sister-in-law the student, and perhaps even her +long-eared brother had really nothing much to be afraid of. When the +nurse ran to her in the morning she went without a second thought to +Marya Ignatyevna’s. She was desperately anxious, moreover, to find out +whether what her husband had told her that night in a terrified and +frantic whisper, that was almost like delirium, was true—that is, +whether Pyotr Stepanovitch had been right in his reckoning that Kirillov +would sacrifice himself for the general benefit. +</p> +<p> +But she arrived at Marya Ignatyevna’s too late: when the latter had sent +off the woman and was left alone, she was unable to bear the suspense; +she got out of bed, and throwing round her the first garment she could +find, something very light and unsuitable for the weather, I believe, +she ran down to Kirillov’s lodge herself, thinking that he perhaps would +be better able than anyone to tell her something about her husband. The +terrible effect on her of what she saw there may well be imagined. It +is remarkable that she did not read Kirillov’s last letter, which lay +conspicuously on the table, overlooking it, of course, in her fright. +She ran back to her room, snatched up her baby, and went with it out of +the house into the street. It was a damp morning, there was a fog. +She met no passers-by in such an out-of-the-way street. She ran on +breathless through the wet, cold mud, and at last began knocking at the +doors of the houses. In the first house no one came to the door, in the +second they were so long in coming that she gave it up impatiently and +began knocking at a third door. This was the house of a merchant called +Titov. Here she wailed and kept declaring incoherently that her husband +was murdered, causing a great flutter in the house. Something was +known about Shatov and his story in the Titov household; they were +horror-stricken that she should be running about the streets in such +attire and in such cold with the baby scarcely covered in her arms, +when, according to her story, she had only been confined the day before. +They thought at first that she was delirious, especially as they could +not make out whether it was Kirillov who was murdered or her husband. +Seeing that they did not believe her she would have run on farther, +but they kept her by force, and I am told she screamed and struggled +terribly. They went to Filipov’s, and within two hours Kirillov’s +suicide and the letter he had left were known to the whole town. The +police came to question Marya Ignatyevna, who was still conscious, and +it appeared at once that she had not read Kirillov’s letter, and they +could not find out from her what had led her to conclude that her +husband had been murdered. She only screamed that if Kirillov was +murdered, then her husband was murdered, they were together. Towards +midday she sank into a state of unconsciousness from which she never +recovered, and she died three days later. The baby had caught cold and +died before her. +</p> +<p> +Arina Prohorovna not finding Marya Ignatyevna and the baby, and guessing +something was wrong, was about to run home, but she checked herself at +the gate and sent the nurse to inquire of the gentleman at the lodge +whether Marya Ignatyevna was not there and whether he knew anything +about her. The woman came back screaming frantically. Persuading her not +to scream and not to tell anyone by the time-honoured argument that “she +would get into trouble,” she stole out of the yard. +</p> +<p> +It goes without saying that she was questioned the same morning as +having acted as midwife to Marya Ignatyevna; but they did not get much +out of her. She gave a very cool and sensible account of all she had +herself heard and seen at Shatov’s, but as to what had happened she +declared that she knew nothing, and could not understand it. +</p> +<p> +It may well be imagined what an uproar there was in the town. A new +“sensation,” another murder! But there was another element in this +case: it was clear that a secret society of murderers, incendiaries, and +revolutionists did exist, did actually exist. Liza’s terrible death, the +murder of Stavrogin’s wife, Stavrogin himself, the fire, the ball for +the benefit of the governesses, the laxity of manners and morals in +Yulia Mihailovna’s circle.… Even in the disappearance of Stepan +Trofimovitch people insisted on scenting a mystery. All sorts of things +were whispered about Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. By the end of the day +people knew of Pyotr Stepanovitch’s absence too, and, strange to say, +less was said of him than of anyone. What was talked of most all that +day was “the senator.” There was a crowd almost all day at Filipov’s +house. The police certainly were led astray by Kirillov’s letter. They +believed that Kirillov had murdered Shatov and had himself committed +suicide. Yet, though the authorities were thrown into perplexity, +they were not altogether hoodwinked. The word “park,” for instance, so +vaguely inserted in Kirillov’s letter, did not puzzle anyone as Pyotr +Stepanovitch had expected it would. The police at once made a rush +for Skvoreshniki, not simply because it was the only park in the +neighbourhood but also led thither by a sort of instinct because all the +horrors of the last few days were connected directly or indirectly with +Skvoreshniki. That at least is my theory. (I may remark that +Varvara Petrovna had driven off early that morning in chase of Stepan +Trofimovitch, and knew nothing of what had happened in the town.) +</p> +<p> +The body was found in the pond that evening. What led to the discovery +of it was the finding of Shatov’s cap at the scene of the murder, where +it had been with extraordinary carelessness overlooked by the murderers. +The appearance of the body, the medical examination and certain +deductions from it roused immediate suspicions that Kirillov must have +had accomplices. It became evident that a secret society really did +exist of which Shatov and Kirillov were members and which was connected +with the manifestoes. Who were these accomplices? No one even thought of +any member of the quintet that day. It was ascertained that Kirillov +had lived like a hermit, and in so complete a seclusion that it had been +possible, as stated in the letter, for Fedka to lodge with him for so +many days, even while an active search was being made for him. The chief +thing that worried every one was the impossibility of discovering a +connecting-link in this chaos. +</p> +<p> +There is no saying what conclusions and what disconnected theories our +panic-stricken townspeople would have reached, if the whole mystery had +not been suddenly solved next day, thanks to Lyamshin. +</p> +<p> +He broke down. He behaved as even Pyotr Stepanovitch had towards the end +begun to fear he would. Left in charge of Tolkatchenko, and afterwards +of Erkel, he spent all the following day lying in his bed with his face +turned to the wall, apparently calm, not uttering a word, and scarcely +answering when he was spoken to. This is how it was that he heard +nothing all day of what was happening in the town. But Tolkatchenko, +who was very well informed about everything, took into his head by +the evening to throw up the task of watching Lyamshin which Pyotr +Stepanovitch had laid upon him, and left the town, that is, to put it +plainly, made his escape; the fact is, they lost their heads as Erkel +had predicted they would. I may mention, by the way, that Liputin had +disappeared the same day before twelve o’clock. But things fell out so +that his disappearance did not become known to the authorities till +the evening of the following day, when, the police went to question his +family, who were panic-stricken at his absence but kept quiet from fear +of consequences. But to return to Lyamshin: as soon as he was left alone +(Erkel had gone home earlier, relying on Tolkatchenko) he ran out of +his house, and, of course, very soon learned the position of affairs. +Without even returning home he too tried to run away without knowing +where he was going. But the night was so dark and to escape was so +terrible and difficult, that after going through two or three streets, +he returned home and locked himself up for the whole night. I believe +that towards morning he attempted to commit suicide but did not succeed. +He remained locked up till midday—and then suddenly he ran to the +authorities. He is said to have crawled on his knees, to have sobbed and +shrieked, to have kissed the floor crying out that he was not worthy to +kiss the boots of the officials standing before him. They soothed him, +were positively affable to him. His examination lasted, I am told, for +three hours. He confessed everything, everything, told every detail, +everything he knew, every point, anticipating their questions, hurried +to make a clean breast of it all, volunteering unnecessary information +without being asked. It turned out that he knew enough, and presented +things in a fairly true light: the tragedy of Shatov and Kirillov, the +fire, the death of the Lebyadkins, and the rest of it were relegated +to the background. Pyotr Stepanovitch, the secret society, the +organisation, and the network were put in the first place. When asked +what was the object of so many murders and scandals and dastardly +outrages, he answered with feverish haste that “it was with the idea of +systematically undermining the foundations, systematically destroying +society and all principles; with the idea of nonplussing every one and +making hay of everything, and then, when society was tottering, sick +and out of joint, cynical and sceptical though filled with an intense +eagerness for self-preservation and for some guiding idea, suddenly to +seize it in their hands, raising the standard of revolt and relying on a +complete network of quintets, which were actively, meanwhile, gathering +recruits and seeking out the weak spots which could be attacked.” +In conclusion, he said that here in our town Pyotr Stepanovitch had +organised only the first experiment in such systematic disorder, so to +speak, as a programme for further activity, and for all the quintets—and +that this was his own (Lyamshin’s) idea, his own theory, “and that he +hoped they would remember it and bear in mind how openly and properly +he had given his information, and therefore might be of use hereafter.” +Being asked definitely how many quintets there were, he answered that +there were immense numbers of them, that all Russia was overspread with +a network, and although he brought forward no proofs, I believe his +answer was perfectly sincere. He produced only the programme of the +society, printed abroad, and the plan for developing a system of future +activity roughly sketched in Pyotr Stepanovitch’s own handwriting. It +appeared that Lyamshin had quoted the phrase about “undermining the +foundation,” word for word from this document, not omitting a single +stop or comma, though he had declared that it was all his own theory. +Of Yulia Mihailovna he very funnily and quite without provocation +volunteered the remark, that “she was innocent and had been made a +fool of.” But, strange to say, he exonerated Nikolay Stavrogin from +all share in the secret society, from any collaboration with Pyotr +Stepanovitch. (Lyamshin had no conception of the secret and very absurd +hopes that Pyotr Stepanovitch was resting on Stavrogin.) According to +his story Nikolay Stavrogin had nothing whatever to do with the death of +the Lebyadkins, which had been planned by Pyotr Stepanovitch alone +and with the subtle aim of implicating the former in the crime, and +therefore making him dependent on Pyotr Stepanovitch; but instead of +the gratitude on which Pyotr Stepanovitch had reckoned with shallow +confidence, he had roused nothing but indignation and even despair in +“the generous heart of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch.” He wound up, by a hint, +evidently intentional, volunteered hastily, that Stavrogin was perhaps +a very important personage, but that there was some secret about that, +that he had been living among us, so to say, incognito, that he had some +commission, and that very possibly he would come back to us again +from Petersburg. (Lyamshin was convinced that Stavrogin had gone +to Petersburg), but in quite a different capacity and in different +surroundings, in the suite of persons of whom perhaps we should soon +hear, and that all this he had heard from Pyotr Stepanovitch, “Nikolay +Vsyevolodovitch’s secret enemy.” +</p> +<p> +Here I will note that two months later, Lyamshin admitted that he had +exonerated Stavrogin on purpose, hoping that he would protect him and +would obtain for him a mitigation in the second degree of his sentence, +and that he would provide him with money and letters of introduction +in Siberia. From this confession it is evident that he had an +extraordinarily exaggerated conception of Stavrogin’s powers. +</p> +<p> +On the same day, of course, the police arrested Virginsky and in their +zeal took his whole family too. (Arina Prohorovna, her sister, aunt, and +even the girl student were released long ago; they say that Shigalov too +will be set free very shortly because he cannot be classed with any of +the other prisoners. But all that is so far only gossip.) Virginsky at +once pleaded guilty. He was lying ill with fever when he was arrested. +I am told that he seemed almost relieved; “it was a load off his heart,” +he is reported to have said. It is rumoured that he is giving his +evidence without reservation, but with a certain dignity, and has not +given up any of his “bright hopes,” though at the same time he curses +the political method (as opposed to the Socialist one), in which he +had been unwittingly and heedlessly carried “by the vortex of combined +circumstances.” His conduct at the time of the murder has been put in +a favourable light, and I imagine that he too may reckon on some +mitigation of his sentence. That at least is what is asserted in the +town. +</p> +<p> +But I doubt whether there is any hope for mercy in Erkel’s case. Ever +since his arrest he has been obstinately silent, or has misrepresented +the facts as far as he could. Not one word of regret has been wrung +from him so far. Yet even the sternest of the judges trying him has +been moved to some compassion by his youth, by his helplessness, by the +unmistakable evidence that he is nothing but a fanatical victim of a +political impostor, and, most of all, by his conduct to his mother, +to whom, as it appears, he used to send almost the half of his small +salary. His mother is now in the town; she is a delicate and ailing +woman, aged beyond her years; she weeps and positively grovels on the +ground imploring mercy for her son. Whatever may happen, many among us +feel sorry for Erkel. +</p> +<p> +Liputin was arrested in Petersburg, where he had been living for a +fortnight. His conduct there sounds almost incredible and is difficult +to explain. He is said to have had a passport in a forged name and quite +a large sum of money upon him, and had every possibility of escaping +abroad, yet instead of going he remained in Petersburg. He spent some +time hunting for Stavrogin and Pyotr Stepanovitch. Suddenly he took to +drinking and gave himself up to a debauchery that exceeded all bounds, +like a man who had lost all reason and understanding of his position. He +was arrested in Petersburg drunk in a brothel. There is a rumour that he +has not by any means lost heart, that he tells lies in his evidence and +is preparing for the approaching trial hopefully (?) and, as it +were, triumphantly. He even intends to make a speech at the trial. +Tolkatchenko, who was arrested in the neighbourhood ten days after his +flight, behaves with incomparably more decorum; he does not shuffle +or tell lies, he tells all he knows, does not justify himself, blames +himself with all modesty, though he, too, has a weakness for rhetoric; +he tells readily what he knows, and when knowledge of the peasantry and +the revolutionary elements among them is touched upon, he positively +attitudinises and is eager to produce an effect. He, too, is meaning, I +am told, to make a speech at the trial. Neither he nor Liputin seem very +much afraid, curious as it seems. +</p> +<p> +I repeat that the case is not yet over. Now, three months afterwards, +local society has had time to rest, has recovered, has got over it, has +an opinion of its own, so much so that some people positively look +upon Pyotr Stepanovitch as a genius or at least as possessed of “some +characteristics of a genius.” “Organisation!” they say at the club, +holding up a finger. But all this is very innocent and there are not +many people who talk like that. Others, on the other hand, do not deny +his acuteness, but point out that he was utterly ignorant of real life, +that he was terribly theoretical, grotesquely and stupidly one-sided, +and consequently shallow in the extreme. As for his moral qualities all +are agreed; about that there are no two opinions. +</p> +<p> +I do not know whom to mention next so as not to forget anyone. Mavriky +Nikolaevitch has gone away for good, I don’t know where. Old Madame +Drozdov has sunk into dotage.… I have still one very gloomy story to +tell, however. I will confine myself to the bare facts. +</p> +<p> +On her return from Ustyevo, Varvara Petrovna stayed at her town house. +All the accumulated news broke upon her at once and gave her a terrible +shock. She shut herself up alone. It was evening; every one was tired +and went to bed early. +</p> +<p> +In the morning a maid with a mysterious air handed a note to Darya +Pavlovna. The note had, so she said, arrived the evening before, but +late, when all had gone to bed, so that she had not ventured to wake +her. It had not come by post, but had been put in Alexey Yegorytch’s +hand in Skvoreshniki by some unknown person. And Alexey Yegorytch had +immediately set off and put it into her hands himself and had then +returned to Skvoreshniki. +</p> +<p> +For a long while Darya Pavlovna gazed at the letter with a beating +heart, and dared not open it. She knew from whom it came: the writer was +Nikolay Stavrogin. She read what was written on the envelope: “To Alexey +Yegorytch, to be given secretly to Darya Pavlovna.” +</p> +<p> +Here is the letter word for word, without the slightest correction of +the defects in style of a Russian aristocrat who had never mastered the +Russian grammar in spite of his European education. +</p> +<p> +“Dear Darya Pavlovna,—At one time you expressed a wish to be my nurse +and made me promise to send for you when I wanted you. I am going away +in two days and shall not come back. Will you go with me? +</p> +<p> +“Last year, like Herzen, I was naturalised as a citizen of the canton +of Uri, and that nobody knows. There I’ve already bought a little house. +I’ve still twelve thousand roubles left; we’ll go and live there for +ever. I don’t want to go anywhere else ever. +</p> +<p> +“It’s a very dull place, a narrow valley, the mountains restrict both +vision and thought. It’s very gloomy. I chose the place because there +was a little house to be sold. If you don’t like it I’ll sell it and buy +another in some other place. +</p> +<p> +“I am not well, but I hope to get rid of hallucinations in that air. +It’s physical, and as for the moral you know everything; but do you know +all? +</p> +<p> +“I’ve told you a great deal of my life, but not all. Even to you! +Not all. By the way, I repeat that in my conscience I feel myself +responsible for my wife’s death. I haven’t seen you since then, that’s +why I repeat it. I feel guilty about Lizaveta Nikolaevna too; but you +know about that; you foretold almost all that. +</p> +<p> +“Better not come to me. My asking you to is a horrible meanness. And why +should you bury your life with me? You are dear to me, and when I was +miserable it was good to be beside you; only with you I could speak +of myself aloud. But that proves nothing. You defined it yourself, ‘a +nurse’—it’s your own expression; why sacrifice so much? Grasp this, +too, that I have no pity for you since I ask you, and no respect for +you since I reckon on you. And yet I ask you and I reckon on you. In +any case I need your answer for I must set off very soon. In that case I +shall go alone. +</p> +<p> +“I expect nothing of Uri; I am simply going. I have not chosen a gloomy +place on purpose. I have no ties in Russia—everything is as alien to +me there as everywhere. It’s true that I dislike living there more than +anywhere; but I can’t hate anything even there! +</p> +<p> +“I’ve tried my strength everywhere. You advised me to do this ‘that I +might learn to know myself.’ As long as I was experimenting for myself +and for others it seemed infinite, as it has all my life. Before your +eyes I endured a blow from your brother; I acknowledged my marriage in +public. But to what to apply my strength, that is what I’ve never seen, +and do not see now in spite of all your praises in Switzerland, which +I believed in. I am still capable, as I always was, of desiring to do +something good, and of feeling pleasure from it; at the same time I +desire evil and feel pleasure from that too. But both feelings are +always too petty, and are never very strong. My desires are too weak; +they are not enough to guide me. On a log one may cross a river but not +on a chip. I say this that you may not believe that I am going to Uri +with hopes of any sort. +</p> +<p> +“As always I blame no one. I’ve tried the depths of debauchery and +wasted my strength over it. But I don’t like vice and I didn’t want it. +You have been watching me of late. Do you know that I looked upon our +iconoclasts with spite, from envy of their hopes? But you had no need to +be afraid. I could not have been one of them for I never shared anything +with them. And to do it for fun, from spite I could not either, not +because I am afraid of the ridiculous—I cannot be afraid of the +ridiculous—but because I have, after all, the habits of a gentleman and +it disgusted me. But if I had felt more spite and envy of them I might +perhaps have joined them. You can judge how hard it has been for me, and +how I’ve struggled from one thing to another. +</p> +<p> +“Dear friend! Great and tender heart which I divined! Perhaps you dream +of giving me so much love and lavishing on me so much that is beautiful +from your beautiful soul, that you hope to set up some aim for me at +last by it? No, it’s better for you to be more cautious, my love will +be as petty as I am myself and you will be unhappy. Your brother told me +that the man who loses connection with his country loses his gods, that +is, all his aims. One may argue about everything endlessly, but from me +nothing has come but negation, with no greatness of soul, no force. +Even negation has not come from me. Everything has always been petty and +spiritless. Kirillov, in the greatness of his soul, could not compromise +with an idea, and shot himself; but I see, of course, that he was +great-souled because he had lost his reason. I can never lose my reason, +and I can never believe in an idea to such a degree as he did. I cannot +even be interested in an idea to such a degree. I can never, never shoot +myself. +</p> +<p> +“I know I ought to kill myself, to brush myself off the earth like a +nasty insect; but I am afraid of suicide, for I am afraid of showing +greatness of soul. I know that it will be another sham again—the last +deception in an endless series of deceptions. What good is there in +deceiving oneself? Simply to play at greatness of soul? Indignation and +shame I can never feel, therefore not despair. +</p> +<p> +“Forgive me for writing so much. I wrote without noticing. A hundred +pages would be too little and ten lines would be enough. Ten lines would +be enough to ask you to be a nurse. Since I left Skvoreshniki I’ve been +living at the sixth station on the line, at the stationmaster’s. I got +to know him in the time of debauchery five years ago in Petersburg. No +one knows I am living there. Write to him. I enclose the address. +</p> +<p> +“Nikolay Stavrogin.” +</p> +<p> +Darya Pavlovna went at once and showed the letter to Varvara Petrovna. +She read it and asked Dasha to go out of the room so that she might read +it again alone; but she called her back very quickly. +</p> +<p> +“Are you going?” she asked almost timidly. +</p> +<p> +“I am going,” answered Dasha. +</p> +<p> +“Get ready! We’ll go together.” +</p> +<p> +Dasha looked at her inquiringly. +</p> +<p> +“What is there left for me to do here? What difficulty will it make? +I’ll be naturalised in Uri, too, and live in the valley.… Don’t be +uneasy, I won’t be in the way.” +</p> +<p> +They began packing quickly to be in time to catch the midday train. +But in less than half an hour’s time Alexey Yegorytch arrived from +Skvoreshniki. He announced that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had suddenly +arrived that morning by the early train, and was now at Skvoreshniki but +“in such a state that his honour did not answer any questions, walked +through all the rooms and shut himself up in his own wing.…” +</p> +<p> +“Though I received no orders I thought it best to come and inform you,” +Alexey Yegorytch concluded with a very significant expression. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna looked at him searchingly and did not question him. The +carriage was got ready instantly. Varvara Petrovna set off with Dasha. +They say that she kept crossing herself on the journey. +</p> +<p> +In Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s wing of the house all the doors were open +and he was nowhere to be seen. +</p> +<p> +“Wouldn’t he be upstairs?” Fomushka ventured. +</p> +<p> +It was remarkable that several servants followed Varvara Petrovna while +the others all stood waiting in the drawing-room. They would never have +dared to commit such a breach of etiquette before. Varvara Petrovna saw +it and said nothing. +</p> +<p> +They went upstairs. There there were three rooms; but they found no one +there. +</p> +<p> +“Wouldn’t his honour have gone up there?” someone suggested, pointing +to the door of the loft. And in fact, the door of the loft which was +always closed had been opened and was standing ajar. The loft was right +under the roof and was reached by a long, very steep and narrow wooden +ladder. There was a sort of little room up there too. +</p> +<p> +“I am not going up there. Why should he go up there?” said Varvara +Petrovna, turning terribly pale as she looked at the servants. They +gazed back at her and said nothing. Dasha was trembling. +</p> +<p> +Varvara Petrovna rushed up the ladder; Dasha followed, but she had +hardly entered the loft when she uttered a scream and fell senseless. +</p> +<p> +The citizen of the canton of Uri was hanging there behind the door. On +the table lay a piece of paper with the words in pencil: “No one is to +blame, I did it myself.” Beside it on the table lay a hammer, a piece +of soap, and a large nail—obviously an extra one in case of need. The +strong silk cord upon which Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had hanged himself +had evidently been chosen and prepared beforehand and was thickly +smeared with soap. Everything proved that there had been premeditation +and consciousness up to the last moment. +</p> +<p> +At the inquest our doctors absolutely and emphatically rejected all idea +of insanity. +</p> +<p class="centered"> +THE END +</p> + + +<div style="height: 6em;"><br><br><br><br><br><br></div> + + + + + + + + + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 8117 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |