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THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 
 
 
 
UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HI 
 
 HUT 
 
 00013468099 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ~ 
 \ my ‘ } 
 
 > 
 Seat al 
 
 {his book is due at the LOUIS R. WILSON LIBRARY on the 
 last date stamped under “Date Due.” If not on hold it may be 
 renewed by bringing it to the library. 
 
 RET. 
 
 
 
 meena. 
 
 
 

 
A 
 
 THE POSSESSED 
 
 THE NOVELS OF 
 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY 
 Vo.tumeE III 
 
THE 
 NOVELS OF FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY 
 
 Translated from the Russian by CONSTANCE 
 GARNETT. Crown 8vo. 
 
 THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV 
 THE IDIOT 
 
 THE POSSESSED 
 
 CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 
 THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD 
 THE INSULTED AND INJURED 
 A RAW YOUTH 
 
 THE ETERNAL HUSBAND 
 
 THE GAMBLER and other Stories 
 WHITE NIGHTS 
 
 AN HONEST THIEF 
 
 THE FRIEND OF THE FAMILY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
THE POSSESSED 
 
 A NOVEL IN THREE PARTS BY 
 FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY 
 
 FROM THE RUSSIAN BY j 
 CONSTANCE GARNETT / 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 1928 
 
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY RICHARD CLAY & Sons, Lrairep, 
 BUNGAY, SUFFOLK, 
 
“ 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 ?” 
 
 A. PUsHKIN. 
 
 “And there was 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. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 Luke, ch. viii. 32-37. 
 
( re ees ’ 
 ts iP ; "he 
 phd xy doce a 
 
 yatihay on 
 wa Biow 
 
 
 
CONTENTS 
 PART I 
 
 . INTRODUCTORY 
 
 . Prince Harry. MATCHMAKING 
 . THe SINS OF OTHERS 
 
 . THE CRIPPLE 
 
 . Tne SUBTLE SERPENT 
 
 PART II 
 
 , NIGHT 
 
 NiGarT (continued) 
 
 . THe Duet 
 
 ALL IN EXPECTATION 
 
 . On tHe Eve or THE FETE 
 
 . Pyotr STEPANOVITCH IS Busy 
 
 . A MEETING 
 
 . IVAN THE TSAREVITCH 
 
 . A Raip at STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S 
 
 FILIBUSTERS A Fatat Morninc 
 
 PART U1 
 
 . Toe Frre-—First Parr 
 . Toe END OF THE FETE 
 . A RoMANCE ENDED 
 
 THe Last RESOLUTION 
 A WANDERER 
 A Busy NIGHT 
 
 . STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 Vii 
 
die \ es 
 
 NY a <r 
 avMEAveg ve Hine at Ry 
 AUNT a 
 
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 Sy eh ae. m3" 
 
 tat 
 
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 | Ds i 
 ih nate gionetyett Bho! 
 
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 seein: a 
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 4 
 
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 a ur i THe 7 
 
 
 
PART I 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 INTRODUCTORY 
 
 SOME DETAILS OF THE BIOGRAPHY OF THAT HIGHLY RESPECTED 
 GENTLEMAN STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH VERHOVENSKY. 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
 I will say at once that Stepan Trofimovitch had always filled 
 a particular rdle 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 | really have arespect 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 “‘ per- 
 secuted’’ 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, 
 one 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 
 
 l A 
 
 * 
 
2 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 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 constella- 
 tion 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 com- 
 bined circumstances.’ And would you believe it? It turned 
 out afterwards that there had been no “ vortex’’ and even no 
 “ cireumstances,’’ 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 accus- 
 tomed to believe, and had never even been under police super- 
 vision 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. 
 
 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 
 
INTRODUCTORY 3 
 
 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 numer- 
 ous 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 extra- 
 ordinary moral nobility of certain knights at a certain epoch or 
 something of that nature. 
 
 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 some one (probably one of his reactionary enemies) a letter 
 had been seized giving an account of certain circumstances, 
 in consequence of which some one 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 con- 
 stantly 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 
 
4 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 inde- 
 scribable beauty rides in on a black steed, and an immense multi- 
 tude 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 harm- 
 lessness 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. 
 
 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 
 
INTRODUCTORY 5 
 
 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. 
 
 II 
 
 Of course I don’t assert that he had never suffered for his con- 
 -victions 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 for ever “ 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 intel- 
 lectual 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. 
 
 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 
 
6 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 friend- 
 ship 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, for ever. 
 
 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 : 
 
 Reproach incarnate thou didst stand 
 Erect before thy Fatherland, 
 O Inberal rdealist / 
 
 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 
 
INTRODUCTORY 7 
 
 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. 
 
 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 some one 
 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 Mecenas, 
 nvariably 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. 
 
 Iit 
 
 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 im- 
 possible. 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 {é/e-da- 
 téte with Varvara Petrovna. 
 
8 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 be- 
 sought him not to send it. 
 
 ‘‘I must ... more honourable ...duty ...I1 shall die 
 if I don’t confess everything, everything !’’ he answered almost 
 in delirium, and he did send the letter. 
 
 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 
 
INTRODUCTORY 9 
 
 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. 
 
 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 in- 
 credible how long she harboured resentment. 1 have two 
 anecdotes to tell about that. 
 
 IV 
 
 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 
 
10 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 some- 
 thing 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 child- 
 hood 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 pre- 
 meditated, 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 : 
 
 ‘“‘ T shall never forgive you for that !”’ 
 
 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 : 
 
 ‘ T shall never forgive you for that ! ” 
 
 The incident with the baron was the second time, but the first 
 
INTRODUCTORY Il 
 
 incident was:'so characteristic and had so much influence on the 
 fate of Stepan Trofimovitch that I venture to refer to that too. 
 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 hisconnections. Allthe 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. 
 
 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 involun- 
 tarily 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 gentle- 
 manly the man the more noticeable it is. Goodness only knows 
 
12 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 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 hesi- 
 tation 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 : 
 
 ‘‘ T shall never forgive you for this ! ”’ 
 
 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. 7 
 
 But in spite of his vague theory of hallucination he seemed 
 
INTRODUCTORY 13 
 
 every day, all his life, to be expecting the continuation, and, so to 
 say, the denouement 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. 
 
 Vv 
 
 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, tomy 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 summer- 
 time, 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 continu- 
 ally 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 under- 
 taking 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. 
 
 I must observe in parenthesis about the portrait of Kukolnik ; 
 the engraving had first come into the hands of Varvara Petrovna 
 
14 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 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: 
 
 ‘I seem to be ready for work, my materials are collected, yet 
 the work doesn’t get done! Nothingisdone!” . 
 
 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. 
 
 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 compo- 
 sition 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 
 
INTRODUCTORY 15 
 
 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 Tro- 
 fimovitch was solemnly called upon to explain “‘ these ideas ”’ to 
 her once for all, but she remained distinctly dissatisfied with his 
 explanations. ; 
 
 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 some 
 - one 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 doso. The ostensible object of the journey 
 was to see her only son, who was just finishing his studies at a 
 Petersburg lyceum. 
 
 VI 
 
 They spent almost the whole winter seasonin Petersburg. But 
 by Lent everything burst like a rainbow-coloured soap-bubble. 
 
16 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 them- 
 selves 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 manceuvres 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 plat- 
 form 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 
 
INTRODUCTORY 17 
 
 swear, and I’m ready to bet,’’ he declared (but only to me, and 
 in secret), “ that not one of that audience knew anything what- 
 ever 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 undis- 
 guised 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 some one’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 heredi- 
 tary 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 un- 
 doubtedly 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 
 R 
 
18 THE POSSESSED 
 
 an extremely stubborn and irritable, though very estimable, man 
 (in his own way, of course), who ate a great deal, and was dread- 
 fully 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.’ 
 
 Ivan Ivanovitch flew into a terrible passion: ‘‘ Yes, sir, I am 
 a general, and a lieutenant-general, and | have served my Tsar, 
 and you, sir, are a puppy and an infidel !”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 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,’’ acknow- 
 ledged 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. “On m’a traité comme 
 un vieux bonnet de coton,’’ 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 
 
 Early next morning five literary men called on Varvara 
 
INTRODUCTORY 19 
 
 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.” 
 
 *“ We came away utterly at a loss,’’ Stepan Trofimovitch used 
 to say aiterwards. “I couldn’t make head or tail of it, and kept 
 muttering, | remember, to the rumble of the train : 
 
 “Vyek, and vyek, and Lyov Kambek, 
 Lyov Kambek and vyek, and vyek.’ 
 
 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.’’ ‘‘ 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 
 wilhappen?.. .” | 
 
 Vil 
 
 Immediately on their return from Petersburg Varvara Petrovna 
 sent her friend abroad to “‘ recruit’”’ ;. and, indeed, it was neces- 
 sary for them to part for a time, she felt that. Stepan Trofimovitch 
 was delighted to go. 
 
20 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘‘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 : 
 
 ‘“‘ 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, peut briser mon existence en deux ’’—and so on. 
 
 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 ail 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 shop- 
 keeper, a very eccentric fellow, a self-taught archeologist 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 Jatter’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 
 instalments of the money almost six months in advance to 
 meet Stepan Trofimovitch’s special need at the time. 
 
 Varvara Petrovna read this first letter greedily, and underlining 
 in pencil the exclamation: “‘ Where are they both ?’”’ numbered 
 it and put it away ina drawer. He had, of course, referred to his 
 two deceased wives. The second letter she received from Berlin 
 was in a different strain : 
 
 ‘Tam 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. Ive visited’ 
 the professors. I have renewed my acquaintance with the 
 
INTRODUCTORY , oT 
 
 delightful Dundasov family. What a charming creature 
 Nadyozhda 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, en tout pays, even in le pays de Makar et de ses 
 veaux, of which we often used to talk in agitation in Petersburg, 
 _do you remember, before we came away. I think of it with 
 asmile. Crossing the frontier | felt myself in safety, a sensation, 
 strange and new, for the first time after so many years’’—and so 
 on and so on. 
 
 ““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!” 
 
 The phrase “‘ dans le pays de Makar et de ses veaux’’ meant : 
 “wherever Makar may drive his calves.” Stepan Trofimovitch 
 sometimes purposely translated Russian proverbs and _ tra- 
 ditional 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. 
 
 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 forme... 
 something new: je suis un simple dependent, et rien de plus ! 
 Mais r-r-rien de plus /”? 
 
22 THE POSSESSED 
 
 VIL 
 
 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 atone 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. SoStepan 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. Trofimo- 
 vitch almost invariably suffered from an attack of his “‘ summer 
 cholera,” | 
 
 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 overthem. He was extremely stingy, ~ 
 and out of his salary had bought himself a house and amassed a 
 
INTRODUCTORY 23 
 
 fortune. He was an uncomfortable sort of man, and had not 
 risen in the service. He was not much respected in the town, 
 and was not received in the best circles. Moreover, he was an 
 open 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 
 afamily. 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. 
 
 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 travelat 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 wassocheap. Two months later the merchant 
 turned her out of the house for “free thinking.”’ Shatov took him- 
 self off after her and soon afterwards married herin 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 considera- 
 tion 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 be.am2 morbidly irritable and ay uD- 
 restrained in his language. 
 
24 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘“‘ One has to tie Shatov up and then argue with him,” Stepan 
 Trofimovitch would sometimes say in joke, but he liked him. | 
 
 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. 
 
 “‘T no longer wonder that his wife ran away from him,” 
 Varvara Petrovna enunciated on one occasion after gazing in- 
 tently 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 shame- 
 fully 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, 
 
INTRODUCTORY 25 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 “‘T 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. ‘‘ Ailwhoare like you, though in you, Virginsky, I have 
 not observed that narrow-mindedness I found in Petersburg, 
 chez ces séminaristes. But you’re a half-hatched chicken all the 
 same. Shatoyv would give anything to hatch out, but he’s half 
 hatched too.” | 
 
 “And 1?” Liputin inquired. 
 
 “‘ You’re simply the golden mean which will get on anywhere 
 . . . inits own way.”’ 
 
 Liputin was offended. 
 
26 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 con- 
 descension. It was asserted that when Virginsky’s wife had 
 announced to him that: he was superseded he said to her : 
 
 “‘ 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 : 
 
 “It's of no consequence. It’s only a_ personal thusiderd 
 It’s no hindrance to the ‘ cause,’ not the slightest |’ 
 
INTRODUCTORY 27 
 
 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. 
 
 IX 
 
 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. 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch, like every witty man, needed a listener, 
 and, besides that, he needed the consciousness that he was ful- 
 filling the lofty duty of disseminating ideas. And finally he 
 had to have some one 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 Cesarism: 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 
 
28 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 Trofimo- 
 vitch 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: 
 
 “The peasant with his axe ts coming, 
 Something terrible will happen.” 
 
 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 inshignamsly to 
 Stepan Trofimovitch : 
 
 “It'll be a pity if their former serfs really do some mischief 
 to messieurs les landowners to celebrate the occasion,’ and he 
 drew his forefinger round his throat. 
 
 ‘“* Cher ami,” 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.” 
 
 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 
 
INTRODUCTORY 29 
 
 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. 
 
 “‘ 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, ‘1 wouldn’t exchange 
 Rachel for a peasant!’ Iam 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 bouquet de  Impératrice.” 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 Three years later, as every one knows, people were begin- 
 ning to talk of nationalism, and “ public opinion”’ first came 
 upon the scene. Stepan Trofimovitch laughed a great deal. 
 
 ‘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 
 
30 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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, pour notre Sainte Russie. 
 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 !”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““T can’t understand why they make me out an infidel here,’’ 
 he used to say sometimes. “I believe in ‘God, mais distinguons, 
 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 
 
INTRODUCTORY 31 
 
 it, Shatov believes ‘on principle,’ like a Moscow Slavophil. 
 As for Christianity, for all my genuine respect for it, ’m not 
 a Christian. I am more of an antique) pagan, like the great 
 Goethe, or like an ancient Greek. The very fact that Chris- 
 tianity 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 under- 
 stand 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. LHntre nous sot dit, | 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. 
 
 ‘““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. 
 
 “‘ They didn’t love the people!”’ yelled Stepan Trofimovitch. 
 ** Oh, how they loved Russia ! ”’ 
 
 ‘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 concen- 
 trated 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 
 
32 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 ! ” 
 
 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 for ever. But the latter always succeeded in 
 stopping him in time. 
 
 ‘‘Hadn’t we better make it up, Shatov, after all these en- 
 dearments,’’ he would say, benignly holding out his hand to him 
 from his arm-chair. 
 
 Shatov, clumsy and bashful, disliked sentimentality. Exter- 
 nally 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 onthe 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. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 
 bai 
 
 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 under- 
 take 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 out- 
 rageous 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 
 
 first vague sensation of that eternal, sacred yearning which some 
 33 ° 
 
34 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 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 atten- 
 tive as ever, but there was a shade of reserve in it. He un- 
 mistakably 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 emanci- 
 pation 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 ac- 
 quaintances 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. 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 35 
 
 This time Varvara Petrovna did not cry out, ‘‘ Nonsense, non- 
 sense |”? 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 Shake- 
 speare 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 adver- 
 saries on the spot and had maimed the other and was awaiting 
 his trial in consequence. The case ended in his being degradea 
 to the ranks, deprived of the rights of a nobleman, and trans- 
 ferred to.an infantry line regiment, and he only escaped worse 
 punishment by special favour. 
 
 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 pro- 
 motion 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 govern- 
 ment 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 appa- 
 rently 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 hisappearance 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 { 
 must own I was impressed by him. I had expected to see a 
 
36 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 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 consider- 
 able 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 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 37 
 
 a near kinsman. But a few months passed and the wild beast 
 showed his claws. 
 
 I may observe by the way, in parenthesis, that Ivan Ossipo- 
 vitch, 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 im- 
 pulses (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. 
 
 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. 
 
38 THE POSSESSED 
 
 II 
 
 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 Pavlo- 
 vitch, 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 ex- 
 claiming 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 : 
 
 “You must forgive me, of course . ..I really don’t know 
 what suddenly came over me . . . it’s silly.” 
 
 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— 
 
 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 39 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 
40 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 con- 
 fessed 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 ward, 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. 
 
 Our friend Liputin turned up and called on Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
 dovitch 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. 
 A great number of guests had assembled. The company was 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 4} 
 
 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 refresh- 
 ments 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 excite- 
 ment. 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 _“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 yester- 
 day’s doings ? ”’ 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch smiled. 
 
 “Give him my greetings and thank him, and tell your master 
 from me, Agafya, that he’s the most sensible man in the town.” 
 
 ‘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.”’ 
 
 “ Really !. But how could he tell what I should say to you ?”’ 
 
— 42 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘‘T 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 hiscap. ‘“‘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.’ ”’ 
 
 lil 
 
 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. 
 
 “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, 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 43 
 
 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 ? ”’ 
 
 Nikolay listened with vexation and impatience. All at once 
 there was a gleam of something sly and mocking in his eyes. 
 
 “Tl 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 ratherhard. He 
 shuddered, and breath failed him. 
 
 “Nicolas, this is beyond a joke!’’ he moaned mechanically 
 in a voice not his own. 
 
 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. 
 
 “Nicolas! Nicolas!’’ his victim moaned again, ““come... 
 you've had your joke, that’s enough !”’ 
 
 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. » 
 
 And at last everything was explained! At two o’clock in the 
 
44 | THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 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 com- 
 pletely 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. 
 
 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 every- 
 body 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. 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 45 
 
 ‘Tell me,” he said, “how could you guess beforehand what 
 I should say about your sense and prime Agafya with an answer 
 to it?” 
 
 “Why,” laughed Liputin, “it was because I recognised that 
 you were a clever man, and so I foresaw what your answer 
 would be.”’ 
 
 * Anyway, it was a remarkable coincidence. But, excuse me, 
 did you consider me a sensible man and not insane when you sent 
 Agafya ?” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘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 
 i ae 
 
 Liputin shrank together and didn’t know what to answer. 
 Nikolay turned pale or, at least, so it seemed to Liputin. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ““T couldn’t challenge you to a duel, could I ?”’ 
 
 “Oh, no, of course! I seem to have heard that you’re not 
 fond of duels... .” 
 
 ‘““Why borrow from the French?” said Liputin, doubling 
 up again. 
 
 “You’re for nationalism, then ? ”’ 
 
 _ Liputin shrank into himself more than ever. 
 
 “‘ Ba, ba! 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. 
 
 ‘No, that’s not taken from the French,” Liputin cried with posi- 
 tive 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 !” 
 
 “Foo! hang it all! There’s no such language!” laughed 
 Nikolay. ) 
 
46 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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.”’ 
 
 ‘“God knows how these people come to exist!’ Nikolay 
 wondered, recalling sometimes the unlooked-for Fourierist. 
 
 IV 
 
 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 lamenta- 
 tions 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. 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 47 
 
 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’schildhood. 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 house- 
 hold 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. 
 
 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 
 bsund to come to her at the death of her mother, who had no 
 
48 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 con- 
 fided everything to Stepan Trofimovitch. She was positively 
 effusive with him as she had not been for a very long time. 
 
 “ Hurrah!” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, and snapped his 
 fingers. 
 
 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 leit Switzer- 
 land 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 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 49 
 
 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 con- 
 temptuous 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 
 -upatonce. With peculiar, gleefully-obsequious humour, he was 
 beginning to describe the new governor’s arrival. 
 
 ““ You are no doubt aware, excellente amie,’ 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 . . . ces interminables mots Russes/! But I don’t 
 think you can know in practice what is meant by administrative 
 ardour, and what sort of thing that is.”’ 
 
 “ Administrative ardour ? I don’t know what that is.” 
 
 “Well... Vous savez chez nous... Hn un mot, 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, pour montrer son pouvoir 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. 
 En un mot, I’ve read that some verger in one of our Russian 
 churches abroad—mavs c’est trés curieux—drove, literally drove 
 a distinguished English family, les dames charmantes, out of the 
 church before the beginning of the Lenten service . . . vous savez 
 ces chants et le lire de Job... 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, et il a montré son pouvoir.” 
 
 ‘ Cut it short if you can, Stepan Trofimovitch.” 
 
 “Mr. von Lembke is making a tour of the province now. Ln 
 un mot, this Andrey Antonovitch, though he is a russified 
 German and of the Orthodox persuasion, and even—lI will say 
 - that for him—a remarkably handsome man of about forty .. .” 
 
 ‘‘ What makes you think he’s a handsome man? He has 
 eves like a sheep’s.”’ 
 
 ‘‘ Precisely so. But in this I yield, of course, to the opinion 
 of our ladies.” 
 
 “ Let’s get on, Stepan Trofimovitch, I beg you! By the way, 
 
 D 
 
50 THE POSSESSED 
 
 you’re wearing a red neck-tie. Is it long since you’ve bation to 
 ib?” 
 
 “T’ve . . . I’ve only put it on to-day.” 
 
 ‘“ And do you take your constitutional? Do you go for a 
 four-mile walk every day as the doctor told you to?” 
 
 ‘‘N-not .. . always.’ 
 “‘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, quelle idée rouge! Go on about Von Lembke if 
 you've really something to tell me, and do finish some time, I 
 entreat you, I’m tired.” 
 
 ‘“ Hn un mot, 1 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, [ 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.” 
 
 ‘Ts that true ?”’ 
 
 “IT took steps about it, in fact. When he was ‘ informed’ 
 that you ‘ruled the province,’ vous savez, he allowed himself 
 to use the expression that ‘ there shall be nothing of that sort in 
 the future.’ ”’ 
 
 ** Did he say that ?”’ 
 
 “That ‘ there shall be nothing of the sort in future,’ and, avec 
 celle morgue. ... His wife, Yulia Mihailovna, we shall behold 
 at the end of August, she’s coming straight from Petersburg.” 
 
 ‘From abroad. We met there.” 
 
 “ Vraiment ?” 
 
 ‘In Paris and in Switzerland. She’s related to the Drozdovs.”’ 
 
 “Related! What an extraordinary coincidence! They say 
 she is ambitious and . . . supposed to have great connections.” 
 
 ‘* 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.”’ 
 
 ‘““ And they say she’s two years older than he is ? ” 
 
 “Five. Her mother used to wear out her skirts on my door- 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING Bl 
 
 steps 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.” 
 
 ‘‘ T seem to see that fly.” 
 
 “T 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 
 herselfi—she always was a fool—looked at me as much as to ask 
 why ’dcome. 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 Pras- 
 kovya is on my side again, but what an intrigue!” 
 
 “In which you came off victor, however. Oh, you're a 
 Bismarck !”’ 
 
 “Without being a Bismarck I’m equal to seeing through 
 falseness and stupidity wherever I meet it. The Lembke’s 
 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 ? ” 
 
 ‘A spiteful fool, ma bonne amie, a spiteful fool is still more 
 foolish,’ Stepan Trofimovitch protested magnanimously. 
 
 “You're right, perhaps. Do you remember Liza ?”’ 
 
 “ Charmante enfant !” 
 
 ** But she’s not an enfant now, but a woman, and a woman of 
 character. She’s a generous, passionate creature, and what [ 
 like about her, she stands up to that confiding fool, her mother. 
 There was almost a row over that cousin.” | 
 ‘“‘ Bah, and of course he’s no relation of Lizaveta Nikolaevna’s 
 atall.... Has he designs on her ? ” 
 
 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 
 
52 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 Karmazinovis a relation of hers ?”’ 
 
 “What? A relation of Madame von Lembke ?” 
 
 ‘* Yes, of hers. Distant.” 
 
 ‘‘ Karmazinov, the novelist ? ”’ 
 
 “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. Ife’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 ?” 
 
 ODT SOLE ODT 
 
 “T understand. ‘The same as ever, friends and drinking, the 
 elub 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.’’ 
 
 ‘“* Mais, ma chére...” 
 
 “Listen, Stepan Trofimovitch, of course I’m ignorant com- 
 pared with you on all learned subjects, but as I was travelling 
 here I thought a great deal about you. I’ve come to one conclu- 
 sion.” 
 
 ‘“ What conclusion ? ”’ 
 
 “That you and I are not the wisest people in the world, but 
 that there are people wiser than we are.” 
 
 ‘ 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? Mais, ma bonne amie, granted that I may make a 
 mistake, yet have I not the common, human, eternal, supreme 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 53 
 
 right of freedom of conscience? Ihave 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. Ht puis, comme 
 on trouve toujours plus de moines que de raison, and as I thoroughly 
 agree with that...” 
 
 “What, what did you say ?”’ 
 
 “T said, on trouve toujours plus de moines que de raison, and as 
 I thoroughly .. .” 
 
 “Tm sure that’s not your saying. You must have taken it from 
 somewhere.” | 
 
 “It was Pascal said that.” 
 
 “ 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. ..” 
 
 “ Ma foi, chére... why? In the first place probably 
 because I’m not a Pascal after all, ed puis... secondly, we 
 Russians never can say anything in our own language.... 
 We never have said anything hitherto, at any rate... .” 
 
 “Hm!  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. IL 
 have come to talk to you seriously, quite seriously.” 
 
 *“‘ Chere, chére amie !”’ 
 
 ‘* 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 shallI 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 clo 
 _ 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 ? 
 
 “Why is he mine and inseparable?” Stepan Trofimovitch 
 protested timidly. 
 _“ Where is he now 3” Varvara Petrovna went on, sharply and 
 sternly. 
 
54 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “He ... he has an infinite respect for you, and he’s gone to 
 k, to receive an inheritance left him by his mother.” 
 
 ‘He seems to do nothing but get money. And how’s Shatov ? 
 Is he just the same ? ”’ 
 
 “ Trascible, mais bon.” 
 
 ““T can’t endure your Shatov. He’sspiteful and he thinks too 
 much of himself.”’ 
 
 ‘How is Darya Pavlovna ?”’ 
 
 ‘“You mean Dasha? What made you think of her?” Var- 
 vara 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.” 
 
 ** Oh, cest un histoire bien béte! Je vous attendais, ma bonne 
 amie, pour vous raconter...” 
 
 “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 asitis. .. . You’ve betrayed yourself completely now. 
 Well, come, that’s enough, that’s enough, I’m tired. You really 
 might have mercy upon one!” 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch ‘‘ had mercy,’’ but he withdrew in great 
 perturbation. 
 
 5S 
 
 
 
 V 
 
 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, 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 55 
 
 heaved deep sighs, and almost fell to whimpering at last. He 
 was always full of forebodings, was afraid of something un- 
 expected and inevitable; he had become timorous; he began 
 to pay great attention to his dreams. 
 
 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 téte-d-téte 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. 
 
 “And why is she always so cross?” he complained every 
 minute, like a child. ‘“‘ Zious les hommes de génie et de progrés 
 en Russie étaient, sont, et seront towjours des gamblers et des 
 drunkards qui boivent 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.’ Mais, entre nous soit dit, what is a man to do who is 
 destined to stand as a ‘ reproach,’ if not to te down? Does she 
 understand that ? ”’ 
 
 And at last it became clear to me what was the chief parti- 
 cular 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 : 
 
 ‘“ Mon cher, je suis un 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 ¢ 
 
56 THE POSSESSED 
 
 VI 
 
 I will now enter upon the description of that almost forgotten 
 incident with which my story properly speaking begins. 
 
 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.) 
 _ “ 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.” 
 
 ‘These venomous words were uttered with remarkable irrita- 
 bility. 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 lvanovna 
 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 for ever 
 yearning for true friendship, and her chief complaint against her 
 daughter Lizaveta Nikolaevna was just that “‘ her daughter was 
 not a friend to her.” 
 
 But from all her explanations and seidgperetelaes 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 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING BT 
 
 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. Accord- 
 ing 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.” 
 
 “The son, not the nephew,” Varvara Petrovna corrected her. 
 
 Even in old days Praskovya Ivanovna had been always unable 
 _ torecall Stepan Trofimovitch’s name, and had always called him 
 the “‘ Professor.”’ 
 
 *“ 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 
 
58 THE POSSESSED 
 
 more. I believe they'll come together again, if only Nikolay 
 Vsyevolodovitch doesn’t put off coming, as he promised.” 
 
 ‘‘T’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 !”’ 
 
 ‘“T’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) yisicr's/! 
 
 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, Pras- 
 kovya was in too much haste to apologise. She must have kept 
 something to herself, which she wouldn’t tell me.” 
 
 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! ” 
 
 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, 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 59 
 
 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, mono- 
 tonous, but rather weak voice. 
 
 “Darya!” Varvara Petrovna interrupted suddenly, “‘is 
 there nothing special you want to tell me?” 
 
 “No, nothing,’ said Dasha, after a moment’s thought, 
 and she glanced at Varvara Petrovna with her light-coloured 
 eyes. 
 
 ‘Nothing on your soul, on your heart, or your conscience ?” 
 
 “Nothing,” Dasha repeated, quietly, but with a sort of 
 sullen firmness. 
 
 “1 knew there wasn’t! Believe me, Darya, I shall never 
 doubt you. Now sit stilland 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 ? ”’ 
 
 Dasha responded with a long, inquiring, but not greatly 
 astonished look. 
 
 “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 ?” 
 
 Dasha looked at her still more inquiringly, and this time not 
 simply with surprise; she blushed perceptibly. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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.” 
 
60 THE POSSESSED 
 
 She broke off suddenly and irritably. “‘ Do you hear? Why 
 won't you say something ?”’ 
 
 Dasha still listened and did not speak. 
 
 “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 under- 
 stand me?” 
 
 Dasha nodded her head affirmatively. 
 
 *“T 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 besureI 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 [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 !”’ 
 
 ‘¢ [ don’t mind, Varvara Petrovna, if I really must be married,” 
 said Dasha firmly. 
 
 ‘* Must ?. What are you hinting at?” Varvara Petrovna 
 looked sternly and intently at her. 
 
 Dasha was silent, picking at her embroidery canvas with her 
 needle. 
 
 ‘‘ Though you're a clever girl, you’re talking nonsense ; though 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 61 
 
 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?” 
 
 “Vll do as you wish, Varvara Petrovna.” 
 
 “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. Ill 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 hisdebtsever. 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 hasit 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 Ais 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, Pll 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 ? ”’ 
 
 “‘T have told you already, Varvara Petrovna.” 
 
 ‘‘ Remember that you’re free to decide. As you like, so it 
 shall be.” 
 
 “Then, may I ask, Varvara Petrovna, has Stepan Trofimo- 
 vitch said anything yet ?” 
 
 ‘No, he hasn’t said anything, he doesn’t know . . . but he 
 will speak directly.” . 
 
 She jumped up at once and threw on a black shawl. Dasha 
 tiushed a little again, and watched her with questioning eyes. 
 Varvara Petrovna turned suddenly to her with a face flaming 
 with anger. 
 
 ‘“‘ You’reafool!’’ She swooped down on her likeahawk. ‘“ An 
 ungrateful fool! What’sin your mind? Can you imagine that 
 
62 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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, afool! You're all ungrateful fools. Give 
 me my umbrella !”’ 
 
 And she flew off to walk by the wet brick pavements and the 
 wooden planks to Stepan Trofimovitch’s. 
 
 Vil 
 
 It was true that she would never have let Dasha suffer ; on the 
 contrary, she considered now that she was acting as her bene- 
 factress. 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 ail, by gratitude. Till that 
 time Dasha had, to all appearances, completely justified her 
 expectations. | 
 
 ‘* In that life there will be no mistakes,” said Varvara Petrovna 
 when the girl was only twelve years old, and as it was charac- 
 teristic 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, 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 63 
 
 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 Trofimo- 
 vitch 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. 
 
 Poor Stepan Trofimovitch was sitting alone free from all mis- 
 givings. 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 : 
 
64 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“ Ma bonne amie /”’ he cried faintly, to greet her. . 
 
 “Yowre 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 hfesif 
 
 “They make such a muck!” Nastasya whined in a voice of 
 plaintive exasperation. 
 
 “Well, you must sweep, sweep it up fifteen times a pet 
 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 youchoose 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 ? 
 
 “Tl be back directly,” Stepan Trofimovitch cried from the 
 next room. “ Here, I am again.” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“ Mais, ma bonne ame! ... for the third time, and at my 
 age ... and to such a child.” He brought out at last, “Mais, 
 cest une enfant !’ 
 
 ‘‘ 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 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 65 
 
 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 advan- 
 tages, tocourt you! Why, you ought to be on your knees... . 
 Oh, you shallow, shallow, faint-hearted man !”’ 
 
 “But... Pm an old man!” 
 
 “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.”’ 
 
 “T 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.’ ” 
 
 “Well, there you are. It’s just come right.”’ 
 
 “ But ... she? Have you spoken to her?” 
 
 “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. 1 
 shall be here. Besides, you love her.”’ 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch felt giddy. The walls were going round. 
 There was one terrible idea underlying this to which he could 
 not reconcile himself. 
 
  Bxcellente amie,’ his voice quivered suddenly. “I could 
 never have conceived that you would make up your mind to 
 give me in marriage to another . . . woman.” 
 
 “You're not a girl, Stepan Trofimovitch. Only girls are given 
 E 
 
66 THE POSSESSED 
 
 in marriage. You are taking a wife,” Varvara Petrovna hissed 
 malignantly. 
 
 ‘* Oui, jai pris un mot pour un autre. Mais cest égal.” He 
 gazed at her with a hopeless air. 
 
 ‘“‘T see that c’est égal,” she muttered contemptuously through 
 her teeth. “ Good heavens! Why he’s going tofaint. Nastasya, 
 Nastasya, water !” | | 
 
 But water was not needed. He came to himself. Varvara 
 Petrovna took up her umbrella. 
 
 ‘‘T see it’s no use talking to you now. ... 
 
 “Out, oui, je surs incapable.” 
 
 ** 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!”’ 
 
 The next day, of course, he consented; and, indeed, he could 
 do nothing else. There was one circumstance .. . 
 
 39 
 
 Vill 
 
 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 Ver- 
 hovensky. 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 régime 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 knewledge of Varvara Petrovna selling — 
 the timber which gave the estate its chief value. He had some 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 67 
 
 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 ce cher enfant (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 ce cher fils 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. 
 
 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 
 
68 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 “It’s surprising to me,’ Stepan Trofimovitch commented, 
 greatly disconcerted. ‘‘ Petrusha, c’est une si pauvre téte! 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. 
 Butc’est un pauvre sire, tout de méme. . . . And you know itall 
 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 morestill 
 there, they'll put it down to the father’s influence. Good God! 
 Petrusha a revolutionist ! What times we live in!” 
 
 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 an- 
 nounced that he would arrive shortly, so there could be no charge 
 against him. What was more, some one 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 social- 
 ‘istic, the more extreme they are, the keener they are over 
 property ... why is it? Can that, too, come from senti- . 
 ‘mentalism ?”’ I don’t know whether there is any truth in this 
 observation of Stepan Trofimovitch’s. I only know that Petrusha 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 69 
 
 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 resem- 
 blance 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 “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. 
 
70 | THE POSSESSED — 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘What for? In the first place it may perhaps come to 
 nothing.” 
 
 “Come to nothing!’’ muttered the bridegroom, utterly 
 dumbfoundered. 
 
 ‘Yes. Dllsee.... But everything shall beas I’ve told you, 
 and don’t be uneasy. Ill 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.” 
 
 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. | 
 
 ““{ do like that!” he exclaimed, standing before me, and 
 flinging wide hisarms. ‘“‘ 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 tome. But she 
 may exasperate me, and then it will matter. I shall resent it and 
 
 refuse. Ht enfin, le ridicule . . . what will they say at the club ? 
 
 What will . . . what will . . . Liputin say? ‘ Perhaps nothing 
 
 | 
 | 
 
 will come of it’—what a thing to say! That beats everything. : 
 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 71 
 
 That’s really . . . what is one to say to that?... Je suis un 
 forcat, un Badinguet, un man pushed to the wall... .” 
 
 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. 
 
CHAPTER Ii 
 THE SINS OF OTHERS 
 I 
 
 AxBout a week had passed, and the position had begun to grow 
 more complicated. 
 
 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. 
 
 A week passed and he still did not know whether he were 
 betrothed or not, and could not find out fora 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 init atall. 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 in time when he could 
 come to see her. She declared she would send back his letters un- 
 opened, as they were “‘ simple self-indulgence.”’ I read that letter 
 myself—he showed it me. _ | 
 
 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 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 73 
 
 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. 
 
 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 un- 
 relieved 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. 
 
 *“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. . . .” 
 
 ‘‘ Why is she cross now if you are carrying out her orders ?”’ 
 I answered. 
 
 He looked at me subtly. 
 
 ** Cher amt; if I had not agreed she would have been dread- 
 _ fully angry, dread-ful-ly! But yet less than now that I have 
 consented.”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 But what I was most vexed with him for was that he could 
 
74 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 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 ainong 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 1 happened to run across him in the 
 street. It turned out that he had heard all about it from our 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS "5 
 
 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 ?” 
 
 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 
 Cd iit 
 
 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. 
 
76 THE POSSESSED 
 
 II 
 
 One morning, on the seventh or eighth day after Stepan Trofimo- 
 vitch 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. 
 
 I met Karmazinoy, “‘ 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 with- 
 out 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, Moliére, 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 funda- 
 mental 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 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 77 
 
 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. 
 
 A year before, I had read an article of his in a review, written 
 with an immense affectation of naive 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: ‘‘ Con- 
 centrate 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 inte- 
 resting ?’? When I told Stepan Trofimovitch my opinion of 
 Karmazinov’s article he quite agreed with me. 
 
 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 
 
78 ‘THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 : 
 
 ‘* Allow me to ask, which is my nearest way to Bykovy Street ?” 
 
 “To Bykovy Street 2? Oh, that’s here, close by,’”’ I cried in 
 great excitement. ‘“‘ Straight on along this street and the second 
 turning to the left.” | 
 
 “ Very much obliged to you.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘* And could you tell me where is the nearest cab-stand ?”’ he 
 shouted out to me again. 
 
 It was a horrid shout ! A horrid voice ! 
 
 “A cab-stand ? The nearest cab-stand is . ... by the Cathe- 
 dral; there are always cabs standing there,” and J 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. 
 
 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 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 18 
 
 reticule, though I really don’t know what it was. I only know 
 that I flew to pick it up. 
 
 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. 
 
 “Don’t trouble, Pll 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 for ever, but as I reached 
 Stepan Trofimovitch’s house I suddenly burst out laughing; the 
 meeting struck me as so amusing that 1 immediately resolved to 
 entertain Stepan Trofimovitch with an account of it, and even 
 to act the whole scene to him. 
 
 Il 
 
 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. : 
 
 “Don’t speak of him! Don’t pronounce that name!” he 
 exclaimed, almost in a fury. “ Here, look, read it! Read 
 at,1? 
 
 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, 
 anhour 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.) 
 
 “Tf 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. 8." | 
 
80 THE POSSESSED 
 
 The letter of the day before : 
 
 ‘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.—YV. 8.” 
 
 To-day’s, the last: 
 
 ‘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 youa 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. 8S. 
 
 ‘“* P.S.—If he does not come to-day he won’t come at all. ‘i 
 
 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 ared one. His hat and stick lay on the table. 
 He was pale, and his hands were positively trembling. 
 
 “‘T don’t care a hang about her anxieties,” he cried frantically, 
 in response to my inquiring look. “Je m’en fiche ! 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 L’Homme qui 
 rit. What is it to me that she’s wearing herself out over Nikolay ! 
 Je men fiche, et je proclame ma liberté! Au diable le 
 Karmazinov! Au diable la Lembke / 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. Vous me seconderez, n’est-ce pas, 
 comme ami et témoin. 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 
 
| 
 
 THE SINS OF OTHERS 81 
 
 then . . . then perhaps I may surprise the whole generation 
 by my magnanimity.... Am/TI a scoundrel or not, my dear 
 sir?’’ he concluded suddenly, looking menacingly at me, as 
 though I’d considered him a scoundrel. 
 
 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. 
 
 “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 for ever, 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 ?” 
 
 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. 
 ““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. Ijumpedupinalarm. At that moment 
 
 Nastasya came in, and, without a word, handed Stepan Trofimo- 
 vitch 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.” 
 
 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. | 
 
 F 
 
82 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “Tt’s Liputin; I am lost!’ he whispered, clutching at my 
 arm. 
 At the same instant Liputin walked into the room. 
 
 IV 
 
 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. 
 
 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 sense- 
 less stare of my petrified friend, he called out immediately in a 
 loud voice : 
 
 ‘“‘T’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.” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““ Bah, but you were going out yourself! I was told that you 
 were quite knocked up with work.” 
 
 “Yes, I’m ill, and you see, I meant to go for a walk, 1...” 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch checked himself, quickly flung his hat 
 and stick on the sofa. and—turned crimson. 
 
 Meantime, I was hurriedly examining the visitor. He wasa 
 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 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 83 
 
 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. 
 
 “It’s .... . a long while since I’veseen Petrusha. ... You 
 met abroad ?”’ Stepan Trofimovitch managed to mutter to the 
 visitor. 
 
 ** Both here and abroad.” 
 
 * 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.” 
 
 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. » _ b 
 
 * He knows Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch too.” 
 
 “Do you know Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch ?”’ inquired Stepan 
 Trofimovitch. 
 
 *“ IT know him too.” 
 
 “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 . . . c’est 
 lemot; I... how did you leave him ?”’ 
 
 “Oh, yes, I left him ... he comes himself,” replied Mr. 
 Kirillov, in haste to be rid of the question again. Hecertainly 
 was angry. 
 
 “He’s. coming! At last I... you see, it’s very long since 
 I’ve see 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, quelque chose dans cegenre. 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. ... . Je m’en souviens. LHnfin, no artistic feeling 
 
84 THE POSSESSED 
 
 whatever, not a sign of anything higher, of anything: funda- 
 mental, no embryo of a future ideal... c’était comme un 
 petit idiot, but I’m afraid I am incoherent; excuse me... you 
 came upon me...” 
 
 ‘““You say seriously that he crossed his pillow?’ the 
 engineer asked suddenly with marked curiosity. 
 
 ‘* Yes, he used to...” 
 
 ‘“ Allright. I just asked. Go on.” 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch looked interrogatively at Liputin. 
 
 ‘““[’m very grateful to you for your visit. But I must confess 
 I’m... not ina condition... justnow... But allow me 
 to ask where you are lodging.” 
 
 “ At Filipov’s, in Bogoyavlensky Street.” 
 
 “‘ Ach, that’s where Shatov lives,”’ I observed involuntarily. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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.”’ 
 
 “Comment! Do you really know anything about that un- 
 happy marriage de ce pauvre amt 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 
 Crayne ei} 
 
 ‘“What nonsense!” the engineer snapped out, flushing all 
 over. ‘‘ How youadd to things, Liputin! I’venotseenShatov’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 ?”’ 
 
 He turned round sharply on the sofa, clutched his hat, then 
 Jaid 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. 
 
 ‘Excuse me,” Stepan Trofimovitch observed impressively. 
 *““T understand that it may be a very delicate subject. . . .”’ 
 
 ‘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!” 
 
 “T understand. I understand. And if I insisted, it’s only 
 because I’m very fond of our poor friend, notre irascible ami, 
 and have always taken an interest in him... . In my opinion ' 
 that man changed his former, possibly over-youthful hut yet 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 85 
 
 sound ideas, too abruptly. And now he says all sorts of things 
 about notre Sainte Russie 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 un- 
 successful 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. . .” 
 
 *‘ 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. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 The engineer became dreadfully excited. 
 
 * You have no right at all,’ he muttered wrathfully. ‘Im 
 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. 
 
 “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 thana 
 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. 
 
 “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 neverspeak to anyone. I scorn totalk.... Ifone 
 has a conviction then it’s clear to me. ... But you’re doing 
 foolishly. I don’t argue about things when everything’s settled. 
 
 _ Ican’t bear arguing. I never want to argue. .. .” 
 
 99 
 
86 _ THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘‘ And perhaps you are very wise,’ Stepan Trofimovitch could 
 not resist saying. 
 
 ‘‘T apologise to you, but [ 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. Liputinfound 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 ’'m afraid of your giving 
 information to the government; that’s not so; please do not 
 imagine nonsense of that sort.”’ 
 
 No one made any reply to these words. We only looked at 
 each other. Even Liputin forgot to snigger. 
 
 “Gentlemen, ’m very sorry’’—Stepan Trofimovitch got up 
 resolutely from the sofa—“ but I feel ill and upset. Excuse me.”’ 
 
 ‘* Ach, that’s for us to go.” Mr. Kirillov started, snatching up 
 hiscap. “It’s a good thing you told us. I’m so forgetful.” 
 
 He rose, and with a good-natured air went up to Stepan 
 Trofimovitch, holding out his hand. 
 
 “Tm sorry you’re not well, and I came.” 
 
 “I wish you every success among us,’ answered Stepan Tro- 
 fimovitch, 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. Mais cela passera. 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.” 
 
 “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 Trofimo- | 
 
 vitch was so frightened of Liputin, and why he had cried out 
 **{ am lost’? when he heard him coming. | 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 87 
 
 Vv 
 
 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. 
 
 “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.” 
  “ Asister? Aninvalid? With awhip?” Stepan Trofimo- 
 vitch 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. 
 
 “Lebyadkin! Oh, that’s the retired captain; he used only to 
 call himself a lieutenant before. . . .” 
 
 ** Oh, what is his rank to me? Whatsister? Good heavens! 
 ... You say Lebyadkin? But there used to be a Lebyadkin 
 here. 3)...” 3 
 
 “That's the very man. ‘Our’ Lebyadkin, at Virginsky’s, 
 you remember ? ”’ | 
 
 “But he was caught with forged papers?” 
 
 “Well, now he’s come back. He’s been here almost three 
 weeks and under the most peculiar circumstances.” 
 
 “Why, but he’s a scoundrel ? ” 
 
 *“‘ 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. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “ 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, 
 
88 THE POSSESSED 
 
 he doesn’t speak of it himself when he’s sober. He’s an irritable 
 man, and, so to speak, sesthetic 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 some one, 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 
 ‘alk. It’s simply his brag. Besides, that sort of thing is done 
 much cheaper. But that he has a sum of money is perfectly 
 gertain. ‘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.” 
 
 “Is this all true ?”’ said Stepan Trofimovitch, addressing the 
 engineer. | 
 
 “You do gossip a lot, Liputin,”’ the latter muttered 
 wrathfully. | 
 
 ‘“‘ Mysteries, secrets! Where have all these mysteries and 
 secrets among us sprung from?” Stepan Trofimovitch could 
 not refrain from exclaiming. 
 
 The engineer frowned, flushed red, shrugged his shoulders and 
 went out of the room. 
 
 “ 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. 
 
 “Why are you chattering, Liputin ; it’s stupid. What for?” 
 Alexey Nilitch turned again instantly. 
 
 “ 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.” 
 
 ‘“‘ 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.” } 
 
 “ Oh, what a pity!” cried Liputin with a candid smile, “ or 
 {’d have amused you with another little story, Stepan Trofimo- 
 vitch. I came, indeed, on purpose to tell you, though I dare say 
 you’ve heard it already. Well, till another time, Alexey Nilitch 
 isin sucha hurry. Good-bye for the present. The story concerns 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 89 
 
 Varvara Petrovna. She amused me the day before yesterday ; 
 she sent for me on purpose. It’s simply killing. Good-bye.” 
 
 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 inachair. Liputin was positively scared. 
 
 “Why, to be sure,” he began, looking warily at Stepan Tro- 
 
 fimovitch 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 ?”’ 
 _ “ 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 some- 
 thing insulting of that sort and . . . something worse !”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 “Upon my word, Stepan Trofimovitch,’ muttered Liputin, 
 seeming greatly alarmed, “‘ upon my word . . .” 
 
 “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.” | 
 
 “Tf 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.’ 
 
 “ You didn’t think that at all. Begin, begin, I tell you.” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 “How am I to begin? ... Dm too overwhelmed... . 
 
 Vi 
 “ 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 
 
90 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 ail 
 the town wonder till the position was explained. One of those 
 actions concerned you personally. When Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
 vitch 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 ?’ 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 : 
 
 “**T 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 ama mother appealing to you. . . . Nikolay Vsyevo- 
 lodovitch 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 im- 
 pulses. But lama 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 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 91 
 
 ready to seize every opportunity in the future to show my 
 gratitude.’ Well, what do you say to that ?” 
 
 “You have ...so amazed me...” faltered Stepan Tro- 
 fimovitch, “‘ that I don’t believe you.” 
 
 “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 un- 
 expected ?”’ ) 
 
 “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 .. .” 
 
 “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 ?” 
 
 “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. .. .” 
 _ “What do you mean by that? Why it’s more to my interest 
 than anyone’s, seeing I was promised eternal gratitude! What 
 _ L 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 
 andsound 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 Var- 
 vara 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 ?”’ 
 
92 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “Ts that true ?”’ said Stepan Trofimovitch, turning to Alexey 
 Nilitch. 
 
 ‘“‘T 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.” 
 
 Liputin threw up his hands with an air of oppressed innocence. 
 
 “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; thereis 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 subtleserpent.’ His own 
 words. AndI said to him (still under the influence of my conver- 
 sation, 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 afiect ... ‘Affect what?’ He 
 didn’t finish. Yes, and then he fell to thinking so bitterly, think- 
 ing so much, that his drunkenness dropped off him. We were 
 sitting in Vilipov’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.’ ”’ | 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch sat pondering, and thought intently. 
 
 “And how does Lebyadkin know ?”’ 
 
 ‘*Do you mind inquiring about that of Alexey Nilitch, who 
 has just called me a spy ? I’m aspy, yet i don’t know, but Alexey 
 Nilitch knows all the ins and outs of it, and holds his tongue.” 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 93 
 
 *“) 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.” 
 
 “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. 
 
 _ Stepan Trofimovitch looked in bewilderment at the two dis- 
 
 putants. 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 manceuvre. 
 
 ** 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 Vsyevolodo- 
 vitch, 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.” 
 
 “Take care, Liputin. I warn you, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
 meant to be here soon himself, and he knows how to defend 
 himself.” 
 
 ‘“ Why warn me? Iam 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. Ach, Stepan Trofimovitch, it’s all very well 
 for you to cry out abvut 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 
 
94 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 ’'m not crying this aloud though the 
 whole town is ringing with it; I only listen and assent. That’s 
 not. prohibited.” 
 
 “The town’s ringing withit ? What’s the town ringing with ?”’ 
 
 “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 Ito 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, | 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.” 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 95 
 
 “This is vile, vile of you!” cried the engineer, leaping up 
 suddenly from his chair. 
 
 “ 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.”’ 
 
 “It’s ... its an unhappy misunderstanding. Some one’s 
 made a mistake and it’s led to... It’s nonsense, and it’s 
 base of you.” 
 
 ** 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 Vsyevo- 
 _lodovitch. 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... .” 
 
 “ Be careful, Liputin.” Stepan Trofimovitch got up from his 
 easy chair and turned pale. 
 
 _ * Don’t believe it, don’t believe it! Somebody has made a 
 mistake and Lebyadkin’s drunk . . .” exclaimed theengineer in 
 
 indescribable excitement. ‘‘It will all be explained, but I can’t. 
 
 | . And I think it’s low. . . . And that’s enough, enough !”’ 
 
 He ran out of the room. 
 
 “What are you about? Why, I’m going with you!” cried 
 
  Liputin, startled. He jumped up and ran after Alexey Nilitch. 
 
 VII 
 
 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 : 
 “Oh yes, you may serve as a witness . . . del’accident. heals 
 nm accompagnerez, n "est-ce pas 2?” 
 “Stepan Trofimovitch, surely you’re not going there aggin § 
 ‘Think what may come of it !”’ 
 
96 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 : 
 
 “TI can’t marry to cover ‘ another man’s sins 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““And you, Stepan Verhovensky, with your luminous mind, 
 your kind heart, can harbour such a dirty, such a lowidea.. . 
 and could before Liputin came !”’ 
 
 He looked at me, made no answer and walked on in the same 
 direction. 1 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 marry- 
 ing the girl toan honourable man! I longed for him to be punished 
 for it. 
 
 “Oh, Dieu, qui est st grand et st bon ! Oh, who will comfort me !”’ 
 he exclaimed, halting suddenly again, after walking a hundred 
 paces. 
 
 “Come straight:home and I’ll make everything clear to you,” 
 I cried, turning him by force towards home. 
 
 “It’s he! Stepan Trofimovitch, it’s you? You?” A fresh, 
 joyous young voice rang out like music behind us. 
 
 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. 
 
 “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 ?”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘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 
 
 749 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 97 
 
 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? HaveI changed? Why 
 don’t you say something ? ”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 “You ...I1....” 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 onit asa miracle et je commence a croire.”’ 
 
 “En Diew ! Hn Dieu qui est la-haut et qui est st grand et sr bon ? 
 You see, I know all your lectures by heart. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, 
 what faith he used to preach to me then, en Diew qui est si grand 
 et si bon / 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 after- 
 wards, 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 trans- 
 
 ported. 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! II fatt tout ce que je veux. 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?” 
 
 “Now I’m happy... .” | 
 
 “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 
 
 G 
 
98 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 fore- 
 head 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!” 
 
 And bending over in the saddle she kissed him on the forehead. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 And she galloped off with her cavalier. We returned. Stepan 
 Trofimovitch sat down on the sofa and began to cry. 
 
 ‘““ Dieu, Dieu !’’ he exclaimed, “‘ enfin une minute de bonheur !”’ 
 
 Not more than ten miuntes afterwards she reappeared 
 according to her promise, escorted by her Mavriky Nikolaevitch. 
 
 ‘* Vous et le bonheur, vous arrivez en méme temps!” He got 
 up to meet her. | 
 
 ‘“Here’s a nosegay for you; I rode just now to Madame 
 Chevalier’s, she has flowers all the winter forname-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.’ 
 
 Mavriky Nikolaevitch was an artillery captain, a tall and 
 handsome man of thirty-three, irreproachably correct in appear- 
 ance, 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 acquaint- 
 ance. 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. | 
 
 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 destested 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: 
 
 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 99 
 
 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 tomethen. Perhapsshe was really not pretty atall. 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 Kal- 
 muck’s, slanting; she was pale and thin in the face with high 
 cheek-bones, but there was something in the face that con- 
 _ quered and fascinated! There was something powerful in the 
 ardent glance oi 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. 
 
 She sat on the sofa and looked round the room. 
 
 “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! ” 
 
 An exquisite miniature in water-colour of Liza at twelve years 
 old had beensent nine years before to Stepan Trofimovitch from 
 Petersburg by the Drozdovs. He had kept it hanging on his wall 
 ever since. 
 
 “Was I such a pretty child? Can that really have been my 
 face ?”’ . 
 She stood up, and with the portrait in her hand looked in the 
 looking-glass. 
 ‘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.” 
 
100 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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!” 
 
 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. 
 
 ** And why have you hung my portrait under those daggers ? 
 And why have you got so many daggers and sabres ?”’ : 
 
 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. 
 
 ““T know, I know,” she said, “Im 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 Trofimo- 
 vitch’s confidant, aren’t you ? ”’ 
 
 I turned rather red. 
 
 ‘ 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 Trofimo- 
 vitch, you must. be with us in half an hour. Mercy, whata lot we 
 shall talk! Now I’m your confidante, and about everything, 
 everything, you understand % ”’ 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch was alarmed at once. 
 
 “Qh, Mavriky Nikolaevitch knows everything, don’t mind 
 him!” 
 
 ‘What does he know ?”’ 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “But... but how did you find out 2?” 
 “My goodness, like every one else. That needs no cunning!” 
 ‘““ But does every one else .. .?” 
 
 “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.”’ 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 101 
 
 “TI... did once speak,’ Stepan Trofimovitch faltered, 
 crimsoning all over, “but... I only hinted... jétais si 
 nerveux et malade; et puis...” 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 “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, Lforgot,’’ she added, sitting down again ; “‘ listen, 
 what sort of person is Shatov ? ”’ 
 
 “Shatov ? He’s the brother of Darya Pavlovna.” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “ Cest un pense-creux dict. C'est le meilleur et le plus irascible 
 homme du monde.” 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 some one to help me and the sooner the 
 better. Would he take the work or not? He’s been recom- 
 mended to me... .” 
 
 “Oh, most certainly he will. Ht vous ferez un bienfatt. .. .” 
 
 “Tm not doing it as a bienfart. I need some one to help me.” 
 
 “‘T know Shatov pretty well,” I said, “ and if you will trust 
 me with a message to him I’1l go to him this minute.” 
 
 ‘‘ Tell him to come to me at twelve o’clock to-morrow morning. 
 Capital! Thank you. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, are you ready ? ”’ 
 
 They went away. Iran at once, of course, to Shatov. 
 
 “ Mon ami!” 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.” 
 
 VIII 
 
 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 
 tofindhim. His lodging was shut up, and he lived alone with- 
 out a servant of any sort. I did think of knocking at Captain 
 
102 THE POSSESSED 
 
 Lebyadkin’s down below to ask about Shatoy; but it was all 
 shut up below, too, and there was no sound or light as though the 
 place wereempty. 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. 
 
 ‘* Let us go in,’ said he, “I will do everything.” 
 
 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 
 drayv ers 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 appa- 
 rently 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ Seal your note and address the envelope.’ 
 
 I would have objected that this was unnecessary, but he 
 insisted. When [ had addressed the envelope I took my 
 cap. 
 
 “T was thinking you’d have tea,” he said. “I have bought 
 tea. Will you?”  : 
 
 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. 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 103 
 
 “T love tea atnight,” said he. ‘‘I walk much and drink it till 
 daybreak. Abroad tea at night is inconvenient.” 
 
 “ You go to bed at daybreak ?”’ 
 
 “ Always ; fora long while. [eat little; alwaystea. Liputin’s 
 sly, but impatient.’ 
 
 I was surprised at his aie to talk; I made up my mind 
 
 to take advantage of the opportunity. “ ‘There were VepicAsany 
 misunderstandings this morning,’ I observed. 
 He scowled. 
 
 “ That’s foolishness ; that’s great nonsense. All this is non- 
 sense 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 non- 
 sense. I trusted Liputin yesterday.” 
 
 “ And me to-day ?”’ I said, laughing. 
 
 “But you see, you knew all about it already this morning ; 
 Liputin is weak or impatient, or malicious or... he’s 
 envious.” 
 
 The last word struck me. 
 
 * You’ve mentioned so many adjectives, however, that it would 
 be strange if one didn’t describe him.” 
 
 “ Or all at once.” 
 
 “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 ? 
 
 “ Why should he?’ he said, scowling again and staring at 
 the floor. 
 
 [I apologised, and began assuring him that I was not inquisitive. 
 He flushed. 
 
 _“ He told the truth; I am writing. Only that’s no matter.” 
 
 We were silent for a minute. He suddenly smiled with the 
 childlike smile I had noticed that morning. 
 
 ‘“* 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.” 
 
 “How do you mean they don’t dare? Are there so few 
 suicides ? ”’ | 
 
 “Very few.” 
 
 “Do you really think so ?” 
 
 _ He made no answer, got up, and began walking to and fro 
 lost in thought. : 
 
104 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘What is it restrains people from suicide, do you think ?” 
 I asked. 
 
 He looked at me absent-mindedly, as though trying to remember 
 what we were talking about. 
 
 ‘““T . . . I don’t know much yet. . . . Two prejudices restrain 
 them, two things; only two, one very little, the other very big.” 
 
 ‘‘ What is the little thing ?” 
 
 hy Paint 
 
 “Pain? Can that be of importance at such a moment ? ” 
 
 ‘Of the greatest. There are two sorts: those who kill them- 
 selves 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.” 
 
 ‘‘ Why, are there people who do it from reason ? ” 
 
 “Very many. If it were not for superstition there would be 
 more, very many, all.” 
 
 ‘© What, all 2” 
 
 He did not answer. 
 
 ‘““ But aren’t there means of dying without pain ? ” 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 ?” 
 
 “A stone as big as a house ? Of course it would be fearful.” 
 
 *““T speak not of the fear. Will it hurt ?” 
 
 ‘ A stone as big as a mountain, weighing millions of tons? Of 
 course it wouldn’t hurt.” 
 
 “ 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 
 thatit won’t hurt, and every one will be afraid that it will hurt.” 
 
 ‘““ Well, and the second cause, the big one ?”’ 
 
 “Fhe other world !”’ 
 
 **You mean punishment ?” 
 
 “That’s no matter. The other world; only the other world.” 
 
 ** Are there no atheists, such as don’t believe in the other 
 world at all ?” 
 
 Again he did not answer. 
 
 ‘““ You judge from yourself, perhaps.” 
 
 ‘““ 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.” 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 105 
 
 “The goal ? But perhaps no one will care to live then ? ” 
 
 ** No one,” he pronounced with decision. 
 
 ““ Man fears death because he loves life. That’s how I under- 
 stand it,’’ I observed, “‘ and that’s determined by nature.” 
 
 “That's abject; and that’s where the deception comes in.”’ 
 His eyes flashed. ‘‘ Life is pain, life is terror, and man is un- 
 happy. 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 him- 
 self be a god. And this God will not be.” 
 
 “Then this God does exist according to you ?” 
 
 ** 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 him- 
 selfa 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...” 
 
 “To the gorilla ?” 
 
 “... 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 ? ”’ 
 
 “Tf it will be just the same living or not living, all will kill 
 themselves, and perhaps that’s what the change will be ?”’ 
 
 ‘“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.” 
 
 “There have been millions of suicides.” 
 
 “ 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.” 
 
 ‘““ He won’t have time, perhaps,” I observed. 
 
 “That’s no matter,’ he answered softly, with calm pride, 
 
106 THE POSSESSED 
 
 almost disdain. ‘I’m sorry that you seem to be laughing,” he 
 added half a minute later. 
 
 ‘‘ It seems strange to me that you were so irritable this morning 
 and are now so calm, though you speak with warmth.” 
 
 “This morning ?. It was funny this morning,’ he answered 
 with a smile. ‘I don’t like scolding, and I never laugh,” he 
 added mournfully. 
 
 “Yes, you don’t spend your nights very cheerfully over 
 your tea.” 
 
 I got up and took my cap. 
 
 “ 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. 
 
 ‘* 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 ?”’ 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘‘ 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 ?”’ 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ** T suppose he had a great influence on your way of thinking ? ” 
 
 *“N-no. He said little; he said nothing. I'll give your note.” 
 
 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, 
 
 Ix 
 
 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. 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 107 
 
 *‘ Who’s this ?”’ roared a voice, ‘‘a friend or an enemy ? Own 
 up ! PB) 
 
 ‘“‘ He’s one of us; one of us!” Liputin’s voice squealed near 
 by. “It’s Mr. G Vv, a young man of classical education, in 
 touch with the highest society.” 
 
 ‘“‘T 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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 “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. 
 
 “I forgive you for your learning! Ignat Lebyadkin— 
 high-ly ed-u-cated. ... 
 
 
 
 ‘A bomb of love with stinging smart 
 Hzploded in Ignaty’s heart. 
 In anguish dire I weep again 
 The arm that at Sevastopol 
 I lost in bitter pain !’ 
 
 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. 
 
 “ He is in a hurry, he is going home!” Liputin tried to persuade 
 him. “ He'll tell Lizaveta Nikolaevna to-morrow.” 
 
 “ Lizaveta!’’ he yelledagain. “Stay, don’t go! A variation: 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 You know that’s a hymn. It’s a hymn, if you’re not an ass! 
 The duffers, they don’t understand! Stay!” 
 
 He caught hold of my coat, though I pulled myself away with 
 ail my might. 
 _ “ Tell her I’m a knight and the soul of honour, and as for that 
 
108 THE POSSESSED © 
 
 Dasha . . . I'd pick her up and chuck her out. . . . She’s only 
 a serf, she daren’ th 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“* 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!” 
 
 ‘““T bet you suggested it to him yourself.” 
 
 ‘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 horse- 
 back 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 
 —ypoetry !| Do you know he means to risk a proposal? Seriously ! 
 Seriously !” 
 
 “TI 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. 
 
 “You're going rather far, Mr. G v. Isn’t your poor little 
 heart quaking, perhaps, in terror of a rival ? ”’ 
 
 ‘“Wha-at!’’ I cried, standing still. 
 
 “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; Ill say nothing more; 
 good-bye.” | 
 
 
 
 x 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch was awaiting me with hysterical impa- | 
 
 tience. It was an hour since he had returned. I found him ina 
 state resembling intoxication ; for the first five minutes at least 
 
 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 109 
 
 I thought he was drunk. Alas, the visit to the Drozdovs had 
 been the finishing-stroke. 
 
 “ Monami! Ihavecompletely 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.”’ 
 
 “You ought to be ashamed !” I couldn’t help exclaiming. 
 
 “My friend, now I am utterly alone. JLnfin, cest ridicule. 
 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 itso, she will. Ce Maurice, or what’s his 
 name, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, brave homme tout de méme... 
 but can it be for his sake, and after she wrote herself from Paris 
 to cetie pauvreamie? .. . Enfin, this Praskovya, as cette chére amie 
 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.”’ 
 
 ‘“That’s making her out a regular packing-case if it’s an 
 exaggerated form.” 
 
 ** Well, perhaps it’s the opposite ; it’s all the same, only don’t 
 interrupt me, for I’m allin 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. Cetie pawvre 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, ce Iipoutine, ce que je ne comprends pas 
 ... and... and they say she’s been putting vinegar on her 
 head, and here are we with our complaints and letters. . . . Oh, 
 how have tormented her and at sucha time! Jesuss un ingrat ! 
 Only imagine, I come back and find a letter from her; read it, 
 read it! Oh, how ungrateful it was of me!” 
 
 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 
 
110 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘‘ 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 tout est dit. I know now that 
 all is over. C’est terrible! 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. . . .” 
 
 ‘You've been upset by all those nasty things Liputin said, 
 those slanders.”’ 
 
 ‘“ My dear, you have touched on another sore spot with your 
 friendly finger. Such friendly fingers are generally merciless and 
 sometimes unreasonable ; pardon, 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, cetie pawvre 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 idolises Darya Pavlovna, she says so anyway ; 
 she says of her ‘ c’est un ange, only rather a reserved one.’ They 
 both advised me, even Praskovya. .. . Praskovya didn’t advise 
 methough. 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.’ Shelaughed. 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... . Ma foi, I’ve been 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 11] 
 
 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 callit.. . 
 enfin, 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! La pauvre amie 
 was always angry at the untidiness here. . . . Ah, nowI shall no 
 longer hear her voice! Vzingtans/ And it seems they’ve had 
 anonymous letters. Only fancy, it’s said that Nicolas has sold 
 Lebyadkin his property. C'est un monstre; et enfin what is 
 Lebyadkin ? Lise listens, and listens, ooh, how she listens ! 
 I forgave her laughing. I saw her face as she listened, and ce 
 Maurice . . . I shouldn’t care to be in his shoes now, brave homme 
 tout de méme, but rather shy; but never mind him... .” 
 
 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 
 eoncern him. I mentioned by the way my conversation with 
 Kirillov, and added that he might be mad. 
 
 *He’s not mad, but one of those shallow-minded people,” 
 he mumbled listlessly. ‘‘ Ces gens-ld supposent la nature et la 
 société humaine autres que Dieu ne les a faites et qwelles ne sont 
 réellement. People try to make up to them, but Stepan Ver- 
 hovensky does not, anyway. Isaw them that time in Petersburg 
 avec cette chére amie (oh, how I used to wound her then), and 
 { wasn’t afraid of their abuse or even of their praise. I’m not 
 
 afraid now either. Mais parlons d@autre chose... . I believe I 
 have done dreadful things. Only fancy, I sent a letter yester- 
 day to Darya Pavlovna and... how I curse myself for 
 it!” 
 
 ‘What did you write about ?” 
 “Oh, my friend, believe me, it was all done in a noble spirit. 
 
112 THE POSSESSED 
 
 I let her know that I had written to Nicolas five days before, 
 also in a noble spirit.”’ 
 
 ‘“‘T understand now !”’ I eried with heat. ‘‘ And what right 
 had you to couple their names like that ? ” 
 
 ‘““ But, mon cher, 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 . . . en Suisse . . . or was beginning. 
 I was bound to question their hearts beforehand that I. . 
 enfin, that I might not constrain their hearts, and be a stumbling- 
 block in their paths. I acted simply from honourable feeling.” 
 
 .** Oh, heavens! What a stupid thing you’ve done!”’ I cried 
 involuntarily. 
 
 “Yes, yes,” he assented with positive eagerness. “‘ You have 
 never said anything more just, c était béte, mais que farre? Tout 
 est dit. 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 ? ”’ 
 
 “You're at. that idea again !”’ 
 
 “Oh, you won’t frighten me with your shouts now. You see 
 a different Stepan Verhovensky before younow. The man I was 
 is buried. Enfin, tout est dit. And why do youcry 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 inde- 
 pendence. 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. Le 
 bon Dieu 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 .. . en/in, tout est dit.” 
 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 113 
 
 He wouldn’t have been himself if he could have dispensed with 
 the cheap gibing free-thought which wasin vogue in his day. Now, 
 at any rate, he comforted himself with a gibe, but not for long. 
 
 “ 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—si le miracle 
 existe ? What would it be to Providence to blot out one Sunday 
 from the calendar ? If only to prove His power to the athcists 
 et que tout soit dit / Ob, how I loved her! ‘Twenty years, these 
 twenty years, and she has never understood me! ” 
 
 “But of whom are you talking? Even I don’t understand 
 you!” I asked, wondering. 
 
 “Vingt ans/ And she has not once understood me; ch, 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 
 itforyou! . . . Oh, let her know, that Auntie, that she is the one 
 woman I have adored for twenty years! She must learn this, 
 ig must be so, if not they will need force to drag me under 
 ce qu'on appelle le wedding-crown.”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 “ 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 . . . Laissez-mor, mon ami, I'll lie down a little, to 
 collect my ideas. I am so tired, so tired. And I think it’s time. 
 you werein bed. Voyez vous, it’s twelve o’clock... .” 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 THE CRIPPLE 
 I 
 
 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 “‘ merci’ to me, on Shatov’s account 
 of course, went to meet him, looking at him with interest. 
 
 Shatov stopped awkwardly in the doorway. Thanking him for 
 coming she led him up to her mother. 
 
 “This is Mr. Shatov, of whom I have told you, and this is 
 Mr. G——-v, a great friend of mine and of Stepan Trofimo- 
 vitch’s. Mavriky Nikolaevitch made his acquaintance yesterday, 
 too.” 
 
 “And which is the professor ? ” 
 
 *“There’s no professor at all, maman.”’ 
 
 ““ But there is. You said yourself that there’d be a professor. 
 It’s this one, probably.’’ She disdainfully indicated Shatov. 
 
 ‘“‘T didn’t tell you that there’d be a professor. Mr. G Vv is 
 in the service, and Mr. Shatov is a former student.” 
 
 ‘““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.” 
 
 ‘It’s the son of Stepan Trofimovitch that maman always calls 
 the professor,” said Liza, and she took Shatov away to the iss 
 at the other end of the drawing-room. 
 
 *“‘ When her legs swell, she’s always like this, you hudewiena | 
 1l4 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE CRIPPLE 115 
 
 she’s ill,’ she whispered to Shatov, still with the same marked 
 curiosity, scrutinising him, especially his shock of hair. 
 
 “Are you an officer ?”’ the old lady inquired of me. Liza had 
 mercilessly abandoned me to her. 
 
 “N-no. I’m in the service... . 
 
 “Mr. G v is a great friend of Stepan Trofimovitch’s,”’ 
 Liza chimed in immediately. 
 
 “Are you in Stepan Trofimovitch’s service? Yes, and he’s 
 a professor, too, isn’t he ?”’ 
 
 “Ah, maman, you must dream at night of professors,’ 
 Liza with annoyance. 
 
 ““T see too many when I’m awake. But you always will contra- 
 dict your mother. Were you here four years ago when Nikolay 
 _ Vsyevolodovitch was in the neighbourhoad ?”’ 
 
 I answered that I was. 
 
 ** And there was some Englishman with you ?” 
 
 *“No, there was not.” 
 
 Liza laughed. 
 
 ** 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.” 
 
 ** Auntie and Stepan Trofimovitch yesterday thought there was 
 a resemblance between Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch and Prince 
 Harry in Shakespeare’s Henry IV, and in answer to that 
 maman says that there was no Englishman here,”’ Liza explained 
 to us. 
 
 “If Harry wasn’t here, there was no Englishman. It was no 
 one else but Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch at his tricks.” 
 
 ‘““T 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 Othello myself. But 
 she’s in great pain now. Maman, listen, it’s striking twelve, 
 it’s time you took your medicine.” 
 
 ‘“The doctor’s come,”’ a maid-servant announced at the door. 
 
 The old lady got up and began calling her dog: “ Zemirka, 
 Zemirka, you come with me at least.” 
 
 Zemirka, a horrid little old dog, instead of obeying, crept under 
 the sofa where Liza was sitting. 
 
 “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, 
 
 ~ “ Anton Lavrentyevitch .. .” 
 
 3? 
 
 
 
 ? 
 
 crred 
 
116 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘‘ 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)[ called: Thank God I can still walk without help 
 and to-morrow I shall go for a drive.” 
 
 She walked angrily out of the drawing-room. 
 
 ‘* Anton Lavrentyevitch, wili 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. 
 
 I 
 
 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 any- 
 thing 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 in- 
 experienced she needed some one to help her. The earnestness 
 with which she began to explain her plan to Shatov quite sur- 
 prised me. 
 
 “She must be one of the new people,” I thought. “She has 
 not been to Switzerland for nothing.”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 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, butin 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 
 
 
 
THE CRIPPLE 117 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘‘ Instead of a number of newspapers there would be'a few fat 
 books, that’s all,” observed Shatov. 
 
 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 presenta- 
 tion 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 govern- 
 ment decrees, but only such things to be selected as are charac- 
 teristic 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. 
 
 ‘““ 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. . 
 
 ‘“‘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. 
 
 “ Not at all, we must not select with a particular bias, and we 
 
118 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ought not to have any political tendency in it. Nothing but 
 impartiality—that will be the only tendency.” 
 
 ‘* 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.” 
 
 ‘Then such a book is possible ?”’ cried Liza delightedly. 
 
 ‘“‘ We must look into it and consider. It’s an immense under- 
 taking. 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.” 
 
 He raised his eyes at last, and they were positively sparkling 
 with pleasure, he was so interested. 
 
 ‘‘ Was it your own idea ?”’ he asked Liza, in a friendly and, asit 
 were, bashful way. 
 
 ‘* 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. . . .”’ | 
 
 ‘* Pursue 3” 
 
 ‘‘ Perhaps that’s not the right word ?”’ Liza inquired quickly. 
 
 “ The word is all right ; I meant nothing.” 
 
 “T thought while | was abroad that even I might be of some 
 use. Ihave money of my own lying idle. Why shouldn’t I— 
 even I—work for the common cause ?. Besides, the idea some- 
 how occurred to me all at once of itself. I didn’t invent it at all, 
 and was delighted withit. But I saw at once that I couldn’t get 
 on without some one 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 ?”’ 
 
 “ Tf we hit on a good plan the book will go.” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “Well, but how do I come in ?”’ 
 
 “Why, I invite you to be my fellow-worker, to go halves. You 
 will think out the plan.” 
 
 “How do you know that I am capable of thinking out the | 
 
 plan 2?” 
 *“* People have talked about you to me, and here I’ve heard 
 
 
 
THE CRIPPLE 119 
 
 - . . | 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 ? ”’ 
 
 Shatov stole a fleeting, momentary glance at her, but dropped 
 his eyes again. 
 
 “ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch told me a great deal about you, 
 too.”’ 
 
 Shatov suddenly turned red. 
 
 “But here are the newspapers.” Liza hurriedly picked up 
 from a chair a bundle of newspapers that lay tied up ready. 
 “Tve tried to mark the facts here for selection, to sort them, 
 and I have put the papers together . . . you will see.” 
 
 Shatov took the bundle. 
 
 ** Take them home and look at them. Where do you live ?” 
 
 “In Bogoyavlensky Street, Filipov’s house.” 
 
 “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. 
 
 Shatov sat for a full minute with the bundle in his outstretched 
 hand, making no answer and staring at the floor. 
 
 “You'd better find some one else for these jobs. I shouldn’t 
 suit you at all,”’ he brought out at last, dropping his voice in an 
 awtiully strange way, almost to a whisper. 
 
 Liza flushed crimson. 
 
 “What jobs are you speaking of ? Mavriky Nikolaevitch,” 
 she cried, ‘‘ please bring that letter here.”’ 
 
 I too followed Mavriky Nikolaevitch to the table. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 With no little astonishment I read aloud the following missive : 
 
 “To the Perfection, Miss T'ushin. 
 
 “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 
 
120 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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! | 
 
 ““T 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 bigenough. 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 docu- 
 ments 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.” 
 
 “That was written by a man in a drunken condition, a worth- 
 less fellow,” I cried indignantly. ‘‘ I know him.” 
 
 ‘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 doit. 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.” 
 
 ‘‘ He’s a drunkard and a worthless fellow,’’ Shatov muttered 
 with apparent reluctance. | 
 
 “Is he always so stupid ?”’ 
 
 “No, he’s not stupid at all when he’s not drunk.” 
 
THE CRIPPLE 121 
 
 “TI used to know a general who wrote verses exactly like that,’ 
 T observed, laughing. 
 
 ‘‘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. 
 
 “ He lives with some sister ? ”’ Liza queried. 
 
 “Yes, with his sister.” 
 
 “They say he tyrannises over her, is that true ? ” 
 
 Shatov looked at Liza again, scowled, and muttering, ‘‘ What 
 business is it of mine ?”” moved towards the door. 
 
 “ Ah, stay !” cried Liza, in a flutter. “‘ Where are you going ? 
 We have so much still to talk over... .” 
 
 “What is there to talk over? J’ll let you know to-morrow.” 
 
 “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... .” 
 
 ‘‘ How do you know that I could be a printer ? ” Shatov asked 
 sullenly. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 Shatov’s face changed, as I recollect now. He stood for a few 
 seconds longer, then went out of the room. 
 
 Liza was angry. 
 
 “Does he always go out like that ?”’ she asked, turning to me. 
 
 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. 
 
 “T’m not going to be your helper, I haven’t the time... . 
 
 “Why? Why? I think you are angry ! !”? Liza asked him i in 
 a grieved and imploring voice. 
 
 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. 
 
 “No matter,’’ he muttered, softly, “I don’t want to... . 
 
 99 
 
 29 
 
122 THE POSSESSED 
 
 And he went away altogether. 
 
 Liza was completely overwhelmed, quite disproportionately in 
 fact, so it seemed to me. 
 
 ‘“‘ Wonderfully queer man,” Mavriky Nikolaevitch observed 
 
 aloud. 
 
 III 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 “ Ah, you, too, are going, good-bye,’’ she murmured in an 
 ordinary friendly tone. ‘‘ Give my greetings to Stepan Trofimo- 
 vitch, 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... .” 
 
 I went out and had reached the bottom of the stairs when a 
 footman suddenly overtook me at the street door. 
 
 “My lady begs you to come back... .” 
 
 ‘The mistress, or Lizaveta Nikolaevna ? ” 
 
 “The young lady.” | 
 
 I found Liza not in the big room where we had been sitting, 
 but in the reception-room next toit. The door between it and the 
 drawing-room, where Mavriky Nikolaevitch was left alone, was 
 closed. 
 
 _ Liza smiled to me but was pale. She was standing in the 
 middle of the room in evident indecision, visibly struggling with 
 
 
 
THE CRIPPLE 123 
 
 herself; but she suddenly took me by the hand, and led me 
 quickly to the window. 
 
 “TI want to see her 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.” | 
 
 She was in a perfect frenzy, and—in despair. 
 
 ** Who is it you want to see, Lizaveta Nikolaevna ?”’ I inquired 
 in dismay. 
 
 “ That Lebyadkin’s sister, that lame girl. . . . Is it true that 
 she’s lame ? ”’ 
 
 I was astounded. 
 
 **T 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. 
 
 ‘“*{ must see her, absolutely. Could you arrange it to-day ?” 
 
 I felt dreadfully sorry for her. 
 
 *“ That’s utterly impossible, and, besides, I should not know 
 at all how to set about it,’ I began persuading her. “Tl go 
 to Shatov. ...” 
 
 “ 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; L spoke stupidly to Shatov. ... 
 I’m sure that you are perfectly honest and perhaps ready to do 
 anything for me, only arrange it.”’ 
 
 I felt a passionate desire to help her in every way. 
 
 “ This is what I'll do,’’ I said, aftera moment’sthought. “ [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.” 
 
 * 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. . . .” 
 
 “‘ He is honest, very honest,’’ I assented warmly. 
 
 “Tf it’s not arranged by to-morrow, though, I shall go myself 
 whatever happens, and even if every one were to know.” 3 
 
 “I can’t be with you before three o’clock to-morrow,” I 
 observed, after a moment’s deliberation. 
 
 _ “ At three o’clock then. Then it was true what I imagined 
 yesterday at Stepan Trofimovitch’s, that you—are rather devoted 
 
124 THE POSSESSED 
 
 to me?” she said with a smile, hurriedly pressing my hand 
 to say good-bye, and hurrying back to the forsaken Mavriky 
 Nikolaevitch. 
 
 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 mein any way. But 
 all the same, I hurried to him. 
 
 IV 
 
 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. 
 
 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. JI 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, 
 
THE CRIPPLE 125 
 
 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. 
 
 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 L 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 naive 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: 
 
 ** Remember that you are bound to give an explanation.” 
 
 “ Hang your explanation, and who the devil am I bound to ?” 
 said Shatov. He showed them out and fastened the door with 
 the latch. 
 
 “Snipes !’’ he said, looking at me, with a sort of wry smile. 
 
 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. 
 
 “T had tea yesterday with that Alexey Nilitch,” I observed. 
 *‘T think he’s mad on atheism.” 
 
 “‘ 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. 
 
 “‘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.” 
 
 “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. 
 

 
 126 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘ 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. 
 
 “Goodness only knows what you're saying,” I laughed. 
 
 “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.’ ”’ | 
 
 ““T wasn’t dreaming of such a thing. ... What are you 
 saying !”’ 
 
 “You need not apologise. I’m not afraid of you. Once I — 
 
 was only the son of a flunkey, but now Pve become a flunkey 
 myself, like you. Our Russian liberalis a flunkey before every- 
 thing, and is only looking for some one whose boots he can clean.”’ 
 
 ‘What boots ? What allegory is this ? ”’ 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “Stepan Trofimovitch declares that you are mad over the 
 Germans,” I laughed. ‘‘We’ve borrowed something from them 
 anyway.” 
 
 ‘““ We took twenty kopecks, but we gave up a hundred roubles 
 of our own.” 
 
 We were silent a minute. 
 
 “‘ He got that sore lying in America.” 
 
 “Who? What sore ?”’ 
 
 “‘T mean Kirillov. I spent four months with him lying on the 
 floor of a hut.” | 
 
 “Why, have you been in America?’ I asked, surprised, 
 “You never told me about it.” . 
 
 ** 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 
 
 
 
THE CRIPPLE 127 
 
 verify by personal experiment the state of a man in the hardest 
 social conditions. That was our object in going there.” 
 
 “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.”’ 
 
 “We hired ourselves out as workmen to an exploiter; there 
 were six of us Russians working for him—students, even land- 
 owners 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.”’ 
 
 “You don’t mean to say your employer beat you ? In America ? 
 How you must have sworn at him!” 
 
 “Nota 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. .. .” 
 
 “The strange thing is that with us all this is not only in the 
 brain but is carried out in practice,’’ I observed. 
 
 ‘““Men made of paper,’ Shatov repeated. 
 
 ‘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 ?”’ 
 
 ““T wrote to a man in Europe and he sent me a hundred 
 roubles.” 
 
 As Shatov talked he looked doggedly at the ground as he 
 always did, even when he was excited. At this point he sagt oma tn 
 raised his head. 
 

 
 128 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “Do you want to know the man’s name ?” 
 
 “Who was it ?” 
 
 “ Nikolay Stavrogin.” 
 
 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 laison 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 ieft 
 him in Geneva. 
 
 “Tf so, what possesses him now to bring his name forward and 
 to lay stress on it ?”’ I thought. 
 
 “‘T 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 : : 
 
 “‘ You have come no doubt with some object. What do you 
 want ?” 
 
 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. 
 
 He listened very attentively. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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.” 
 
 He got up, went to the door, opened it, and began listening 
 on the stairs. 
 
 “Do you want to see that person yourself 2 ”’ 
 
 “ That’s just what I wanted, but how is it to be done?” I 
 cried, delighted. 
 
 ‘* 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 
 
 a 
 
 
 
THE CRIPPLE 129 
 
 often go in on the sly. I went for him this morning when he 
 began beating her again.” ! 
 
 ‘““ What do you mean ?” 
 
 ““T 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.’ 
 
 We went downstairs at once. 
 
 V 
 
 The Lebyadkins’ door was shut but not locked, and we were 
 able to goin. Their lodging consisted of two nasty little rooms, 
 with smoke-begrimed walls on which the filthy wail-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 Mile. 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 in- 
 capable of looking after things. 
 
 Mile. 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 
 
 I 
 

 
 130 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 con- 
 spicuous 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. 
 
 ‘* ‘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 ! ”’ | 
 
 To my surprise Shatov spoke aloud, just as though she were 
 not in the room. 
 
 * Good day, Shatushka ! ”’? Mile. Lebyadkin said genially. 
 
 “Tve brought you a visitor, Marya Timofyevna,” said 
 Shatov. 
 
 “‘ 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). 
 
 * 
 
 
 
THE CRIPPLE 13] 
 
 _“ Are you tired of walking up and down alone in your garret 2?” 
 she laughed, displaying two rows of magnificent teeth. 
 
 “I was tired of it, and 1 wanted to come and see you.” 
 
 Shatovy moved a bench up to the table, sat down on it and 
 made me sit beside him, 
 
 “Tm 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, “‘1I don’t believe you've touched it 
 since I combed it last.’ 
 
 “Well, I haven’t got a comb,” said Shatov, laughing too. 
 
 “Really ?, Then TV give you. mine; only remind me, not 
 this one but another.”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 ‘* And are you happy when your brother’s here ?”’ 
 
 “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. 
 
 “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 
 
132 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. . . .” 
 
 ‘“‘T 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. 
 
 “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 en- 
 shrined 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 
 
THE CRIPPLE 133 
 
 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 kissit 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 
 
134 _ THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. .. .” 
 
 ‘“ Why, had you one?”’ And Shatov, who had been listening 
 attentively all the time, nudged me with his elbow. 
 
 “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.”’ 
 
 ** Perhaps you had one ?’”’ Shatov queried cautiously.” 
 
 *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. ; 
 
 ** Where did you take your baby ? ” 
 
 “ T took it to the pond,” she said with a sigh. 
 
 Shatov nudged me again. 
 
 ** And what if you never had a baby and all this is ons a 
 wild dream ?”’ 
 
 ““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 ?”’ 
 
 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, 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.” | 
 
 
 
THE CRIPPLE 135 
 
 * Perhaps he will come in reality,’ Shatov muttered in an 
 undertone. 
 
 ““No, Shatushka, that’s a dream. ... He can’t come in 
 reality. You know the song: 
 
 “A new fine house I do not crave, 
 This tuny cell ’s enough for me ;- 
 There will I dwell my soul to save 
 And ever pray to God for thee.’ 
 
 Ach, Shatushka, Shatushka, my dear, why do you never ask 
 me about anything 2?” 
 
 “Why, you won't tell. That’s why I don’t ask.”’ 
 
 “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!” 
 
 “There, you see. Every one has something of their own,” 
 Shatov said, still more softly, his head drooping lower and lower. 
 
 “ 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 chall tell you. Entreat 
 me, Shatushka, so that I shall consent of myself. Shatushka, 
 Shatushka !” 
 
 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. 
 
 “Ach, what is it to do with me, and it’s a sin.” Shatov 
 suddenly got up from the bench. 
 
 “Get up!” He angrily pulled the bench from under me 
 and put it back where it stood before. 
 
 ‘“ He'll be coming, so we must mind he doesn’t guess. It’s. 
 time we were off.” 
 
 _“ 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, ’m suffering for another man’s 
 sin!’ So would you believe it, we all burst out laughing. . . .” 
 * Ach, Timofyevna, why it was I, not the red beard, it was 
 
136 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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.” 
 
 “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. | 
 
 ‘““Come along!’ Shatov pulled me. “ The gate’s creaking, 
 he’ll find us and beat her.”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 Shatov let me into his room and locked the door. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 We didn’t get off without a scene, however. 
 
 VI 
 
 Shatov stood at the closed door of his room and listened ; 
 suddenly he sprang back. 
 
 ‘“ He’s coming here, I knew he would,” he whispered furiously. 
 ** Now there’ll be no getting rid of him till midnight.” 
 
 Several violent thumps of a fist on the door followed. 
 
 ‘“Shatov, Shatov, open!” yelled the captain. ‘“‘ Shatov, 
 bgt 18 BUPA 
 
 ‘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 fireof... his... embrace. 
 Tell thee I have waked, God damn thee, 
 Wakened under the birch-twigs. . . .’ 
 
 (‘‘ As it might be under the birch-rods, ha ha!”’) 
 
 ‘ Every litile bird . .'. is... thirsty, 
 Says I’m going to ... . have a drink, 
 But I don’t . . . know what to drink. . . 2 
 
 Damn his stupid curiosity! Shatov, do you understand how 
 good it is to be alive!” : 
 “ Don’t answer !’’ Shatov whispered to me again. 
 
THE CRIPPLE 137 
 
 “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 ?”’ 
 
 Silence. 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 “ Go to hell!’ Shatov roared suddenly. 
 
 “$-s-slave! Bond-slave, and your sister’s a slave, a bonds- 
 Romer. Lidth ont tht, 6 sheet 
 
 ** And you sold your sister.”’ 
 
 “That's a lie! I put up withthelibelthough. I could with 
 one word . . . do you understand what she is ?.”’ 
 
 “What ?”’ Shatov at once drew near the door inquisitively. 
 
 * But will you understand ? ”’ 
 
 “Yes, I shall understand, tell me what ?”’ 
 
 “Tm not afraid to say! I’m never afraid to say anything 
 “im publieg ois 77 
 
 “You not afraid? A likely story,” said Shatov, taunting 
 him, and nodding to me to listen. 
 
 “* Me afraid ? ”’ 
 
 “Yes, I think you are.” 
 
 ** Me afraid ? ”’ 
 
 “Well then, tell away if you’re not afraid of your master’s 
 whip. ... Youre a coward, though you are a captain!” 
 
 pink oer hy tgs she’s\ suru ishe’ss;! J.’ faltered Lebyadkin in 
 a voice shaking with excitement. 
 
 “Well?” Shatov put his ear to the door. 
 
 A silence followed, lasting at least half a minute. 
 
 ‘“‘Sc-ou-cundrel!”’ 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. 
 
 ‘Yes, he’s a sly one, and won’t give himself away even when 
 he’s drunk.” 
 
 Shatov moved away from the door. 
 
 ‘“ What’s it all about ?”’ I asked. 
 
 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. 
 
138 - THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘““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.” 
 
 * Listen, Shatov, what am I to gather from all this ?” 
 “Oh, gather what you like!” he answered in a weary and 
 disgusted voice, and he sat down to his writing-table. 
 
 I went away. An improbable idea was growing stronger and 
 strongerin my mind. I thought of the next day with distress. ... 
 
 VII 
 
 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. 
 
 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: ashirt 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 
 
‘THE CRIPPLE 139 
 
 nodding to us. Stepan Trofimovitch looked at me in dismay 
 again. 
 
 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 atus. 
 
 Shatov suddenly addressed him with a loud question : 
 
 _ “Alexey Yegorytch, do you know whether Darya Pavlovna 
 has gone with her ? ”’ 
 
 “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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
140 THE POSSESSED 
 
 Only Varvara Petrovna was modestly dressed in black as she 
 always was, and had been for the lastfour years. She had taken 
 her usual place in church in the first row on the left, and a foot- 
 man 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. 
 
 And behold, during the sermon alady 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 worn and 
 handed the driver four kopecks in silver. 
 
 “Isn't it enough, Vanya?’ she cried, seeing his grimace. 
 “It’s all I’ve got,” she added plaintively. 
 
 ‘4 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 : 
 
 ‘‘ And it would be a sin to take advantage of you too.” 
 
 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 sur- 
 prising 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 
 
THE CRIPPLE 14} 
 
 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. 
 
 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 wasdiverted. 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 par- 
 ticular 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 extra- 
 ordinary 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, extra- 
 ordinary 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. 
 
 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 cf money, 
 especially for benevolent objects. She was a member of a. 
 charitable society in the capital. In the last famine year she: 
 
142 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 im- 
 practicability 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!” 
 
 ‘‘ 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. 
 
 ‘‘ What does she want ? Who is she ?”’ 
 
 Varvara Petrovna bent an imperious and inquiring gaze on 
 ail around her. Every one was silent. 
 
 “You are unhappy ? You are in need of help ?” 
 
 ““T am in need. ... I have come .....’ faltered the ‘ un- 
 happy” creature in a voice broken with emotion. “‘I have 
 come only to kiss your hand... .” 
 
 Again she giggled. With the childish look with which little 
 children caress some one, begging for a favour, she stretched 
 ‘forward to seize Varvara Petrovna’s hand, but, as though 
 -panic-stricken, drew her hands. back, 
 
 a 
 
THE CRIPPLE) 143 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 ‘“‘T say, she gave her ten roubles!” some one said in the 
 crowd. 
 
 “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. 
 
 “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. 
 
 ‘“* But get up, get up from your knees I beg you!” 
 
 The woman got up. 
 
 “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. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “ Lebyadkin ? Filipovs’ house? I have heard something. ... 
 Thank you, Nikon Semyonitch.. But who is this Lebyadkin ¢” 
 
 “ 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 
 
144 THE POSSESSED 
 
 went on, dropping his voice, and glancing significantly at Varvara 
 Petrovna. | 
 
 ‘“‘T understand. Thank you, Nikon Semyonitch. Your name 
 is Mile. Lebyadkin ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ No, my name’s not Lebyadkin.”’ 
 
 ‘Then perhaps your brother’s name is Lebyadkin ? ” 
 
 ** My brother’s name is Lebyadkin.”’ 
 
 “This is what I'll do, Pll take you with me now, my dear, 
 and you shall be driven from me to your family. Would you 
 like to go with me ?”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ Ach, I should !”’ cried Mlle. Lebyadkin, clasping her hands. 
 
 ‘‘ Auntie, auntie, take me with you too!” the voice of Lizaveta 
 Nikolaevna cried suddenly. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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. 
 
 ‘‘ Auntie, auntie, 1 must come with you!” Liza implored, 
 kissing Varvara Petrovna. 
 
 ‘““ Mais qu’avez vous donc, Lise?” the governor’s wife asked 
 with expressive wonder. 
 
 ‘* Ah, forgive me, darling, chére cousine, I’m going to auntie’s.”’ 
 
 Liza turned in passing to her unpleasantly surprised chére 
 cousine, and kissed her twice. 
 
 ‘“* 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, Julie, chére . . . cowsine.... Auntie, 
 I’m ready !”’ 
 
 “Tf 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ We must put an end to this!’ broke from her lips. ‘ Very — 
 well, Pll take you with pleasure, Liza,” she added aloud, “if 
 
THE CRIPPLE 145 
 
 Yulia Mihailovna is willing to let you come, of course.” With 
 a candid air and straightforward dignity she addressed the 
 governor’s wile directly. 
 
 “ Oh, certainly, I don’t want to deprive her of such a pleasure 
 especially as Iam myself...” Yulia Mihailovna lisped with 
 amazing affability—‘‘ I myself . . . know well what a fantastic, 
 wilful little head itis !’’ Yulia Mihailovna gave a charming smile. 
 
 ‘“] thank you extremely,” said Varvara Petrovna, with a 
 courteous and dignified bow. 
 
 “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. .....” 
 
 “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 in- 
 
 sinuating smiles were to be seen. 
 
 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. 
 
 “Get in, my dear.” Varvara Petrovna motioned Mille. 
 Lebyadkin towards the carriage which had driven up. 
 
 The “unhappy creature’”’ hurried gleefully to the carriage 
 door, and there the footman lifted her in. 
 
 “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.) 
 
 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. 
 
 K 
 
CHAPTER V 
 THE SUBTLE SERPENT 
 I 
 
 VARVARA PETROVNA rang the bell and threw herself into an easy 
 chair by the window. 
 
 “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 ?”’ 
 
 “—T...1.. .” faltered Stepan Trofimovitch. 
 
 But a footman came in. 
 
 ‘A cup of coffee at once, we must have it as quickly as 
 possible! Keep the horses ! ” 
 
 ‘“* Mais, chére et excellente amie, dans quelle unquiéiude ...” 
 Stepan Trofimovitch exclaimed in a dying voice. 
 
 “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. 
 
 We all sat in silence, waiting to see how it would end. Shatov 
 did not lift up his head, and Stepan Trofimovitch was over- 
 whelmed 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 enjoy- 
 ment 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. 
 
 “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. 
 
 146 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 147 
 
 “You know this woman ?”’ said Varvara Petrovna, turning 
 to him at once. 
 
 ‘‘T know her,’’ muttered Shatov. He seemed about to move 
 from his chair, but remained sitting. 
 
 ‘“‘ What do you know of her? Make haste, please ! ”’ 
 
 “Oh, well...” he stammered with an incongruous smile. 
 “You see for yourself. . . .” 
 
 ‘““ What do I see? Come now, say something !” 
 
 ‘“‘ She lives in the same house asI do... with her brother ... 
 an officer.” 
 
 “Well 2” 
 
 Shatov stammered again. 
 
 “It’s not worth talking about...’ he muttered, and 
 relapsed into determined silence. He positively flushed with 
 determination. 
 
 ‘‘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. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“You were very cold just now, my dear; make haste and 
 drink it and get warm.” | 
 
 ‘* Meret.” 
 
 Marya Timofyevna took the cup and at once went off into a 
 giggle at having said merci to the footman. But meeting 
 Varvara Petrovna’s reproving eyes, she was overcome with 
 shyness and put the cup on the table. 
 
 ‘* Auntie, surely you’re not angry ?”’ she faltered with a sort 
 
 of flippant playfulness. | 
 
 ‘““Wh-a-a-t ?’”’ Varvara Petrovna started, and drew herself 
 up in her chair. “I’m not your aunt. What are you thinking 
 of 7” 
 
 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. 
 
 “T ...1... thought that was the proper way,” she 
 faltered, gazing open-eyed at Varvara Petrovna. ‘‘ Liza called 
 you that.” 
 
 ‘* What Liza ? ”’ 
 
148 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “Why, this young lady here,” said Marya Timofyevna, 
 pointing with her finger. 
 
 “So she’s Liza already ? ”’ 
 
 “You called her that yourself just now,” said Marya Timof- 
 yevna growing a little bolder. ‘“‘ And I dreamed of a beauty 
 like that,” she added, laughing, as it were accidentally. 
 
 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. 
 
 “Take it. I forgot to give it back. Don’t be angry with 
 my rudeness.” 
 
 She took from her shoulders the black shawl that Varvara 
 Petrovna had wrapped round her. 
 
 ‘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 under- 
 stand you.” 
 
 “ Chére amie .. .”’ Stepan Trofimovitch ventured again. 
 
 “ 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.” 
 
 A silence followed. Her eyes strayed irritably and suspiciously 
 over all our faces. . Agasha, her favourite maid, came in. 
 
 ‘Bring me my check shawl, the one I bought in Geneva. 
 What’s Darya Pavlovna doing ?”’ 
 
 ‘‘ She’s not very well, madam.” 
 
 ‘““Go and ask her to come here. Say that I want her par- 
 ticularly, even if she’s not well.” 
 
 _ 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. 
 
 ‘* 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, 
 [’ve come. for my daughter !” 
 
 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! ”’ 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 149 
 
 II 
 
 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 | 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 ex- 
 traordinarily 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 naive 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 extra- 
 ordinary violence in her attack at the first favourable oppor- 
 tunity. 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 ct 
 the family, and almost as their subjects. I made that reflection 
 with some alarm at the time. Stepan Trofimovitch, who had 
 
150 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 III 
 
 ** 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. : 
 
 Varvara Petrovna raised her head a little, and with an ex- 
 pression of suffering pressed the fingers of her right hand to her 
 right temple, evidently in acute pain (tic doulowreuz). 
 
 “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.”’ 
 
 Praskovya Ivanovna waved her hands. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 **'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.” 
 
 “‘ Varvara Petrovna, you treat me as though I were a child. 
 I won’t have any coffee, so there !”’ 
 
 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, 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 15] 
 
 on second thoughts she refused it ceremoniously, and was 
 obviously pleased with herself for doing so.) 
 
 Varvara Petrovna gave a wry smile. 
 
 “Til 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 ?”’ 
 
 “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!” 
 
 She laughed viciously and went off into a fit of coughing. 
 
 “* Ah, you've not forgotten the priest then . . .”’ said Varvara 
 Petrovna, looking at her vindictively. 
 
 Her face turned green. Praskovya Ivanovna suddenly 
 assumed. a dignified air. 
 
 “Tm 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.’ 
 
 “My scandals?”’ Varvara Petrovna drew herself up 
 menacingly. 
 
 ‘‘Maman, I entreat you too, to restrain yourself,” Lizaveta 
 Nikolaevna brought out suddenly. 
 
 ‘‘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. 
 
 “How could you talk about scandal, maman?”’ cried Liza, 
 flushing red. ‘“‘ [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.” 
 
 “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.’ 
 
 Varvara Petrovna sat straight as an arrow ready to fly from 
 
152 THE POSSESSED 
 
 the bow. For ten seconds she looked sternly and immovably 
 at Praskovya Ivanovna. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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.”’ 
 
 ‘* But ?'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.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Have you grown wiser during this last week ?”’ 
 
 “It’s not that I’ve grown wiser, but simply that the truth 
 has come out this week.” 
 
 ‘‘ 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 ?” 
 
 ‘“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. 
 
 ‘““God Almighty have mercy on us, they’ve all gone crazy !” 
 exclaimed Varvara Petrovna, and turning pale she sank back in 
 her chair. 
 
 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 : 
 
 “Varvara Petrovna, dear, forgive me for my wicked foolish- 
 ness! Give her some water, somebody.” 
 
 ‘‘ 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. 
 ‘“ Varvara Petrovna, my dear,’’ Praskovya Ivanovna went on, © 
 a little reassured, ““though I am to blame for my reckless 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 153 
 
 words, what's upset me more than anything are these anony- 
 mous letters that some low creatures keep bombarding me with ; 
 they might write to you, since it concerns you, but I’ve a 
 daughter !”’ 
 
 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 appear- 
 ance. 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 in- 
 - formed. Stepan Trofimovitch was the first to notice her; he 
 made a rapid movement, turned red, and for some reason pro- 
 claimed in a loud voice: ‘‘ Darya Pavlovna!” so that all eyes 
 turned on the new-comer. 
 
 “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 ? ”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 “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 ?”’ 
 
 “IT have never seen her,’’? Dasha answered quietly, and after 
 a pause she added at once: 
 
 “She must be the invalid sister of Captain Lebyadkin.” 
 
 ** 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 mv 
 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. 
 
 “Can you make anything of it ?’’ Varvara Petrovna asked 
 with proud dignity. 
 
 “T understand it. ... 
 
 *‘ Have you heard about the money ?”’ 
 
 “No doubt it’s the money that I undertook at Nikolay 
 Vsyevolodovitch’s request to hand over to her brother, Captain 
 Lebyadkin.” 
 
 9? 
 
154 _ THE POSSESSED 
 
 A silence followed. | 
 
 *‘ Did. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch himself ask you to do so 2” 
 
 ““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.” 
 
 “What is the money... lost? What was this woman 
 speaking about just now ?”’ 
 
 “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.”’ 
 
 Darya Pavlovna had almost completely regained her com- 
 posure. 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: 
 
 “Tf,” 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.” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 And she wagged her head expressively. 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 155 
 
 “We must put a stop to this,” Varvara Petrovna repeated, 
 listening attentively to Marya Timofyevna. ‘‘ Ring, Stepan 
 Trofimovitch, I beg you.” 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch rang, and suddenly stepped forward, 
 all excitement. 
 
 “Tf...if...’ he faltered feverishly, flushing, breaking 
 off and stuttering, “if Itoo have heard the most revolting story, 
 or rather slander, it was with utter indignation . . . enfin 
 
 be) 
 
 c'est un homme perdu, et quelque chose comme un forcat evadé.. . . 
 
 He broke down and could not go on. Varvara Petrovna, 
 screwing up her eyes, looked him up and down. 
 
 The ceremonious butler Alexey Yegorytch came in. 
 
 “The carriage,” Varvara Petrovna ordered. “And you, 
 _ Alexey Yegorytch, get ready to escort Miss Lebyadkin home; 
 she will give you the address herself.”’ 
 
 “Mr. Lebyadkin has been waiting for her for some time 
 downstairs, and has been begging me to announce him.” 
 
 “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 
 aman who can be admitted into society. He ...he... he’s 
 an impossible person, Varvara Petrovna !”’ 
 
 _ “Wait a moment,’ said Varvara Petrovna to Alexey 
 Yegorytch, and he disappeared at once. 
 
 “Cest un homme malhonnéte et je crois méme que cest un. 
 forcat evadé ou quelque chose dans ce genre,’’ Stepan Trofimovitch 
 muttered again, and again he flushed red and broke off. 
 
 “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 herseif 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 dis- 
 guised contempt in her eyes. 
 
 ‘“‘ Wait one minute, Praskovya Ivanovna, I beg you.’ Varvara 
 Petrovna detained her, still with the same exaggerated com- 
 posure. “ 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, 
 
156 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. Imany 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, [ 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. Re- 
 flecting 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 con- 
 temptible 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 ‘ bom- 
 barded’ 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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘‘ 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 
 vou. I have always blessed His holy Will... .” 
 
 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. 
 
 “JT 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. 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 157 
 
 ““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. 
 
 There was a look of pride and triumph in Varvara Petrovna’s 
 
 face. : 
 “ 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.”’ 
 
 Mavriky Nikolaevitch bowed and went out. A moment later 
 he brought in Mr. Lebyadkin. 
 
 IV 
 
 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 
 sidewhiskers, 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. 
 
 ‘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 bran-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 | 
 found out later). There was no doubt that his coming now (in 
 a hired carriage) was at the instigation and with the assistance 
 of some one 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 
 
158 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 “T have come, madam...’ he blared out like a trumpet- 
 blast. 
 
 ‘* 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.” 
 
 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 efirontery, 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. 
 
 ‘In the first place allow me to learn your name from your- 
 self,” Varvara Petrovna pronounced in measured and impressive 
 tones. 
 
 ‘Captain Lebyadkin,”’ thundered the captain. ‘“‘I have 
 come, madam...” He made a movement again. 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 159 
 
 “Allow me!” Varvara Petrovna checked him again. ‘Is 
 this unfortunate person who interests me so much really your 
 sister ?”’ 
 
 ““ My sister, madam, who has escaped from control, for she 
 is in a certain condition. .. .” 
 
 He suddenly faltered and turned crimson. 
 
 “Don’t misunderstand me, madam,” he said, terribly con- 
 
 fused. ‘‘ 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. 
 
 “Sir!” said Varvara Petrovna, raising her head. 
 
 “In this condition!’ he concluded suddenly, tapping the 
 middle of his forehead with his finger 
 
 A pause followed. 
 
 ** And has she suffered in this way for long ?”’ asked Varvara 
 Petrovna, with a slight drawl. 
 
 ‘““Madam, I have come to thank you for the generosity you 
 showed in the porch, in a Russian, brotherly way.” 
 
 “* Brotherly ?”’ 
 
 “‘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 !” 
 
 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. 3 
 
 ‘““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 
 
160 THE POSSESSED 
 
 down to pick it up, but for some reason overcome by shame, he 
 dismissed it with a wave. : 
 
 ‘For your servants, madam; for the footman who picks it 
 up. Let them remember my sister!” 
 
 “T cannot allow that,’ Varvara Petrovna brought out 
 hurriedly, even with some alarm. 
 
 “In that case...” 
 
 He bent down, picked it up, flushing crimson, and suddenly 
 going up to Varvara Petrovna held out the notes he had counted. 
 
 “What's this?’ she cried, really alarmed at last, and 
 positively shrinking back in her chair. 
 
 Mavriky Nikolaevitch, Stepan Trofimovitch, and I all stepped 
 forward. 
 
 ‘Don’t be alarmed, don’t be alarmed ; I’m not mad, by God, 
 I’m not mad,” the captain kept asseverating excitedly. 
 
 ‘“‘ Yes, sir, you’re out of your senses.”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ Madam, she’s not at allas yousuppose. Jam 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 
 the time, madam, for God Himself will not suffer it for ever. 
 Madam, you gave her ten roubles and she took it, because it was 
 from you, madam! Do you hear, madam? From no one else 
 in the world would this Marya Anonyma take it, or her grand- 
 father, 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 hoids 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 J/oscow News, that you 
 are ready to receive subscriptions in our town, and that any 
 one may subscribe. as 
 
 The captain suddenly broke off; he breathed hard as though 
 after some difficult achievement. ‘All he said about the benevo- 
 lent 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ The subscription list,” she said severely, ‘is always down- 
 stairs in charge of my porter. There you can enter your sub- 
 scriptions if you wish to. And so I beg you to put your notes 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 161 
 
 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.” 
 
 ‘“‘Madam, that is a secret that may be buried only in the 
 grave ! ’’ answered the captain. 
 
 “Why ?” Varvara Petrovna asked, not quite so firmly. 
 
 ‘Madam, madam ...” 
 
 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. 
 
 “Madam!” he roared suddenly. ‘“ Will you allow me to 
 
 ask you one question ?. Only one, but frankly, directly, like a 
 Russian, from:the heart ? ”’ 
 
 “ Kindly do so.” 
 
 ‘‘ Have you ever suffered madam, in your life ?.”’ 
 
 “ You simply mean to say that you have been or are -being 
 ill-treated by some one.” 
 
 ‘*Madam, madam!’’? He jumped up again, probably un- 
 conscious of doing so, and struck himself on the breast. ‘“‘ Here 
 in this bosom so much has accumulated, so much that God Him- 
 self will be amazed when it is revealed at the Day of Judgment.” 
 
 ‘H’m! A strong expression ! ” 
 
 ‘“Madam, I speak perhaps irritably. . . .” 
 
 ‘Don’t be uneasy. I know myself when to stop you.” 
 
 “ May I ask you another question, madam ? ”’ 
 
 ‘** Ask another question.’’ 
 
 ‘Can one die simply from the generosity of one’s feelings ?”’ 
 
 “IT don’t know, as I’ve never asked myself such a question.” 
 
 “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 . i 
 
 ‘ Be still, despairing heart!” 
 
 And he struck himself furiously on the chest. He was by, 
 now walking about the room again. 
 
 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 
 
 L 
 
162 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. More- 
 over, 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. 
 
 “All that is nonsensical allegory,’ said Varvara Petrovna, 
 getting angry at last. “‘ You haven’t answered my question, 
 why ? I insist on an answer.” 
 
 ““T 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 ?”’ 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “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? [ 
 should have liked to be called Prince de Monbart, yet I am only 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 163 
 
 Lebyadkin, derived from a swan.* Why is that? Iam a poet, 
 madam, a poetin 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.”’ 
 
 ‘Can you really say nothing more definite ? ”’ 
 
 *“‘T can read you the poem, ‘ The Cockroach,’ madam.” 
 
 ** Wha-a-t 2” 
 
 **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 ?”’ 
 
 “You want to read some fable of Krylov’s 2?” 
 
 “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 under- 
 stand 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.’’ 
 
 “* Read your fable.”’ 
 
 ** Inved a cockroach in the world 
 Such was his condition. 
 In a glass he chanced to fall 
 Full of fly-perdition.” 
 
 “Heavens! What does it mean?” cried Varvara Petrovna. 
 
 ** 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. 
 
 ‘“* But he squeezed against the flres, 
 They woke up and cursed him, 
 Raised to Jove their angry cries ; 
 ‘The glass ts full to bursting !’ 
 
 In the middle of the din 
 
 Came along Nikifor, 
 
 Fine old man, and looking in... 
 * From lebyed, a swan. 
 
164 THE POSSESSED 
 
 I haven’t quite finished it. But no matter, [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, sa aie rapidly and 
 walking complacently about the room. 
 
 var sare Petrovna was terribly angry. 
 
 *“ 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.” 
 
 “It’s a slander!” roared Lebyadkin, flinging up his right 
 hand tragically. 
 
 ‘¢ No, it’s not a slander.”’ 
 
 ‘‘Madam, there are circumstances that force one to endure 
 family disgrace rather than proclaim the truth aloud. Lebyadkin 
 will not blab, madam !” 
 
 He seemed dazed ; he was carried away; he felt his import- 
 ance; he certainly had some fancy in his mind. By now he 
 wanted to insult some one, to do something nasty to show his 
 power. 
 
 Ring, please, Stepan Trofimovitch,’ Varvara Petrovna 
 asked him. 
 
 ‘* 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 bottorn of the bottle he always finds » 
 instead Lebyadkin’s cunning. But enough, oh, enough, madam! 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 165 
 
 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 ! ”’ 
 
 At that instant a bell rang downstairs from the porter’s room, 
 and almost at the same moment Alexey Yegcorytch appeared in 
 response to Stepan Trofimovitch’s ring, which he had somewhat 
 delayed answering. The correct old servant was unusually 
 excited. 
 
 * 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 extra- 
 ordinary 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. Hiven 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. 
 
 ‘And, behold, from the next ‘room—a very large and long 
 apartment—came the sound of swiftly approaching footsteps, 
 little, exceedingly rapid steps; some one seemed to be running, 
 and that some one suddenly flew into the drawing-room, not 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but a young man who was a complete 
 stranger to all. 3 
 
 V 
 
 _ I will permit myself to halt here to sketch in a few hurried 
 strokes this person who had so suddenly arrived on the scene. 
 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. 
 - Noone would have said that he was ugly, and yet no one would 
 have liked his face. His head was elongated at the back, and 
 
166 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 “... Only fancy, Varvara Petrovna,” he pattered on, “TI 
 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 ofan hour later. . . .” 
 
 ‘“ But who ?, Who told you to come here ?”’ Varvara Petrovna 
 inquired. 
 
 ‘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 
 as far as I can judge, at least, some of his calculations.” 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 167 
 
 At this point he turned his eyes about the room and fixed 
 them with special attention on the captain. 
 
 “ Ach, Lizaveta Nikolaevna, how glad I am to meet you at ine 
 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. 1 did send 
 word to my old man here, but I fancy that he did as he always 
 does 7...” 
 
 ‘“ Petrusha!’’ cried Stepan Trofimovitch, instantly roused 
 from his stupefaction. He clasped his hands and flew to his son. 
 
 “* Pierre, mon enfant! Why, I didn’t know you!” 
 
 He pressed him in his arms and the tears rolled down his 
 cheeks. 
 
 ‘Come, be quiet, be quiet, no flourishes, that’s enough, that’s 
 enough, please,’ Petrusha muttered hurriedly, trying to extricate 
 himself from his embrace. 
 
 ‘“ Pve always sinned against you, always !” 
 
 “Well, that’s enough. We can talk of that later. 1 knew 
 you'd carry on. Come, be a little more sober, please.” 
 
 ‘‘ But it’s ten years since I’ve seen you.” 
 
 “‘ The less reason for demonstrations.” 
 
 “if ow enfants wilh 2200 
 
 ** Come, I believe in your afiection, I believe in it, take your 
 arms away. You see, youre disturbing other people... . 
 Ah, here’s Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch ; keep quiet, please.” 
 
 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. 
 
 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 counten- 
 ances 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 
 
168 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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, incon- 
 testably 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 ? 
 
 ‘“‘ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch !’’ cried Varvara Petrovna, draw- 
 ing herself up but not rising from her chair. ‘“‘ Stop a minute!” 
 She checked his advance with a peremptory gesture. 
 
 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. 
 
 “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 ?” 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 169 
 
 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. 
 
 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 J 
 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. 
 
 “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. 
 
 * But may 1... kneel down . . . to you now ?”’ 
 
 “No, you can’t do that.” 
 
 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. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 She listened, and bent her head as though meditating. 
 
 “‘ Let’s go,” she said with a sigh, giving him her hand. 
 
 But at that point a slight mischance befell her: She must 
 have turned carelessly, resting on her lame leg, which was shorter 
 
170 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 While this scene was taking place between Nikolay Vsyevo- 
 lodovitch 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. 
 
 VI 
 
 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 : . 
 
 ‘“‘ Did you hear what he said to her here just now, did you 
 hear it ?”’ 
 
 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 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 171 
 
 until her daughter should get up. In the meantime the 
 captain wanted to ship 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. 
 
 *““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. 
 
 “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 Vsyevolodo- 
 vitch, if one must make use of that vague word ‘ honour.’ ”’ 
 
 “You mean to say that you were a witness of some incident 
 which gaverise . . . to this misunderstanding ?’’ asked Varvara 
 Petrovna. 
 
 ‘IT witnessed it, and took part in it,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch 
 hastened to declare. 
 
 “Tf 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 con- 
 vinced also that your doing this will be agreeable to him . . .” 
 
 “‘ 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.” 
 
 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. 
 
172 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 “T am listening,’ Varvara Petrovna announced with a 
 reserved and cautious manner. She was rather painfully aware 
 of her condescension. 
 
 ‘ Tt’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 [vanovna, 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 gentieman, 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’ta 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, 
 
 * In the poorer quarters of Russian towns a single room is often let out to 
 several families, each of which occupies a ‘ corner.” 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 173 
 
 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 
 sheis 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 ’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 per- 
 fectly silent, suddenly got hot, and said to Nikelay Vsyevolodo- 
 vitch, 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 
 
174 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 aman 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, for ever 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 amto 
 some extent aware, Varvara Petrovna, of what is happening here.” 
 
 The speaker suddenly broke off and was turning to Lebyadkin. 
 But Varvara Petrovna checked him. She was in a state of 
 extreme exaltation. 
 
 ‘“* Have you finished ?”’ she asked. 
 
 “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.”’ 
 
 ‘‘ Enough, afterwards, leave it for the moment I beg you. 
 Oh, I was quite right to let you speak ! ” 
 
 ‘‘ 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 ?”’ 
 
 ** Oh, yes, it was.” 
 
 ‘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 ? ” 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 175 
 
 “Yes, yes... but in one thing you were mistaken, and, I 
 
 see with regret, are still mistaken.” 
 '“ Really, what’s that ?”’ 
 
 “You see.... But won’t you sit down, Pyotr Stepano- 
 vitch ?” 
 
 “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. 
 
 “You are mistaken in calling this eccentricity. ... 
 
 ** Oh, if it’s only that. ...” 
 
 ** No, no, no, wait a little,” 
 
 33> 
 
 said Varvara Petrovna, who was 
 
 obviously about to say a good deal and to speak with enthusiasm. 
 
 1? 
 
 As soon as Pyotr Stepanovitch noticed it, he was all attention. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘“ Ht vous avez raison,’ Stepan Trofimovitch pronounced, 
 impressively and with feeling. 
 
 “Thank you, Stepan Trofimovitch. I thank you particu- 
 larly 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.”’ 
 
 “ Chére, chére.” Stepan Trofimovitch was stepping forward, 
 when he checked himself, reflecting that it was dangerous to 
 interrupt. 
 
 * 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 
 
176 THE POSSESSED 
 
 you have described. Icanso 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.” 
 
 Wm! wy! Nes, perhaps,” 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 lam that you... 
 not that you’re not a woman, but that you can’t be one just for 
 the moment so as to understand.” 
 
 ‘““'You mean in the sense that the worse things are the better 
 it is. I understand, * wnderstand, 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 ...tI1 understand you, Varvara 
 Petrovna, I assure you.” 
 
 “ 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 
 sompassion, the noble tremor of the whole organism with which 
 Nicolas answered Kirillov: ‘I do not laugh at her.’ A noble, 
 sacred answer ! ” 
 
 ‘* Sublime,’ muttered Stepan Trofimovitch. 
 
 '** 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.” 
 
 mr? | understand, I understand all that, Varvara Petrovna,” 
 said Pyotr Stepanovitch, with a movement of some impatience. 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 177 
 
 ** Oh, it’s my character! I recognise myself in Nicolas. I 
 recognise that youthfulness, that hability 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. . . .” 
 
 ‘““Oh, I assure you, I hope for it too,” Pyotr Stepanovitch 
 muttered jerkily. 
 
 “ 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 Stepano- 
 vitch |” f 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch, with a look of suffering on his face, began 
 trying to catch my eye, but I turned away in “time. 
 
 And only lately, only lately—oh, how unjust Pve 
 been to Nicolas! ... You would not believe how they have 
 been worrying me on alli sides, all, all, enemies, and rascals, and 
 friends, friends perhaps more than enemies. When the first 
 contemptible anonymous letter was sent to me, Pyotr Stepano- 
 vitch, 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.”’ 
 
 ‘“T 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.” 
 
 “ 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. 
 
 ‘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.”’ 
 
 And again she looked timidly towards Liza, but the latter was 
 looking at Pyotr Stepanovitch. 
 
 *« And I intend now to adopt this poor unhappy creature, this 
 
 M 
 
178 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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.” 
 
 ‘““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 Vsyevolodo- 
 vitch 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 Vsyevolodo- 
 vitch at that time. But a year later, when he learned from 
 abroad what had happened, he was obliged to make other 
 arrangements. Again, | 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 under- 
 stand? 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 Vsyevolodo- 
 vitch as a tax—can you imagine it? Mr. Lebyadkin, is that 
 all true that I have said just now ?”’ 
 
 The captain, who had till that moment stood in silence looking 
 down, took two rapid steps forward and turned crimson. 
 
 ‘‘ Pyotr Stepanovitch, you've treated me cruelly,” he brought 
 out abruptly. 
 
 “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.”’ | c 
 
 “IT... you know yourself; Pyotr Stepanovitch,”’- the 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 179 
 
 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. 
 
 Lebyadkin’s hesitation seemed to annoy Pyotr Stepanovitch ; 
 a spasm of anger distorted his face. 
 
 “Then you have a statement you want to make ?”’ he said, 
 looking subtly at the captain. ‘“ Kindly speak. We're waiting 
 for you.” 
 
 “You know yourself Pyotr Stepanovitch, that I can’t say 
 anything.”’ 
 
 “No, I don’t know it. It’s the first time I’ve heard it. Why 
 can’t you speak ? ” 
 
 The captain was silent, with his eyes on the ground. 
 
 -“ Allow me to go, Pyotr Stepanovitch,’” he brought out 
 resolutely. 
 
 “No, not till you answer my question : is it all true that I’ve 
 said 2” 
 
 “It is true,” Lebyadkin brought out in a hollow voice, looking 
 at his tormentor. Drops of perspiration stood out on his fore- 
 head. 
 
 “Ts it all true 2” 
  “Tt’s all true.” 
 
 “Have you nothing to add or to observe? If you think 
 that we've been unjust, say so; protest, state your grievance 
 aloud.” 
 
 “No, I think nothing.” 
 
 “ Did you threaten Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch lately 2?” 
 
 “Tt 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. 
 
 “ Are you sober now, Mr. Lebyadkin ? ” 
 
 _ Pyotr Stepanovitch looked at him penetratingly. 
 me Lam, ..., sober.” 
 
 “What do you mean by family honour and undeserved 
 disgrace ?”’ 
 “TJ didn’t mean anybody, anybody at all. I meant myself,” 
 the captain said, collapsing again. 
 _ “You seem to be very much offended by what I’ve said about 
 Yyouand your conduct? You are very irritable, Mr. Lebyadkin. 
 
180 THE POSSESSED 
 
 But let me tell you Pve hardly begun yet what I’ve got to say 
 about your conduct, in its real sense. I'll begin todiseuss 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.” 
 
 Lebyadkin started and stared wildly at Pyotr Stepanovitch. 
 
 ** Pyotr Stepanovitch, I am just beginning to wake up.” 
 
 “H’m! And it’s I who have waked you up ?” 
 
 “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 Stepano- 
 vitch ?” 
 
 “Now you may, unless Varvara Petrovna thinks it 
 necessary ...” 
 
 But the latter dismissed him with a wave of her hand. 
 
 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. 
 
 Vil 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘Do you forgive me, Nicolas ?”? Varvara Petrovna hastened 
 to say, and got up suddenly to meet him. 
 
 But Nicolas positively laughed. 
 
 ‘* Just as I thought,” he said, good-humouredly and jestingly. 
 
 **T 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 re- 
 membered that Pyotr Stepanovitch was still here, I at 
 
 no more of it.”’ 
 As he spoke he took a cursory look round. 
 “‘ Pyotr Stepanovitch told us an old Petersburg acing in the 
 
 
 
 ) 
 i 
 \ 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 18} 
 
 life of a queer fellow,’’ Varvara Petrovna rejoined enthusiasti- 
 eally—*‘ a mad and capricious fellow, though always lofty in his 
 feelings, always chivalrous and noble. . . .” 
 
 *‘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 sucha 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 re- 
 commend 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 truthfuiness 
 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 
 mere. se. . 
 
 Then he tenderly embraced his mother. 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 _ “JT didn’t expect you for another month, Nicolas !”’ 
 
 “I will explain everything to you, maman, of course, but 
 maw... 
 
 » And he went towards Praskovya Ivanovna. 
 
 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. 
 
 _ 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 
 
182 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘‘ Please excuse me,’ she responded, speaking quickly. 
 ““You ... you’ve seen Mavriky Nikolaevitch of course... . 
 My goodness, how inexcusably tall you are, Mavriky Nikolae- 
 vitch !”’ 
 
 And laughter again, 
 
 Mavriky Nikolaevitch was tall, but by no means inexcusably 
 so. 
 
 ‘“Have . .. you been here long ?’”’ she muttered, restraining 
 herself again, genuinely embarrassed though her eyes were 
 shining. 
 
 ‘“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. 
 
 ‘““ And where are you going to stay ?”’ 
 
 €¢ Here. 23 
 
 Varvara Petrovna, too, was watching Liza, but she was 
 suddenly struck by an idea. 
 
 ‘‘ 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.”’ 
 
 ‘IT first took Pyotr Stepanovitch to Kirillov’s. I came across 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch at Matveyev (three stations away), and we 
 travelled together.” : 
 
 _“T 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.” 
 
 ‘Your legs broken !”’ cried Liza. ‘‘ Maman, maman, you and 
 I meant to go to Matveyev last week, we should have broken 
 our legs too!” | 
 
 ‘‘ Heaven have mercy on us!” cried Praskovya Ivanovna, 
 crossing herself. 
 _ “Maman, maman, dear maman, you musn’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 Nikolae- | 
 vitch, 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: 
 
 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 183 
 
 I break only one leg. Come, be polite, say you'll think it a 
 pleasure.” 
 
 “A pleasure to be crippled ?”’ said Mavriky Nikolaevitch, 
 frowning gravely. 
 
 ** But then you'll lead me about, only you and no one else.” 
 
 “Even then itll be you leading me about, Lizaveta 
 Nikolaevna,’ murmured Mavriky Nikolaevitch, even more 
 gravely. 
 
 “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 !”’ 
 
 And she laughed hysterically. Her jests and insinuations 
 were feeble, but she was not capable of considering the effect she 
 was producing. 
 
 ‘“‘ Hysterics!’? Pyotr Stepanovitch whispered to me. “A 
 glass of water, make haste !”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 
184 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 Stepano- 
 vitch, 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. 
 
 “ T believe one may congratulate you... or is it too soon 2?” 
 he brought out with a peculiar line in his face. 
 
 Dasha made him some answer, but it was difficult to cateh it. 
 
 “‘ Forgive my indiscretion,”’ he added, raising his voice, “ but 
 you know I was expressly informed. Did you know about it ?” 
 
 ““ Yes, I know that you were expressly informed.”’ 
 
 ** But I hope I have not done any harm by my congratula- 
 tions,’ he laughed. ‘ And if Stepan Trofimovitch .. .” 
 
 “What, what’s the congratulation about ?”’ Pyotr Stepano- 
 vitch 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 forget- 
 ting it. Tell me,” he turned quickly to Stepan Trofimovitch, 
 “when are you going to Switzerland ?”’ 
 
 “i... to Switzerland?” Stepan Trofimovitch replied, 
 wondering and confused. 
 
 “What? Aren’t you going? Why you're getting married, 
 too, you wrote ?”’ . | 
 
 “ Pierre !”’ cried Stepan Trofimovitch. 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 185 
 
 “Well, why Pierre? . . . Yousee, 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, be- 
 seeching 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. Dve 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.’ 
 “Tm 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 
 astranger,andIsee . . . and I see that you all know something, 
 and that just that something I don’t know.” 
 
 He still went on looking about him. 
 
186 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘‘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. 
 
 ‘‘ 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... .” 
 
 “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 ONE Ana 
 indeed). 
 
 “On the contrary, 
 
 99 
 
 she went on, “I’m only too grateful ts 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 187 
 
 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 ?”’ 
 
 “I did get a very harmless and ...and... very generous 
 letter from him... .” 
 
 “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.”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 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 anticipa 
 him. 3 
 
 ‘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 
 
188 THE POSSESSED 
 
 think just as highly of you, and... think well of me too, 
 Stepan Trofimovitch, that will mean a great deal to me, a great 
 deals 2 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch made her a very, very low bow. 
 
 “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 con- 
 cluded impressively. 
 
 “Bah! Now I understand it all!” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
 slapping himself on the forehead. “ But... but what a 
 position [am putin by all this! Darya Pavlovna, please forgive 
 me! ... What do you call your treatment of me, eh?” he 
 said, addressing his father. 
 
 “Pierre, you might speak to me differently, mightn’t you, 
 my boy,” Stepan Trofimovitch observed quite quietly. 
 
 ‘“‘ Don’t cry out, please,”’ said Pierre, with a wave of his hand. 
 ‘* Believe me, it’s all your sick old nerves, and erying 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 ? ” 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch looked searchingly at him. ) 
 
 ‘* 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 ?”’ 
 
 “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 ?”’ 
 
 There was a general outcry ; but then suddenly an incident 
 took place which no one could have anticipated. 
 
 VII 
 
 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 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 189 
 
 not destined to get away without seeing everything to the 
 end. 
 
 - Shatov, can 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 And suddenly Shatov swung his long, heavy arm, and with 
 all his might struck him a blow i in the face. Nikolay Vsyevo- 
 lodovitch staggered violently. 
 
 Shatov struck the blow in a peculiar way, not at all after the 
 conventional fashion (if one may use such an expression). It 
 was nota 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 Yet a very great deal happened i in those seconds. 
 
 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 
 
190 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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; neverthe- 
 less, he’d have killed any one who insulted him, and without the 
 faintest hesitation. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 fear- 
 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT Toh 
 
 lessly as L—n, but it would be without the slightest thrill of enjoy- 
 ment, languidly, listlessly, even with ennui and entirely from 
 unpleasant necessity. Im anger, of course, there has been a 
 progress compared with L—n, even compared with Lermontov. 
 There was perhaps more malignant anger in Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
 viten than in both put together, but it was a calm, cold, if one 
 may so say, reasonable anger, and therefore the most revolting 
 and most terrible possible. I repeat again, I considered him 
 then, and [ 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. 
 
 Yet, in the present case, what happened was something 
 different and amazing. 
 
 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 over- 
 coming it, such a man would, I fancy, go through something like 
 what Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was enduring during those ten 
 seconds. 
 
 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 any- 
 thing or knocking anything over; he opened the door a very 
 little way, and squezed through almost sideways. As he went 
 out his shock of hair standing on end at the back of his head was 
 particularly noticeable. 
 
192 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 
 
PRD] 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 NIGHT 
 I 
 
 Ezeut 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. 
 
 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 ail 
 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. 
 
 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 evi- 
 
 dence that he was at home, I knocked a second time. Then, 
 193 N 
 
194 THE POSSESSED 
 
 jumping up, apparently from his bed, he strode to the door and 
 shouted at the top of his voice : | 
 
 “‘ Shatov is not at home !”’ 
 
 With that I went away. 
 
 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 Niko- 
 laevna’s fainting certainly took the foremost place in the story, 
 and ‘‘all society ’’ was interested, if only because it directly con- 
 cerned 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 Stav- 
 rogin 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 repu- 
 tation, 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, 
 
NIGHT 195 
 
 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, wth knitted brows, said, God knows on 
 what foundation, that Nikolay Vsyevolocovitch 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 some 
 one. 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. 
 
 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 Mihail- 
 ovna knew not only the whole of the mysterious story but all 
 
196 THE POSSESSED 
 
 its secret significance to the smallest detail, and not as an out- 
 sider, 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 recog- 
 nised 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. 
 
 We possibly exaggerated it. To begin with, Pyotr Stepano- 
 vitch 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, affec- 
 tionately. 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 con- 
 gresses 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 Trofimo- 
 vitch, 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, 
 
 
 
NIGHT 197 
 
 brought one to the governor’s wife from a very important old 
 lady in Petersburg, whose husband was one of the most dis- 
 tinguished 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 igno- 
 rance, that the future lay in their hands, fawned upon them in a 
 despicable way, chiefly because they paid no attention to him 
 whatever. 
 
 II 
 
 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 
 
198 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 hand- 
 kerchief soaked in vinegar on his head. But he continued to 
 remain calm in the deepest sense. 
 
 Sometimes, however, he did not hinder my speaking. Some- 
 times, 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 lmadea note of it. Isuspected that. he was 
 longing to assert himself again, to come forth from his seclusion, 
 to show fight, to struggle to the last. 
 
 ‘““ Cher, | 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. 
 
 Till that moment he had not uttered one word all day. 
 
 “ Fils, fils, cher,” and so on, ‘‘I agree all those expressions are | 
 nonsense, kitchen talk, and so be it. Iseeit 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, Ladmit it. . . . ‘ You gave me 
 neither food nor drink, and sent me by post,’ he says, ‘and 
 what’s more you ve robbed me here.’ ”’ 
 
 ‘** 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.’ 
 Llinit?? 
 
 “But I admit it. I ddsstit it, granted it was by post,” he 
 concluded, almost in delirium. 
 
 ‘‘ Passons,’ 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 Bazarovis a sort of 
 
 
 
NIGHT 199 
 
 indistinct mixture of Nozdryov and Byron, c’est le mot. 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 faire du bruit autour de son nom, without 
 noticing that son nom. ... 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?’ Jlrit. Il rit beaucoup. Il rit 
 trop. He has a strange smile. His mother had not a smile like 
 that. Il rit toujours.” 
 
 Silence followed again. 
 
 ‘““ They are cunning ; they were acting in collusion on Sunday,”’ 
 he blurted out suddenly... . 
 
 “‘ 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.’’ 
 
 “T don’t mean that. Do you know that it was all too trans- 
 parent on purpose, that those . . . who had to, might understand 
 it. Do you understand that ? ” 
 
 “‘T don’t understand.” 
 
 “ Tant mieux ; passons. Iam very irritable to-day.” 
 
 ** But why have you been arguing with him, Stepan Trofimo- 
 vitch ?”’ I asked him reproachfully. 
 
 “Je voulais convertir—you'll laugh of course—cetie pauvre 
 auntie, elle entendra de belles choses / Ob, my dear boy, would 
 you believe it. I felt like a patriot. I always recognised that L 
 was a Russian, however . . . a genuine Russian must be like you 
 and me. Il ya la dedans quelque chose d’aveugie et de lowche.”’ 
 
 ‘* Not a doubt of it,’’ I assented. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 I did not speak. He, too, was silent for a long time. 
 
 “They say that French cleverness ...”’ he babbled sud- 
 denly, as though in a fever... “that’s false, it always has 
 been. Why libel French cleverness? It’s simply Russian in- 
 dolence, our degrading impotence to produce ideas, our revolting 
 
200 | THE POSSESSED 
 
 parasitism in the rank of nations. Ils sont tout simplement des 
 paresseux, 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. Vous étes des paresseux! Votre drapeau est un 
 guenille, une impurssance. 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? ... 
 une bélise dans ce genre. Don’t you understand, don’t you 
 understand,’ I said te him, ‘that unhappiness is just as necessary 
 to man as happiness.’ Jl rit. ‘ All you do is to make a bon 
 mot, he said, ‘ with your limbs snug on a velvet sofa.’ ... 
 (fle used a coarser expression.) And this habit of addressing 
 a father so famiharly is very nice when father and son are on 
 good terms, but what do you think of it when they are abusing 
 one another ?”’ | 
 
 We were silent again for a minute. 
 
 “ Cher,”’ he concluded at last, getting up quickly, “do you 
 know this is bound to end in something ? ”’ 
 
 ** Of course,” said I. 
 
 ““ Vous ne comprenez pas. Passons. But... usually in our 
 world things come to nothing, but this will end in something ; 
 it’s bound to, it’s bound to!” 
 
 He got up, and walked across the room in violent emotion, 
 and coming back to the sofa sank on to it exhausted. 
 
 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 Trofimo- 
 
NIGHT 201 
 
 vitch; he paid no attention, except to the news about the 
 Lebyadkins. 
 
 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. 
 
 III 
 
 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 todoso. On the table before him stood 
 alamp with ashade. ‘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 ; 
 
202 THE POSSESSED 
 
 she had long looked forward to their meeting, and Pyotr Stepano- 
 vitch 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. | 
 
 ‘‘ 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. 
 
 “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. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘T called out on purpose that you might be prepared,” Pyotr 
 Stepanovitch said hurriedly, with surprising naiveté, running 
 up to the table, and instantly staring at the corner of the letter, 
 which peeped out from beneath the paper-weight. : 
 
 ‘“‘ And no doubt you had time to see how I hid the letter I had 
 just received, under the paper-weight,”’ said Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
 vitch calmly, without moving from his place. 
 
 “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. 
 
 ‘* She never listens,’’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch observed coldly. 
 
 ‘What if she did overhear?” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
 raising his voice cheerfully, and settling down in an arm-chair. 
 “ [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,howare you? Isee you’re getting onsplendidly. To-morrow 
 you'll show yourself again—eh ? ”’ 
 
 ** Perhaps.” 
 ‘Set their minds at rest. Set mine at rest at last.” He 
 gesticulated violently with a jocose and amiable air. “ Ifonly 
 
 you knew what nonsense I’ve had to talk to them. You know, 
 though.” He laughed. 
 
 ““T don’t know everything. I only heard from my ab tied 
 that you've been . . . very active.” 
 
NIGHT 203 
 
 “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 ?”’ 
 
 “Tm sure you ve done your best.” 
 
 “ 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.”’ 
 
 “I don’t want to go straight for anything,” said Nikolay 
 Vsyevolodovitch with some irritation. But he laughed at once. 
 “JT 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 owr 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.”’ 
 
 ‘Then you have not been open with me before ? ”’ 
 
 “You know that yourself. I’ve been cunning with you many 
 times .. . yousmile; 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 ? ” 
 
 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 naivetés, there was, at 
 last, a look of rather uneasy curiosity. 
 
 ‘ 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 
 
204 THE POSSESSED 
 
 believesinit. I meant, I must own, toassume 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 ?”’ 
 
 “Perhaps it is,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, with a faint 
 smile. 
 
 ‘“ 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! youre smiling again! ... I’ve blundered 
 once more. You would not have said ‘ you’re clever,’ granted ; 
 Tllletit passanyway. Passons, 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 acurse. 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 go, 
 isn’tit ? From your smile I see you approve.” 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was not smiling at all, however. 
 
NIGHT 205 
 
 On the contrary, he was listening with a frown and some 
 impatience. 
 
 “Eh? What? I believe you said ‘no matter.’ ”’ 
 
 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 yow’re horribly captious 
 to-day ; I ran in to you with a light and open heart, and you 
 seem to be laying upevery word I say against me. [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.” 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was obstinately silent. 
 
 “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, isit ? Dll answer for you 
 beforehand, and—just from stupidity, of course ; stupidity again. 
 
 . You’re laughing? Eh? What?” 
 
 “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. . . . 1 wouldask you 
 to make haste and come to the point.” 
 
 “Why, but 1 am at the point! [am talking about Sunday,” 
 babbled Pyotr Stepanovitch. “‘ Why, what was I on Sunday ? 
 What would you callit ? 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 ?”’ 
 
 “ 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.” 
 
 “ 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.” 
 
 ‘‘ Tt would be interesting to know why you are so open now ?¢”’ 
 
 “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, 
 
206 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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.” 
 
 “You've changed your tactics ?”’ 
 
 * There are no tactics. Now it’s for you to decide in every- 
 thing, 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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“ You say you've changed your ideas aboyt me ? ”’ he asked. 
 
 ‘“‘ T 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.” 
 
 He jumped up, waving his hands as though waving off ques- 
 tions. But as there were no questions, and he had no reason to 
 go away, he sank into an arm-chair again, somewhat reassured. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 ? ”’ 
 
 ‘“ T received it at the time.” 
 
 ‘TI 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.” 
 
 ‘‘ Oh, all right, perhaps it was necessary. . . .” said Nikolay 
 Vsyevolodovitch dreamily, “ only don’t write any more letters 
 to me, I beg you.” 
 
 ‘“‘ [Impossible to avoid it. It was only one.” 
 
 “So Liputin knows ? ”’ 
 
 “Impossible to help it: but Liputin, you know yourself, 
 dare not... By the way, you ought to meet our fellows, 
 that is, the fellows not our fellows, or you'll be finding fault again. 
 Don’t disturb yourself, not just now, but sometime. Just now 
 
NIGHT | 207 
 
 it’s raining. I'll let them know, they’ll meet together, and we'll 
 goin 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.” 
 
 ‘“‘ You’ve made me out some sort of chief ?”’ Nikolay Vsyevo- 
 _ lodovitch dropped as carelessly as possible. 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch looked quickly at him. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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.” 
 
 “So I imagine.” 
 
 “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 ’d moved Marya Timofyevna beyond the 
 river. Was it you told her ?”’ 
 
 *‘T never dreamed of it !” 
 
 “IT knewit wasn’t you. Whoelsecouldit be? It’s interesting.” 
 
 ** Liputin, of course.” 
 
 ** N-no, not Liputin,” muttered Pyotr Stepanovitch, frowning ; 
 *T’ll find out who. It’s more like Shatov.... That’s non- 
 sense though. Let’sleave 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 ?”’ 
 
 “‘Tt’s because I promised her to-day that within five days 
 
 Ill be engaged to Lizaveta Nikolaevna,” Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
 - vitch said with surprising openness. 
 “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?” | 
 
208 iia POSSESSED 
 
 ‘‘ No, I’m not angry.” | 
 
 “T 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 ?”’ 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch made no answer at all, which com- 
 pleted Pyotr Stepanovitch’s irritation. 
 
 ‘“‘ By the way, did you say that in earnest to your mother, 
 about Lizaveta Nikolaevna ?’’ he asked. 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked coldly at him. 
 
 ‘“‘ Oh, I understand, it was only to soothe her, of course.”’ 
 
 ‘* And if it were in earnest ?’’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked 
 firmly. 
 
 i, 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, 1... am at your service, as you 
 know.’ 
 
 “You think so ?”’ 
 
 “TI 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 ?”’ 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch yawned. 
 
 “Tve 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 conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 ‘“T meant to amuse you with stories of the Lembkes, too,” 
 he cried gaily. 
 
 ‘“‘ Afterwards, perhaps, not now. But how is Yulia Mihail 
 ovna ?”’ 
 
 ‘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 over-. 
 come everything yourself by merely making your appearance, 
 
NIGHT 209 
 
 Upon my word! She fancies you can do anything. You're an 
 enigmatic and romantic figure now, more than ever you were— 
 an 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 youknow 
 they look upon you as a spy? I keep that up, you’re not 
 angry ?”’ 
 
 “‘ It does not matter.” 
 
 “Tt 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 
 shockingly, that is, I compromise him and he simply stares. 
 Yulia Mihailovna encourages it. Oh, by the way, Gaganov is in 
 anawiul 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.”’ 
 
 “Then is he at Duhovo now?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
 broke in suddenly, making a sudden start forward and almost 
 leaping up from his seat. 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 ‘Yes ?”’ queried Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, as though beginning 
 
 _to be interested. 
 
 “‘ 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.” 
 
 _ “You approve of government methods ? ” 
 
 ‘‘T should rather think so! It’s the one thing that’s natural 
 
 O 
 
210 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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.”’ 
 
 “Tm feverish.” 
 
 ‘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, vous comprenez? 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.” 
 
 ‘‘ He expressed a rather sensible idea,” said Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
 dovitch, yawning for the third time. | 
 
 “Yes ? I didn’t understand it; I meant to ask you aboutiit. 
 Well what else have [ to tell you? TheShpigulinfactory’sinterest- 
 ing ; as you know, there are five hundred workmen init, 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 Internationale. 
 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 1 beg your pardon, I won’t, I won’t speak 
 of that, don’t frown. There!” He turned back suddenly. 
 ‘““T quite forgot the chief thing. I was told just now that our 
 box had come from Petersburg.” 
 
 “Youmean...” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked at him, not 
 understanding. 
 
 “Your box, your things, coats, trousers, and linen have come. | 
 Is it true ?” , 
 
 “Yes ... they said something about it this morning.” 
 
 ““ Ach, then can’t I openitatonce! .. .” 
 
 “ Ask Alexey.” 
 
 “Well, to-morrow, then, will to-morrow do? Yousee my new 
 jacket, dress-coat and three pairs of trousers are with your things, 
 from Sharmer’s, by your recommendation, do you remember ?”’ — 
 
NIGHT 211 
 
 “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 ? ”’ 
 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 person- 
 alities once for all. Of course, you can despise me as much as 
 you like if it amuses you—but we'd better dispense with person- 
 alities for a time, hadn’t we ? ” 
 
 “ All right,’’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch assented. 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch grinned, tapped his knee with his hat, 
 shifted from one leg to the other, and recovered his former 
 expression. 
 
 “Some people here positively look upon me as your rival 
 with Lizaveta Nikolaevna, so I must think of my appear- 
 ance, 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 Ive 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.” 
 
 ‘** You have been erst to him?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
 scanned him. 
 
 ‘““[ 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, [ 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.”’ 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was looking for nothing and said. 
 nothing: 
 
 But he had risen to his feet very suddenly with a strange look 
 
 in his face. 
 
 “Tf you want any help about Mr. Gaganov either,’ Pyotr 
 Stepanovitch blurted out suddenly, this time looking straight at. 
 
212 THE POSSESSED 
 
 the paper-weight, “ of course I can arrange it all, and ’m certain 
 you won't be able to manage without me.” 
 
 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 dis- 
 appeared again without waiting for an answer. 
 
 IV 
 
 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,ifso, 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 paper- 
 weight, but he didn’t even move to cover it. 
 
 He soon sank into complete forgetfulness. 
 
 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, 
 

 
 
 
 NIGHT 213 
 
 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. 
 
 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 per- 
 sistently and curiously, as though at some object in the corner 
 which had struck him, although there was nothing new or 
 striking in the room. 
 
 Suddenly there rang out the low deep note of the clock on the 
 wall. 
 
 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. 
 
 *“‘ 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. 
 
 “Take it back as soon as I have gone out, and now dress me,”’ 
 he said, getting up from the sofa. 
 
 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 paper- 
 weight, 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 um- 
 brella the latter went without a word into the damp and sodden 
 garden, which was dark as a cellar. The wind was roaring and 
 
214 THE POSSESSED 
 
 tossing the bare tree-tops. The little sandy paths were wet 
 and slippery. Alexey Yegoryvitch walked along as he was, 
 bareheaded, in his swallow-tail coat, lighting up the path for 
 about three steps before them with the lantern. 
 
 “Won't it be noticed ?’’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked 
 suddenly. 
 
 “Not from the windows. Besides I have seen to all that 
 already,”’ the old servant answered in quiet and measured tones. 
 
 ‘“‘ Has my mother retired ?”’ 
 
 “‘ 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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘* At one or half-past, not later than two.” 
 
 oes) sir.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ Won’t the door creak ?”’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch inquired 
 again. , 
 
 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. 
 
 “Tf 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. 
 
 “Don’t be uneasy, Alexey Yegorytch.”’ 
 
 “* May God’s blessing rest on you, sir, but only in your righteous 
 undertakings.” 
 
 “What?” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, stopping short in 
 the lane. | 
 
 Alexey Yegorytch resolutely repeated his words. He had 
 never before ventured to express himself in such language in his 
 master’s presence. 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch locked the door, put the key in his 
 pocket, and crossed the lane, sinking five or six inches into the 
 
NIGHT 215 
 
 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 hishand. 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. 
 
 “Is that you ?”’ he asked suddenly. 
 
 “Yes,” replied the uninvited guest. 
 
 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. 
 
 V 
 
 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 Jittle hands, and Kirillov ran to pick it up again, 
 
216 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 Vsyevolo- 
 dovitch 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 ?” 
 
 He rose to his feet. 
 
 ‘“‘T should be very glad of it, if it’s hot,” said Nikolay Vsyevo- 
 lodovitch ; ‘‘ I’m wet through.” 
 
 ‘“‘Tt’s hot, nearly boiling in fact,” Kirillov declared delighted. 
 “Sit down. You’re muddy, but that’s nothing ; [ll mop up the 
 floor later.”’ 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sat down and emptied the cup he 
 handed him almost at a gulp. 
 
 ‘Some more ?”’ asked Kirillov. 
 
 ** No, thank you.” 
 
 Kirillov, who had not sat down till then, seated himself facing 
 him, and inquired : | 
 
 “Why have you come ?” ; 
 
 ** On business. Here, read this letter from Gaganov ; do you 
 remember, I talked to you about him in Petersburg.” 
 
 Kirillov took the letter, read it, laid it on the table and looked 
 at him expectantly. 
 
 ‘* 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 acquaint- 
 ance 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 
 
NIGHT 217 
 
 apologies. He went away without answering, and now here I find 
 him in aregularfury. Several things he has said about me in public 
 have been repeated to me, absolutely abusive, and making as- 
 tounding charges against me. Finally, to-day, I get this letter, 
 a letter such as no one has ever had before, I should think, con- 
 taining 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.” 
 
 “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, 
 Vllcome. ‘Tell me how.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘Too much concession ; he won’t agree,” said Kirillov. 
 
 ““T’ve come first of all to find out whether you would consent 
 to be the bearer of such terms.”’ 
 
 “T’litake them. It’s your affair. But he won’t agree.”’ 
 
 *“*T know he won’t agree.”’ 
 
 “He wants to fight. Say how you'll fight.” 
 
 “The point is that I want the thing settled to-morrow. By 
 nine o’ciock 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.” 
 
 ‘Ten paces between the barriers is very near,’ observed 
 Kirillov. 
 
 ‘“‘ Well, twelve then, but not more. You understand that he 
 wants to fight in earnest. Do you know how to load a pistol?” 
 
 “Tdo. I’ve got pistols. Dll 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 2?” 
 
 “* Excellent.”’ 
 
218 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘Would you like to look at the pistols ? ” 
 
 ‘““ Very well.” 
 
 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. 
 
 “[Tve got everything, powder, bullets, cartridges. I’ve 
 a revolver besides, wait.”’ 
 
 He stooped down to the trunk again and took out a six- 
 chambered American revolver. 
 
 ‘‘ 'You’ve got weapons enough, and very good ones.” 
 
 “‘ Very, extremely.” 
 
 Kirillov, who was poor, almost destitute, though he never 
 noticed his poverty, was evidently proud of showing his 
 precious weapons, which he had certainly obtained with great 
 sacrifice. 
 
 ‘* You still have the same intentions ?”’ Stavrogin asked after 
 a moment's silence, and with a certain wariness. 
 
 “Yes,” answered Kirillov shortly, guessing at once from his 
 voice what he was asking about, and he began taking the weapons 
 from the table. 
 
 “When?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch inquired still more 
 cautiously, after a pause. 
 
 In the meantime Kirillov had put both the boxes back in his 
 trunk, and sat down in his place again. 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 ‘“‘T understand shooting oneself, of course,’ Nikolay Vsyevo- 
 lodovitch 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 ? ” 
 
NIGHT 219 
 
 “© You call that a new idea ?”’ said Kirillov, after a moment’s 
 thought. 
 
 “tT... didn’t call it so, but when I thought it I felt it as 
 a new idea.” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 *‘ 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 ?”’ 
 
 “I don’t know,” answered Kirillov. ‘‘ I’ve not been in the 
 moon,” he added, without any irony, simply to state the fact. 
 
 *‘ Whose baby was that just now ?” 
 
 _ “The old woman’s mother-in-law was here—no, daughter-in- 
 law, it’s allthe same. Threedays. 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 
 
 ** Are you fond of children ? ”’ 
 
 “Tam,” answered Kirillov, though rather indifferently. 
 
 ** Then you're fond of life 2?” 
 
 “Yes, I’m fond of life! What of it 2?” 
 
 “Though you’ve made up your mind to shoot yourself.” 
 
 “What of it? Why connect it? Life’s one thing and that’s 
 another. Life exists, but death doesn’t at all.” 
 
 “‘ You’ve begun to believe in a future eternal life ? ”’ 
 
 *“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.” 
 
 ‘You hope to reach such a moment ? ” 
 
 “ce Yes.”’ . 
 
 ‘“‘ That’ll scarcely be possible in our time,’’ Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
 dovitch 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.”’ 
 
220 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘‘T 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.” | 
 
 ‘“‘ Where will they put it ?”’ 
 
 ‘‘ Nowhere. Time’s not an object but an idea. It will be 
 extinguished in the mind.” 
 
 “The old commonplaces of philosophy, the same from the 
 beginning of time,’ Stavrogin muttered with a kind of disdainful 
 compassion. 
 
 ‘‘ 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. 
 
 ‘* You seem to be very happy, Kirillov.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Yes, very happy,’ he answered, as though making the most 
 ordinary reply. | 
 
 ‘‘ But you were distressed so lately, angry with Liputin.” 
 
 “H’m ... I’m not scolding now. Ididn’t know then that I 
 was happy. Have you seen a leaf, a leaf from a tree ? ”’ 
 
 c¢ Yes.”’ 
 
 ‘“‘T 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.” 
 
 ‘“‘ What’s that ? An allegory ?”’ 
 
 “N-no ... why? Dm not speaking of an allegory, but of 
 a leaf, only a leaf. The leaf is good. EKverything’s good.” 
 
 ‘“ Everything 2?” 
 
 ‘Everything. Man is unhappy because he doesn’t know he’s 
 happy. It’sonlythat. That’sall, that’sall! Ifanyone finds out 
 he’ll become happy at once, that minute. That mother-in-law will 
 die ; but the baby willremain. It’s all good. I discovered it all 
 of a sudden.” 
 
 ‘And if anyone dies of hunger, and if anyone insults and 
 outrages the little girl, is that good ? ” 
 
 “Yes! And if anyone blows his brains out for the baby, that’s 
 good too. Andif anyone doesn’t, that’s good too. It’sall 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.”’ 
 
NIGHT 221 
 
 “* When did you find out you were so happy ?”’ 
 
 “ Last week, on Tuesday, no, Wednesday, for it was Wednesday 
 by that time, in the night.” 
 
 ““ By what reasoning ? ” 
 
 “I don’t remember; I was walking about the room; never 
 mind. I stopped my clock. It was thirty-seven minutes past 
 two.” 
 
 ** As an emblem of the fact that there will be no more time ? ” 
 
 Kirillov was silent. 
 
 ‘““'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.” 
 
 “Here you've found it out, so have you become good 
 _ then ?” 
 
 “Tam good.” 
 
 “ That I agree with, though,” Stavrogin muttered, frowning. 
 
 ‘* He who teaches that all are good will end the world.”’ 
 
 *“ He who taught it was crucified.” 
 
 “* He will come, and his name will be the man-god.” 
 
 “The god-man ? ”’ 
 
 “The man-god. That's the difference.” 
 
 * Surely it wasn’t you lighted the lamp under the ikon ?”’ 
 
 ** Yes, it was I lighted it.” 
 
 ** Did you do it believing ?”’ 
 
 “The old woman likes to have the lamp and she hadn’t 
 time to do it to-day,” muttered Kirillov. 
 
 ‘“* You don’t say prayers yourself ? ”’ 
 
 “IT pray to everything. You see the spider crawling on the 
 wall, I look at it and thank it for crawling.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ve I’ll bet that when I come next time you'll be believing in 
 God too,” he said, getting up and taking his hat. 
 
 “Why ?”’ said Kirillov, getting up too. 
 
 ‘Tf 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 Vsyevolo- 
 dovitch. 
 
 “‘That’s not right,” Kirillov pondered “ you’ve distorted the 
 
222 THE POSSESSED 
 
 idea. It’s a flippant joke. Remember what you have meant 
 in my life, Stavrogin.”’ : 
 
 ‘“‘ Good-bye, Kirillov.” 
 
 ** Come at night ; when will you ?” 
 
 “* Why, haven’t you forgotten about to-morrow ?”’ 
 
 ‘‘ 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.” 
 
 ‘** You have remarkable powers,’ said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, 
 looking at his pale face. 
 
 ‘* T'll come and open the gate,” 
 
 ** Don’t trouble, Shatov will open it for me.” 
 
 ** Ah, Shatov. Very well, good-bye.” 
 
 VI 
 
 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 anda 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 spams 
 at the table i in the corner, waiting expectantly. 
 
 “Will you receive me on business ?”’ he queried from the 
 doorway. 
 
 ‘Come in and sit down,”’ answered Shatov. ‘‘ Shut the door; 
 stay, I'll shut it.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““You’ve been worrying me to death,” he said, looking down, 
 in a soit half-whisper. ‘‘ Why didn’t you come ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ You were so sure I should come then ? ”’ 
 
 “Yes, stay, I have been delirious . . . perhaps I’m delirious 
 now. ... Stay a moment.” 
 
 He got up and seized something that was lying on the upper- 
 most of his three bookshelves. It was a revolver. 
 
 ‘ One night, in delirium, I fancied that you were coming to kill 
 
NIGHT 223, 
 
 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 
 tillnow ; waita minute. ...” 
 
 He got up and was opening the casement. 
 
 ‘‘ Don’t throw it away, why should you ?”’ Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
 dovitch checked him. “It’s worth something. Besides, to- 
 morrow 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 ?”’ 
 
 “You know I didn’t, yourself,” said Shatov, looking down 
 again. 
 
 ** And not because you believed the stupid gossip about Darya 
 Pavlovna ?”’ 
 
 “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. 
 “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 ?” 
 
 Shatov, utterly astounded, listened in silence. 
 
 “TI guessed, but did not believe it,” he muttered at last, 
 looking strangely at Stavrogin. 
 
 ‘“‘ And you struck me ?”’ 
 
 Shatov flushed and muttered almost incoherently : 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 
 meinmylife...I...” 
 
 ‘J understand, I understand, spare your words. I am sorry 
 you are feverish. I’ve come about a most urgent matter.” 
 
 ‘“‘T 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 ... [ll speak too .. . later.” 
 
 He sat down. 
 
224 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘“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.” 
 
 Shatov looked wildly at him. 
 
 ‘“‘T know that I may be in some danger,” he said in measured 
 tones, “‘ but how can you have come to know of it ?” 
 
 ‘‘ Because I belong to them as you do, and am a member of 
 their society, just as you are.” 
 
 “You ... you are a member of the society ? ”’ 
 
 “IT 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 ?” 
 
 ‘‘ 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 ?”’ : 
 
 ‘Don’t be uneasy ; I am not deceiving you,’ Nikolay Vsyevo- 
 lodovitch 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 myselfto ... ” 
 
 “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... .” 
 
 He was breathless. 
 
 “In America you changed your views, and when you came 
 back you wanted to resign. They gave you no answer, but 
 
“NIGHT 225 
 charged you to take over a printing press here in Russia from 
 some one, and to keep it till you handed it over to some one 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.” 
 
 “'That’s absurd!” cried Shatov. “Ive 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 .. .” 
 
 “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 some one else’s. Even that drunkard, Lebyadkin, was prob- 
 ably 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 ?”’ 
 
 “He has. He has said that it can be done and that I have the 
 fight: "{, 2.” 
 
 *“* 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 ?”’ 
 
 Shatov made a wry face at hearing such a question asked in 
 such a matter-of fact tone. 
 
 “Tf 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, 
 
 P 
 
226 THE POSSESSED 
 
 second-hand absurdity ? You a member of the society ? What 
 an exploit for Stavrogin !’’ he cried suddenly, in despair. 
 
 He clasped his hands, as though nothing could be a bitterer 
 and more inconsolable grief to him than such a discovery. 
 
 ‘“‘ Excuse me,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, extremely sur- 
 prised, ‘‘ 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.” 
 
 “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. 
 
 “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 Pve 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.” 
 
 “Oh, they do nothing but sentence to death, and all by 
 means of sealed documents, signed by three men anda half. And 
 you think they’ve any power !” “tt 
 
 “You're partly right there and partly not,’ Stavrogin 
 answered with the same _ indifference, almo:;t _ 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 funda- 
 mental idea is no stupider than others of the sort. They are 
 connected with the Internationale. 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.’ 
 
 F 
 
NIGHT 227 
 
 “He's a bug, an ignoramus, a buffoon, who understands 
 nothing in Russia! ’’ cried Shatov spitefully. 
 
 “You know him very little. It’s quite true that none of them 
 madertand much about Russia, but not much less than you and 
 Ido. Besides, Verhovensky is an enthusiast.”’ 
 
 “* Verhovensky an enthusiast ? ”’ 
 
 “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 lamaspy too. As they don’t 
 know how to do things themselves, they’re awfully fond of 
 accusing people of being spies.” 
 
 ‘* But you’re not afraid, are you ?”’ 
 
 “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.”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ For God’s sake |.’ cried Shatov, rising impulsively from his 
 seat. 
 
 “T beg your pardon ?”’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked at him 
 inquiringly. 
 
 ‘* 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 ...Ican’t... ask 
 your question !”’ 
 
 Stavrogin waited a moment and then began. 
 
 “T’ve heard that you have some influence on Marya ‘Timo- 
 fyevna, and that she was fond of seeing you and hearing you talk, 
 Is that so ?”’ 
 
 “Yes ... . she used to listen . . .”’ said Shatov, confused. 
 
 ‘«¢ Within a day or two I intend to make a public announcement 
 _ of our marriage here in the town.” 
 
 ‘Is that possible ?”’ Shatov whispered, almost with horror. | 
 
 “‘T 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, 
 
228 THE POSSESSED 
 
 Kirillov, Pyotr Verhovensky, and Lebyadkin (whom I now have 
 the pleasure of claiming as a brother-in-law) promised to hold 
 their tongues.” | 
 
 ‘““T don’t mean that . . . Youspeaksocalmly .. . but goon! 
 Listen! You weren’t forced into that marriage, were you ?” 
 
 ‘No, no one forced me into it.” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
 smiled at Shatov’s importunate haste. 
 
 ** And what’s that talk she keeps up about her baby ?”’ Shatov 
 interposed disconnectedly, with feverish haste. 
 
 ““ 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.” 
 
 “Ah! That’s just what I thought! Listen!” 
 
 ‘‘ What’s the matter with you, Shatov ?” 
 
 Shatov hid his face in his hands, turned away, but suddenly 
 clutched Stavrogin by the shoulders. 
 
 “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 !” 
 
 ‘* 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.” 
 
 ** 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.” 
 
 ¢ Yes 2 9? 
 
 “Tve 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.” 
 
 ‘I remember your long letter very well.’ 
 
 “Too long to be read? No doubt; six sheets of notepaper. 
 Don’t speak! Don’tspeak! Tell me, can you spare me another 
 ten minutes? . . . But now, this minute . . . I have waited for 
 you too long.” 
 
 “ Certainly, half an hour if you like, but not more, if that will 
 suit you.” 
 
 “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 ?” 
 
 “T understand that in that way you lift yourself above all 
 ordinary considerations for the sake of loftier aims,”’ said Nikolay 
 
NIGHT 229 
 
 Vsyevolodovitch with a faint smile. “I see with regret, too, 
 that you're feverish.” 
 
 “I beg you to treat me with respect, I insist on it!” shouted 
 Shatov, “not my personality—TI 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. *Isay 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! Under- 
 stand that I insist on that. I insist on it, else I won’t speak, I’m 
 not going to for anything !”’ 
 
 His. excitement was approaching frenzy. Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
 dovitch frowned and seemed to become more on his guard. 
 
 “ 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.” 
 
 _ He sat down on a chair. 
 
 ** Sit down !”’ cried Shatov, and he sat down himself. 
 
 *‘ Please remember,’’ Stavrogin interposed once more, “ that 
 Il was about to ask a real favour of you concerning Marya Timo- 
 fyevna, of great importance for her, anyway. 8 
 
 “ 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. 
 
 ‘And you did not let me finish,’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
 went on with a smile. | 
 
 ‘‘Oh, nonsense, afterwards!’? Shatov waved his hand dis- 
 dainfully, grasping, at last, what he wanted, and passed at once 
 to his principal theme. 
 
 Vil 
 “Do you know,” he began, with flashing eyes, almost 
 
 menacingly, bending right forward in his chair, raising the fore- 
 finger of his right hand above him (obviously unaware that he 
 
230 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 ?” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ** And you can laugh, oh, what a race !’’ Shatov burst out. 
 
 “Calm yourself, I beg of you; on the contrary, I was expecting 
 something of the sort from you.” 
 
 “You expected something of the sort? And don’t you 
 know those words yourself ? ”’ 
 
 ‘““T 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.” 
 
 ‘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.’ | 
 
 ‘ But, if you remember, it was just after my words you joined 
 their society, and only afterwards went away to America.” 
 
 ‘“* 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 2?” 
 
 “Tread three pages of it. The two first and the last. And 
 I glanced through the middle as well. But I was always 
 meaning...” 
 
 ‘ Ah, never mind, drop it! Damnit!” 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.” 
 
 “TI wasn’t joking with you then; in persuading you I was 
 
NEGA i 231 
 
 perhaps more concerned with myself than with you,” Stavrogin 
 pronounced enigmatically. 
 
 “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 Kirilov, 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.” 
 
 “In the first place, I must observe that Kirillov himself 
 told me that he is happy and that he’s good. Your supposition 
 that ali this was going on at the same time is almost correct. But 
 what of it? I repeat, I was not deceiving either of you.” 
 
 “ Are you an atheist ? An atheist now ?”’ 
 
 6¢é Yes.”’ 
 
 ** And then ?”’ 
 
 ** Just as I was then.” 
 
 “T wasn’t asking you to treat me with respect when I began 
 the conversation. With your intellect you might have under- 
 stood that,’’ Shatov muttered indignantly. 
  “T didn’t get up at your first word, I didn’t close the conversa- 
 tion, 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.” 
 
 Shatov interrupted, waving his hand. 
 
 ‘**Do you remember your expression that ‘an atheist can’t be 
 a Russian,’ that ‘an atheist at once ceases to be a Russian’ ? 
 Do yott remember saying that 2?” 
 
 “ Did I ?”’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch questioned him back. 
 
 “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.’ ” 
 
 *‘ T imagine that’s a Slavophil idea.”’ 
 
 “The Slavophils of to-day disownit. 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 
 
232 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 iniqui- 
 tous God of Rome and has not found a new one. That’s what 
 you could say then! I remember our conversations.” 
 
 “Tf 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 dis 
 agreeable impression on me. Can’t you leave off ?”’ 
 
 ‘‘ Tf 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?” 
 
 ‘““ 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 ?¢”’ 
 
 “This examination will be over for all eternity, and you will 
 never hear it mentioned again.” 
 
 ‘You keep insisting that we are outside the limits of time and 
 space.” 
 
 ‘Hold your tongue!’ Shatov cried suddenly. “ Iam stupid 
 and awkward, but let my name perish in ignominy! Let me re 
 peat your leading idea. . . . Oh, only a dozen lines, only the con- 
 clusion.” 
 
 ‘ Repeat it, if it’s only the conclusion. . . . 
 
 Stavrogin made a movement to look at his watch, but restrained 
 himself and did not look. 
 
 Shatov bent forward in his chair again and again held up his 
 finger for a moment. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 
 
 99 
 
NIGHT 233 
 
 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 esthetic 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 
 
 oi 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 
 toitsend. 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 cf the decay of nations when they begin to have gods. 
 incommon. 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.” 
 
 ‘“‘T don’t agree that you’ve nut altered anything,” Stavrogin 
 
234 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 .. .” 
 
 He suddenly began watching Shatov with intense and peculiar 
 attention, not so much his words as himself. 
 
 ‘IT 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 
 
NIGHT 235 
 
 understand me, not a word, not a sound! Oh, how I despise 
 your haughty laughter and your look at this minute ! ” 
 
 He jumped upfrom his seat; there was positively foam on his lips. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 recog- 
 nise 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 inde- 
 pendent, 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)...” 
 
 ‘“* But you want a hare ?” 
 
 © Wh-a-t 2” 
 
 “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.”’ 
 
 ‘‘ 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 
 havetheright toonenow. Tellme, have you caught your hare?” 
 
 *‘ Don’t dare to ask me in such words! Ask differently, quite 
 differently.” Shatov suddenly began trembling all over. 
 
 * Certainly [ll ask differently.” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
 looked coldly at him. “TI only wanted to know, do you believe 
 in God, yourself ? ” 
 
 ‘I believe in Russia. . . . I believe inher orthodoxy. ... I 
 believe in the body of Christ. . . . I believe that the new advent 
 will take place in Russia. . . . I believe . . .”’’ Shatov muttered 
 
 frantically. 
 *Andin God? In God?” 
 *“T ... I will believe in God.” 
 
 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. 
 
 “T 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. . . . ’ma man of no talent, and can only 
 give my blood, nothing more, like every man without talent; 
 
236 THE POSSESSED 
 
 never mind my blood either! I’m talking about you. I’vebeen 
 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! ...” 
 
 He broke off, and sat as though in despair, with his elbows on 
 the table and his head in his hands. 
 
 ‘“‘T merely mention it as something queer,’ Stavrogin inter- 
 rupted 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.” 
 
 ‘““ What ?”’ cried Shatov, ‘‘ ‘ from your extraordinary aptitude 
 for crime’ ¢”’ 
 
 * Just so.” 
 
 “H’m! And is it true?” he asked, with anangry 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 Pll kill you, here, on the spot !”’ 
 
 ‘“T 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. 
 
 “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 ? Isit true that you have 
 found identical beauty, equal enjoyment, in both extremes ? ”’ 
 
 “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. 
 
 ‘“‘T 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 
 
NIGHT 237 
 
 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 ?”’ 
 
 “ 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.” 
 
 “You turn pale.” 
 
 “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.”’ 
 
 ** Reasonable object ? ” 
 
 ** 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.” 
 
 He gotupfromthechair. Shatov rushed frantically after him. 
 
 ** Kiss the earth, water it with your tears, pray for forgiveness,” 
 he cried, clutching him by the shoulder. 
 
 “T didn’t kill you... that morning, though ...I1 drew 
 back my hands...’ Stavrogin brought out almost with 
 anguish, keeping his eyes on the ground. 
 
 ‘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 2? 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? . [ 
 can’t tear you out of my heart, Nikolay Stavrogin !”’ 
 
 ‘“‘T’m sorry I can’t feel affection for you, Shatov,” Stavrogin 
 replied coldly. 
 
238 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “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.” 
 
 Stavrogin did not speak. 
 
 ‘‘ Yow’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 poeple. 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—lI, 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.” 
 
 “God by work? What sort of work ?” 
 
 ‘“‘ Peasants’ work. Go, give up all your wealth. ... Ah! 
 you laugh, you're afraid of some trick ?”’ 
 
 But Stavrogin was not laughing. 
 
 ‘““ 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 consider- 
 ing. ‘“* By the way,” he passed suddenly to a new idea, “‘ you re- 
 minded me just now. Do you know that I’m notrich at all, that ?ve 
 nothing to give up ? I’m scarcely ina 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.” 
 
 “ Allright, allright. 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 Tihon.” 
 
 “'To whom ?”’ 
 
 “'To Tihon, who used to bea bishop. He lives retired now, on 
 account of illness, here in the town, in the Bogorodsky monastery.”’ 
 
 ‘“ What do you mean ?”’ 
 
 ‘Nothing. People go and see him. You go. What is it to 
 you? What is it to you?” | 
 
 ‘“‘ 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.” 
 
 “This way.” 
 
 Shatov lighted him down the stairs. ‘‘ Go along.’ He flung 
 open the gate into the street. 
 
 ‘““T shan’t come to you any more, Shatov,” said Stavrogin 
 quietly as he stepped through the gateway. ; 
 
 The darkness and the rain continued as before. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 NIGHT (continued) 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘Will you kindly allow me, sir, to share your umbrella ? ”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 “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.” 
 239 
 
240 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “From Pyotr Stepanovitch? Are you... Fedka the 
 convict ?” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘““ You escaped from prison ? ” 
 
 ‘““Tve 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.” 
 
 ‘‘ What are you doing here ?”’ 
 
 ‘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.’’ 
 
 ““So you’ve been spying on me. I don’t like that. By whose 
 orders ?” , 
 
 ‘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.”’ 
 
 ‘““ What did Pyotr Stepanovitch promise you from me ?”’ 
 
 “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 wanta 
 to see if I have the patience of a Cossack, and feels no sort of 
 confidence in me.” 
 
 66 Why 2 >? 
 
 “Pyotr Stepanovitch is an astronomer, and has learnt all God’s 
 planets, but even he may be criticised. I stand before you, sir, 
 
NIGHT 241 
 
 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. Id better 
 bow to a boot, thinks I, than to a peasant’s shoe.” 
 
 *‘ And who told you that I was going to cross the bridge at 
 night ?”’ 
 
 *‘ Well, that, Pll 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.” 
 
 “Tm 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!” 
 
 ‘““Eh-heh! Fling me something for my company, anyhow. 
 I’ve cheered you on your way.” 
 
 “ Be off !”’ 
 ‘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.” 
 “Tl tie you up!” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, turning 
 upon him menacingly. ‘ 
 “‘ Perhaps you'll change your mind, sir; it’s easy to ill-treat 
 the helpless.” 
 Oar: 
 
242 THE POSSESSED 
 
 {°? 
 
 ‘“‘ Well, I see you can rely on yourself 
 
 “I rely upon you, sir, and not very much on myself. . . .” 
 
 “‘T’ve no need of you at all. I’ve told you so already.”’ 
 
 ‘** But I have need, that’s how it is! I shall wait for you on 
 the way back. There’s nothing for it.” 
 
 ‘“‘T give you my word of honour if I meet you I'll tie you up.” 
 
 “ Well, Pll 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, 
 
 II 
 
 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. 
 
 “Is that you? You?” 
 
 “Yes,” responded Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but not till he 
 had mounted the steps and was folding up his umbrella. 
 
 ‘* At last, sir.” Captain Lebyadkin, for it was he, ran fussily 
 to and fro. ‘Let me take your umbrella, please. It’s very 
 wet; Dll open it on the floor here, in the corner. Please walk 
 in. Please walk in.” 
 
 The door was open from the passage into a room that was 
 lighted by two candles. 
 
NIGHT | 243 
 
 “Tf it had not been for your promise that you would certainly 
 come, I should have given up expecting you.” 
 
 “A quarter to one,”’ said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, looking 
 at his watch, as he went into the room. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “How so?” 
 
 “To hear my fate, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. Please sit 
 down.” 
 
 He bowed, pointing to a seat by the table, before the sofa. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ Here,’ he indicated his surroundings, “‘I live like Zossima. 
 Sobriety, solitude, and poverty—the vow of the knights of old.” 
 
 “You imagine that the knights of old took such vows ?”’ 
 
 “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. 
 
 ‘ At night without a bed I wander 
 And my tongue put out by day...’ 
 to use the words of a poet of genius. But you’re wet through. 
 
 ... Wouldn’t you like some tea ?”’ 
 “ Don’t trouble.” 
 
244 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “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 gooutinitsturn. Butif you like I’ll get up the samovar. 
 Agafya is not asleep.” 
 
 “Tell me, Marya Timofyevna... 
 
 ** 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. 
 
 “‘ She’s not asleep ? ”’ 
 
 ““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.”’ 
 
 He was just twisting his mouth into a jocose smile, but he 
 instantly checked himself. 
 
 “* How is she, on the whole ?”’ asked Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, 
 frowning. 
 
 “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. . . .” | 
 
 “Very good. Later on. First of all I must finish with 
 you.” 
 
 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. 
 
 “What have you got there under the table-cloth ?”’ asked 
 Nikolay Vsyevorodovitch, suddenly noticing it. 
 
 “ That ?” said Lebyadkin, turning towards it also. ‘“ That’s 
 from your generosity, by way of house-warming, so to say3 
 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. 
 
 “Was that your effort ?”’ 
 
 “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 
 
 39 
 
NIGHT 245 
 
 the same, all the same, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, all the same, 
 in spirit, ’m independent! Don’t take away from me this last 
 possession ! ’’ he finished up pathetically. 
 
 “H’m! You might sit down again.”’ 
 
 “ 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 its only to you I look for 
 counsel and light. Pyotr Stepanovitch is treating me abomin- 
 ably!” 
 
 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. 
 
 “T 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.’ 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘Yes, and a fool as well.” 
 
 ** 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 !”’ 
 
 ‘But how about yourself, captain? What can you say of 
 your behaviour ?”’ , 
 
246 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ** 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 2” 
 
 “‘That’s interesting. What are you leaving, and to whom ?” 
 
 “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 for ever 
 and ever, with the words: ‘A repentant free-thinker.’ There 
 now !”’ 
 
 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 Vsyevolodo- 
 vitch, 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 : 
 
 “So you intend to publish your will in your lifetime and get 
 rewarded for it ?”’ 
 
 “And what if I do, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch ? What if I 
 do ?”’ said Lebyadkin, watching him carefully. ‘‘ What sort of 
 luck have Thad? 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.” 
 
 “What sort of poem ?”’ 
 
 “Tn case she were to break her leg.’ ” 
 
NIGHT 247 
 
 * Wha-a-t 2?” 
 
 That was ali the captain was waiting for. He had an un- 
 bounded admiration for his own poems, but, through a certain 
 cunning duplicity, he was pleased, too, that Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
 vitch 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. 
 
 *“*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 [ 
 sent it.” 
 
 ** You offered yourself as a suitor, I understand.” 
 
 ** Enemies, enemies, enemies ! ”’ 
 
 ** Repeat the verses,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sternly. 
 
 ** Ravings, ravings, more than anything.” 
 
 However, he drew himself up, stretched out his hand, and 
 began : 
 
 “ With broken limbs my beauteows queen 
 Is twice as charming as before, 
 And, deep in love as I have been, 
 T'o-day I love her even more.” 
 
 “Come, that’s enough,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, with 
 a wave of his hand. 
 
 “T dream of Petersburg,” cried Lebyadkin, passing quickly 
 to another subject, as though there had been no mention of verses. 
 
 > 
 
248. THE POSSESSED 
 
 “TI dream of regeneration. ... Benefactor! May I reckon 
 that you won’t refuse the means for the journey? Ive been 
 waiting for you all the week as my sunshine.” 
 
 “Vl do nothing of the sort. Ive scarcely any money left. 
 And why should I give you money ? ”’ 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch seemed suddenly angry. Dryly and 
 briefly he recapitulated all the captain’s misdeeds ; his drunken- 
 ness, 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. 
 
 “‘ 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 ?” 
 
 ‘““ 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; 
 L cannot answer to the detriment of my sister, to the detriment 
 of the family honour.” | 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 But she is....... crazy.” 
 
 “I shall make suitable arrangements.”’ 
 
 “But ... how about your mother ?” 
 
 ‘‘ Well, she must do as she likes.”’ 
 
 “* But will you take your wife to your house 2?” 
 
 ,, Perhaps so. But that is absolutely nothing to do with you 
 and no concern of yours.” 
 
 ‘No concern of mine!” cried the captain. ‘“‘ What about 
 me then }”’ 
 
NIGHT 249 
 
 *‘ Well, certainly you won’t come into my house.” 
 
 * But, you know, I’m a relation.” 
 
 ‘““One does one’s best to escape from such relations. Why 
 should I go on giving you money then.?, Judge for yourself.”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘Much I care for your world. J married your sister when the 
 faney took me, after a drunken dinner, for a bet, and now [ll 
 makeit public . . . since that amuses me now.” 
 
 He said this with a peculiar irritability, so that Lebyadkin 
 began with horror to believe him. 
 
 “But me, me? What about me? I’m what matters 
 most! ... Perhaps you’re joking, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch ?”’ 
 
 “No, ?m not joking.” 
 
 “As you will, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch,. but I. don’t believe 
 you. ... Then I’ll take proceedings.” 
 
 * You're fearfully stupid, captain.” 
 
 “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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘“ But you want to go to Petersburg to try anew career. By the 
 way, is it true what I hear, that you mean to go and. give infor- 
 mation, in the hope of obtaining a pardon, by betraying all the 
 others ? ” 
 
 The captain stood gaping with wide-open eyes, and made no 
 answer. 
 
 “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 s0 con- 
 vincing that a shiver ran down the captain’s back. 
 
 “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 foolish- 
 ness ?” 
 
250 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “‘ No, I haven’t . . . and I haven’t thought of doing it,”’ said 
 the captain, looking fixedly at him. | 
 
 “ 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. Dve heard something.” 
 
 ‘‘When I was drunk, to Liputin. Liputin’s a traitor. I 
 opened my heart to him,” whispered the poor captain. 
 
 ‘** That’s all very well, but there’s no need to be anass. If you 
 had an idea you should have kept it to yourself. Sensible 
 people hold their tongues nowadays ; they don’t go chattering.” 
 
 “Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch!” said the captain, quaking. 
 *“You’ve had nothing to do with it yourself; it’s not you 
 Piven.” 
 
 “Yes. You wouldn’t have ventured to kill the goose that 
 laid your golden eggs.” 
 
 “ 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. After- 
 wards 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. [ tell you, I almost got caught with this 
 
NIGHT 251 
 
 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 wife. In June I was 
 distributing manifestoes again in X district. They say they will 
 - make medo it again. . . . PyotrStepanovitch 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!” 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch heard it all with curiosity. 
 
 *“‘ 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 ?” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch laughed. 
 
 “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. 
 
 “Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but how about Marya Timo- 
 fyevna ?”’ 
 
 ** Why, as I told you.” 
 
 ** Can it be true ?”’ 
 
 ** You still don’t believe it ?” 
 
 * Will you really cast me off like an old worn-out shoe ?”’ 
 
 “T’llsee,” laughed Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. ‘‘Come, let mego.”’ 
 
 *Wouldn’t you like me to stand on the steps . . . for fear I 
 might by chance overhear something ... for the rooms are 
 small ?” 
 
 ‘“'That’s as well. Stand on the steps. Take my umbrella.” 
 
 “Your umbrella... . AmI worth it ?” said the captain over- 
 sweetly. 
 
 * The reference is to a poem of Derzhavin’s. 
 
252 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘* Anyone is worthy of an umbrella.” 
 
 ‘* At one stroke you define the minimum of humanrights. . .. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘‘ Tf 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; helivestodo 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, Lebyad- 
 kin! 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 ! 
 
 ‘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 toanyonein 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. Hither 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 ! ”’ 
 
 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. 
 
NIGHT 253 
 Ill 
 
 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 indis- 
 pensable 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. 
 
 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 noise- 
 lessly, and, standing still, scrutinised the sleeping figure. 
 
 The captain had been romancing when he told Nikolay Vsyevo- 
 lodovitch 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 
 
254 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘T'm sorry, Marya Timofyevna, I frightened you coming in 
 suddenly when you were asleep,” he said, holding out his hand 
 to her. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““How do you do, prince ?”’ she whispered, looking at him 
 strangely. 
 
 ‘You must have had a bad dream,’ he went on, with a still 
 more friendly and cordial smile. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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. 
 
 ‘* 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. 
 
 A new sensation was obviously growing stronger and stronger 
 in her. 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sat down and waited. Rather a 
 long silence followed. 
 
 ‘““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 ?”’ 
 
NIGHT 255 
 
 “* 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 cbstinately controlled herself and kept her 
 eyes cast down. 
 
 ‘“‘ Listen, prince,’ she raised her voice suddenly, “‘ listen 
 DECHy." °° 
 
 “Why do you turn away? Why don’t you look at 
 me? What’s the object of this farce?” he cried, losing 
 patience. 
 
 But she seemed not to hear him. 
 
 ““ 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 cupof 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’sanangel. I’m awfully afraid they may 
 wound him by some careless allusion to me.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Don’t be afraid, and don’t be uneasy,” said Nikolay Vsyevo- 
 lodovitch, making a wry face. 
 
 ‘““ 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 besure, that I ought 
 rather to. pity them than they me.” 
 
256 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “You seem to be very much offended with them, takes 
 Timofyevna ? ” 
 
 ““T 2? Qh, no,” she smiled with simple-hearted mirth. “ Not 
 at all. I looked at you ail, 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.”’ 
 
 “T’ve heard that you’ve had a hard life with your brother 
 without me ?” 
 
 “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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘“ Wouldn’t you like to go back into the nunnery ? ” 
 
 ‘“‘T 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? Tm all alone in the world now. It’s too 
 late for me to begin a third life.”’ 
 
 “You seem very angry about something. Surely you're 
 not afraid that I’ve left off loving you ?”’ 
 
 “T’m not troubling about you at all. Um afraid that I may 
 leave off loving somebody.”’ 
 
 She laughed contemptuously. 
 
 *“ [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.” 
 
 ‘“* What’s turned out ?” 
 
 ‘“T’m only afraid whether there’s something on his 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 allin 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 ?”’ 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch did not speak. ; 
 
 * But Pll turn round now ‘and look at you.’ She seemed to 
 
NIGHT 257 
 
 decide suddenly. ‘‘ You turn to me, too, and look at me, but more 
 attentively. I want to make sure for the last time.” 
 
 ““ ve been looking at you for a long time.” 
 
 “H’m!” said Marya Timofyevna, looking at him intently. 
 “You've grown much fatter.” 
 
 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. 
 
 “ What’s the matter with you ?” cried Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
 vitch, almost enraged. 
 
 But her panic lasted only one instant, her face worked with a 
 sort of strange smile, suspicious and unpleasant. 
 
 “T beg you, prince, get up and come in,” she brought out 
 suddenly, in a firm, emphatic voice. 
 
 ““Comein? Wheream[ tocome in?” 
 
 *“‘T’ve been fancying for five years how he would comein. 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.” 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch ground his teeth, and muttered 
 something to himself. 
 
 ‘** Enough,” he said, striking the table with his open hand. 
 ““T 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. “‘ To- 
 morrow 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. Ill never abandon you or put you in a mad- 
 house. 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. Youshall pray, go where you like, and do what youlike. 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. Ill 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 youready? You won't regret 
 
 it, torment me with tears and curses, will you ? ” 
 R 
 
258 THE POSSESSED 
 
 She listened with extreme curiosity, and for a long time she 
 was silent, thinking. 
 
 ‘It all seems incredible to me,” she said at last, ronthatly 
 and disdainfully. ‘‘I might live for forty years in those 
 mountains,” she laughed. 
 
 “What of it ? Let’s live forty years then . . .”’ said Nikolay 
 Vsyevolodovitch, scowling. 
 
 “'H’m! I won't come for anything.” 
 
 ** Not even with me ?”’ 
 
 ‘* 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 nowa- 
 days! 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. 
 
 Light seemed to dawn upon him. 
 
 ‘‘ What makes you call me a prince, and . . . for whom do 
 you take me ?”’ he asked quickly. 
 
 ‘“‘ Why, aren’t you the prince ? ” 
 
 ‘“‘T never have been one.” 
 
 ‘“‘So yourself, yourself, you tell me straight to my face that 
 you're not the prince ? ” 
 
 ‘TI tell you I never have been.” 
 
 ‘‘Good Lord !”’ she cried, clasping her hands. “I was ready 
 to expect anything from his enemies, but such insolence, never ! 
 Is he alive ?”’ she shrieked in a frenzy, turning upon Nikolay 
 Vsyevolodovitch. “Have you killed him ? Confess!” 
 
 “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. 
 
 “‘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 some one 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. 
 {understand you all, every one of you.” 
 
 : He seized her firmly above the elbow; she laughed in his 
 ace. 
 “You're like him, very like, perhaps you’re a relation—you’re 
 
NIGHT 2 259 
 
 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 he/ My 
 falcon would never have been ashamed of me before a fashionable 
 young lady. Ohheavens! 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! 
 Hada? 40 3? 
 
 ~ “Ugh, idiot !”’ snarled Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, still holding 
 her tight by the arm. 
 
 ““Go away, impostor!’ she shouted peremptorily. “‘?m 
 the wife of my prince ; I’m not afraid of your knife ! ” 
 
 “Knife !” 
 
 “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 !”’ 
 
 ‘““ 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 : 
 
 “A curse on you, Grishka Otrepyev!”’ 
 
 IV 
 
 “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, en the spot where Fedka had met him that evening. He 
 found the man lying in wait for him again. Seeing Nikolay 
 
260 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 3 
 
 “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. ° 
 
 Without speaking again or turning round, Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
 dovitch 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. 
 
 They crossed the -ridge 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. 
 
 “Is it true, as they say, that you robbed a church in the 
 district the other day?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked 
 suddenly. 
 
 “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 over- 
 looking an insult. 
 
NIGHT 261 
 
 “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 alto- 
 gether. The chin setting of St. Nikolay of pure silver went for 
 next to nothing. They said it was plated.” 
 
 “You killed the watchman ?”’ 
 
 “‘ 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,”’ . 
 
 “* Well, you can rob and murder again.” 
 
 “ 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’porth 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 Lebyad- 
 kin’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. Ive 
 chanced to see it with my own eyes, for in our way of life it’s 
 impossible to live without assistance. .. .” 
 
 ‘“‘ How do you mean with your own eyes ? Did you go in at 
 night then ?” 
 
 “‘ Maybe I did go in, but no one knows of it.” 
 
 ** Why didn’t you kill him ?” 
 
 “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 
 
262 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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.” 
 
 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 
 “ch ! ech!” were still to be heard in the darkness. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 THE DUEL 
 I 
 
 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 ina 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 dis- 
 patched 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 
 263 
 
264 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 azain, 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, 
 Mavriky Nikolaevitch and Gaganov arrived on the spot in a 
 smart char-a-bane 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-a- 
 bane, 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. 
 
THE DUEL 265 
 
 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 com- 
 ments. 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 Vsye- 
 volodovitch 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 par- 
 ticular. 
 
 II 
 
 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. 
 
 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 con- 
 taminating 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 econcmic 
 advantages, suddenly felt himself personally insulted by the 
 
266 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 sove- 
 reign 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 Peters- 
 burg, in which he had moved of late, he behaved with extra- 
 ordinary 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. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 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 : 
 
 “T entirely agree with Mr. Kirillov’s words. . . . This idea 
 
THE DUEL 267 
 
 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 ?”’ 
 
 He flushed all over. He had rarely spoken so much, and with 
 such excitement. 
 
 “I repeat again my offer to make every possible apology,” 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch interposed hurriedly. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 He stamped again. There were flecks of foam on his lips. 
 
 ““ Negotiations are over. I beg you to listen to the signal !”’ 
 Kirillov shouted at the top of his voice. “One! Two! 
 Three !” 
 
 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 Vsyevolo- 
 dovitch 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. 
 
 “‘T 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 ! ”’ 
 
 ‘‘T have the right to fire as I like so long as I keep the rules,” 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asserted resolutely. 
 
 ‘“No, he hasn’t! Explain it to him! Explain it!” cried 
 Gaganov. 
 
268 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘I’m in complete agreement with Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch,”’ 
 proclaimed Kirillov. 
 
 ‘““ Why does he spare me ?”’ Gaganov taped; not hearing him. 
 “I despise his mercy. . I spit on it. Li 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘Tf he’s so afraid of bloodshed, ask him why he challenged 
 me,” yelled Gaganov, still addressing Mavriky Nikolaevitch. 
 
 “How could he help challenging you ?”’ said Kirillov, inter- 
 vening. ‘‘ You wouldn’t listen to anything. How was one to 
 get rid of you ?”’ 
 
 “Tl only mention one thing,’’ observed Mavriky Nikolae- 
 vitch, 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,” — 
 
 ‘TI 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.” 
 
 ‘In that case the encounter can go on,” said Mavriky Nikolae- 
 vitch to Gaganov. 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 *“ 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.”’ 
 
 ‘’ 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 
 
THE DUEL 269 
 
 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. 
 
 “Too long ; you’ve been aiming too long!” Kirillov shouted 
 impetuously. “Fire! Fire!” 
 
 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. 
 
 “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 Nikolae- 
 vitch. 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. 
 
 Iil 
 
 “Why don’t you speak ?”’ he called impatiently to Kirillov, 
 when they were not far from home. 
 
 ‘What do you want ?”’ replied the latter, almost slipping off 
 his horse, which was rearing. 
 
 Stavrogin restrained himself. 
 
 **T didn’t mean to insult that ... fool, and I’ve insulted 
 him again,” he said quietly. 
 
 ‘Yes, you’ve insulted him again,” Kirillov jerked cut, “and 
 besides, he’s not a fool.” 
 
 “ T’ve done all I can, anyway.” 
 
 6é No.”’ 
 
 ‘‘ What ought I to have done ? ” 
 
 “Not have challenged him.” 
 
270 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘“* Accept another blow in the face ? ”’ 
 
 ““ Yes, accept another.” 3 
 
 “IT can’t understand anything now,” said Stavrogin wrath- 
 fully. ‘‘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 ?” 
 
 ‘‘ T thought you were seeking a burden yourself.” 
 
 ‘“‘T seek a burden ?” 
 
 3 
 
 (a9 Yes.”’ 
 
 *“You’ve ... seen that 2” 
 ** Yes.” 
 
 ** Is it so noticeable 2? ”’ 
 
 ce Yes.”’ 
 
 There was silence for a moment. Stavrogin had a very 
 preoccupied face. He was almost impressed. 
 
 ‘““T didn’t aim because I didn’t want to kill anyone. There 
 was nothing more init, I assure you,”’ he said hurriedly, and with 
 agitation, as though justifying himself. 
 
 ‘““ You ought not to have offended him.” 
 
 ‘“‘ What ought I to have done then ? ”’ 
 
 ‘“* You ought to have killed him.”’ 
 
 ‘* Are you sorry I didn’t kill him ?” 
 
 ‘““[Tm not sorry for anything. I thought you really meant 
 to kill him. You don’t know what you're seeking.”’ 
 
 “‘T seek a burden,” laughed Stavrogin. 
 
 “Tf you didn’t want blood yourself, why did you give him a 
 chance to kill you ?”’ 
 
 “Tf I hadn’t challenged him, he’d have killed me simply, 
 without a duel.”’ 
 
 ‘“That’s not your affair. Perhaps he wouldn’t have killed 
 
 Oud 
 
 ‘Only have beaten me ? ” 
 
 ‘“That’s not your business. Bear your burden. Or else 
 there’s no merit.” 
 
 ‘““Hang your merit. I don’t seek anyone’s approbation.” 
 
 “T thought you were seeking it,’ Kirillov commented with 
 terrible unconcern. 
 
 They rode into the courtyard of the house. 
 
 ““ Do you care to come in ?”’ said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. 
 
 “No; I’m going home. Good-bye.” . 
 
 He got off the horse and took his box of pistols under his arm. 
 
THE DUEL | 271 
 
 “ Anyway, you're not angry with me?” said Stavrogin, 
 holding out his hand to him. 
 
 ‘‘ 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.” 
 
 *“T know I’m a worthless character, and I don’t pretend to be 
 a strong one.” 
 
 ‘You'd better not; you're not a strong person. Come and 
 have tea.”’ 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went into the house, greatly 
 perturbed. 
 
 IV 
 
 He learned at once from Alexey Yegorytch that Varvara 
 Petrovna had been very glad to hear that Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
 vitch 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.” 
 
 *“« 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.”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 ?” 
 
 ‘“‘ T’ll tell her, sir,” said Alexey Yegorytch, with distress in his 
 voice, dropping his eyes. 
 
 ‘Not till you see clearly she’s meaning to come and see me of 
 herself, though.”’ 
 
 “Don’t be afraid, sir, there shall be no mistake. Your 
 interviews have all passed through me, hitherto. You’ve alneys 
 turned to me for help.” 
 
 “TI know. Not till she comes of herself, anyway. Bring me 
 some tea, if you can, at once.’ 
 
 The old man had hardly gone out, when almost at the same 
 
272 THE POSSESSED 
 
 instant the door reopened, and Darya Pavlovna appeared in the 
 doorway. Her eyes were tranquil, though her face was pale. 
 
 ‘“‘ Where have you come from ?”’ exclaimed Stavrogin. 
 
 “‘T 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.” 
 
 ‘“T’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. 
 
 “T thought myself that we must break it off. Varvara 
 
 ‘Petrovna is too suspicious of our relations.” 
 
 ** Well, let her be.”’ 
 
 “She mustn’t be worried. So now we part till the end 
 comes.” 
 
 “* You still insist on expecting the end ?” 
 
 ** Yes, I’m sure of it.” 
 
 ** But nothing in the world ever has an end.” 
 
 **This will have an end. Then call me. Ill come. Now, 
 good-bye.” | 
 
 ‘“‘ And what sort of end will it be ?”’ smiled Nikolay Vsyevo- 
 lodovitch. 
 
 ‘* You’re not wounded, and. . . have not shed blood ?’”’ she 
 asked, not answering his question. 
 
 ‘Tt 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.” | 
 
 “T’m going. The announcement of the marriage won’t be 
 to-day ?”’ she added irresolutely. 
 
 ‘Tt 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.” 
 
 “You won’t ruin that other . . . mad girl?” 
 
 **T 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 ?”’ 
 
 *“*T know that at the end I shall be the only one left you, and 
 
 . [’m waiting for that.” . 
 
THE DUEL 273 
 
 “And what if I don’t send for you after all, but run away 
 from you ?”’ 
 
 “That can’t be. You will send for me.” 
 
 *“‘ There’s a great deal of contempt for me in that.” 
 
 “You know that there’s not only contempt.”’ 
 
 “Then there is contempt, anyway ?”’ 
 
 “Tused the wrong word. God is my witness, it’s my greatest 
 wish that you may never have need of me.” 
 
 “One phrase is as good as another. I should also have wished 
 not to have ruined you.” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “Wo, 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 ?”’ 
 
 ** Are you very ill?” she asked sympathetically, looking at 
 him in a peculiar way. “Good heavens! And this man wants 
 to do without me !”’ 
 
 “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! Aregular shopkeeper. Haha!” 
 
 “ But you’re fully convinced that it was an hallucination ¢ ” 
 
 “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 ! ”’ 
 
 “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!” 
 
 8 
 
274 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘‘ 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. 
 
 Dasha was frightened. 
 
 ““T’ve no question at all, and no doubt whatever; you'd 
 better be quiet!” she cried in dismay, as though waving off 
 his question. 
 
 ‘hen you’re convinced that I won’t go to Fedka’s little 
 shop 2” 
 
 “Oh, God!” she cried, clasping her hands. “Why do you 
 torture me like this ? ”’ 
 
 ‘‘ 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 for 
 ever 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.”’ 
 
 Dasha seized his hand. 
 
 ‘“‘God save you from your demon, and .. . call me, call me 
 quickly !”’ 
 
 “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 ?”’ 
 
 She looked at him with pain and reproach, and turned towards 
 the door. 
 
 “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 ? ” 
 
 She went out, hiding her face in her hands, and neither turning 
 nor answering, 
 
 “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.” 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 ALL IN EXPECTATION 
 I 
 
 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 
 init. 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 
 275 
 
276 THE POSSESSED 
 
 off home early in the morning to Duhovo, without being hindered. 
 Meanwhile, of course, all were eager for some one 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. 
 
 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 réle 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 “‘T’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 [ 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 ridof him. H’m! 
 

 
 
 
 ALL IN EXPECTATION 277 
 
 Quite in the style of the guards of the twenties. Is there any 
 house where he visits here ? ”’ 
 
 The general paused as though expecting an answer. A way 
 had been opened for the public impatience to express 
 itself. 
 
 ‘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 ! ” 
 
 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. 
 
 “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. 
 
 “Yes, Pyotr Mihailovitch, yes,’ the other chimed in with zest, 
 “‘ talk of the younger generation ! ”’ 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘* 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 : 
 
 ‘“‘ He didn’t merely refrain from challenging the student. He 
 put his hands behind him, note that particularly, your 
 excellency,” somebody pointed out. | 
 
 9 
 
278 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘‘ And he didn’t haul him up before the new law-courts, 
 either,’ added another. 
 
 ‘‘ In spite of the fact that for a personal insult to a nobleman 
 he’d have got fifteen roubles damages! He he he!” | 
 
 “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 !”’ 
 
 “It’s the truth. It’s the truth!” 
 
 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 some- 
 what 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 Vsyevo- 
 lodovitch’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. 
 
 ‘* And if there had been a hundred lame girls—we’ve all been 
 young once!” 
 
 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. 
 
 So by the time Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch made his appearance 
 among them he was received by every one with naive solemnity. 
 
ALL IN EXPECTATION 279 
 
 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. Ina word, he was a success, 
 he was thefashion. If once one has figured in provincial society, 
 there’s no retreating into the background. Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
 dovitch 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. 
 
 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 Vsyevo- 
 lodovitch 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. 
 
 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. | 
 
 ‘“T misunderstood that woman,” she declared, and with her 
 characteristic impulsiveness she frankly told Yulia Mihailovna 
 that she had come to thank her. Yulia Mihailovna was flattered, 
 but she behaved with dignity. She was beginning about this 
 
280 | THE POSSESSED 
 
 time to be very conscious of her own importance, too much so, 
 in fact. She announced, for example, in the course of conversa- 
 tion, that she had never heard of Stepan Trofimovitch as a leading 
 man or a savant. 
 
 ‘“‘T 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. 
 
 “The Dresden Madonna? You mean the Sistine Madonna ? 
 Chére 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.”’ 
 
 ‘ Fashions are changed then ? ”’ 
 
 “ What I think is that one mustn’t despise our younger genera- 
 tion 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’vecome 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. J 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 
 
ALL IN EXPECTATION 281] 
 
 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 Kar- 
 mazinov. 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. Ido, 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.” 
 ‘“* Allow me to put my name down in your subscription list too. 
 I’ll tell Stepan Trofimovitch and will beg him to consent.” 
 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. 
 ‘“‘T’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. | 
 ‘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 
 
282 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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,” 
 
 ‘ Oh, he'll read something.” 
 
 “‘T don’t mean only that. And I was meaning to drop in on 
 him to-day. So shall I tell him ?”’ 
 
 “‘Tf 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.” 
 She frowned. 
 
 “ Oh, it’s not worth while fixing a time. Ill simply give him 
 the message.” ; 
 
 “Very well, do. Add that I certainly will fix a time to see 
 him though. Be sure to say that too.” 
 
 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. 
 
 “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. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘'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. 
 
 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. 
 
 
 
‘ALL IN EXPECTATION 283 
 
 Ii 
 
 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 naively conde- 
 scending, 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 studying 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, 
 before her eyes. Oh, how that book tortured him! Hesometimes 
 flung it aside in despair, and leaping up, paced about the room 
 almost in a frenzy. 
 
 ‘‘T 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, 
 
284 THE POSSESSED f 
 
 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 ? ”’ 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch again preserved a dignified silence. I 
 was sitting on a sofa in the corner. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘And that Yulia Mihailovna counts on my coming to read: 
 for her !.”’ 
 
 “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 witha 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 isit ? You'd better let me look 
 at it three days beforehand, or else you'll put us to sleep 
 perhaps.” | 
 
 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. 
 
 “And she, she herself sent me this message through you?” 
 he asked, turning pale. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “I filling a flunkey’s place?” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, 
 unable to restrain himself. 
 
ALL IN EXPECTATION 285 
 
 “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 !”’ : 
 
 *“ She showed you my letters !”’ 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “For money! She, she says it was for money!” Stepan 
 Trofimovitch wailed in anguish. 
 
 ““Whatelse, then? But, ofcourse, stoodupforyou. 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 humilia- 
 ting; I believe that’s what she’ll do. Do you remember your 
 last letter to me, three weeks ago ?”’ 
 
 ‘Can you have shown her that ?” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, 
 leaping up in horror. | 
 
 “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! HowlIdid laugh. Asa rule your letters are very tedious. 
 
286 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 tip- 
 top of perfection! HowIdid laugh! Oh, how I laughed !”’ 
 
 ‘Monster, monster !’’ wailed Stepan Trofimovitch. 
 
 ‘“‘ Foo, damn it all, there’s no talking to you. I say, you’re 
 getting huffy again as you were last Thursday.” 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch drew himself up, menacingly. 
 
 ‘““ How dare you speak to me in such language ? ”’ 
 
 “What language ? It’s simple and clear.” 
 
 “‘ Tell me, you monster, are you my son or not ?”’ 
 
 ‘““You know that best. To be sure all fathers are disposed 
 to be blind in such cases.” 
 
 ‘Silence! Silence!” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, shaking all 
 over. 
 
 *< 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 2, LY 
 
 ‘** Another word and I’ll box your ears.’ 
 
 ‘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, any- 
 way, 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 ! 
 3t was from him I first heard them.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Oh, I meant that in a higher sense! Oh, you didn’t under- 
 stand me! You understood nothing, nothing.” 
 
 “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 
 
ALL IN EXPECTATION 287 
 
 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 anactor. I’m net Varvara Petrovna, 
 mind you.” 
 
 He got up and took his hat. 
 
 “I curse you henceforth ! ” 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch, as pale as death, stretched out his hand 
 above him. : 
 
 ** Ach, what folly a man will descend to ! ”’ cried Pyotr Stepano- 
 vitch, 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, letit be short. Good-bye.” 
 
 II] 
 
 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 beside 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. 
 
 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 educa- 
 tional institutions which are filled with the youth from families 
 
288 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 Of his native language he had only an ungrammatical know- 
 ledge, 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 melan- | 
 choly 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 
 
ALL IN EXPECTATION 289 
 
 he was by now not “‘ Lembka’”’ but ‘ Von Lembke.””. Theschool- 
 fellow 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 depen- 
 dence on his fellow-countryman, the influential general. 
 
 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 gesticu- 
 lated 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. 
 
 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 
 T 
 
290 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 govern- 
 ment 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. 
 
 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 moré 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. 
 
 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 ° 
 
ALL IN EXPECTATION 291 
 
 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 satis- 
 factorily. But now Pyotr Stepanovitch had turned up, and 
 something queer began to happen. 
 
 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 Yula 
 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 sleptin 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.” 
 
292 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 naive 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 Antono- 
 vitch 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. 
 
 “Perhaps you told him about the church too?” she burst 
 out almost in dismay. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘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. 
 
ALL IN EXPECTATION 293 
 
 We must make much of our young people; I treat them with 
 affection and hold them back from the brink.” 
 
 ** 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.” 
 
 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.” 
 
 Lembke winced. 
 
 “But this is premature among us, premature,” he pro- 
 nounced almost imploringly, pointing to the manifestoes. 
 
 ‘“‘ No, it’s not premature; you see you're afraid, so it’s not 
 premature.” 
 
 ‘* But here, for instance, is an incitement to destroy churches.”’ 
 
 “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. . . .” 
 
 ‘JT agree, I agree, I quite agree with you, but it is premature, 
 premature in this country .. .” said Von Lembke, frowning. 
 
 *¢ 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 ?”’ 
 
 Lembke was greatly put out at being so crudely caught. 
 
 “‘ 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 govern- 
 ment, 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. 
 
294 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. _Under- 
 stand 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.” 
 
 Andrey Antonovitch rose to positive eloquence. He had been 
 fond of talking in a Liberal and intellectual style even in Peters- 
 burg, and the great thing here was that there was no one to play 
 the spy on him. 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch was silent, and maintained an unusually 
 grave air. This excited the orator more than ever. 
 
 ‘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, activité dévorante, Dll supply 
 actwité dévorante. Ive 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 activité dévorante, and you can’t 
 
ALL IN EXPECTATION 295 
 
 have it without an increase of the governor’s power. We’re 
 talking téte-d-iéte. 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.” 
 
 ‘You ought to have two,” Pyotr Stepanovitch commented. 
 
 “ Why two ?”’ said Von Lembke, stopping short before him. 
 
 “ One’s:not enough to create respect for you. You certainly 
 ought to have two.” 
 
 Andrey Antonovitch made a wry face. 
 
 “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 bowrru bienfaisant. .. .” 
 
 “Well, that’s as you please,’’ muttered Pyotr Stepanovitch ; 
 “anyway you pave the way for us and prepare for our 
 success.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Now, who are ‘we,’ and what success ?’”’ said Von Lembke, 
 staring at him in surprise. But he got no answer. 
 
 Yulia Mihailovna, receiving a report of the conversation, was 
 greatly displeased. 
 
 “But I can’t exercise my official authority upon your 
 favourite,’ Andrey Antonovitch protested in self-defence, 
 “especially when we're (éte-d-léte. . . . [may say toomuch.. . 
 in the goodness of my heart.”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ 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.” 
 
 “But . . . he asked to have them for one day.”’ 
 ‘“‘ And you’ve let him have them, again!” cried Yulia Mihail- 
 ovna getting angry. ‘‘ How tactless !”’ 
 
 ‘“‘T’ll send some one to him at once to get them.” 
 
 “He won't give them up.” 
 
 “T’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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘ 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 
 
296: THE POSSESSED 
 
 new outlet for their ambitions. He’s devoted to me with his 
 whole heart and is guided by me in everything.”’ 
 
 ‘“ But while they’re being petted . . . the devil knows what 
 they may not do. Ofcourse, it’s anidea .. .”’ said Von Lembke, 
 
 vaguely defending himself, “but... but here Tve heard i 
 
 that manifestoes of some sort have been found in X district.”’ 
 
 ‘* 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 ?” 
 
 *T heard it from Von Blum.” 
 
 “Ah, don’t talk to me of your Blum. Don’t ever dare 
 mention him again !”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 “Please don’t worry yourself about Verhovensky,”’ she said 
 inconclusion. ‘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 rae him, 
 He’s quite fanatically devoted to me.’ 
 
 I will observe, anticipating events that, had it not ‘ae 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, 
 
 
 
CHAPTER V 
 ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 
 
 I 
 
 Tue date of the féte 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 ?”’ . 
 
 A private drawing-room committee was formed, at which it 
 was decided that the féte 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 sai anyone. I repeat again that 
 
 7 
 
298 THE POSSESSED 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch was always, in continual whispers, strengthen- 
 ing 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. 
 
 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 beintheair. 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. 
 
 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 leutenant, 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 
 
ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 299 
 
 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 herown 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. 
 
 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. 
 
300 THE POSSESSED 
 
 Instantly a party of a dozen was made up, all of them on horse- 
 back, 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. 
 
 ‘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 ‘indignan # 
 
 But there were pranks of a certain character that were abso- 
 lutely past endurance. 
 
 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 after- 
 wards, 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, 
 
ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 301 
 
 who had learned with indignation the secret details of this loath- 
 some 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 com- 
 posed 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 ”’ : 
 
 * Qu’ un sang impur abreuve nos sillons.”’ 
 
 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 out- 
 stretched to Providence. 
 
 “* Pas un pouce de notre terrain ; pas une de nos forteresses.” 
 
 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 : 
 
 ‘“QOwun sang impur .. . 
 
 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 everything. ... 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 seli- 
 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 
 
 99 
 
302 THE POSSESSED 
 
 out ?”? Peace wasmade. 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 One morning the news of a hideous and revolting sacrilege 
 was all over the town. At the entrance to our immense market- 
 place 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 estab- 
 lished 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. 
 
ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 303 
 
 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 
 dishamonk. Butit 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. 
 
 I remember at one o’clock in theafternoon I crossed the market- 
 place ; 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. 
 
 “May 1? May I? For the adornment of the setting ?” 
 she asked the monk. 
 
 ’ 
 
 # 
 
304 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘‘ It is permitted,’ replied the latter, “ every gift is good.” 
 
 The crowd was silent, expressing neither dissent nor approval. 
 Liza got on her horse again, in her muddy riding-habit, and 
 galloped away. 
 
 II 
 
 Two days after the incident I have described 1 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. pest lately she had been very 
 lively, even playful, in fact. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 | 
 
 
 
ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 305 
 
 had crossed the bridge and reached the hotel of the town, some 
 one 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. JI 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 hand- 
 writing, 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 trust- 
 worthy. 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 
 U : 
 
306 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 plate- 
 ful 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 ratcsonneur. 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. 
 
 
 
ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 307 
 
 Wearrived 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 Yakov- 
 levitch 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 
 
308 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 All were waiting for their chance, not daring to speak of them- 
 selves. 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. 
 
 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 land- 
 owner, 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. liyamshin, at any rate, 
 looked through an opera-glass. Semyon Yakovlevitch calmly 
 and lazily scanned all with his little eyes. 
 
 ‘“‘ Milovzors! Milovzors!’”’ he deigned to pronounce, in a 
 hoarse bass, and slightly staccato. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 diffe- 
 rently, 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. — 
 
ON THE EVE OF THE FETE ) 309 
 
 “Semyon Yokovlevitch, 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. 
 
 “With sugar in it!’ said Semyon Yakovlevitch suddenly, 
 pointing to the wealthy merchant. The latter moved forward 
 and stood beside the kneeling gentleman. 
 
 “Some more sugar for him!”’ ordered Semyon Yakovlevitch, 
 after the glass had already been poured out. They put some 
 more in. ‘‘ More, more, forhim!’ More was putin a third time, 
 - andagain a fourth. The merchant began submissively drinking 
 his syrup. 
 
 ““ Heavens !’’ whispered the people, crossing themselves. The 
 kneeling gentleman again heaved a deep, sonorous sigh. 
 
 “Father! Semyon Yakovlevitch!’’ The voice of the poor 
 ady 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, ve been waiting for grace. Speak 
 to me. Consider my case in my helplessness.”’ 
 
 *“‘ Ask her,” said Semyon Yakovlevitch to the verger, who 
 went to the partition. 
 
 *“Have you done what Semyon Yakovlevitch bade you last 
 time ?” he asked the widow in a soft and measured voice. 
 
 “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 !” 
 
 ‘Give her !”’ Semyon Yakovlevitch pointed to a sugar-loaf. 
 The boy skipped up, seized the sugar-loaf and dragged it to the 
 widow. 
 
 “Ach, father; great is your merciful kindness. What am I 
 to do with so much ?”’ wailed the widow. 
 
 “More, more,” said Semyon Yakovlevitch lavishly. 
 
 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 
 
310 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘‘ What am I to do with so much,” the widow sighed obse- 
 quiously. ‘‘It’s enough to make one person sick! ... Is it 
 some sort of a prophecy, father ? ”’ 
 
 ‘‘ Be sure it’s by way of a prophecy,”’ said some one in the crowd. 
 
 ‘* Another pound for her, another!’’ Semyon Yakovlevitch 
 persisted. | 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘‘ Lord have mercy on us!” gasped the people, crossing them- 
 selves. ‘‘ It’s surely a prophecy.” 
 
 ‘‘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 rdéle of interpreter in an access of wounded 
 vanity. 
 
 ‘‘ 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) debut 
 
 ‘“ Away with her! Away with her!’ Semyon Yakovlevitch 
 said suddenly, waving his hands. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““Qne to be taken away. Take it away,’ Semyon Yakovle- 
 vitch 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. 
 
 ““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 ?”’ 
 
 “ Frost,’ Semyon Yakovlevitch pronounced. 
 
 ““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. 
 
ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 311 
 
 “ Ask him !”’ said Semyon Yakovlevitch, not heeding her, but 
 pointing to the kneeling gentleman. 
 
 The monk from the monastery to whom the order was given 
 moved sedately to the kneeling figure. 
 
 ““How have you sinned ? And was not some command laid 
 upon you 2?” 
 
 “Not to fight ; not to give the rein to my hands,” answered 
 the kneeling gentleman hoarsely. 
 
 ““ Have you obeyed ? ” asked the monk. 
 
 “I cannot obey. My own strength gets the better of me.” 
 
 _ 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. 
 
 ‘ He’s left a gold piece where he knelt,” observed the monk, 
 picking up a half-imperial. 
 
 “For him!” said the saint, pointing to the rich merchant. 
 The latter dared not refuse it, and took it. 
 
 ‘* Gold to gold,”’ the monk from the monastery could not refrain 
 from saying. 
 
 “‘ 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. 
 
 ‘* The long one, the long one ! ’? Semyon Yakovlevitch corrected 
 him. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ Mavriky Nikolaevitch,”’ cried Liza, addressing him suddenly. 
 “That kneeling gentleman has gone away. You kneel down 
 in his place.” 
 
 Mavriky Nikolaevitch looked at her in amazement. 
 
 “TI 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 ! ” 
 
 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 
 
312 THE POSSESSED 
 
 him, loved him, and respected him, and he knew that himself— 
 but from a peculiar unconscious hatred which at times she could 
 not control. 
 
 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 naive 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. 
 
 * Anoint, anoint !’’ muttered Semyon Yakovlevitch. 
 
 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. | : 
 
 “Get up! Get up!” she screamed, as though she were 
 crazy. ‘‘Get up at once, at once. How dare you ?” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““Milovzors! .Milovzors!’? Semyon Yakovlevitch repeated 
 again. 
 
 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 : 
 
 ‘Well, Semyon Yakovlevitch, won’t you utter some saying 
 for me? I’ve been reckoning so much on you.” 
 
 ** Out with the , out with the »’ said Semyon Yakovle- 
 vitch, 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. 
 
 At this point, however, there took place, Iam told, an extremely 
 
 
 
 
 
ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 313 
 
 enigmatic incident, and, I must own, it was chiefly on account 
 of it that I have described this expedition so minutely. 
 
 Iam 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. 
 
 It 
 
 Almost at the same time, and certainly on the same day, 
 the interview at last took place between Stepan Trofimoviich 
 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 féte 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 recog- 
 nised. She seemed completely transformed, and instead of the 
 unapproachable “‘ noble lady”’ (Stepan Trofimovitch’s expression) 
 seemed changed into the most commonplace, whimsical society 
 
314 THE POSSESSED 
 
 woman. But perhaps this may only have been on the 
 surface. 
 
 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. 
 
 The latter had long before received notice ne 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. 
 
 ‘“‘T 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.’ 
 
 Varvara Petrovna suddenly put down her pencil on the table 
 and turned quickly to Stepan Trofimovitch. 
 
 “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 ?”’ 
 
 She had been in too great a hurry to show the tone she meant 
 to take. And what might not come next ? 
 
 “Wait, be quiet; let me speak. Afterwards you shall, 
 though really I don’t know what you can answer me,” she said 
 ina rapid patter, “ The twelve hundred roubles of your pension 
 
ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 315 
 
 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 
 itout. 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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ 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. Out, la comparaison 
 peut étre permise. C’était comme un petit Cosaque du Don quit 
 sautait sur sa propre tombe. Now...” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘In an almshouse ? ”’ 
 
 **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,” | 
 
316 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘* Passons.” 
 
 ‘* Passons ?”? Varvara Petrovna winced. ‘‘ But, if so, that’s 
 all. You’ve been informed that we shall live henceforward 
 entirely apart.” 
 
 ‘* And that’s all?’ he said. ‘‘ All that’s left of twenty years ? 
 Our last farewell ? ”’ 
 
 ‘* You’re awfully fond of these exclamations, Stepan Trofimo- 
 vitch. 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. 
 Yow ’re a stylist, and not a friend, and friendship is only a splendid 
 word. In reality—a mutual exchange of sloppiness. . . .”’ 
 
 “Good heavens! How many sayings not yourown! Lessons 
 learned by heart! They’ve already put their uniform on you 
 too. You, too, are rejoicing; you, too, are basking in the 
 sunshine. Chére, chére, for what a mess of pottage you have 
 sold them your freedom!” 
 
 ‘“Y’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 asa 
 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.” 
 
 “That was not that, not that. ... we were afraid then of 
 persecution. . . .” 
 
 “Tt 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 
 
ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 317 
 
 his salary. Isn’t that so? Do remember that? You have 
 distinguished yourself all your life, Stepan Trofimovitch.” 
 “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 ? ”’ 
 
 ‘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 con- 
 descendingly into your cravat, as though I were incapable of 
 the same feelings as you.” 
 
 “It was not so. It was probably not so. J’at oublié!” 
 
 ‘**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.” 
 
 ‘* Established, is it ? ”’ 
 
 “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 any- 
 thing 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, ’m 
 sure. This is what all our theories amount to, now that the 
 first light of free investigation has dawned upon them.” 
 
 ‘* Indeed, indeed.”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 it’s 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 
 
318 THE POSSESSED 
 
 to be forbidden by law, even in the present state of society. 
 In the new régime there will be no poor at all.”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ Oh, what an eruption of borrowed phrases! So it’s come to 
 the new régime already ? Unhappy woman, God help you!” 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 ‘‘ Knough!’”’ said he, getting up from his seat. ‘‘ Enough! 
 And what can I wish you now, unless it’s repentance ? ”’ 
 
 “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 ? ” 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 ‘So yowre 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 Trofimo- 
 vitch, I am speaking entirely in your own interest. It would 
 be a different matter if you would take some short but interesting 
 story of medizval 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.”’ 
 
 ‘* Karmazinov—that fool who has written himself out—looking 
 for a subject for me !”’ 
 
 ‘“ Karmazinov, that almost imperial intellect. You are too 
 free in your language, Stepan Trofimovitch.”’ 
 
 ‘Your Karmazinov is a spiteful old woman whose day is 
 over. Chére, chére, how long have you been so enslaved by 
 them? Oh God!” 
 
 “IT can’t endure him even now for the airs he gives himself. 
 But I do justice to his intellect, Irepeat, I have done my best 
 to defend you as far as I could. And why do you insist on being 
 
ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 319 
 
 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.” 
 
 “Chere, 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.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Tt will certainly be you alone, Stepan Trofimovitch.”’ 
 
 ‘Such is my fate. I will speak of the contemptible slave, of 
 the stinking, depraved fiunkey 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 . . .” 
 
 ‘The madhouse ? ” 
 
 ‘Perhaps. Butin 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. Alea jacta est.” 
 
 He got up again. 
 
 ‘*T’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.”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ 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.” 
 
 “‘ How stupid that is!”’ | 
 
 ‘‘ 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. 
 
320 | THE POSSESSED 
 
 .. . L always imagined there was something higher than meat 
 and drink between us, and—lI’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 hoar- 
 frost of old age covers the road before me, and the wind howls 
 about the approaching grave. ... But so forward, forward, 
 on my new way 
 
 ‘ Filled with purest love and fervour, 
 Faith which my sweet dream did yield.’ 
 
 Oh, my dreams. Farewell. Twenty years. Alea jacta est!” 
 
 His face was wet with a sudden gush of tears. He took 
 his hat. . 
 
 ‘““T don’t understand Latin,” said Varvara Petrovna, doing 
 her best to control herself. 
 
 Who knows, perhaps, she too felt like crying. But caprice 
 and indignation once more got the upper hand. 
 
 ‘‘T 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.” 
 
 ‘* Alea jacta est!’? He made her a deep bow, and returned home, 
 almost dead with emotion.. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 
 
 I 
 
 THE date of the féte 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 out- 
 breaks 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. 
 
 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 regula- 
 tions 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 
 321 % 
 
322 THE POSSESSED 
 
 character. Alas, she had no thought to spare for that, and that 
 was the source of many misunderstandings. 
 
 There are some things of which it is not suitable for me ae 
 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. 
 
 But to return to Yulia Mihailovna. The poor lady (I feel very 
 sorry for her) might have attained all that attracted and allured 
 ner (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 a2 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 irrecon- 
 cilable, 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 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 323 
 
 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 con- 
 cealed 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 il 
 
 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 
 
394 THE POSSESSED 
 
 though small, stout, and rosy-cheeked. He resented the repri- 
 mand 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 Biichner, 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 frances 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 mani- 
 festoes were found in his pockets and his lodgings. 
 
 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 Antono- 
 vitch 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. 
 
 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 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 325 
 
 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 pro- 
 ceeded to pay off the workpeople and, as it appeared, cheated 
 them shamelessly. The hands began to complain among them- 
 selves, 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. 
 
 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 {éte-ad-téte 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 hi table. ‘‘ This increases your 
 collection, eh ?”’ 
 
 Andrey Antonovitch flushed crimson; his face seemed to 
 twitch. 
 
 “ Leave off, leave off at once!” he cried, trembling with 
 rage. “And don’t you dare...sir...” 
 
 ‘‘ What’s the matter with you ?. You seem to be angry !”’ 
 
 “ Allow me to inform you, sir, that I’ve no intention of putting 
 
326 THE POSSESSED 
 
 up with your sans fagon henceforward, and I beg you to re- 
 member". §.0'.)” 
 
 “Why, dafnti it all, he is in earnest ! ”’ 
 
 “Hold your tongue, hold your tongue ’’—Von Lembke stamped 
 on the carpet—‘‘ and don’t dare...” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘* 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. 
 
 Lembke turned red ‘and looked embarrassed. 
 
 *“* 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. 
 
 ‘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 mea task, ee [st? 
 
 Lembke dropped his eyes sternly. 
 
 “I haven’t slept for the last two nights, thanks to you. It 
 was found the day before yesterday, but T 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 sans que cela paraisse! 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 warit to 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY ‘327 
 
 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 .. .” 
 
 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. 
 
 ““T 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...” 
 
 ““My manners are always the same... .” 
 
 *I know, and I believe that you mean nothing by it, but 
 sometimes one is worried. . . . Sit down.” 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch immediately lolled back on the sofa and 
 drew his legs under him. 
 
 It 
 
 ‘‘ 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.” 
 
 ‘You mean at the time you were staying there ? ”’ 
 
 “ Of course, it was not in my absence. I remember there was 
 a hatchet printed at the top of it. Allowme.” (He took up the 
 manifesto.) ‘‘ Yes, there’s the hatchet here too; that’s it, the 
 very same.” 
 
 ‘* Yes, here’s a hatchet. You see, a hatchet.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Well, is it the hatchet that scares you ?” 
 
 “No, it’s not... and I.am not scared; but this business 
 it is a business ; there are circumstances.” 
 
328 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘“‘ What do you mean ?’”’ Von Lembke stared at him severely. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘““ 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.’ 
 
 ““And the workmen are in rebellion. They ought to be 
 flogged, every one of them; that would be the end of it.” 
 
 “In rebellion? That’s nonsense; I gave the order and 
 they’ve cleaned it.”’ 
 
 *‘ Ech, you are soft, Andrey Antonovitch ! ” 
 
 “Tn 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. 
 
 “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 ?” 
 
 ** You say you've seen it abroad ?’”’ Von Lembke said eagerly. 
 
 *“‘T should think so, four months ago, or may be five.” 
 
 “You seem to have seen a great deal abroad.’’ Von Lembke 
 looked at him subtly. 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch, not heeding him, unfolded the document 
 and read the poem aloud : 
 
 ‘A NOBLE PERSONALITY 
 
 ** 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. 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 329 
 
 He set out to teach the people 
 Freedom, love, equality, 
 
 T'o 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 
 
 T’o rebel against their fate, 
 
 T'o arise and crush the T'sardom 
 And the nobles’ vicious hate, 
 
 T'o share all the wealth in common, 
 And the antiquated thrall 
 
 Of the church, the home and marriage 
 T'o abolish once for all.” 
 
 “You got it from that officer, I suppose, eh ?’’ asked Pyotr 
 Stepanovitch. 
 
 ‘“* Why, do you know that officer, then, too ?” 
 
 “TI should think so. I had a gay time with him there for 
 two days; he was bound to go out of his mind.” 
 
 ** Perhaps he did not go out of his mind,” 
 
 ** You think he didn’t because he began to bite ?”’ 
 
 ** But, excuse me, if you saw those verses abroad and then, 
 it appears, at that officer’s . . .” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “A favour? H’m... by all means; I am waiting and, 
 
330 THE POSSESSED 
 
 I confess, with curiosity. And I must add, Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
 that you surprise me not a little.” 
 
 Von Lembke was in some agitation. Pyotr Stepanovitch 
 crossed his legs. 
 
 ‘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. Butnow ... 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. ..1... . 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘For whom are you interceding, and what does all this 
 mean ?”’ he inquired majestically, trying to conceal his curiosity. 
 
 “It...its...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 under- 
 standing ... damn...” 
 
 The poor fellow evidently could not master his emotion. 
 
 “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?” 
 
 ‘But how am I to guess if you don’t make up your mind to 
 speak out ?” 
 
 “'That’s just it; you always cut the ground from under one’s 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 331 
 
 feet with your logic, damn it. ... Well, here goes... this 
 ‘noble personality,’ this ‘student’... is Shatov .. . that’s 
 all.” 
 
 ‘“Shatov ? How do you mean it’s Shatov ?” 
 
 “* Shatov is the ‘ student’ who is mentioned in this. He lives 
 here, he was once a serf, the man who gave that slap... .” 
 
 ‘“T know, I know.” Lembke screwed up his eyes. ‘“ But 
 excuse me, what is he accused of ? Precisely and, above all, 
 what is your petition ?”’ 
 
 “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 misfcrtunes, 
 and not as some impossible political plot or God knows what !” 
 
 He was almost gasping for breath. 
 
 ‘“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 ?”’ 
 
 ** But I tell you that at the utmost there are not more than 
 five people in it—a dozen perhaps. How ean I tell ?” 
 
 “You don’t know ?” 
 
 “How should I know ?—damn it all.” 
 
 “Why, you knew that Shatov was one of the conspirators.”’ 
 
 “Bch!” 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 some one else here . . . and Shatov 
 perhaps and some one 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.” 
 
332 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘“‘Tf the poem is his work, no doubt the manifestoes are too. 
 But what data have you for suspecting Mr. Shatov ?”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘ Here are the facts,” he cried, flinging it on the table. 
 
 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 : 
 
 ‘*T can’t print ‘A Noble Personality’ here, and in fact I 
 
 can do nothing; print it abroad. i Late Ces 
 
 Lembke looked intently at Pyotr Stepanovitch. Varvara 
 Petrovna had been right in saying that he had at times the 
 expression of a sheep. 
 
 ‘* 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.” 
 
 ‘Yes, that’s clear, but to whom did he write? That’s not 
 clear yet,’’ Lembke observed with the most subtle irony. _ 
 
 “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 ?”’ 
 
 He feverishly mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. 
 
 ‘“‘f know something, perhaps.”’ Lembke parried dexterously. 
 ** But who is this Kirillov 2?” 
 
 ‘‘ 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. LEvery single one of them ought 
 to be in an asylum; I had a good look at them in Switzerland 
 and at the congresses.” 
 
 “From which they direct the movement here ? ”’ 
 
 ““ Why, who directs it? Three men and a half. It makes 
 one sick to think of them. And what sort of movement is 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 333 
 
 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.” 
 
 Lembke listened with attention but with an expression that 
 seemed to say, ‘‘ You don’t feed nightingales on fairy-tales.”’ 
 
 ‘“* 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 ?” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “Then you were yourself... 
 
 ** 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 recommenda- 
 tion—damn jit all... and Shatov circulates it among the 
 young people as much as to say, ‘ This was Herzen’s opinion of 
 me.’ be) 
 
 ‘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 ?” 
 
 ‘‘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. JI 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 school- 
 boy, two noblemen of twenty, a teacher, and a half-pay major 
 
 99 
 
334 "THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 ?” 
 
 ‘What ?”’ cried Lembke, opening wide his eyes. ‘‘ Do you 
 mean to say you said nothing of this to Yulia Mihailovna ?”’ 
 
 “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 your- 
 self, 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 [ appealing to you? Because 
 you are @ man, anyway, a serious person with old-fashioned 
 firmness and experience in the service. You’veseen 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. 
 ... ¥ou know, she would like to astonish Petersburg. No, 
 she’s too hot-headed, she really is.”’ 
 
 “Yes, she has something of that fowgue,’’ 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. 
 
 ‘* Fougue 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 
 
. PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 335 
 
 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.” 
 
 “Thaveheard ...” (Lembke hesitated to utter his thought) 
 ‘*T have heard that on your return from abroad you made some 
 expression . . . agit were of repentance, in the proper quarter ?”’ 
 
 ** Well, that’s as it may be.” 
 
 ** 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. .. .” 
 
 “T’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.” 
 
 ** T didn’t mean that when I agreed/and said it was premature.” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘** What’s my character to you ?”’ 
 
 “How can I tell what it may be tome?” He laughed again. 
 ** You see, my dear and highly respected Andrey Antonovitch, 
 you are cunning, but it’s not come to thai yet and it certainly 
 never will come to it, you understand ?. Perhaps you do under- 
 stand. 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 there 
 has yet instructed me to investigate your character and I’ve 
 not undertaken any such job from them. Consider: I need not 
 have given those two names to you. I might have gone straight 
 there; 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 
 
336 THE POSSESSED 
 
 may put in a word for me, if you like. . . . I’ll make no objec- 
 tion, he he! Adieu, 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. 
 
 ‘“* 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 .'.).”” 
 
 ‘‘ 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.”’ 
 
 “So be it.” 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 IJ 
 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. 
 
 ‘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 .. .” 
 
 ‘What about Stavrogin ?”’ 
 
 ‘I mean, if they are such friends ? ”’ 
 
 “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. ... Hm... Stavrogin—it’s quite 
 the opposite, quite. . . . Avis au lecteur.”’ 
 
 ‘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 instruc- 
 tions, so to speak. . . .” 
 
 “T know nothing about it 5 I know nothing, absolutely nothing. 
 Adieu. Avis au lecteur!’ Abruptly and obviously Pyotr 
 Stepanovitch declined to discuss it. 
 
 He hurried to the door. 
 
 “Stay, Pyotr Stepanovitch, stay,” cried Lembke. ‘“‘ One other 
 tiny matter and I won’t detain you.’ 
 
 He drew an envelope out of a table drawer. 
 
 ‘““ Here is a little specimen of the same kind of thing, wise I 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 337 
 
 let you see it to show how completely I trust you. Here, and 
 tell me your opinion.” 
 
 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: 
 
 “Your ExcretLency,—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. Fur 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. 
 
 ‘“REPENTANT FREE-THINKER INCOGNITO.” 
 
 Von Lembke explained that the letter had made its appearance 
 in the porter’s room when it was left empty the day before. 
 
 ‘““So what do you think ?” Pyotr Stepanovitch asked almost 
 rudely. 
 
 “ T think it’s an anonymous skit by way of a hoax.” 
 
 “Most likely it is. There’s no taking you in.” 
 
 ‘“ What makes me think that is that it’s so stupid.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Have you received such documents here before ? ” 
 
 “Once or twice, anonymous letters.” 
 
 “ Oh, of course they wouldn’t be signed. In a different style 
 
 In different handwritings ?”’ 
 oN 
 
338 THE POSSESSED 
 
 re owdt 
 *‘ And were they buffoonery like this one 2?” 
 “Yes, and you know... very disgusting.” 
 
 if Well, if you had them before, it must be the same thing 
 now,’ 
 
 “Especially because it’s so stupid. Because these people 
 are educated and wouldn’t write so stupidly.” 
 
 ‘Of course, of course.”’ 
 
 “But what if this is some one who really wants to turn 
 informer ?”’ 
 
 ““Tt’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.”’ 
 
 “Yes, yes,’ Lembke admitted, abashed. 
 
 “T tell you what: you leave this with me. I can certainly 
 find out for you before I track out the others.”’ 
 
 “ Take it,’’ Lembke assented, though with some hesitation. 
 
 *‘ Have you shown it to anyone ? ” 
 
 “Ts it likely! No.” 
 
 ** Not to Yulia Mihailovna ? ” : 
 
 ““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.” 
 
 _ “ 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!” 
 
 IV 
 
 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 2 
 perfect simpleton. 
 
 Like every morbidly suspicious man, Andrey Antonovitch 
 was always exceedingly and joyfully trustful the moment he got 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 339 
 
 on to sure ground. The new turn of affairs struck him at first 
 in a rather favourable light in spite of some fresh and trouble- 
 some 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 genera- 
 tion ” 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. 
 
 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 apolo- 
 gise 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. Hither 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 
 
340 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 Antono- 
 vitch besought her with clasped hands, told her pathetically all 
 the story of Blum and their friendship from childhood, but 
 Yulia Mihailovna considered herself disgraced for ever, 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 exist- 
 ence. He had long been aware of Andrey Antonovitch’s literary 
 peccadilloes. He was generally summoned to listen to secret 
 téte-a-téte 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. 
 
 Andrey Antonovitch looked with anguish at Blum. 
 
 “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. 
 
 ‘‘ 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. 
 
 ‘“* 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.” 
 
 “You always say witty things, and sleep in peace satisfied 
 with what you’ve said, but that’s how you damage yourself.”’ 
 
 ‘“* Blum, I have just convinced myself that it’s quite a mistake, 
 quite a mistake.”’ 
 
 *‘ 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.”’ 
 
 “Blum, you understand nothing about it; your project is 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 341 
 
 absurd, I tell you. We shall find nothing and there will be a 
 fearful upset and laughter too, and then Yulia Mihailovna .. .” 
 
 “ 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.”’ 
 
 “Oh heavens! Every one has these books; how simple you 
 are, my poor Blum.” 
 
 ‘*‘ 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.” 
 
 “ But you are mixing up the father and the son. They are 
 not on good terms. The son openly laughs at his father.” 
 
 * That’s only a mask.” 
 
 “ Blum, you've sworn to torment me! Think! he is a con- 
 spicuous 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.” 
 
 “ Vulia 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. 
 
342 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘‘ Allow me, allow me,” he persisted, pressing both hands 
 still more tightly on his chest. 
 
 “Get away!” hissed Andrey Antonovitch. ‘‘ Do what you 
 like ... afterwards. Oh, my God!” 
 
 The curtain was raised and Yulia Mihailovna made her appear- 
 ance. 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. 
 
 Either because he really took Andrey Antondvitich'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 advan- 
 tage 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 governcr 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. 
 
 V 
 
 It was a busy day for Pyotr Stepanovitch. From Yon 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. 
 
 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 Merci (which 
 he had meant to read at the literary matinée at Yulia Mihailovna’s 
 féte). 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 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 343 
 
 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. 
 
 The great writer was staying in the house belonging to his 
 sister, who was the wife of a kammerherr 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 kammerherr’s, 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 “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. 
 
 “You don’t... wouldn’t like some lunch?” inquired 
 Karmazinov, abandoning his usual habit, but with an air, of 
 
344 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 “ What will you have, cutlet or coffee ?’’ he asked once more. 
 
 “A cutlet and coffee, and tell him to bring some more wine. 
 Iam 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ Are you unwell ?”’ commented Pyotr Stepanovitch. 
 
 *““ 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.” | 
 
 “Why ? I didn’t say I'd come.” ! 
 
 “No, but you have my manuscript. Have you... read 
 it 2?” 
 
 “Manuscript ? Which one?” 
 
 Karmazinov was terribly surprised. 
 
 “ 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. 
 
 ‘“ Ah, that Bonjour you mean. 
 
 * Mere.” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “No, I'd better send to your rooms at once. It might be 
 lost ; besides, it might be stolen.” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘“ But Moscow might be burnt again and my manuscript with 
 it. No, I'd better send at once.” 
 
 “Stay, here it is!” Pyotr Stepanovitch pulled a roll of 
 
 » 
 ° 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 345 
 
 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.”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 “You don’t read very much, it seems ?”’ he hissed, unable 
 to restrain himself. 
 
 *“ No, not very much.” 
 
 ** And nothing in the way of Russian literature ? ” 
 
 “In the way of Russian literature ? Let me see, I have read 
 something. ... “Onthe 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.” 
 
 A silence followed. | 
 
 “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.”’ 
 ' “Thank you,” Pyotr Stepanovitch answered calmly. 
 
 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. 
 
 “ 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 !.”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘Leaving here soon?” asked Pyotr Stepanovitch from his 
 easy chair, lighting a cigarette. 
 
 ‘T really came to sell an estate and I am in the hands of my 
 bailiff.”’ 
 
 “You left, I believe, because they expected an epidemic out 
 there after the war?” 
 
 ‘‘N-no, not entirely for that reason,” Mr. Karmazinov went 
 on, uttering his phrases with an affable intonation, and each 
 
346 | THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 ?” 
 
 ‘““ How can I tell ?”’ 
 
 ‘““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, every- 
 thing 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 ... [ve no faith in the Russian God.” 
 
 ‘‘ And how about the European one ? ”’ 
 
 “I don’t believe in any. ITve been slandered to the youth 
 of Russia. Ive 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. Every- 
 body 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 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 347 
 
 doomed and awaiting the end. Russia as she is has no future. 
 I have become a German and I am proud of it.” 
 
 “But you began about the manifestoes. Tell me everything: 
 how do you look at them ?” 
 
 ‘‘ 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. | 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.” 
 
 He suddenly stopped. 
 
 ““T 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.” 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch did not insist. 
 
 *“There is a young man here called Shatov,” observed the 
 great writer. “ Would you believe it, I haven’t seen him.” 
 
 ‘A very nice person. What about him?” 
 
 “Oh, nothing. He talks about something. Isn’t he the 
 person who gave Stavrogin that slap in the face ?” 
 
 Pees, 
 
 “ And what’s your opinion of Stavrogin ? ” 
 
348 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘*T don’t know; heis such a flirt.”’ 
 
 Karmazinov detested Stavrogin because it was the latter’s 
 habit not to take any notice of him. 
 
 ‘‘ That flirt,’’ he said, chuckling, “‘ if what is advocated in your 
 manifestoes ever comes to pass, will be the first to be hanged.” 
 
 ‘‘ Perhaps before,’’ Pyotr Stepanovitch said suddenly, 
 
 ‘“‘ Quite right too,’’ Karmazinov assented, not laughing, and 
 with pronounced gravity. 
 
 ‘‘ You have said so once before, and, do you know, I repeated 
 it to him.” 
 
 “What, you surely didn’t repeat it ?”’ Karmazinov laughed 
 again. 
 
 ‘‘ He said that if he were to be hanged it would be enough for 
 you to be flogged, not simply as a compliment but to hurt, as 
 they flog the peasants.” 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch took his hat. and got up from his seat. 
 Karmazinov held out both hands to him at parting. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 ? ”’ 
 
 ‘““How could I tell ?’’ Pyotr Stepanovitch answered rather 
 roughly. They looked intently into each other’s eyes. 
 
 “At a guess? Approximately? ’’ Karmazinov piped still 
 more sweetly. 
 
 ** 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. 
 
 There was a minute of silence. 
 
 ‘It will begin early next May and will be over by October,” 
 Pyotr-Stepanovitch said suddenly. 
 
 ‘“‘T thank you sincerely,’? Karmazinov pronounced in a voice 
 saturated with feeling, pressing his hands. 
 
 “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!” 
 
 He ran to Filipov’s house in Bogoyaviensky Street. 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 349 
 
 VI 
 
 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 Stepano- 
 vitch stood for a minute on the threshold. 
 
 “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 ?”’ 
 
 Kirillov put on his coat. 
 
 “Yes, that’s for the good of my health too,” he muttered 
 dryly. ‘Sit down.” 
 
 “1m only here for a minute. Still, Pll 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. 
 
 *‘ What agreement ? ” 
 
 “How can you ask?” Pyotr Stepanovitch was startled and 
 even dismayed. 
 
 ‘It’s not an agreement and not an obligation. I have not 
 bound myself in any way ; it’s a mistake on your part.” 
 
 “J say, what’s this you’re doing?” Pyotr Stepanovitch 
 jumped up. 
 
 ** What I choose.” 
 
 “What do you choose ?”’ 
 
 ‘The same as before.” 
 
 “How am I to understand that? Does that mean that 
 you are in the same mind ?” 
 
 ‘“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.” 
 
 Kirillov explained himseif curtly and contemptuously. 
 
 ‘“‘T 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.” 
 
350 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “‘T dislike you very much, but you can be perfectly sure— 
 though I don’t regard it as loyalty and disloyalty.” 
 
 ‘“* But do you know”’ (Pyotr Stepanovitch was startled ace 
 ‘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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘* Speak,’’ snapped Kirillov, looking away. 
 
 ‘* You made up your mind long ago to take your life... 1 
 mean, you had the idea in your mind. Is that the right expres- 
 sion? Is there any mistake about that ?”’ 
 
 ‘“‘T have the same idea still.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Excellent. Take note that no one has forced it on you.” 
 
 “* Rather not; what nonsense you talk.” 
 
 “TI dare say I express it very stupidly. Of course, it would 
 be very stupid to force anybody to it. VIl go on. You werea 
 member of the society before its organisation was changed, and 
 confessed it to one of the members.” 
 
 ‘‘T didn’t confess it, I simply said so.”’ 
 
 ‘* Quite so. And it would be absurd to confess such a thing, 
 What a confession! You simply said so. Excellent.” 
 
 ‘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 under- 
 stand 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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ [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.” 
 
 “Drink. Cold tea is good.” 
 
 Kirillov sat down on his chair again and again fixed his eyes 
 on the farthest corner. 
 
 ‘‘ 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.” 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 351 
 
 ** For a few days, anyway ; one day is precious.” 
 
 *“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.” 
 
 ‘** 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. 
 
 ‘* { didn’t bind myself, I agreed, because it makes no difference 
 to me.”’ 
 
 “Good, good. I have no intention of wounding your vanity, 
 bub...’ 
 
 “Tt’s not a question of vanity.” 
 
 ‘* But remember that a hundred and twenty thalers were 
 collected for your journey, so you’ve taken money.” 
 
 “Not at all.” Kirillov fired up. ‘“‘The money was not on 
 that condition. One doesn’t take money for that.” 
 
 ‘‘ People sometimes do.” 
 
 **That’s a lie. I sent a letter from Petersburg, and in Peters- 
 burg 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.’ | 
 
 ‘All right, all right, I don’t dispute anything; it has been 
 sent off. All that matters is that you are still in the seme 
 mind.” 
 
 ‘“* Exactly the same. When you come and tell me it’s time, 
 Vl carry it allout. Willit be very soon ?”’ 
 
 ‘* Not very many days. . .. But remember, we’ll make up 
 the letter together, the same night.” 
 
 ‘* The same day if you like. You say I must take the respon- 
 sibility for the manifestoes on myself ? ” 
 
 ‘* And something else too.” 
 
 ““T am not going to make myself out responsible for every- 
 thing.”’ 
 
 . What won’t you be responsible for ?”’ said Pyotr Stepano- 
 vitch again. 
 
 ‘What I don’t choose ; ; that’s enough. I-don’t want to talk 
 about it any more.’ 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch controlled himself and changed the 
 subject. 
 
 ‘To speak of something else,” he began, “ will you be with us 
 
352 THE POSSESSED 
 
 this evening? It’s Virginsky’s name-day; that’s the pretext 
 for our meeting.” 
 
 ‘I don’t want to.” , 
 
 “Do mea favour. Docome. You must. We must impress 
 them by our number and our looks. You havea face .. . well, 
 in one word, you have a fateful face.” 
 
 ‘You think so?” laughed Kirillov. ‘‘ Very well, Ill come, 
 but not for the sake af my face. What time isit ?” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘““ What's that for ?” 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 ‘“What nonsense! What for?” 
 
 ‘“Why, since it makes no difference to you! You keep 
 saying that it’s just the same to you.” | 
 
 ‘* No, what for ? ”’ 
 
 ‘“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.”’ 
 
 ‘Stage tricks. You haven’t got an inspector in Moscow.” 
 
 ‘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.”’ 
 
 ‘Tell them I am the inspector ; I'll sit still and hold my tongue, 
 but I won’t have the pencil and paper.” 
 
 “But why ?” 
 
 ‘“*T don’t want to.” 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch was really angry; he turned positively 
 green, but again he controlled himself. He got up and took his 
 hat. 
 
 “Is that fellow with you?’ he brought out suddenly, in a 
 low voice, 
 
 6¢ Yes.’’ 
 
 “'That’s good. IT’ll soon get him away. Don’t be uneasy.” 
 
 “Tamnotuneasy Heis only here at night. The old woman 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 353 
 
 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.” 
 
 ** Tl take him away soon.” 
 
 ** He says he has got plenty of places to stay the night in.” 
 
 *That’s rot ; they are looking for him, but here he wouldn't 
 be noticed. Do you ever get into talk with him ?”’ 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “Hang it all, you’ll convert him to Christianity ! ” 
 
 “He is a Christian as it is. Don’t be uneasy, he’ll do the 
 murder. Whom do you want to murder ?” 
 
 “No, I don’t want him for that, I want him for something 
 different. . . . And does Shatov know about Fedka ?” 
 
 ‘*T don’t talk to Shatov, and I don’t see him.”’ 
 
 “Is he angry ?” 
 
 ‘* No, we are not angry, only we shun one another. We lay 
 too long side by side in America.” 
 
 “IT am going to him directly.” 
 
 *“ As you like.” 
 
 ** Stavrogin and I may come and see you from there, about 
 ten o’clock.”’ 
 
 66 Do.”’ 
 
 *T 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. Ill pay you for it if you 
 like.” 
 
 ‘** You can take it without.” 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch put the ball in the back pocket of his coat. 
 
 ‘But Pll 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 “What bad luck!” Pyotr Stepanovitch cried out in the 
 doorway. ‘‘ Are you really ill?” 
 
 Z 
 
354 THE POSSESSED 
 
 The amiable expression of his face suddenly vanished ; there 
 was a gleam of spite in his eyes. ; 
 
 “Not at all.’ Shatov jumped up nervously. ‘I am not ill 
 at all . . . a little headache . . 
 
 He was disconcerted ; the sudden appearance of such a visitor 
 positively alarmed him. 
 
 ‘You mustn’t be ill for the job 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 dragg ved 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 isin your keeping. We’ll doit without 
 being noticed; Ill 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.” 
 
 Shatov listened, frowning and resentful. The nervous alarm 
 of a moment before had entirely left him. 
 
 ‘‘ | 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.”’ 
 
 ‘“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.” 
 
 ‘1 stated my position clearly by letter as soon as I arrived 
 here.” 
 
 “No, it wasn’t clear,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch retorted calmly. 
 ‘“T 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.” 
 
 ‘T refused definitely to print them.” 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY B55 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “You kept that note so carefully then ?”’ 
 
 “My keeping it means nothing ; I’ve got it still.” 
 
 “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?” 
 
 ‘* Your name would be noted, and at the first success of the 
 revolution you would be hanged.” 
 
 “That’s when you get the upper hand and dominate 
 Russia ? ”’ 
 
 *“ 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.” 
 
 “Til come,’ Shatov muttered, looking down thoughtfully. 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch glanced askance at him from his place. 
 
 ‘“* Will Stavrogin be there ?”’? Shatov asked suddenly, raising 
 his head. 
 
 ** He is certain to be.” 
 
 Ha ha!” 
 
 Again they were silent for a minute. Shatov grinned disdain- 
 fully and irritably. 
 
 ‘And that contemptible ‘Noble Personality ’ of yours, that 
 _ I wouldn’t print here. Has it been printed ?”’ he asked. 
 
 “Ves,” 
 
 ““To make the schoolboys believe that Herzen himself had 
 written it in your album ?” 
 
 “Yes, Herzen himself.” 
 
356 «| THE POSSESSED 
 
 Again they were silent for three minutes. At last Shatov got 
 up from the bed. | 
 
 “* Go out of my room ; I don’t care to sit with you.” 
 
 ‘Tm going,” Pyotr Stepanovitch brought out with adil 
 alacrity, getting up at once. ‘‘ Only one word: Kirillov is 
 quite alone in the lodge now, isn’t he, without a servant ?”’ 
 
 * Quite alone. Get along; I can’t stand being in the same 
 room with you.” 
 
 ** 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.” 
 
 VII 
 
 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. 
 
 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 circum- 
 stances, but which had yet taken place. 
 
 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 expres- 
 sion of that smile as he came in; anyway, he stood still in the 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 357 
 
 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 todo so. Nikolay Vsyevo- 
 lodovitch sat down on the sofa facing him obliquely and, looking 
 at Mavriky Nikolaevitch, waited in silence. 
 
 “Tf you can, marry Lizaveta Nikolaevna,” Mavriky Nikolae- 
 vitch 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 “Tf I am not mistaken (but it’s quite certain), Lizaveta 
 Nikolaevna is already betrothed to you,” Stavrogin said at last. 
 
 “ Promised and betrothed,’ Mavriky Nikolaevitch assented 
 firmly and clearly. 
 
 “You have ... quarrelled ?. Excuse me, Mavriky Nikolae- 
 vitch.” 
 
 ‘* No, she ‘ loves and respects me’; those are her words. Her 
 words are more precious than anything.” 
 
 ** Of that there can be no doubt.” 
 
 * 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.” 
 
 “From the wedding ?”’ 
 
 “Yes, and after the wedding.” 
 
 * Aren't you making a mistake ?” 
 
 ““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.” 
 
 “ 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?” 
 
 Mavriky Nikolaevitch frowned and for a minute he looked 
 
 down. 
 “‘That’s all words on your part,” he brought out suddenly, 
 
358 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ** 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 7’s and go into it 
 all? Very well, I will dot my 2’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.” : 
 
 ‘Will you shoot yourself on our wedding day ?”’ 
 
 “* No, much later. Why stain her bridal dress with my blood ? 
 Perhaps I shall not shoot myself at all, either now or later.” 
 
 ““T suppose you want to comfort me by saying that ?”’ 
 
 “You ? What would the blood of one more mean to you ? ” 
 
 He turned pale and his eyes gleamed. A minute of silence 
 followed. 
 
 ‘‘ 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.” 
 
 ‘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 ?” 
 
 ‘Generally speaking, I can’t speak of my feeling for this 
 woman or that to a third person or to anyone except the woman 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY | 359 
 
 herself. You must excuse it, it’s a constitutional peculiarity. 
 But to make up for it, Pll 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.” 
 
 Mavriky Nikolaevitch was so astounded that he started back 
 in his chair and for some time stared fixedly into Stavrogin’s 
 face. 
 
 ‘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.”’ 
 
 He turned terribly pale ; suddenly he brought his fist down on 
 the table with all his might. 
 
 “Tf after that confession you don’t leave Lizaveta Nikolaevna 
 alone, if you make her unhappy, Pll kill you with my stick like 
 a dog in a ditch!” 
 
 He jumped up and walked quickly out of the room. Pyotr 
 Stepanovitch, running in, found his host in a most unexpected 
 frame of mind. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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. 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 “T 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.” 
 
 ‘¢* Surly dullards,’ as you once deigned to express it.” 
 
 “Nothing is more amusing sometimes than a surly dullard.”’ 
 
 ‘Ah, you mean Mavriky Nikolaevitch ? I am convinced he 
 came to give up his betrothed to you, eh? I egged him on to 
 
360 THE POSSESSED 
 
 do it, indirectly, would you believe it? And if he doesn’t give 
 her up, we'll take her, anyway, won’t we—eh ? ” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘You still reckon you'll help me ?”’ he asked. 
 
 “Tf you call me. But you know there’s one way, and the best | 
 one.” 
 
 “Do I know your way ?”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ Oh no, that’s a secret for the time. Only remember, a secret 
 has its price.”’ 
 
 ‘I know what it costs,’’ Stavrogin muttered to himself, but 
 he restrained himself and was silent. 
 
 “What it costs? What did yousay?” Pyotr Stepanovitch 
 was startled. 
 
 ‘““T 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 ? ”’ 
 
 ** Oh, all sorts! Even Kirillov.” 
 
 ** All members of circles ? ”’ | 
 
 “ Hang it all, youareinahurry! There’s not one circle formed 
 yet.” 
 
 ‘How did you manage to distribute so many manifestoes 
 then ?” 
 
 ‘‘ 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.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Are things going badly then? Is there a hitch ?” 
 
 “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 
 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 361 
 
 very useful ; but they waste a lot of one’s time, they want inces- 
 sant 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.” 
 
 ‘“ Tf so, why do you take so much trouble ? ” 
 
 ‘“‘ 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.” 
 
 ‘** And always the same sort of rabble ! ” 
 
 “Raw material. Even they will be of use.” 
 
 ** And you are still reckoning on me ?”’ 
 
 “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 ? ” 
 
 ‘* 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 hai” 
 
 “But you... you shall pay for those words,” Pyotr Stepa- 
 novitch thought to himself, ‘‘ and this very evening, in fact. You 
 go too far.” 
 
 This or something like this must have been Pyotr Stepano- 
 vitch’s reflection. They were approaching Virginsky’s house. 
 ‘“‘ You’ve represented me, no doubt, as a member from abroad, 
 
362 THE POSSESSED 
 
 an inspector in connection with the Internationale ?”’ Stavrogin 
 asked suddenly. 
 
 ‘‘ 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 réle. You are going to 
 speak, of course ? ”’ : 
 
 ‘“‘ What’s put that idea into your head ? ” 
 
 ‘* Now you are bound to speak.” 
 
 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. 
 ‘“‘And are you going to speak?” he suddenly asked Pyotr 
 Stepanovitch. 
 
 ‘“‘ No, I am going to listen to you.” 
 
 ‘Damn you, you really are giving me an idea ? ”’ 
 
 ‘What idea?” Pyotr Stepanovitch asked quickly. 
 
 ‘‘ Perhaps I will speak there, but afterwards I will give you a 
 hiding—and a sound one too, you know.” 
 
 ‘* 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.” 
 
 ‘“* But I never said such a thing; ha ha!” 
 
 “No matter. Se non é vero...” 
 
 ** Well, thanks. Iam truly obliged.” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “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?” 
 
 ‘* Anyone who has a question like that in his mind doesn’t 
 utter it.” 
 
 ‘*‘T understand, but we are by ourselves.” 
 
 ‘‘ No, so far J am not one of the higher police. Enough, here 
 we are. Compose your features, Stavrogin; I always do mine 
 when I goin. A gloomy expression, that’s all, nothing more is 
 wanted ; it’s a very simple business.” . 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 A MEETING 
 I 
 
 Virarnsky 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 con- 
 versation.”’ 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 unpardon- 
 ably 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 accoucheuses 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 mies wat time when “ everything 
 
364 THE POSSESSED 
 
 holy ” might have come in most useful. Our town doctor, 
 Rozanov—he too was an accoucheur—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. | 
 
 But though she was a nihilist, Madame Virginsky did not, 
 when occasion arose, disdain social or even old-fashioned super- 
 stitions 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.” 
 
 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 dis- 
 hevelled, 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 
 
A MEETING 365 
 
 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. 
 
 But I must be allowed to give a few explanations to make 
 things clear. 
 
 I believe that all these people had come together in the agree- 
 able 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 Verho- 
 vensky 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 Tolka- 
 tchenko, 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. 
 
366 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 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 con- 
 sented 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 Verho- 
 vensky 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. 
 
 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 
 
A MEETING | 367 
 
 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 The 
 Bell 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. 
 
 The rest of the guests were either types of honourable amour- 
 propre crushed and embittered, or types of the generous impulsive- 
 ness 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 note- 
 book. 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 enthusi- 
 astic 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. 
 
 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 
 
368 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 schooiboy 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 Verho- 
 vensky came in, her cheeks were as red as cranberries: she had 
 just quarrelled with her uncle over his views on the woman 
 question. 
 
 Ii 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘ Stavrogin, will you have tea ?” 
 
 ** Please,’ he answered. 
 
 “Tea for Stavrogin,’’ she commanded her sister at the samovar. 
 “And you, will you?” (This was to Verhovensky.) 
 
 “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 !”’ 
 
 ‘““ What, you believe in keeping name-days too!” the girl- 
 student laughed suddenly. “‘ We were just talking of that.” 
 
A MEETING 369 
 
 “ That’s stale,’ muttered the schoolboy at the other end of 
 the table. 
 
 “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. 
 
 “I only meant,” cried the schoolboy with tremendous excite- 
 ment, “‘ 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. ;....” 
 
 “You drag it out so, one can’t understand what you mean,” 
 shouted the girl. 
 
 *““T 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...” 
 
 ** 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.” 
 
 ** 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 tco much thought,” the schoolboy 
 muttered, almost in despair, losing his thread completely. 
 
 “Tf you don’t know how to talk, you’d better keep quict,”’ 
 blurted out the girl. 
 
 The schoolboy positively jumped from his chair. 
 
 ‘“‘T 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 !”’ 
 
 *‘ That’s a nasty and immoral idea and shows the worthless- 
 ness of your development. I beg you not to address me again,”’ 
 the girl rattled off. 
 
 “ 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 
 
 2A 
 
370 THE POSSESSED 
 
 which they exist at present? That’s the question. What's 
 your opinion ? ” | 
 
 ‘‘ What do you mean by ‘come about’ ?”’ Stavrogin asked in 
 his turn. 
 
 “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 ? ”’ 
 
 ‘‘ That’s not quite the same thing... .””. Madame Virginsky 
 tried to check her. 
 
 ‘‘f think the answer to this question wouldn’t be quite dis- 
 creet,’’ answered Stavrogin. 
 
 ‘“* 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ You ought to write vaudevilles,’’ Madame Virginsky observed 
 to Stavrogin. | 
 
 ‘Tt does you no credit, I don’t know what your name is,” the 
 girl rapped out with positive indignation. 
 
 ‘‘ 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.” 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 “But Iam your uncle; I used to carry you about when you 
 weré a baby !” 
 
 ‘‘T 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 asa fellow-citizen. I forbid 
 you to do it, once for all.” 
 
 ‘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 flighty windmills—no, that makes me ache all over! 
 
A MEETING 371 
 
 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.” 
 
 “You can’t say anything yourself, and only hinder other 
 people talking,” the lady of the house grumbled indignantly. 
 
 “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 
 whatI 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.’ ” 
 
 “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 sucha 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.”’ 
 
 ‘“*You’re a goose !”’ said the major. 
 
 *“* And you are a fool!” 
 
 ‘You can call me names ! ” 
 
 “Excuse me, Kapiton Maximitch, you told me yourself you 
 don’t believe in God,” Liputin piped from the other end of the 
 
 table. 
 ‘“‘ What if I did say so—that’s a different matter. I believe, 
 
372 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 meso! 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.” 
 
 ‘‘Haven’t you any cards?” asked Verhovensky, with a 
 mighty yawn, addressing Madame Virginsky. 
 
 ‘““T sympathise with your question, I sympathise entirely,” 
 the girl-student broke in hotly, flushed with indignation at the 
 major’s words. 
 
 ‘“‘ We are wasting precious time listening to silly talk,’ snapped 
 out the lady of the house, and she looked reprovingly at her 
 husband. 
 
 The girl pulled herself together. 
 
 ‘“‘T 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 .. .” 
 
 ** There’s no such thing as moral or immoral,” the schoolboy 
 brought out, unable to restrain himself as soon as the girl began. 
 
 “‘T knew that, Mr. Schoolboy, long before you were taught it.”’ 
 
 ‘‘ 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.”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ 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. 
 
 “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.” | 
 
 “Tl venture to ask one question,” said the lame teacher 
 
A MEETING 373 
 
 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.” 
 
 This “sly ” question made an impression. People looked at 
 each other, every one expecting some one else to answer, and 
 suddenly all, as though at a word of command, turned their eyes 
 to Verhovensky and Stavrogin. 
 
 “I suggest our voting on the answer to the question whether 
 we are a meeting or not,” said Madame Virginsky. 
 
 “I entirely agree with the suggestion,” Liputin chimed in, 
 “though the question is rather vague.” 
 
 “TL agree too.”’ ‘‘ And so do I,” cried voices. 
 ‘I too think it would make our proceedings more in order,”’ 
 confirmed Virginsky. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “Again!” cried Lyamshin. ‘I’ve strummed enough for 
 you.” 
 
 “1 beg you most particularly, sit down and play. Don’t you 
 care to do anything for the cause ?”’ 
 
 “But I assure you, Arina Prohorovna, nobody is eaves- 
 dropping. It’s only your fancy. Besides, the windows are 
 high, and people would not understand if they did hear.” 
 
 ‘* We don’t understand ourselves,’’ some one 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.” | 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 ‘“‘T propose that those who want it to be a meeting should 
 put up their right hands,” Madame Virginsky proposed. 
 
 Some put them up, others did not. Some held them up and 
 then put them down again and then held them up again. 
 
 ‘“ Hoo! I don’t understand it at all,” one officer shouted. 
 
 “1 don’t either,”’ cried the other. 
 
 “‘Oh, I understand,” cried a third, “If it’s yes, you hold 
 your hand up.” . 
 
374 THE POSSESSED 
 
 *‘ But what does ‘ yes’ mean ?” 
 
 ‘* Means a meeting.” 
 
 ** No, it means not a meeting.” 
 
 “IT voted for a meeting,” cried the schoolboy to Madame 
 Virginsky. 
 
 ** Then why didn’t you hold up your hand ?”’ 
 
 “‘ T was looking at you. You didn’t hold up yours, so I didn’t 
 hold up mine.”’ 
 
 ‘‘ 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.” 
 
 ‘Those who don’t want it ?”’ inquired the schoolboy. 
 
 ‘““Are you doing it on purpose?” cried Madame Virginsky 
 wrathfully. 
 
 ‘*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. 
 
 ‘Those who don’t want it—those who don’t want it.” 
 
 ‘“‘ 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. 
 
 a Ech, we are not accustomed to constitutional ethics 
 yet !”’ remarked the major. 
 
 ‘* Mr. Lyamshin, excuse me, but you are thumping so that 
 no one can hear anything,” observed the lame teacher. 
 
 * But, upon my word, Arina Prohorovna, nobody is listening, 
 really!” cried Lyamshin, jumping up. “I won't play! Ive 
 come to you as a visitor, not as a drummer ! Lie? 
 
 ‘*Gentlemen,’’ Virginsky went on, “‘ answer verbally, are we 
 a meeting or not ?”’ 
 
 “Weare! Weare!’ was heard on all sides. 
 
 “Tf so, there’s no need to vote, that’s enough. Are you 
 satisfied, gentlemen ? Is there any need to put it to the vote ?”’ 
 
 ‘* No need—no need, we understand.” 
 
 ** Perhaps some one doesn’t want it to be a meeting ?”’ 
 
 ** No, no; we all want it.” 
 
 ‘** But what does ‘ meeting’ mean ?”’ cried a voice. 
 
 No one answered. 
 
 ‘““'We must choose a chairman,” people cried from different 
 parts of the room. 
 
 ** Our host, of course, our host! ” 
 
 “Gentlemen, if so,” Virginsky, the chosen chairman, began, 
 
A MEETING 375 
 
 “T propose my original motion. If anyone wants to say any- 
 thing more relevant to the subject, or has some statement to 
 make, let him bring it forward without loss of time.” 
 
 There was a general silence. The eyes of all were turned again 
 on Verhovensky and Stavrogin. 
 
 * Verhovensky, have you no statement to make ?’’ Madame 
 Virginsky asked him directly. 
 
 ** Nothing whatever,’ he answered, yawning and stretching 
 on his chair. ‘* But I should like a glass of brandy.” 
 
 “ Stavrogin, don’t you want to?” 
 
 Thank you, I don’t drink.” 
 
 * I mean don’t you want to speak, not don’t you want brandy.”’ 
 
 “To speak, what about? No, I don’t want to.” 
 
 “They'll bring you some brandy,’’ she answered Verhovensky. 
 
 The girl-student got up. She had darted up several times 
 already. 
 
 “I have come to make a statement about the sufferings of 
 poor students and the means of rousing them to protest.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ““T ask leave to address the meeting,” Shigalov pronounced 
 sullenly but resolutely. 
 
 ‘“* You have leave.” Virginsky gave his sanction. 
 
 The orator sat down, was silent for half a minute, and pro- 
 nounced in a solemn voice, 
 
 ** Gentlemen ! ”’ 
 
 ‘**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. 
 
 The interrupted orator made a dignified pause. 
 
 ‘‘ Never mind, go on, I am not listening,’ cried Verhovensky, 
 pouring himself out a glass. 7 
 
 “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.” 
 
376 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘“‘ Arina Prohorovna, haven’t you some scissors?” Pyotr 
 Stepanovitch asked suddenly. © | 
 
 ‘‘ What do you want scissors for ?”’ she asked, with wide-open 
 eyes. 
 
 ‘““Tve forgotten to cut my nails; Pve been meaning to for 
 the last three days,’ he observed, scrutinising his long and dirty 
 nails with unruffled composure. 
 
 Arina Prohorovna crimsoned, but Miss Virginsky seemed 
 pleased. 
 
 “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. 
 
 ‘* Dedicating my energies to the study of the social organisa- 
 tion 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 per- 
 plexed by my own data and my conclusion is a direct contra- 
 diction 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.” 
 
 The laughter grew louder and louder, but it came chiefly from 
 the younger and less initiated visitors. There was an expression 
 
A MEETING 377 
 
 of some annoyance on the faces of Madame Virginsky, Liputin, 
 and the lame teacher. 
 
 “Tf you’ve been unsuccessful in making your system con- 
 sistent, and have been reduced to despair yourself, what could 
 we do with it ?”’ one officer observed warily. 
 
 “You are right, Mr. Officer ’°—Shigalov turned sharply to 
 him—“ especially in using the word despair. Yes, 1 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.” 
 
 There was a stir in the company. “Is he mad, or what?” 
 voices asked. 
 
 “So the whole point lies in Shigalov’s despair,’? Lyamshin 
 commented, *“‘and the essential question is whether he must 
 _ despair or not ?”’ 
 
 ‘“‘Shigalov’s being on the brink of despair is a personal 
 question,” declared the schoolboy. 
 
 ‘“‘T 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. 
 
 “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 man- 
 kind 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 primeval 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 
 
378 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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.” 
 
 ‘**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.” 
 
 ** You say that of your own brother ?”’ asked the lame man. 
 
 ** Relationship ? Are you laughing at me ?”’ 
 
 ‘** And besides, to work for aristocrats and to obey them as 
 though they were gods is contemptible!’ observed the girl- 
 student fiercely. 
 
 ‘‘What I propose is not contemptible; it’s paradise, an 
 earthly paradise, and there can be no other on earth,” Shigalov 
 pronounced authoritatively. 
 
 ‘“‘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. DPdonly 
 leave a handful of educated people, who would live happily ever 
 afterwards on scientific principles.” 
 
 ‘No one but a buffoon can talk like that!” cried the girl, 
 flaring up. 
 
 ‘““He is a buffoon, but he is of use,’?’ Madame Virginsky 
 whispered to her. 
 
 ‘* 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.”’ 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 ‘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 
 
A MEETING 379 
 
 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.” 
 
 ‘““I knew I was in for something,’”’ Verhovensky muttered 
 again. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ** Some people go crazy over it,” the major observed suddenly. 
 
 ** We are more likely to arrive at something by talking, any- 
 way, than by sitting silent and posing as dictators,” Liputin 
 hissed, as though at last venturing to begin the attack. 
 
 ** T 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 esthetic enter- 
 tainment. I can understand that in this little town you are 
 bored, so you rush to ink and paper.” 
 
 ‘** Excuse me,” said the lame man, wriggling on his chair, 
 ‘though we are provincials and of course objects of commisera- 
 tion 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 destruc- 
 tion. 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.”’ 
 
 ‘Well, but I haven’t come here for discussion.” Verhovensky 
 let drop this significant phrase, and, as though quite unaware 
 
380 THE POSSESSED 
 
 of his blunder, drew the candle nearer to him that he might see 
 better. i 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘* What’s my toilet to you?” 
 
 ‘“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. 
 
 ‘It’s Russia they rest their hopes on now,”’’ said an officer. 
 
 ‘‘ 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.” 
 
 ‘‘ Yours certainly would be,” observed Verhovensky. 
 
 “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 ! ”’ 
 
 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 atten- 
 tion, 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. 
 
 “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 
 
A MEETING 381 
 
 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 Father- 
 land. Thirdly, it contains what are called treasures of art, and 
 you are a man of esthetic 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. 
 
 ‘‘No, perhaps I am not going to give up the common cause. 
 You must understand that .. .” 
 
 ‘What, would you join the quintet if I proposed it to you ?” 
 Verhovensky boomed suddenly, and he laid down the scissors. 
 
 Every one seemed startled. The mysterious man had revealed 
 himself too freely. He had even spoken openly of the “ quintet.” 
 
 ‘* 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 .. .” 
 
 ** No, this is not a question which allows of a but,’’ 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 
 
382 THE POSSESSED 
 
 g 
 
 metaphor ; but why be afraid of it if, with the slow day-dreams 
 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 communica- 
 tions, 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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘“‘T am certainly for crossing at full steam !’’ cried the school- 
 boy in an ecstasy. 
 
 “So am I,”? Lyamshin chimed in. 
 
 ** There can be no doubt about the choice,’ muttered an officer, 
 followed by another, then by some one else. What struck them 
 all most was that Verhovensky had come “ with communica- 
 tions ’’ and had himself just promised to speak. 
 
 ‘“‘ Gentlemen, I see that almost all decide for the policy of the 
 manifestoes,’’ he said, looking round at the company. 
 
 “All, all!’ cried the majority of voices. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘It appears, then, that even you are not opposed to it,”’ said 
 Verhovensky, addressing the lame man. 
 
 ‘““T am not exactly ...’’ said the latter, turning rather red, 
 “ but-if I do agree with the rest now, it’s simply not to break 
 WD Le) ea 
 
 “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 ?”’ 
 
 (Ready for what? The question was vague, but very 
 alluring.) | 
 
 “ All are, of course !”’ voices were heard. But all were looking 
 at one another. | 
 
 ‘But afterwards perhaps you will resent having agreed so 
 quickly ? That’s almost always the way with you.” 
 
A MEETING 383 
 
 The company was excited in various ways, greatly excited. 
 The lame man flew at him. 
 
 “ 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 .. .” 
 
 “In what strange way ?”’ 
 
 “In a way such questions are not asked.” 
 
 “Teach me how, please. But do you know, I felt sure you’d 
 be the first to take offence.” 
 
 “ 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 ? ”’ 
 
 “You should have thought of asking that question sooner ! 
 Why did you answer? You agree and then you go back on 
 it!” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “What do you mean? What do you mean ?”’ cried Verho- 
 vensky, apparently beginning to be much alarmed. 
 
 “Why, that the initiation of new members into anything you 
 like is done, anyway, téte-d-téte and not in the company of twenty 
 people one doesn’t know!” blurted out the lame man. Hehad 
 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. 
 
 “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 practi- 
 cally innocent matters except téte-d-téie. Are you afraid of 
 informers ? Can there possibly be an informer among us 
 here ?”’ 
 
 The excitement became tremendous ; all began talking. 
 
 ‘““ 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.” 
 
 ‘What question ? What question ?”’ every one clamoured. 
 
384 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “* 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.” 
 
 ‘The question! The question !” 
 
 “‘Tf 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. 
 
 “Why to me first ?” 
 
 ‘* Because you began it all. Beso good as not to prevaricate ; 
 it won’t help you to be cunning. But please yourself, it’s for 
 you to decide.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Excuse me, but such a question is positively insulting.” 
 
 ** No, can’t you be more exact than that ?” 
 
 ‘“‘[’ve never been an agent of the Secret Police,” replied the 
 latter, wriggling more than ever. | 
 
 ‘“ Be so good as to be more definite, don’t keep us waiting.” 
 
 The lame man was so furious that he left off answering. 
 Without a word he glared wrathfully from under his spectacles 
 at his tormentor. 
 
 ““Yesorno? Would youinform or not ?” cried Verhovensky. 
 
 *“ Of course [ wouldn’t,”’ the lame man shouted twice as 
 loudly. 
 
 ‘“‘ And no one would, of course not !”’ cried many voices. 
 
 “‘ 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.” 
 
 ‘“*T won’t inform.” 
 
 * But if you knew that some one meant to rob and murder 
 some one else, an ordinary mortal, then you would inform and 
 give warning ?”’ 
 
 “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.”’ 
 
 “And no one here has,” voices cried again. ‘It’s an un- 
 necessary question. Every one will make the same answer. 
 There are no informers here.”’ 
 
 “ What is that gentleman getting up for?” cried the girl- 
 student. 
 
A MEETING 385 
 
 ‘That's Shatov. What are you getting up for ?”’ cried the 
 lady of the house. 
 
 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. 
 
 “Shatov, this won’t make things better for you!” Verho- 
 vensky called after him enigmatically. 
 
 “ But it will for you, since you are a spy and a scoundrel !”’ 
 Shatov shouted to him from the door, and he went out. 
 
 Shouts and exclamations again. 
 
 * That’s what comes of a test,” cried a voice. 
 
 *‘ It’s been of use,’’ cried another. 
 
 *““ Hasn’t it been of use too late ?’”’ observed a third. 
 
 “Who invited him ? Who let him in? Whois he? Who is 
 Shatov ? Will he inform, or won’t he?’”’ There was a shower of 
 questions. 
 
 ““ If he were an informer he would have kept up appearances 
 instead of cursing it all and going away,” observed some one. 
 
 “See, Stavrogin is getting up too. Stavrogin has not 
 _ answered the question either,’’ cried the girl-student. 
 
 Stavrogin did actually stand up, and at the other end of the 
 table Kirillov rose at the same time. 
 
 ‘““ Excuse me, Mr. Stavrogin,’ Madame Virginsky addressed 
 him sharply, “‘ we all answered the question, while you are going 
 away without a word.” 
 
 “TI see no necessity to answer the question which interests 
 you,” muttered Stavrogin. 
 
 “* But we’ve compromised ourselves and you won't,” shouted 
 several voices. 
 
 ‘“‘ What business is it of mine if you have compromised your- 
 selves ?”’ laughed Stavrogin, but his eyes flashed. 
 
 ‘‘ What business ? What business ?”’ voices exclaimed. 
 
 Many people got up from their chairs. 
 
 ‘Allow me, gentlemen, allow me,” cried the lame man. 
 “Mr. Verhovensky hasn’t answered the question either ; he has 
 only asked it.”’ 
 
 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. F 
 
 B 
 
386 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘‘ 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. 
 
 ‘Be at Kirillov’s directly, [ll come. ... It’s absolutely 
 necessary for me to see you! .. .” 
 
 “ Tt-isn’t necessary for me,’”’ Stavrogin cut him short. 
 
 “‘ Stavrogin will be there,’’ Kirillov said finally. ‘‘ Stavrogin, 
 it is necessary for you. I will show you that there.” 
 
 They went out. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 IVAN THE TSAREVITCH 
 
 Tuery 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. 
 
 ‘“You here already?” observed Kirillov. ‘‘ That’s good. 
 Come in.” | 
 
 ‘“ How is it you told us you lived alone, 
 passing a boiling samovar in the passage. 
 
 ** You will see directly who it is I live with,’’ muttered Kirillov. 
 “ Go in.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ** Well ? ” he asked. 
 
 ‘* 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.” 
 
 ‘* Well, let him go.” 
 
 ‘“‘Let him go! And when we can prevent him, too!” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ** You too.” 
 
 **T don’t think so.”’ 
 
 ‘* 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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘“Why, would it cost money ?”’ 
 
 ‘It certainly would ; two thousand or at least fifteen hundred. 
 Give it to me to-morrow or even to-day, and to-morrow evening 
 
 387 
 
 3? 
 
 asked Stavrogin, 
 
388 THE POSSESSED 
 
 Tll send him to Petersburg for you. That’s just what he wants. 
 If you like, he can take Marya Timofyevna. Note that.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘‘T’ve no reason to send Marya Timofyevna away.” 
 
 ‘‘ Perhaps you don’t even want to,’’ Pyotr Stepanovitch smiled 
 ironically. 
 
 ‘* Perhaps I don’t.”’ 
 
 ‘*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.” 
 
 ‘“Look here, Stavrogin! You know something, or have 
 done something already! You are going it!” 
 
 His face worked, the corners of his mouth twitched, and he 
 suddenly laughed an unprovoked and irrelevant laugh. 
 
 ‘‘ 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. 
 
 ‘“* Ah, you are beginning to joke! ”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘IT won’t give up Shatov to you,” he said. Pyotr Stepano- 
 vitch started. They looked at one another. 
 
 **T 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? Tver 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 
 
IVAN THE TSAREVITCH 389 
 
 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.”’ 
 
 ‘“Has Fedka been to you himself?’ Verhovensky asked 
 breathlessly. 
 
 “Yes, he came. His price is fifteen hundred too.... 
 But here; he’ll repeat it himself. There hestands.’’ Stavrogin 
 stretched out his hand. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘* T suppose you got him ready here to listen to our bargaining, 
 or that he may actually see the money in our hands. Is thatit ?”’ 
 asked Stavrogin ; and without waiting for an answer he walked 
 out of the house. Verhovensky, almost frantic, overtook him 
 at the gate. 
 
 “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. 
 
 ‘“‘ Let us make it up; let us make it up!’ he murmured in a 
 spasmodic whisper. 
 
 Stavrogin shrugged his shoulders, but neither answered nor 
 turned round. 
 
 ‘Listen. I will bring you Lizaveta Nikolaevna to-morrow ; 
 shall 1? No? Why don’t you answer? Tell me what you 
 want. Tlldoit. Listen. Dll let youhave Shatov. ShallI?” 
 
 “Then it’s true that you meant to kill him?” cried 
 Stavrogin. 
 
 ‘‘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 
 
390 ' ‘THE POSSESSED 
 
 by the elbow, probably unaware of what he was doing. ‘ Listen. 
 Til let you have him. Let’s make it up. Your price is a very. 
 great one, but... .. Let’s make it up!” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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. | 
 
 ‘“‘Let’s make it up!’ he whispered once more. “ Listen. 
 Like Fedka, I have a knife in my boot, but PH make it up 
 with you!” 
 
 ‘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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘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. Kar- 
 mazinov is very intelligent. Another ten such groups in different 
 parts of Russia—and I am safe.”’ 
 
 “Groups of fools like that?” broke reluctaritly from 
 Stavrogin. 
 
 ‘‘ 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. 
 
IVAN THE TSAREVITCH 391 
 
 We'll set things in a ferment. . . . Surely you don’t think that 
 we two are not enough ?”’ 
 
 ** Take Shigalov, and let mealone. .. . 
 
 “ 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 *!” 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 * 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.” 
 
 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 ? ”’ 
 
 “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 dis- 
 cipline. 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 
 
 93 
 
392 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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.” 
 
 ‘You exclude yourself ? * Stavrogin broke in again. 
 
 “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—Shiga- 
 lovism. 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?” | 
 
 “That’s enough !”’ Stavrogin muttered with vexation. 
 
 “Enough! Listen. I’ve given up the Pope! Damn Shiga- 
 lovism! Damn the Pope! We must have something more 
 everyday. Not Shigalovism, for Shigalovism is a rare speci- 
 men 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!” 
 
 ‘“‘Let me alone, you drunken fellow!’ muttered Stavrogin, 
 and he quickened his pace. 
 
 “ 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 naiveté 
 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 Ilove beauty. 
 Are nihilists incapable of loving beauty? It’s only idols 
 they dislike, but I love an idol. You are my idol! You injure 
 
 4? 
 
IVAN THE TSAREVITCH 393 
 
 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.” 
 
 He suddenly kissed his hand. A shiver ran down Stavrogin’s 
 spine, and he pulled away his hand in dismay. They stood 
 still. 
 
 ‘*Madman !”’ whispered Stavrogin. 
 
 ‘“* Perhaps Iam raving ; perbaps I am raving,’’ Pyotr Stepano- 
 vitch 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.” 
 
 Stavrogin stood still and looked intently into his wild eyes. 
 
 “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 any- 
 thing 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 
 
394 THE POSSESSED 
 
 appetities. . . . 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 cul- 
 tured man not to commit a murder, if he is in need of money.’ 
 But these are only the firstfruits. 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... .” 
 
 “It’s a pity, too, that we’ve grown greater fools, 
 Stavrogin, moving forward as before. 
 
 ‘“‘ Listen. [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 philan- 
 thropists and Shigalovism, not myself! Iam a scoundrel, not 
 a socialist. Ha ha ha! Pm only sorry there’s no time. I 
 promised Karmazinov to begin in May, and to make an end 
 by October. Is that too soon? Haha! 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.” 
 
 ‘* Well, Verhovensky, this is the first time [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 ? ”’ 
 
 ‘‘ A scoundrel, a scoundrel! You are wondering what I am. 
 Tl tell you what I am directly, that’s what I am leading up to. 
 
 39 
 
 muttered 
 
IVAN THE TSAREVITCH 395 
 
 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 isit, why is it that idea has such a fascination. But we must 
 have a little exercise; we must. Wei’llsetfiresgoing. ... We'll 
 set legends going. Every scurvy ‘ group’ will be of use. Out of 
 those very groups Ill 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 ?”’ 
 
 “ Whom.” 
 
 ‘Ivan the Tsarevitch.” 
 
 ‘* Who-m ?”’ 
 
 ‘Tyan the Tsarevitch. You! You!” 
 
 Stavrogin thought a minute. 
 
 ‘““A pretender?” he asked suddenly, looking with intense 
 surprise at his frantic companion. ‘“‘ Ah! so that’s your plan 
 
 - gt last!” 
 
 ‘“‘ 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!” 
 
 ‘Then have you been seriously reckoning on me ?”’ Stavrogin 
 said with a malicious smile. 
 
 “Why do you laugh, and so spitefully ? Don’t frighten me. 
 T am like a little child now. I can be frightened to death by one 
 smile like that. Listen. Il 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 
 
396 THE POSSESSED 
 
 the land, ‘ We’ve seen him, we’ve seen him.’”’ 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!” 
 
 ‘‘ Madness,”’ said Stavrogin. 
 
 ‘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 
 unreasonabe ? But you see, so far I am Columbus without 
 America. Would Columbus without America seem _ reason- 
 able ?”’ 
 
 Stravrogin did not speak. Meanwhile they had reached the 
 house and stopped at the entrance. 
 
 ‘‘ 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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘Is he really mad ?”’ Stavrogin wondered smiling. The front 
 door was opened. 
 
 ‘“Stavrogin—is America ours?’ said Verhovensky, seizing 
 his hand for the last time. 2 
 
 ‘““What for?” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, gravely and 
 sternly. | 
 
 “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 . 
 
 * The reference is to the legend current in the sect of Flagellants.—Trans- 
 lator’s note. 
 
IVAN THE TSAREVITCH 397 
 
 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! LTinvented 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! ”’ 
 
 Stavrogin went up the steps without answering. 
 
 ** 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!” 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 A RAID AT STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 “Enfin un ami!” (He heaved a deep sigh.) ‘Cher, 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. ... Vous comprenez?”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““ Pardon, fat oublié son nom. Il west pas du pays, but I 
 think he came to the town with Lembke, quelque chose de béte 
 et d’Allemand dans la physionomie. Il s’appelle Rosenthal.” 
 
 ‘“'Wasn’t it Blum ? ” 
 
 * Yes, that was hisname. Vows le connaissez? Quelque chose 
 d’hébété et de trés content dans la figure, pourtant trés sevére, roide 
 et sérieux. A type of the police, of the submissive subordinates, 
 
 je my connais. I was still asleep, and, would you believe it, he 
 398 
 
A RAID AT STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S 399 
 
 asked to have a look at my books and manuscripts! Oui, je 
 m’en souviens, tl a employé ce mot. He did not arrest me, but 
 only the books. II se tenatt & distance, and when he began to 
 explain his visit he looked as though I. . . enfin tl avait lair 
 de crotire que je tomberai sur lua immédiatement et que je commen- 
 cerai a le batire comme pldire. Tous ces gens du bas étage sont comme 
 ca when they have to do with a gentleman. I need hardly say 
 I understood it all at once. Votla vingt ans que je m’y prépare. 
 I opened all the drawers and handed him all the keys; I gave 
 them myself, I gave him all. J’étais digne et calme. From the 
 books he took the foreign edition of Herzen, the bound volume 
 of The Bell, four copies of my poem, et enfin tout ca. Then he 
 took my letters and my papers et quelques-unes de mes ébauches 
 historiques, critiques et politiques. All that they carried off. 
 - Nastasya says that a soldier wheeled them away in:a barrow 
 and covered them with an apron; owt, c’est cela, 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 ? 
 
 “Tl était seul, bien seul, but there was some one else dans 
 Vantichambre, out, je men souviens, et puis... Though I 
 believe there was some one else besides, and there was a guard 
 standing in the entry. You must ask Nastasya ; she knows all 
 about it better than I do. J’états surexcité, voyez-vous. Il 
 parlait, tl parlait ... umn tas de choses; he said very little 
 though, it was I said allthat. . . . I told him the story of my life, 
 simply from that point of view, of'course. J’étais surexcité, mats 
 digne, je vous assure. . . . I am afraid, though, I may have shed 
 tears. They got the barrow from the shop next door.” 
 
 ‘“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.” 
 
 “ Oher, I feel as though I were in a dream myself. . . . Savez-vous / 
 Ila prononcé le nom de Telyatnikof, and I believe that that man 
 was concealed in the entry. Yes, I remember, he suggested 
 calling the prosecutor and Dmitri Dmitritch, I believe... 
 qui me doit encore quinze roubles I won at cards, sott dit en 
 passant. Enfin, je n’at pas trop compris. 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. Iam afraid | demeaned myself, 
 
400 | THE POSSESSED 
 
 in fact, comment croyez-vous ? Enfin ila consents. Yes, [remember, 
 he suggested that himself—that it would be better to keep it 
 quiet, for he had only come ‘to have a look round’ et rien de 
 plus, and nothing more, nothing more... and that if they 
 find nothing, nothing will happen. So that we ended it all en 
 amis, je suis tout a fart content.” 
 
 ‘Why, then he suggested the usual course of proceedings in 
 such cases and regular guarantees, and you rejected them your- 
 self,’’ I cried with friendly indignation. 
 
 * Yes, it’s better without the guarantees. And why makea 
 scandal? Let’s keep it en amis so long as we can. You know, 
 in our town, if they get to know it . . . mes ennemis, et puis, a 
 quot bon, le procureur, ce cochon de notre procureur, qui deux fois 
 ma manqué de politesse et qu’on a rossé a plaisir lautre année chez 
 cette charmante et belle Natalya Pavlovna quand il se cacha dans son 
 boudoir. Et puts, mon ami, 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 ?” | 
 
 ‘ 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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘T arranged for that as soon as they had gone away,” 
 muttered Stepan Trofimovitch, looking at me slyly. ‘‘ Quand 
 on a de ces choses-la dans sa chambre et quwon vient vous arréter 
 it makes an impression and they are sure to report that they have 
 seenit....” 3 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘¢ Hloignez-la on some excuse,” he nodded to me from the 
 sofa. ‘‘I can’t endure this Russian sympathy, et puis ¢a 
 m embéte.”” 
 
A RAID AT STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S 401 
 
 But she went away of herself.. I noticed that he kept looking 
 towards the door and listening for sounds in the passage. 
 “Il faut étre prét, voyez-vous,”’ he said, looking at me signifi- 
 cantly, ‘chaque moment . . . they may come and take one and, 
 phew !—a man disappears.” 
 
 “Heavens! who'll come? Who will take you ?.”’ 
 
 ““ Voyez-vous, mon cher, I asked straight out when he was 
 going away, what would they do to me now.” 
 
 “You'd better have asked them where you’d be exiled!” 
 i cried out in the same indignation. | 
 
 “That’s just what I meant when | asked, but he went away 
 without answering. Voyez-vous: 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 !”’, . 
 
 1 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. 
 
 ‘No doubt they had a telegram from Petersburg,” Stepan 
 Trofimovitch said suddenly. 
 
 “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 ?” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ Who can tell in our day what he may not be arrested for ? ” 
 
 he muttered enigmatically. 
 2c 
 
402 c “THE POSSESSED. — 
 
 A wild and nonsensical idea crossed my mind. | 
 
 “ Stepan Trofimovitch, tell me as a friend,’”’ I cried, “ as a real 
 friend, Iwill not betray you: do you belong to some secret 
 society or not?” 
 
 And on this, to my amazement, he was not quite certain 
 whether he was or was not a mem ber of some secret society. 
 
 “ That depends, voyez- vous.’ 
 
 ‘“‘ How do you mean ‘ it depends 
 
 ‘** When with one’s whole heart one is an adherent bf progress 
 and ... who can answer it? You may suppose you don’t 
 belong, and suddenly it turns out that you do belong to some- 
 thing.” 
 
 “Now is that possible ? It’s a case of yes or no.” 
 
 “Cela date de Pétersburg 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. Cher, cher, don’t you know me?” he cried 
 hysterically. ‘‘ And they'll take us, put us in a cart, and march 
 us off to Siberia for ever, or forget us in prison.” : 
 
 And he suddenly broke into bitter weeping. His tears posi- 
 tively streamed. He covered his face with his red silk handker- 
 chief 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. 
 
 At last he left off crying, got up from the sofa and began 
 walking about the room again, continuing to talk tome, 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, 
 
 kas Rhea 
 
A RAID AT STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S 403 
 
 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: 
 
 ““ Manifestoes!”’ I said, foolishly frightened. ‘‘Do you mean 
 to say you...” 
 
 ** 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. 
 
 ‘““ Vous me metiez avec ces gens-la! Do you suppose I could 
 be working with those scoundrels, those anonymous libellers, 
 with my son Pyotr Stepanovitch, avec ces esprits forts de la lacheté ? 
 Oh, heavens !.”’ 
 
 “Bah! haven’t they mixed you up perhaps? ... But it’s 
 nonsense, it can’t be so,’’ I observed. 
 
 ** Savez-vous,” broke from him suddenly, ‘‘I feel at moments 
 que je ferar la-bas quelque esclandre. Ob, don’t go away, don’t 
 leave me alone! Ma carriére est finie aujourdhus, je le sens. 
 Do you know, I might fall on somebody there and bite him, like 
 that lieutenant.” 
 
 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 some- 
 thing 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 : 
 
 “JT am ruined! Cher”’—he sat down suddenly beside me 
 and. looked piteously into my face—*‘ cher, it’s not Siberia [ am 
 afraid of, Iswear. Oh, je vous jure!” (Tears positively stood in 
 his eyes.) “ It’s something else I fear.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““T am afraid of disgrace,” he whispered mysteriously. 
 
 ““What disgrace? On the contrary! Believe me, Stepan 
 Trofimovitch, that all this will be explained to-day and wilh end 
 
 to your advantage. x 
 
404 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘“ Are you so sure that they will pardon me ? ” 
 
 “Pardon you? What! What a word! What have you 
 done? I assure you you’ve done nothing.” 
 
 “Qw’en savez-vous; all my life has been... cher... 
 They'll remember everything . . . and if they find nothing, it 
 will be worse still,” he added all of a sudden, unexpectedly. 
 
 ‘*‘ How do you mean it will be worse ? ”’ 
 
 “It will be worse.” 
 
 ‘“*T don’t understand.” 
 
 ‘My friend, let it be Siberia, Archangel, loss of rights—if I 
 must perish, let me perish! But... 1am afraid of something 
 else.”’ (Again whispering, a scared face, mystery.) 
 
 ‘“ But of what ? Of what?” 
 
 “ They’ll flog me,” he pronounced, looking at me with a face 
 of despair. 
 
 ‘Who'll flog you ? What for? Where?” I cried, feeling 
 alarmed that he was going out of his mind. 
 
 ‘“Where ? Why there . . . where ‘ that’s’ done.” 
 
 ‘** But where is it done ? ”’ 
 
 ‘Eh, cher,’ he whispered almost in my ear. “The floor 
 suddenly gives way under you, you drop half through... . 
 Every one knows that.” 
 
 ‘Legends !’’ I cried, guessing what he meant. ‘‘ Old tales. 
 Can you have believed them till now ?”’ I laughed. 
 
 “Tales! But there must be foundation for them; flogged 
 men tell no tales. [ve imagined it ten thousand times.” 
 
 ‘‘ But you, why you? You’ve done nothing, you know.” 
 
 “That makes it worse. They’ll find out I’ve done nothing 
 and flog me for it.”’ 
 
 ‘* And you are sure that you’ll be taken to Petersburg for that.” 
 
 ‘‘ My friend, I’ve told you already that I regret nothing, ma 
 carriére est finie. From that hour when she said good-bye to 
 me at Skvoreshniki my life has had no value for me... but 
 disgrace, disgrace, que dira-t-elle if she finds out ? ”’ 
 
 He looked at me in despair. And the poor fellow flushed all 
 over. I dropped my eyes too. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘“ 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. Elle me soupconnera toute sa vie—me, me, the 
 
A RAID AT STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S 405 
 
 poet, the thinker, the man whom she has worshipped for twenty- 
 two years ! ”’ 
 
 ‘“* It will never enter her head.” : 
 
 “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. ... Elle me soupconnera 
 toute sa vie . . . and how can I disabuse her? It won’t sound 
 likely. And in this wretched town who'd believe it, c’est 
 invratsemblable. . . . Ht puts les femmes, 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. 
 
 “Stepan Trofimovitch, oughtn’t you to let Varvara Petrovna 
 know at once of what has happened ?”’ I suggested. 
 
 ‘“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 ! ” 
 
 His eyes flashed. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘** TI can bear no more,” he said in a breaking voice. ‘1 can’t, 
 Ican’t! Iam going myself.” 
 
 ‘Where ?”’ I cried, jumping up too. 
 
 “To Lembke. Cher, 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—every- 
 - thing. He received a telegram. He dare not torture me; if 
 so, let him arrest me, let him arrest me!” 
 
 He stamped and vociferated almost with shrieks. 
 
 ‘“‘T approve of what you say,” I said, speaking as calmly as 
 possible, on purpose, though I was very much afraid for him. 
 
406 | ‘THE POSSESSED | 
 
 “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! JI faut étredigne et 
 calme avec Lembke. You really might rush at some one there 
 and bite him.” 
 
 “Tam giving myself sag I am walking straight into the jaws 
 of the hon:”. .-.”)' 
 
 “TI go with you.” 
 
 ‘*T 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 your- 
 self further by being my confederate. Oh, croyez-mot, je serat 
 calme. I feel that I am at this moment @ la hauteur de tout ce 
 qwil y a de plus sacré.” 
 
 ‘“T 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 
 féte 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.” 
 
 He listened, nodding, but I think he understood nothing. We 
 stood on the threshold. 
 
 ‘‘ Cher ’—he stretched out his arm to the lamp before the 
 ikon—‘‘ cher, I have never believed in this, but .. . so be it, 
 so be it!’’ He crossed himself.‘* Allons /”’ 
 
 “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... .” 
 
 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 dis- 
 played that morning. Poor friend, kind-hearted friend ! | 
 
CHAPTER X 
 FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 
 
 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 inten- 
 tionally 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 
 407 
 
408 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 depu- 
 tation, 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. 
 
 And so I am quite convinced that, even though Pyotr Stepano- 
 vitch, 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. 
 
 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. Iam 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 
 
FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 409 
 
 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 monu- 
 ment, 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 mes- 
 senger 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. 
 
 But I must confess that I am still unable to answer the question 
 how they could at first sight, from the first moment, have trans- 
 formed 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. Im the course of the last two days 
 he bad had two unusual and mysterious conversations with 
 
410 14) "THE POSSESSED 
 
 him. It is true they were exceedingly obscure, but [ya Llyitch 
 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 Lyitch 
 thought to himself as he left Von Lembke; “well, that just 
 suits me.” 
 
 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, 1 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 
 almost in remorse— for a woman is incapable of complete 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, — 
 
FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 41] 
 
 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 adminis- 
 trative abilities; whether she was indignant at his criticism 
 of her behaviour with the young people and local society gene- 
 rally, 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. 
 
 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.” ‘“‘ 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. Itook 
 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 
 
412 THE POSSESSED 
 
 that I impress every one with my honourable sheraciar: Isn’t 
 that degrading for both sides ?.” 
 
 At this point he began rapidly stamping with both fasit 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 salon 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 ’'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 iat their silly féte 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! T’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 1 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!.. . .” 
 
 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. 
 
 Oh, how can I describe the effect of this on Andrey Antono- 
 
FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 413 
 
 vitch! 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 malig- 
 nant 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 window before your eyes this minute ! ”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 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 some- 
 thing ?”’ 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 convul- 
 sively, 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. Dis- 
 connected 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. 
 
 Waking about ten o’clock, he jumped wildly out of bed, 
 
414 THE POSSESSED © 
 
 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 
 earriages to Varvara Petrovna Stavrogin’s, to Skvoreshniki, to 
 look over the place with a view to the second féte which was 
 planned for a fortnight later, and that the visit to-day had been 
 arranged with Varvara Petrovna three days before. Over- 
 whelmed 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: “ Tout est pour le 
 mieux dans le meilleur des mondes possibles.” —Voltaire, Candide. 
 He uttered an ejaculation of contempt and ran to get into the 
 carriage. ‘‘ Skvoreshniki ! ” 
 
 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 for- 
 bidding 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 
 
FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 415 
 
 it was not so, and that he realised nothing about the flowers 
 in spite of the evidence of the coachman and of the police super- 
 intendent, 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 convic- 
 tion, that ‘‘ There’s an upset in the town.” . 
 
 “Eh? What?” said Andrey Antonovitch, turning to him 
 with a stern face, but without a trace of surprise or any recollec- 
 tion of his carriage and ‘his coachman, as though he had been in 
 his own study. 
 
 ** Police-superintendent Flibusterov, your Excellency. There’s 
 a riot in the town.” OT 
 
 ‘‘ Filibusters ?”? Andrey Antonovitch said thoughtfully. 
 
 ‘* Just so, your Excellency. The Shpigulin men are making a 
 riot.” 
 
 “The Shpigulin men! .. .” 
 
 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 coach- 
 man to drive to the town. The police-superintendent followed 
 in the droshky. 
 
 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. 
 
 “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 
 
416 | THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘* 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. 
 
 “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. 
 
 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. 
 
 “ Rods!’ he cried even more unexpectedly. A dead silence 
 followed. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 respect- 
 able 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 ~ 
 

 
 “a 
 
 FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING ‘417 
 
 her way into the crowd of spectators through natural curiosity. 
 Seeing what was going on, she cried out, “What a shame!” 
 and spat on theground. 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 yuu 
 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 hap- 
 pened 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. 
 
 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. J remember I seized him by the arm; but he 
 looked quietly and proudly at me with an air of immense 
 authority. 
 
 ‘* Cher,” 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 ?”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 “That man!” cried the latter, blind with rage. ‘‘ What 
 man? Andwho 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 Trofimo- 
 vitch perfectly well by sight.) Another moment and he would 
 
 2D 
 
418 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘‘Home, home,” I insisted; “it was certainly thanks to 
 Lembke that we were not beaten.” 
 
 ‘“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— 
 mon heure est sonnée.’ 
 
 He resolutely mounted the governor’s steps. The hall-porter 
 knew me; I said that we both wanted to see Yulia Mihailovna. 
 We sat down in the waiting-room and waited. Iwas 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—lI 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. 
 
 IT 
 
 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. 
 
 “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. 
 
 “* 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. 
 
 “What is it ?’’ And with the curtness of a great official he 
 turned his ear to Stepan Trofimovitch with disdainful impatience, ~ 
 
FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 419 
 
 taking him for an ordinary person with a written petition of 
 some sort. 
 
 ““T was visited and my house was searched to-day by an 
 official acting in your Excellency’s name; therefore I am 
 desirous . . .” 
 
 “Name? Name?” lLembke asked impatiently, seeming 
 suddenly to have an inkling of something. Stepan Trofimovitch 
 repeated his name still more majestically. 
 
 “A-a-ah! It’s ...that hotbed ... You have shown 
 yourself, sir, in such a light. ... Are you a professor? a 
 professor ? ”’ 
 
 ““T once had the honour of giving some lectures to the young 
 men of the X university.” 
 
 “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. 
 
 “That, sir, I won’t allow,” he cried, suddenly getting terribly 
 angry. “‘I won’tallow youngmen! It’s all these manifestoes ? 
 It’s an assault on society, sir, a piratical attack, filibustering. .. . 
 What is your request ? ”’ 
 
 “On the contrary, your wife requested me to read something 
 to-morrow at her féte. I’ve not come to make a request but to 
 ask for my rights... .” 
 
 *‘ At the féte ? There'll be no féte. I won’t allow your féte. 
 A lecture? A lecture ?”’ he screamed furiously. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘* Perhaps you understand whom you are speaking to ?”’ said 
 Lembke, turning crimson. 
 
 “ Perfectly, your Excellency.” 
 
 ‘*T am protecting society while you are destroying it! ... 
 You ... 1 remember about you, though: you used to be a 
 tutor in the house of Madame Stavrogin ?”’ 
 
 ‘Ves, I was in the position ... of tutor ... in the house 
 of Madame Stavrogin.”’ 
 
 “ 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, lL cannot. Don’t come with such requests to me.”’ 
 
420 THE POSSESSED 
 
 He would have passed on again. : | 
 
 ** 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 féte to-morrow. But I decline to do so in any case now. 
 IT 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.” 
 
 “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. 
 
 “ Why, this official here,’’ said Stepan Trofimovitch, indicating 
 him. Blum came forward with a face that admitted his respon- 
 sibility but showed no contrition. 4 
 
 “Vous ne faites que des bétises,’’ Lembke threw at him in a 
 tone of vexation and anger, and suddenly he was transformed 
 and completely himself again. 
 
 ‘Excuse me,” he muttered, utterly disconcerted and turning 
 
 absolutely crimson, “all this . . . all this was probably a mere 
 blunder, a misunderstanding... nothing but a misunder- 
 standing.” 
 
 “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 some one 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— 
 ‘T’ve madea 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 ?’ ” 
 
 ‘“ 'That’s .. . that’s very amusing, of course ’’—Lembke gave 
 a wry smile—“ but . .... but can’t you see how unhappy I am 
 myself ? ” 
 
 He almost screamed, and seemed about to hide his face in 
 his hands. | 
 This unexpected and piteous exclamation, almost a sob, was 
 
FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 421 
 
 almost more than one could bear. It was probably the first 
 moment since the previous day that he had full, vivid conscious- 
 ness 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 : 
 
 “Your Excellency, don’t trouble yourself with my petulant 
 complaint, and only give orders for my books and letters to be 
 restored to me... .” 
 
 He was interrupted. At that very instant Yulia Mihailovna 
 returned and entered noisily with all the party which had accom- 
 panied her. But at this point I should like to tell my story in 
 as much detail as possible. 
 
 Til 
 
 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 Trofimo- 
 vitch 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. lLyamshin, who for some mis- 
 demeanour 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 afiair, 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 
 
422 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 féte for the next day. She too must have been interested, 
 and perhaps even agitated, by the news about Stepan Trofimo- 
 vitch communicated by Lyamshin. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘What years, what ages! At last ... excellent ami.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““ Cher,” 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!” 
 
 “Come, tell me about yourself, tell me everything,” Kar- 
 
FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 423 
 
 mazinov 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 
 “ehic.?? 
 
 “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). 
 
 “Ce cher homme,” Karmazinov interrupted with shrill fami- 
 liarity, 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.”’ 
 
 “ 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.” 
 
 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 he 
 salon was making on him. 
 
 “Cher M. Karmazinov,” said Stepan Trofimovitch, sitting 
 in a picturesque pose on the sofa and suddenly beginning to lisp 
 as daintily as Karmazinov himself, ‘cher M. Karmazinov, the 
 
424 THE POSSESSED 
 
 life of a man of our time and of certain convictions, even after an 
 interval of twenty-five years, is bound toseem monotonous .. .” 
 
 The German went off into a loud abrupt guffaw like a neigh, 
 evidently imagining that Stepan Trofimovitch had said some- 
 thing 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. | 
 
 “«. . . 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, ef comme on trouve partout plus de 
 moines que de raison, and as I am entirely of this opinion, it has 
 come to pass that throughout this quarter of a century I .. .” 
 
 “Mest charmant, les moines,’ whispered Yulia Mihailovna, 
 turning to Varvara Petrovna, who was sitting beside her. 
 
 Varvara Petrovna responded with a look of pride. But Kar- 
 mazinov could not stomach the success of the French phrase, 
 and quickly and shrilly interrupted Stepan Trofimovitch. _ 
 
 ‘““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.” 
 
 “T can’t help sympathising, though it goes against the 
 grain,’ sighed Stepan Trofimovitch, bowing his head signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 Yulia Mihailovna was triumphant: the conversation was 
 becoming profound and taking a political turn. 
 
 ‘A drain-pipe ?”’ the doctor inquired in a loud voice. 
 
 “A water-pipe, doctor, a water-pipe, and I positively assisted 
 them in drawing up the plan.” 
 
 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. 
 
 “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 
 
FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 425 
 
 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, andnooneelse. It’sno use your assuring us of your coldness 
 towards your own country and your ardent interest in the water- 
 pipes of Karlsruhe. Ha ha!” 
 
 “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. .. .” 
 
 “TI say, hardly all /”’ Lyamshin whispered slyly. 
 
 ‘“‘ But I do this by the way, simply to while away the tedious 
 hours and to satisfy the persistent demands of my fellow- 
 countrymen.” 
 
 “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 Merci. 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 Merci 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.” 
 
 Yulia Mihailovna was at the acme of bliss. 
 
 *“Yes, I shall make my farewell; I shall say my Mercz 
 and depart and there .. . in Karlsruhe . . . I shall close my 
 eyes.” Karmazinov was gradually becoming maudlin. 
 
 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 great men can’t do 
 otherwise,’ and so on, and, what’s more, was unaware of it. 
 
 “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.”’ 
 
 “Give me the address and I shall come to Karlsruhe to visit 
 your tomb,”’ said the German, laughing immoderately. 
 
426 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘‘ They send corpses by rail nowadays,’ one of the less important 
 young men said unexpectedly. : 
 
 Lyamshin positively shrieked with delight. Yulia Mihailovna 
 frowned. Nikolay Stavrogin walked in. 
 
 ‘“‘ Why, I was told that you were locked up ?”’ he said aloud, 
 addressing Stepan Trofimovitch before every one else. 
 
 ‘“ No, it was a case of unlocking,”’ jested Stepan Trofimovitch. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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.”’ 
 
 “iFudon’t) knowjok ews) omowueng’? 
 
 ‘Really, I am so unlucky, Varvara Petrovna ... and only 
 fancy, just when I was so longing to make the personal acquaint- 
 ance of one of the most remarkable and independent intellects 
 of Russia—and here Stepan Trofimovitch suddenly talks of 
 deserting us.” 
 
 ‘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 féte to-morrow. However, I...” 
 
 “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! ”’ 
 
 ‘“‘Tmpossible, Pyotr Stepanovitch! Socialism is too grand 
 an idea to be unrecognised by Stepan Trofimoyitch.” Yulia 
 Mihailovna took up the gauntlet with energy. 
 
 ‘* It’s a great idea but its exponents are not always great men, 
 et brisons-la, mon cher,” Stepan Trofimovitch ended, addressing 
 his son and rising gracefully from his seat. 
 
 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 
 
FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 427 
 
 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. 
 
 “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. . . .” 
 
 He spoke loudly enough to be heard by all the room, and 
 concluded with energy. ‘The impression he produced was poig- 
 nant. 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 féte 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 com- 
 mittee 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. 
 
 I noticed at the moment when Nikolay Stavrogin came in 
 
428 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 But Nikolay Stavrogin’s answer was even more astounding. 
 
 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 : 
 
 ‘“ 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.” 
 
 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 
 
FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 429 
 
 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. 
 
 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 cette chére amie 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. 
 
 ‘‘ My dear, I do this for the sake of a great idea,” he said to 
 me, obviously justifying himself. “‘ Cher ami, 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... .” 
 
PART III 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 THE FETE—FIRST PART 
 
 I 
 
 Tue féte took place in spite of all the perplexities of the pre- 
 ceding “‘Shpigulin”’ day. I believe that even if Lembke had 
 died the previous night, the féte 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 detesta- 
 tion 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.” 
 
 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, 
 
 430 
 
THE FETE—FIRST PART 43} 
 
 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 some- 
 times the case. It is said among us now that it is all over, that 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch was directed by the Internationale, 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. 
 
 What constituted the turbulence of our time and what transi- 
 tion if 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 in- 
 fluence, 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 
 
432 THE POSSESSED 
 
 I have mentioned already, to the Internationale. 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 Internationale. 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 And so all these people, too, ended by subscribing to the 
 governesses’ fund. 
 
 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 Merci 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 cer- 
 tainly be a complete novelty in itself. Who could resist 
 subscribing ? Every one subscribed. 
 
 Il 
 
 The programme of the féte 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 
 
THE FETE—FIRST PART 433 
 
 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 féte 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 féte. What 
 fascinated her most at that time was the idea of these toasts; 
 she wanted to propose them herself and was continually eom- 
 posing 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. 
 
 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 com- 
 mittee 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 con- 
 siderable sum of money with the féte 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 féte 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 
 
 2E 
 
434 THE POSSESSED 
 
 committee, “‘that the attainment of an object of universal 
 human interest is infinitely loftier than the corporeal enjoyments | 
 of the passing moment, that the féte 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 esthetic items were invented and proposed as substitutes for 
 the corporeal enjoyments. It was then that Karmazinov finally 
 consented to read Merci (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 
 Mercer. 
 
 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 Merci 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 Merci 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 
 
THE FETE—FIRST PART 435 
 
 some protests from members of the committee that this was 
 rather opposed to our way of doing things. 
 
 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 imagina- 
 tion. 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 con- 
 tributions 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. 
 
 It may be imagined what an upheaval it made in the town ! 
 One has only to remember that as the féte 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 
 
436 - THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 fort- 
 night 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 ? 
 
 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, Iam 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 goingin. 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 ° 
 
THE FETE—FIRST PART 437 
 
 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. 
 
 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 pock- 
 marked 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. 
 
 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 
 
438 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 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 dis- 
 comfiture (to anticipate things) he vanished for the whole morn- 
 ing 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 applaud- 
 ing, as in a theatre. The elderly gentlemen and the ladies 
 frowned. ‘‘ The Lembkes are really giving themselves unbear- 
 able airs.”” Even among the better part of the audience an absurd 
 whisper began to gain ground that perhaps there would not be a 
 féte at all, that Lembke perhaps was really unwell, and so on and 
 soon. 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, | 
 
 ‘““'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 — 
 
THE FETE—FIRST PART 439 
 
 him for having lost his temper. ‘“‘It ought to have been done 
 more coolly, but there, he is a new man,”’ said the authorities. 
 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 féte—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. 
 But at that point a horrid misunderstanding occurred; the 
 orchestra, apropos of nothing, struck up a flourish, not a trium- 
 phal 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 
 
440 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 Kar- 
 mazinov and entreat him to begin. And no sooner had I turned 
 away than another disgraceful incident, much more unpleasant 
 than the first, took place. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, addressing the public, 
 “through our inadvertency there has arisen a comical mis- 
 understanding 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 FETE—FIRST PART 44} 
 
 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 
 ws’’—(Us ? Whom did he mean by us? I report his confused and 
 incoherent speech word for word)—“‘ that through its remarkable 
 naiveté 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.” 
 
 *“ Read it !’’ boomed a voice at the back of the hall. 
 
 ** Then I am to read it ? ”’ 
 
 ** Read it, read it !’’ cried many voices. 
 
 “‘ 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. 
 
 ““T 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 fétes, 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.” 
 
 “* Read it, read it!” 
 
 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 : 
 
 ‘To the local governesses of the Fatherland from the poet at 
 the féte : 
 
 * Governesses all, good morrow, 
 Triumph on this festive day. 
 Retrograde or vowed George-Sander— 
 Never mind, just frisk away !”’ 
 
 “But that’s Lebyadkin’s! Lebyadkin’s!” cried several 
 voices. There was laughter and even applause, though not from 
 very many. . 
 
442 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “* Teaching French to wet-nosed children, 
 You are glad enough to think 
 You can catch a worn-out sexton— 
 Even he ts worth a wink !” 
 
 ** Hurrah! hurrah !”’ 
 
 ** 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’.” 
 
 ““To be sure, to be sure, that’s realism. You can’t hook a 
 husband without a ‘dot’ !”’ 
 
 “ 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, 
 Yow’re a governess with a dowry, 
 Spit on all and frisk away !” 
 
 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 after- — 
 
THE FETE—FIRST PART 443 
 
 wards 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. 
 
 “You did that on purpose !’’ I said. seizing him indignantly 
 by the arm. 
 
 “‘T 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. . 
 
 “You did not think anything of the sort. You can’t really 
 think that stupid rubbish an amusing pleasantry ?”’ 
 
 ** Yes, I do.” 
 
 * 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 ?”’ 
 
 Liputin looked at me coldly and ironically. 
 
 ‘‘ What business is it of yours?’ he asked suddenly with 
 strange calm. 
 
 ‘“‘ What business is it of mine ? You are wearing the steward’s 
 badge, too. . . . Where is Pyotr Stepanovitch ?”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ T don’t know, somewhere here ; why do you ask ? ” 
 
 ‘Because now I see through it. It’s simply a Hie ‘Agama 
 Yulia Mihailovna so as to ruin the day by a scandal. 
 
 Liputin looked at me askance again. 
 
 ‘‘ But what is it to you ?”’ he said, grinning. He shrugged his 
 shoulders and walked away. 
 
 It came over me with a rush. All my suspicions were con- 
 firmed. ‘Till then, I had been hoping I was mistaken! What 
 was Il todo? 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 
 
ait THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 con- 
 viction 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? Tl take off my badge and go home when 
 tt begins.” That was my mental phrase, “when it begins”; I 
 remember it. 
 
 But [ had to go and listen to Karmazinov. Taking a last look 
 round behind the scenes, I noticed that a good number of out- 
 siders, 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 com- 
 municating 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. 
 
THE FETE—FIRST PART 445 
 
 Iil 
 
 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 Kammerherrs rolled into one? How could 
 he expect to keep an audience like ours listening for a whole hour 
 toa 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 Karma- 
 zinov 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 some one 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, an- 
 nounced 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 for ever, and had sworn to write no more, he had written 
 this last farewell; and as he had sworn never, on any induce- 
 ment, to read anything in public,” and so on, and so on, all in 
 that style. 
 
 But all that would not have mattered ; every one knows what 
 authors’ prefaces are like, though, I may observe, that considering 
 
446 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 con- 
 descension 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 interest- 
 ing 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 
 chill 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. Mean- 
 while a fog came on, such a fog, such a fog, that it was more like 
 a million pillows than a fog. And suddenly everything dis- 
 appears 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 
 
THE FETE—FIRST PART 447 
 
 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 for ever.’’ She went 
 offi 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 hecares about the 
 hermit! Nota 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 
 alaurel wreath. ‘‘A chill of ecstasy ran down our backs and we 
 parted for ever ’’—and so on and so on. 
 
 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, eap 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 itits antithesis, and the epigram is made. There 
 is such a thing as crime, there is no such thing as crime ; there is 
 
448 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 
 BAC wes? 
 
 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 : 
 
 ‘“* Good Lord, what nonsense ! ”’ | 
 
 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 kammerherr. 
 
 ‘“‘T’m afraid I’ve been boring you dreadfully, gentlemen ? ”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 “You never did see Ancus Marcius, that’s all brag,” cried a 
 voice that sounded full of irritation and even nervous exhaus- 
 tion. 
 
 ‘* 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.” 
 
 ‘Gentlemen, there was nothing I expected less rents such 
 
 objections,” said Karmazinov, extremely surprised. The great © 
 
THE FETE—FIRST PART 449 
 
 genius had completely lost touch with his Fatherland in Karls- 
 ruhe. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘“*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 
 L haven?’ 
 
 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. . 
 
 ‘‘ 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.’ 
 
 “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. 
 
 “A cow, you say ?”’ Karmazinov caught it up at once, his 
 voice grew shriller and shriller. “As for crows and cows, 
 gentlemen, I willrefrain. I’ve too much respect for any audience 
 to permit myself comparisons, however harmless; but I did 
 think, ..... 
 
 ‘‘ You'd better be careful, sir,’ some one shouted from a back 
 row. | 
 
 ‘* But I had supposed that laying aside my pen and saying 
 farewell to my readers, I should be heard . . .”’ 
 
 ‘‘ No, no, we want to hear you, we want to,’ a few voices from 
 the front row plucked up spirit to exclaim at last. 
 
 ‘‘ Read, read!” several enthusiastic ladies’ voices chimed in, 
 and at last there was an outburst of applause, sparse and feeble, 
 it is true. 
 
 ‘Believe me, Karmazinov, every one looks on it as an 
 honour . . .”’ the marshal’s wife herself could not resist saying. 
 
 “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 1 had the happiness to fall in 
 
 Pe 
 
450 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 “‘ Ladies and gentlemen,’’ cried Karmazinov, “ I have finished. 
 I will omit the end and withdraw. Only allow me to read the 
 six last lines : 
 
 ‘‘ 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 for ever. 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, 
 merci! It’s time we took our separate ways!’ Merct, merci, 
 merce |”? | 
 
 Karmazinov bowed ceremoniously, and, as red as though he 
 had been cooked, retired behind the scenes. 
 
 ““ Nobody would go down on their knees ; a wild idea!” 
 
 ** What conceit!” 
 
 “ That’s only humour,’ some one more reasonable suggested. 
 
 “* Spare me your humour.” 
 
 **T call it impudence, gentlemen !”’ 
 
 ** Well, he’s finished now, anyway !”’ 
 
 *“ Ech, what a dull show ! ” 
 
 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. 
 
 ** 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.... iy 
 
THE FETE—FIRST PART 451 
 
 “ Well, a cook is more useful,”’ cried the divinity student, who 
 had been at the “‘ meeting ’’ at Virginsky’s. 
 
 There was some disorder. In many rows people jumped up 
 to get a better view of the presentation of the laurel wreath. 
 
 “Td give another three roubles for a cook this minute,”’ 
 another voice assented loudly, too loudly; insistently, in 
 fact. 
 
 “So would I.” 
 
 66 And 1. 29 
 
 “Is it possible there’s no buffet? .. . 
 
 “Gentlemen, it’s simply a swindle. . . 
 
 It must be admitted, however, that all these unbridled gentle- 
 men 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. 
 
 99 
 
 eg 
 
 IV 
 
 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 : 
 
 ** What grounds have you, sir, for thinking me capable of suck 
 baseness ? ”’ 
 
 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 
 aswing. 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 
 
452 THE POSSESSED 
 
 won’t go on listening. No celebrity is able to hold his own for 
 half an hour.” 
 
 He stopped short and seemed almost quivering with resent- 
 ment. Infinite disdain was expressed in his countenance. 
 
 ‘Don’t trouble yourself,” he muttered contemptuously and 
 walked on. At that moment Stepan Trofimovitch’s voice rang 
 out in the hall. 
 
 ‘Oh, hang you all,” I thought, and ran to the hall. 
 
 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 some- 
 thing 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 ? 
 
 “* 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 Lasked myself for the hundredth time, ‘ Wherein 
 lies its secret ?’ ”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘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 
 whas was in Stepan Trofimovitch’s mind. 
 
 “Ha ha, the manifestoes !”’ was whispered in the audience; the 
 whole hall was stirred. y 
 
THE FETE—FIRST PART 453 
 
 *“‘ 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. 
 C’est la bétise dans son essence la plus pure, quelque chose comme 
 un simple chimique. 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 sercet 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, en parenthése, stupidity is of as much 
 service to humanity as the loftiest genius. . . .”’ 
 
 *““ Epigram of 1840’? was commented, in a very modest voice, 
 however, but it was followed by a general outbreak of noise and 
 uproar. 
 
 ‘Ladies and gentlemen, hurrah! I propose a toast to 
 stupidity !”’ cried Stepan Trofimovitch, defying the audience in a 
 perfect frenzy. 
 
 I ran up on the pretext of pouring out some water for him. 
 
 “Stepan Trofimovitch, leave off, Yulia Mihailovna entreats 
 
 you to.” 
 ““ 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.”’ 
 
 ** Down with him !”’ shouted some. 
 
 ‘** 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 to- 
 day 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 ! 
 
454 THE POSSESSED 
 
 The whole difficulty lies in the question which is more beautiful 
 Shakespeare or boots, Raphael or petroleum ?¢ ” 
 
 “<Tt’s treachery !’’ growled some. 
 
 ‘“‘ Compromising questions ! ” 
 
 “© Agent provocateur !”’ 
 
 ‘“* 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 under- 
 stand 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 con- 
 fusion, and with all his might banged his fist on the table. 
 
 But all the while that he was shrieking senselessly and in- 
 coherently, 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. 
 
 “Tt’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. 
 
 ‘“‘ Haven’t I, haven’t I just declared that the enthusiasm of 
 the young generation is as pure and bright as it was, and thatitis | 
 coming to grief through being deceived only in the forms of 
 
THE FETE—FIRST PART 455 
 
 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 !”’ 
 
 And he burst into hysterical sobs. He wiped away his drop- 
 ping tears with his fingers. His shoulders and breast were 
 heaving with sobs. He was lost to everything in the world. 
 
 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 uptoo. . . . Thescene 
 was beyond all belief. 
 
 *“ 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. Austhete ? ”’ 
 
 _ 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 
 elled : 
 
 van I shake the dust from off my feet and I curse you. ... It’s 
 
 the end, the end... .” 
 
 _. And turning, he ran behind the scenes, waving his hands 
 menacingly. 
 ‘‘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 
 
456 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 
 smnile, 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. 
 
 ‘‘What’s this now ?”’ people were heard asking. “‘ Whois this ? 
 Sh-h! What does he want to say ?”’ 
 
 ‘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... .” 
 
 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 toshame publicly, before every one. Who 
 could fail to roar with delight ? 
 
 “This is the real thing! Come, this is something like! 
 Hurrah! Yes, this is none of your esthetics!” 
 
 The maniac went on ecstatically : 
 
 “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 some- 
 where. Bridges are rarely on fire, and fires in towns occur only at | 
 
THE FETE—FIRST PART 457 
 
 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 con- 
 fusion; 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 . . .” 
 
 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 triumph- 
 antly 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 excite- 
 ment, pointing something out to somebody. Yulia Mihailovna, 
 with a pale face, said something in haste to the prince, who had 
 run up toher. 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 . . .” 
 
 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 sideof it. . . . I sawafter- 
 wards, 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 : 
 
 “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve come to call attention to the 
 ais ae of poor students and to rouse them to a a0 
 protest . 
 
 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. 
 
CHAPTER, II 
 THE END OF THE FETE 
 I 
 
 HE would not see me. He had shut himself up and was writing. 
 At my repeated knocks and appeals he answered through the door: 
 
 “My friend, I have finished everything. Who can ask any- 
 thing more of me ?”’ 
 
 ‘“ 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. .. .” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘Don’t be the first to insult me then. I thank you for the 
 past, but I repeat 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 
 merct.” 
 
 ‘Stepan Trofimovitch, I assure you that the matter is more 
 serious than you think. Do you think that you’ve crushed 
 some one 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 
 mMoresiiais a'/ 
 
 He rose and came close up to the door. 
 
 ‘““You’ve not been long with them, but you’ve caught the 
 infection of their tone and language. Diew vous pardonne, mon 
 ami, et Dieu vous garde. But I’ve always seen in you the germs 
 of delicate feeling, and you will get over it perhaps—aprés le 
 temps, of course, like all of us Russians. As for what you say 
 about my impracticability, Pll remind you of a recent idea of 
 
 mine: a whole mass of people in Russia do nothing whatever but 
 458 
 
THE END OF THE FRTE 459 
 
 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 Cher, remember that I am 
 excited, and don’t distress me. Once more merci 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 ; 
 quant a mot, | 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 (ces pauvres gens ont quelquefois 
 des mots charmants et pleins de philosophic). 1 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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 In anticipation of events I will quote the few first lines of the 
 letter to Darya Pavlovna, which she actually received the 
 following day : 
 
 “Mon enfant, my hand trembles, but I’ve done with every- 
 thing. 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 
 
460 THE POSSESSED 
 
 the truth, that is, that they are fools. Oh, ce sont—des pauvres 
 petits vaurtens et rien de plus, des petits—fools—voila le mot / 
 The die is cast ; I am going from this town for ever and I know 
 not whither. Every one I loved has turned from me. But you, 
 you are a pure and naive 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 for ever thinking of me as an 
 ungrateful fool, a churlish egoist, as probably a cruel and ungrate- 
 ful heart—whom, alas, I cannot forget—is every day describing 
 me to you... .” 
 
 And so on and so on, four large pages. 
 
 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. 
 
 II 
 
 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 with- 
 out 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. 
 
 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. Ob, 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 
 
THE END OF THE FETE 461 
 
 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 féte, 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. 
 
 ‘““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 ? ”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 I was surprised too at the extraordinary rudeness of Pyotr 
 Stepanovitch’s tone. Oh, I scout with indignation the con- 
 temptible 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 : 
 
 “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 pre- 
 concerted plot, a base, designing plot to damage Andrey Antono- 
 - vitch and me as much as possible ? Oh, they had arranged it 
 beforehand. They hada plan! It’s a party, a regular party.” 
 
 “You are exaggerating as usual. You’ve always some romantic 
 notion in your head. ButIam glad tosee Mr....” (He pretended 
 to have forgotten my name.) “ He’ll give us his opinion.” 
 
462 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘* 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.”’ | 
 
 ‘“You hear! You hear!’ She clasped her hands. 
 
 ‘“‘T hear, and I tell you this.”’?’ He turned to me. “TI 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, disgrace- 
 fully 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 ? ” | 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 ** 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.” 
 
 ** Not a doubt of it,’’ I agreed. 
 
 “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 
 
THE END OF THE FETE 463 
 
 boots ? Now, can you wonder that the public is set against 
 you ?” 
 
 * But that’s all your doing, yours! Oh, my goodness! ”’ 
 
 ‘*“No, I warned you. We quarrelled. Do you hear, we 
 quarrelled ? ” 
 
 ‘* Why, you are lying to my face! ”’ 
 
 ** Of course it’s easy for you to say that. You need a victim 
 to vent your wrath on. Well, vent it on meas 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! JI 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 ?” 
 
 ‘“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.”’ 
 
 ** 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 ? ”’ 
 
 “ Oh, hier il avait tant @esprit, I was so reckoning on him; 
 and then he has such manners. I thought with him and 
 
 Karmazinov ... Only think!” 
 
 “Yes, only think. But in spite of tant d’esprit 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 
 
464 THE POSSESSED 
 
 am taking part in this conspiracy against your féte that you 
 are so positive about ? And yet I did try to dissuade you yester- 
 day; 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 ofi—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. very 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 Iam 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! ‘Tl 
 make a mess of it too,’ he thought, ‘to damage Yulia 
 Mihailovna.’ ”’ 
 
 ‘““Oh, Karmazinov! Quelle honte! I was burning, burning 
 with shame for his audience ! ”’ | 
 
 ** 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.” 
 
 ‘‘ Ah, don’t speak of it! That was awful, awful! That was 
 my fault, entirely my fault!” 
 
 ‘‘ 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.” 
 
 “What senator? Who’s talking ?” 
 
THE END OF THE FETE 465 
 
 “TI don’t understand it myself, you know. Do you know 
 anything about a senator, Yulia Mihailovna ? ”’ 
 
 ‘* A senator ?”’ | 
 
 ** 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.” 
 
 ‘‘ Pve heard it too,’”’ I put in. 
 
 ‘Who said so ?”’ asked Yulia Mihailovna, flushing all over. 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 “How mean! And... how stupid!” 
 
 ‘Well, that’s just why you must make your appearance, to 
 show these fools.” 
 
 *‘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!” 
 
 ‘““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 ? ” 
 
 ‘*' The marshal’s wife won’t come, she won’t.”’ 
 
 ‘* But, after all, what has happened ? Why won’t they come ? ” 
 he cried at last with angry impatience. 
 
 ‘‘ Tgnominy, disgrace—that’s what’s happened. I don’t know 
 what to call it, but after it I can’t face people.” 
 
 ‘“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 paters- 
 familias ? 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.” 
 
 ‘‘ Ah, that’s the simple truth! They sit quiet, sulk and... 
 
 gaze about them.”’ 
 2G" 
 
466 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 
 Voice and the Financial News. Wait a bit, Ill undertake it 
 myself, 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 ? ” 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch was positively taken aback for the moment. 
 
 ‘““Good heavens! I. ... Whathavelsaid? I’vealways.. .” 
 
 ‘You never have, never! You have never done him 
 justice.” | 
 
 ‘“There’s no understanding a woman,” grumbled Pyotr 
 Stepanovitch, with a wry smile. 
 
 ‘* He is the most sincere, the most delicate, the most angelic 
 of men! The most kind-hearted of men! ”’ 
 
 ‘Well, really, as for kind-heartedness . . . ve always done 
 him justice... .” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 ‘What do you mean; I don’t understand? Why are 
 her hands soiled?” Yulia Mihailovna looked at him in 
 perplexity. 
 
 “IT don’t vouch for the truth of it, but the town is ringing 
 with the story that it was she brought them together.” 
 
 “What do you mean? Brought whom together ?” 
 
 “What, do you mean to say you don’t know ?”’ ie soli 
 
THE END OF THE FETE 467 
 
 with well-simulated wonder. ‘‘ Why Stavrogin and Lizaveta 
 Nikolaevna.” 
 
 “What? How ?” we all cried out at once. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 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 Nikolae- 
 vitch, “‘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 Mawriky 
 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 : 
 
 ‘It’s all your doing, you rascal! This was what you were 
 doing this morning. You helped inp 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 !”’ 
 
 And I ran headlong out of the house.. I wonder myself reo 
 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 
 
468 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 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 ser- | 
 vants. 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 Stepano- 
 vitch 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 pre- 
 occupied and seemed only to listen to me with an effort. He 
 said scarcely anything and began walking up and down his cell 
 
THE END OF THE FETE 469 
 
 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 [ 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 bad left her so abruptly that afternoon. 
 
 Iil 
 
 All that night, with its almost grotesque incidents, and the 
 terrible dénowement 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 
 
470 THE POSSESSED | 
 
 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, 
 
THE END OF THE FETE 471 
 
 though they were present at the ball, as they were taking part in 
 the “literary quadrille.”” But, tomy 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 ? 
 
 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 féte 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! 
 
 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 con- 
 vinced that it certainly would begin. It would be difficult for 
 me to describe Yulia Mihailovna’s state of mind. Idid 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 expres- 
 sion in her eyes. She controlled herself with evident suffering— 
 
472 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 ** Yes, that struck me, and I suddenly began to guess about 
 Andrey Antonovitch,’’ Yulia Mihailovna confessed to me after- 
 wards. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
THE END OF THE FETE 473 
 
 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. 
 
 “They say a town can’t go on without seven righteous 
 
 men ... seven, | 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. 
 Vous me pardonnez, charmante dame, n’est-ce pas? 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 excusea gouty oldfellow. Igo early to bed, and 
 I would advise you too to go ‘ by-by,’ as they say aux enfants. 
 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. . . . vous me pardonnez, n’est-ce pas ? 
 . 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 for ever 
 . . . 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; 
 
474 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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, pauvre mére! 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 ...I1 can hardly keep my eyes open. But when is this 
 ‘literary quadrille’’ coming on ? ”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ I’ve been in the refreshment-room all this time, watching,” 
 he whispered, with the air of a guilty schoolboy, which he, how- 
 ever, assumed on purpose to irritate her even more. She turned 
 crimson with anger. 
 
 ‘““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 annay. 
 extremely well satisfied with himself. 
 
 It would be difficult to imagine a more pitiful, vulgar, dull and 
 
THE END OF THE FETE 475 
 
 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 init. 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 
 ais-d-vis 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, “Ill pound you to a jelly.” SButin 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 
 pas de deux, he twisted, turned, and did not know what to do 
 with himself—so terrible, probably, were the stings of his con- 
 science! JI 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 
 
476 THE POSSESSED 
 
 man is ashamed he generally begins to get angry and is dispoged 
 to be cynical. By degrees a murmur arose in the audience, 
 
 ‘“‘ What’s the meaning of it ?”’? a man who had come in from 
 the refreshment-room muttered in one of the groups. 
 
 ‘* It’s silly.”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ It’s something literary. It’s a criticism of the Vorce.” 
 
 ‘** What’s that to me ?”’ 
 
 From another group : 
 
 Asses |”): 
 
 ** No, they are not asses ; it’s we who are the asses.” 
 
 “Why are you an ass ?”’ 
 
 “TIT am not an ass.” , 
 
 ‘“‘ Well, if you are not, I am certainly not.” 
 
 From a third group : 
 
 ‘““We ought to give them a good smacking and send them 
 flying.” 
 
 ‘* Pull down the hall! ” 
 
 From a fourth group : 
 
 ‘“* I wonder the Lembkes are not ashamed to look on!” 
 
 ** Why should they be ashamed ? You are not.” 
 
 ** Yes, 1 am ashamed, and he is the governor.” 
 
 ** And you are a pig.” 
 
 ‘“‘ [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. 
 
 ‘ That might have been forescen,”’ she added, looking insolently 
 into Yulia Mihailovna’s face. 
 
 ‘““If you could foresee it, why did you come?” Yulia 
 Mihailovna could not resist saying. 
 
 ‘‘ Because I was too simple,’ the sprightly lady answered 
 instantly, up in arms and eager for the fray; but the general 
 intervened. 
 
 ““ Chére dame’’—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 
 
THE END OF THE FETE 477 
 
 Andrey Antonovitch doesn’t seem to be feeling quite satis- 
 factorily. . . . To avoid trouble.” 
 
 But it was too late. 
 
 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 expres- 
 sion 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. 
 
 ** 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!” 
 
 Lyamshin jumped on to his feet. The laughter grew louder. 
 
 “Turn out all the scoundrels who are laughing!’ Lembke 
 prescribed suddenly. 
 
 There was an angry roar and laughter in the crowd. 
 
 “You can’t do like that, your Excellency.” 
 
 You mustn’t abuse the public.” 
 
 “You are a fool yourself!” a voice cried suddenly from a 
 
 corner. 
 ‘‘ Rilibusters ! ’? shouted some one from the other end of the 
 
 room. 
 
 Lembke looked round quickly at the shout and turned pale. 
 A vacant smile came on to his lips, as though he suddenly under- 
 stood and remembered something. 
 
478 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘*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.” 
 
 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. J remember one 
 hysterical, tearful feminine shriek: 
 
 ** Ach, the same thing again! ”’ 
 
 And in the retreat of the guests, which was almost becoming 
 a crush, another bomb exploded exactly as in the afternoon. 
 
 “Fire! All the riverside quarter is on fire!” 
 
 I don’t remember where this terrible cry rose first, whether 
 it was first raised in the hall, or whether some one 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. 
 
 ‘‘ Arson! The Shpigulin men!” roared the crowd, 
 
 l remember some very characteristic exclamations : | 
 
 ‘““Pve had a presentiment in my heart that there’d be arson, 
 TPve had a presentiment of it these last few days! ” 
 
 ‘The Shpigulin men, the Shipgulin men, no one else 
 
 ** We were all lured here on purpose to set fire to it!” 
 
 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 preserevd 
 in the town. Lembke and Yulia Mihailovna were almost 
 crushed by the crowd at the doors. 
 
 “Stop, every one! Don’t let anyone out!’ yelled Lembke, 
 stretching out his arms menacingly towards the crowding people. 
 
 {? 
 
 tie 
 
THE END OF THE FETE 479 
 
 “Every one without exception to be strictly searched at 
 once ! ” 
 
 A storm of violent oaths rose from the crowd. 
 
 ‘‘ Andrey Antonovitch! Andrey Antonovitch!” cried Yulia 
 Mihailovna in complete despair. 
 
 * 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... .” 
 
 She screamed and fell into a swoon. (Qh, 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. 
 
 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 conditign “ owing 
 to a sudden fright.” 
 
 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 
 
480 | THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 féte for the benefit of the governesses of our 
 province. 
 
 IV 
 
 The fire frightened the inhabitants of the riverside just because 
 it was evidently a case of arson. It was curious that at the first 
 ery 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. 
 
 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. Iwon’t describe the fire ; every one in Russia knows what 
 
THE END OF THE FETE 481 
 
 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 anold 
 woman ; but that is altogether a different matter. 
 
 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 extra- 
 ordinary. 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 
 
 2H 
 
482 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘It’s all incendiarism ! It’s nihilism! If anything is burn- 
 ing, 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. 
 
 ‘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.”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 “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. “‘ Pullhim down! Pull him down! 
 He will fall, he will catch fire, put him out! ... What is he 
 doing there 
 
 ‘ He is putting the fire out, your Excellency.”’ 
 
 “‘ 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 
 
THE END OF THE FETE 483 
 
 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?” _ 
 
 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. Lembkerushed 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. | 
 
 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, what- 
 ever 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 fireto. In this way he saved the house. But there 
 
484 _. THE POSSESSED 
 
 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.) 
 
 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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 “The fire wasn’t an accident,” I heard said in the crowd. 
 
 But the majority said nothing. People’s faces were sullen, 
 
THE END OF THE FETE 485 
 
 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 “ dis- 
 honourably ” 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. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 A ROMANCE ENDED 
 I 
 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. 
 
 ‘* 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.” 
 
 He did not go near the window, but stood three steps behind 
 her; she did not turn towards him. 
 
 ‘It ought to have been light an hour ago by the calendar, and 
 it’s still almost night,”’ she said irritably. 
 
 *““* 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.” 
 
 And he relapsed into silence, vexed at the ineptitude of the 
 second sentence. Liza gave a wry smile. . 
 
 ** 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 
 
 486 
 
A ROMANCE ENDED 487 
 
 point in what you said. I always live by the calendar. Every 
 step I take is regulated by the calendar. Does that surprise 
 you?” 
 
 She turned quickly from the window and sat down in a low 
 chair, 
 
 ‘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 ?”’ 
 
 Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sat beside her and softly, almost 
 timidly took her hand. 
 
 ““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.” 
 
 “You are beginning to reckon up my mysterious phrases ? ”’ 
 
 she laughed. ‘‘ Do youremember 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.” 
 
 “1 don’t remember, Liza. Why dead? You must live.” 
 
 ** 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 ? ” 
 
 ‘** No I don’t,” he answered, frowning. 
 
 * Christopher Ivanovitch at Lausanne ? He bored you dread- 
 fully. 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.” 
 
 A look of pain came into his face. 
 
 ‘Liza, it grieves me, this unnatural language. This affecta- 
 tion must hurt you, too. What’s it for? What’s the object 
 of it?” 
 
 His eyes glowed. 
 
 ‘* Tjiza,’’ he cried, ‘‘ I swear I love you now more than yesterday 
 when you came to me!” 
 
 ‘“‘ What a strange declaration! Why bring in yesterday and 
 to-day and these comparisons ? ”’ 
 
 ‘You won’t leave me,”’ he went on, almost with despair; “‘ we 
 
 will go away together, to-day, won’t we? Won't we?” 
 © Aie, don’t squeeze my hand so painfully! Where could we 
 vo together to-day? To ‘rise again ’ somewhere ? No, we’ve 
 made experiments enough .. . and it’s too slow for me; and 
 lam not fit for it; it’s too exalted forme. If we are to go, 
 
488 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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.”’ 
 
 ‘Liza! What happened yesterday ! ” 
 
 ‘What happened is over ! ” 
 
 “‘'That’s impossible! That’s cruel ? ”’ 
 
 ‘What if it is cruel? You must bear it if it is cruel.” © 
 
 ““ You are avenging yourself on me for yesterday’s caprice,” he 
 muttered with an angry smile. Liza flushed. 
 
 ‘“ What a mean thought ! ”’ 
 
 ‘““ Why then did you bestow on me . . . so great a happiness ? 
 Have I the right to know ?” 
 
 “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 ! ” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘Your own life or another’s ? ” 
 
 He got up quickly. 
 
 “What does that mean?” he brought out, looking at her 
 bteadily. 
 
 ‘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!” | 
 
 “If you know anything, Liza, I swear I don’t . . . and I 
 
A ROMANCE ENDED 489 
 
 wasn’t talking of that just now when I said that I had paid for 
 it with life... .” Bs wiok 
 
 ‘“*T don’t understand you,’’ she brought out, faltering appre- 
 hensively. 
 
 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. | 
 
 _““A bad dream and delirium. . .. We were talking of two 
 different things.” 
 
 “TI 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 ?” 
 
 “1 did,” he said softly. 
 
 “Well then, what would you have? You knew and yet you 
 accepted ‘that moment’ for yourself. Aren’t we quits ? ”’ 
 
 ‘““'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 ? ” 
 
 She looked at him with hatred. 
 
 * 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 
 lve discovered that you are very generous to me, and it’s 
 just that i can’t endure from you.” 
 
 He got up from his seat and took a few steps about the room. 
 
 ‘* Very well, perhaps it was bound to end so. ... But how 
 can it all have happened ? ”’ 
 
 ‘“* 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. Iam a young 
 lady, my heart has been trained on the opera, that’s how it all 
 began, that’s the solution.” 
 
 ce No.” 
 
 “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, 
 
490 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 compli- 
 mented 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.” 
 
 “Dream and delirium,” cried Stavrogin, wringing his hands, 
 and pacing about the room. ‘“‘ Liza, poor child, what have you 
 done to yourself ? ”’ 
 
 ‘*Pve burnt myself in a candle, nothing more. Surely you 
 are not crying, too ? You should show less feeling and better 
 breeding. . 
 
 Why, why did you come to me?” 
 
 “Don’t you understand what a ludicrous position you put 
 yourself in in the eyes of the world by asking such questions ? ”’ 
 
 “Why have youruined yourself, so grotesquely and so stupidly, 
 and what’s to be done now ?”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ And this is Stavrogin, ‘the vampire Stavrogin,’ as you are 
 called by a lady here who isin 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.” 
 
 ‘* As many as you; I give you my solemn word, not one sain 
 more than you! ”’ 
 
 He was still walking up and down and did not see the seid 
 
A ROMANCE ENDED 49} 
 
 penetrating glance she turned upon him,in which there seemed 
 a dawning hope. But the light died away at the same moment. 
 
 ‘If you knew what it costs me that I can’t be sincere at this 
 moment, Liza, if I could only tell you . . .” 
 
 “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. 
 
 “I ought to confess that ever since those days in Switzerland 
 I have had a strong feeling that you have something awful, loath- 
 some, 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, Pll go at once.”? She jumped up from her chair 
 with a movement of disgust and contempt. 
 
 “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, laccepted 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. Isuddenly believed. . .. Perhaps I have faith in 
 it still.” 
 
 * T 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.” 
 
 ‘** Can’t you help thinking of her even now ? ”’ 
 
 ** 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 ?” 
 
 At the farther end of the room a door opened a crack ; a head 
 
 was thrust in and vanished again hurriedly. 
 
 Ts that you, Alexey Yegorytch ?” asked Stavrogin. 
 
 ‘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 
 
492 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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!” 
 Stavrogin moved towards him but turned back to Liza at the 
 third step. 
 
 ‘“‘ Tf you hear anything directly, Liza, let me tell you I am to 
 blame for it ! ”’ 
 
 She started and looked at him in dismay; but he hurriedly 
 went out. | 
 
 Il 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘Well ? ”’ 
 
 “Tf 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.” 
 
 ‘* Have they been burnt ? murdered ? ” 
 
 “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, forme. . . .” (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: 
 
A ROMANCE ENDED 463 
 
 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 toevery 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. . ...”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 “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. ‘‘1 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 unex- 
 pectedly. 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 some- 
 thing at Kirillov’s (do you remember, your hint ?) he made up 
 his mind to take advantage of it. That’s the whole truth. 
 ~ Iam 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 
 
494 THE POSSESSED 
 
 only knows what to make of it! It is taking things into their 
 own hands. ... Yousee, as | 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 allrise 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 owr 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...” 
 
 ‘Why, are they all saying that ?” 
 
 “‘ 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! Voz populi vox Det. 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... .” 
 
 ‘* And weren’t the bodies burnt at all ? ”’ 
 
 “Not a bit; that ruffian could not manage anything properly. 
 But Lam 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 ? ” 
 
 ** Are you threatening me, you fool ? ” 
 
 ‘Come, leave off, leave off! Here you are, calling me a fool, 
 
A ROMANCE ENDED 495 
 
 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! Iwant 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! ”’ 
 
 ‘“* Mavriky Nikolaevitch ? Is that true ?” 
 
 “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 ?” 
 
 He is waiting for Lizaveta Nikolaevna, of course.”’ 
 
 ** Well! Why should she go out to him? And... in such 
 rain too... whata fool!” 
 
 ‘* She is just going out to him!” 
 
 “Eh! That’s a piece of news! Sothen ... 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.” 
 
 ‘‘ Relieve her mind ? ” 
 
 ‘Rather! Let’s go.” 
 
 ‘** And do you suppose she won’t guess what those dead bodies 
 mean?” said Stavrogin, screwing up his eyes in a peculiar 
 way. 
 
 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 | 
 
496 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 happenina year? Ha ha!” 
 
 ‘Tf 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.” 
 
 ‘“What! Can she really be leaving? How can this have 
 come about?’ said Pyotr Stepanovitch, staring stupidly 
 at him, 
 
 ‘‘ She’s guessed somehow during this night that I don’t love 
 her . . . which she knew allalong, indeed.” 
 
 ** 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!” 
 
 Stavrogin suddenly laughed. 
 
 “Tam laughing at my monkey,”’ he explained at once. 
 
 “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! Ill 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, 
 thene ent 
 
 “So you brought her simply for my amusement ? ” 
 
 “Why, what else ?” 
 
A ROMANCE ENDED 497 
 
 ** Not to make me kill my wife ?” 
 
 ““Come. You've not killed her? What a tragic fellow you 
 are |” 
 
 “Tt’s just the same; you killed her.” 
 
 “TY didn’t kil her! I tell you I had no hand in it. ... You 
 are beginning to make me uneasy, though. .. .” 
 
 “Goon. You said, ‘if you don’t want her now, then...’ ” 
 
 ** Then, leave it to me, of course. I can quite easily marry her 
 oif 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! Iam awfully glad that you are so cheerful 
 now. Come, let’s go. Dll 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.” 
 
 ‘** What will she hear? Who’s been murdered ? What were 
 you saying about Mavriky Nikolaevitch ?” said Liza, suddenly 
 opening the door. 
 
 “Ah! You've been listening ? ” 
 
 ‘* What were you saying just now about Mavriky Nikolaevitch? 
 Has he been murdered ? ”’ 
 
 “Ah! Then you didn’t hear? Don’t distress yourself, 
 Mavriky Nikolaevitch is alive and well, and you can satisfy your- 
 self 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.” 
 
 “That’s not true. You said ‘murdered.’ ... Who’s been 
 
 murdered ?”’ she insisted with agonising mistrust. 
 
 ‘‘The only people who have been murdered are my wife, her 
 brother Lebyadkin, and their servant,” Stavrogin brought out 
 firmly. 
 
 Liza trembled and turned terribly pale. 
 
 21 
 
498 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘‘ A strange brutal outrage, Lizaveta Nikolaevna. A stupid 
 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?” 
 
 “Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, is he telling the truth?” Liza 
 articulated faintly. 
 
 ‘*No; it’s false.”’ 
 
 “ False!’ said Pyotr Stepanovitch, starting. ‘‘ What do you 
 mean by that ?” 
 
 “Heavens! I shall go mad!” cried Liza. 
 
 **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 ? ”’ 
 
 ‘‘ 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. Ill follow you like a dog.” 
 
 ‘Why are you tormenting. her, you fantastic creature ?” 
 cried Pyotr Stepanovitch in exasperation. ‘“‘ Lizaveta Niko- 
 laevna, 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.” 
 
 “Ts that right? Is that right ?”’ Liza waited trembling for 
 her final sentence. 
 
 ‘“‘T 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. 
 
 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. | 
 
 ‘So that’s your line? That’s your line? Se there’s nothing 
 
A ROMANCE ENDED 499 
 
 you are afraid of ?” He flew at Stavrogin in an absolute fury, 
 muttering incoherently, scarcely able to find words and foaming 
 at the mouth. 
 
 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. 
 
 ** 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!” 
 
 “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 !” 
 
 “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 ! ”’ 
 
 He seized his revolver again. Stavrogin looked at him 
 gravely. ; 
 
 “Very well, kill me,” he said softly, almost conciliatorily. 
 
 “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! Way, what difference would it 
 make to you since you ask for a bullet through your brains 
 yourself ? ”’ 
 
 Stavrogin smiled strangely. 
 
 ‘“‘Tf you were not such a buffoon I might perhaps have said 
 yes now. .. . If you had only a grain of sense . . .” 
 
 “T am a buffoon, but I don’t want you, my better half, to be 
 one! Do you understand me?” 
 
 Stavrogin did understand, though perhaps no one else did. 
 ‘Shatov, for instance, was astonished when Stavrogin told him 
 that Pyotr Stepanovitch had enthusiasm. 
 
 ‘‘Go to the devil now, and to-morrow perhaps I may wring 
 something out of myself. Come to-morrow.” 
 
500 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘Yes? Yes?” 
 
 ‘How can I tell! ... Go to hell. Go to hell.’ And he 
 walked out of the room. 
 
 ‘‘ Perhaps, after all, it may be for the best,”’ Pyotr Stepanovitch 
 muttered to himself as he hid the revolver. 
 
 iil 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““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. 
 
 She did not pull her arm away, but she seemed hardly to know 
 what she was doing; she was still dazed. | 
 
 ‘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, Icameina droshky ; the horse is inthe yard. I'll 
 get it instantly, put you in, and get you home so that no one sees 
 you.” 
 
 ““ How kind you are,” said Liza graciously. 
 
 “Oh, not at all. Any humane man in my position would do 
 the same. .. .” 
 
 Liza looked at him, and was surprised. . 
 
 ‘Good heavens! Why I thought it was that old man here 
 still.”’ 
 
 “Listen. JI am awfully glad that you take it like this, because 
 it’s allsuch 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?” 
 
 “I want first . . . where are those murdered people ?,”. 
 
 “Ah! What next? That was what I was afraid of. 
 
 99 
 
A ROMANCE’ ENDED 501 
 
 No, we’d better leave those wretched creatures alone; it’s no 
 use your looking at them.” 
 
 “I know where they are. I know that house.” 
 
 “Well? What if you do know it? Come; it’s raining, 
 and there’s a fog. (A nice job this sacred duty T’'ve taken upon 
 myself.) Listen, Lizaveta Nikolaevna! It’s one of two alter- 
 natives. Hither 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.”’ 
 
 ** Mavriky Nikolaevitch! Where? Where ?” 
 
 ** 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.” 
 
 “He is waiting for me. Good God!” she suddenly stopped, 
 and a flush of colour flooded her face. 
 
 “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. . .” 
 
 “Ah! That’s fine, that’s lovely,” cried Liza. 
 
 ~* 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. ... Im 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. a 
 
 “Lovely, lovely!” Liza laughed hysterically. 
 
 “Well, hang it all... Lizaveta Nikolaevna,” said Pyotr 
 Sons. suddenly piqued. ““T 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 
 seeus. Isay, Lizaveta Nikolaévna; have you ever read ‘ Polenka 
 Saxe’ ?” 
 
 “ What’s that ? ”’ 7 
 
 “ Tt’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. ... 
 
502 THE POSSESSED 
 
 But, hang it; it’s no consequence! You’llsee, Mavriky Nikolae- 
 vitch will make you an offer before you get home. He doesn’t 
 see us yet.” 
 
 “Ach! Don’t let him see us!” Liza cried suddenly, like a 
 mad creature. ‘‘Come away, come away! To the woods, to 
 the fields ! ”’ 
 
 And she ran back. 
 
 *‘ 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 
 isrunning! Better go back to Stavrogin’s and take my droshky. 
 . . . Where are you going? That’s the way to the fields! 
 There! She’sfallendown!...” 
 
 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 
 felldown. 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. 
 
 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 surround- 
 ings 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 great- 
 coat, and with trembling hands put it round her sleoulders. 
 Suddenly he uttered a cry, feeling that she had pressed her lips 
 to his hand. 
 
 ** Liza,” he cried, “I am no good for anything, but don’t 
 drive me away from you!” 
 
 “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 
 2 bold face there all the time, but now I am afraid of death. 
 
 b) 
 
A ROMANCE ENDED 503 
 
 I shall die soon, very soon, but I am afraid, I am afraid to 
 die . . .” she whispered, pressing his hand tight. 
 
 “Oh, if there were some one,” he looked round in despair. 
 ‘Some passer-by! You will get your feet wet, you... will 
 lose your reason ! ”’ 
 
 “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!” 
 
 ““No one is your judge now,” Mavriky Nikolaevitch pro- 
 nounced firmly. ‘‘ God forgive you. I least of all can be your 
 judge.” 
 
 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 dia 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 
 
504 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘Can it really be you?” cried Liza, looking at him with 
 distressed wonder, after her first rush of instinctive gladness. 
 
 ‘* Tvse,”’ cried Stepan Trofimovitch, rushing to her almost 
 in delirium too. ‘“‘ Chére, chére. . . . Can you be out, too... 
 in suchafog? You see the glow of fire. Vous étes malheureuse, 
 n’est-ce pas? Isee, 1 see. Don’t tell me, but don’t question me 
 either. Nous sommes tous malheureux mais tl faut les pardonner 
 tous. Pardonnons, Lise, and let us be free for ever. To be 
 quit of the world and be completely free. Jl faut pardonner, 
 pardonner, et pardonner !” 
 
 ‘“‘ But why are you kneeling down ?” 
 
 ““ 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 hfe. I kiss and give thanks! Now I’ve torn myself in 
 half; left behind a mad visionary who dreamed of soaring to 
 the sky. Vingt-deux ans, here. A shattered, frozen old man. 
 A tutor chez ce marchand, s°il existe pourtant ce marchand. .. . 
 But how drenched you are, Lise /” 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! Vous 
 étes malheureuse. 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 Nikolae- 
 vitch. ‘* Mais savez-vous Vheure qu'il est ?” 
 
 ““Stepan Trofimovitch, have you heard anything about the 
 people who’ve been murdered? ...Is it true? Is it true?” 
 
 “These people! I saw the glow of their work all night. 
 They were bound to end in this. ...” His eyes flashed again. 
 
A ROMANCE ENDED 505 
 
 **T am fleeing away from madness, from a delirious) dream, 
 I am fleeing away to seek for Russia. Hwiste-t-elle, la Russie ? 
 Bah! Crest vous, cher capitaine! Tve 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 (1 mean, 
 Nastasya) would have shouted for the benefit of the whole street 
 if she’d found out I was going away. Sol slipped away as far 
 as possible incognito. I don’t know; in the Voice 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. Chére Lise, 
 I thought you said something of some one’s being murdered. 
 Oh, mon Dieu! You are ill!” 
 
 ““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 Nikolae- 
 vitch, give that baby back his umbrella. You must give it him. 
 That’s right. . . . Come, let us go, let us go!” 
 
 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 indi- 
 viduals 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 amaze- 
 ment, 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 hub- 
 bub of loud talking and at last sudden shouts. Someone bawled 
 
506 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 cabinet- 
 maker 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. | 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 THE LAST RESOLUTION 
 I 
 
 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 almost taken her to Stavrogin himself in the carriage. 
 *“ Yes, yes, it’s all very well for you to laugh, gentlemen, but if 
 only ?’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 dis- 
 playing 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 
 507 
 
508 THE POSSESSED 
 
 this was by no means such a fine thing to do as he supposed. 
 But Pyotr Stepanovitch immediately defended himself. 
 
 ‘“‘T 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.” _ 
 
 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.” 
 
 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. | 
 
 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.” IT 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. 
 
 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 unpar- 
 donably 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 distin- 
 guished by extreme taciturnity: he was capable of sitting for 
 
THE LAST RESOLUTION 509 
 
 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. 
 
 ** 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 Stepano- 
 vitch, 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. 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch did not turn up till half-past eight, With 
 
510 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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.”’ 
 
 ‘* Before I open my mouth, you’ve got something hidden; 
 out with it.” | 
 
 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 move- 
 ment 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.’”? (Exclama- 
 tions. ‘‘ Yes, yes.”? General approval.) 
 
 “Damn it all, what do you want ? ”’ 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “Tf Stavrogin and you are caught, we shall be caught too,” 
 added the authority on the peasantry. 
 
 ‘‘ And to no good purpose for the common cause,” Virginsky 
 concluded despondently. 
 
 ‘“ What nonsense! The murder is a chance crime; it was 
 committed by Fedka for the sake of robbery.” 
 
 ‘“H’m! Strange coincidence, though,” said Liputin, wriggling. 
 
 “* And if you will have it, it’s all through you.” 
 
 * Through us ? ” 
 
 ‘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,” 
 
 “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 ? ”’ 
 
 ¢ 
 
THE LAST RESOLUTION 511 
 
 ** An idea is not a command. The command was to get him 
 away.” 
 
 “Command! Rather a queer word. ... On the contrary, 
 your orders were to delay sending him off.” 
 
 ‘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 inter- 
 view with the vice-governor ; if there were anything in it they 
 would not let him go to Petersburg in broad daylight.” 
 
 “But we are not making out that Mr. Stavrogin committed 
 the murder himself,” Liputin rejoined spitefully and uncere- 
 moniously. ‘‘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.” 
 
 ‘* Whom are you accusing ?”’ said Pyotr Stepanovitch, looking 
 at him darkly. 
 
 ‘“‘ Those whose interest it is to burn down towns.” 
 
 “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 ? ” 
 _ 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. 
 
 ‘* Ts that really Lebyadkin’s handwriting ? ” observed Shigalov. 
 
 “Tt is,” answered Liputin and Tolkatchenko (the authority 
 on the peasantry). 
 
 ‘“‘T 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, gentle- 
 men, 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?” 
 
 The members exchanged rapid glances. 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 ‘What's this! We, we set fire to the town? That is laying 
 the blame on others ! ’’ they exclaimed. 
 
 “JT quite understand that you carried the game too far,” 
 
 b) 
 
512 3 THE POSSESSED 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch persisted stubbornly, “‘ but it’s not a matter 
 of petty scandals with Yulia Mihailovna. Ive 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.” | 
 
 ‘*‘ 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. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘“ What three? What three of us?” 
 
 ‘The day before yesterday, at three o’clock in the night, you, 
 Tolkatchenko, were inciting Fomka Zavyalov at the ‘ Forget- © 
 me-not.’ ”’ 
 
 ‘‘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 ke 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.” 
 
 ‘“You are like a man who should be surprised that a tiny 
 spark could blow a whole powder magazine into the air.” 
 
 ‘¢T spoke in a whisper in his ear, in a corner; how could you 
 have heard of it?” 7 
 
 Tolkatchenko reflected suddenly. 
 
 “I was sitting there under the table. Don’t disturb your- 
 selves, 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.” 
 
 Liputin’s mouth fell open and he turned pale. (It was after- 
 wards 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.) 
 
THE LAST RESOLUTION 513 
 
 ‘ May I state a fact ?”’ said Shigalov, getting up. 
 
 ** State it.” 
 
 Shigalov sat down and pulled himself together. 
 
 ** 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 autho- 
 rity, 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?” 
 
 ‘“* It’s correct, only you are very tedious.” 
 
 ‘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, ata signal .. .” 
 
 ‘** Ah, damn it all, I have enough to do without you!” cried 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch, twisting in his chair. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘‘ 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.” 
 
 At this all were agape with astonishment. 
 
 ‘‘ 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!” 
 
 ‘“‘Stavrogin, no doubt,” cried Liputin. 
 
 2K. 
 
514 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘““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. 1 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.” 
 
 ‘Ts it true? How does Shatov know ?” 
 
 The excitement was indescribable. 
 
 ‘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. Z 
 
 All were silent. 
 
 “We really must send him to the devil!” Tolkatchenko was 
 the first to exclaim. 
 
 ‘It ought to have been done long ago,’? Lyamshin put in 
 malignantly, striking the table with his fist. 
 
 ‘* 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. 
 
 ‘“That’s all very well,” Liputin observed irresolutely, ‘‘ but 
 since it will be another adventure . . . of the same sort... it 
 wili make too great a sensation.” 
 
 ‘‘ No doubt,” assented Pyotr Stepanovitch, “‘ but I’ve provided 
 against that. We have the means of averting suspicion com- 
 pletely.” 
 
 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 
 
THE LAST RESOLUTION 515 
 
 himself anything they dictated to him (all of which the reader 
 knows already). 
 
 “His determination to take his own life—a philosophic, or 
 as I should call it, insane decision—has become known there” 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch went on to explain. ‘‘ There 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 par- 
 ticular footing and is anxious to be of service ; more than that 
 I can’t tell you. To-morrow, after Shatov’s affair, Vil 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 Vl think about that. You needn’t worry yourselves, 
 he has no prejudices ; he’ll sign anything.” 
 
 There were expressions of doubt. It sounded a fantastic story. 
 But they had all heard more or less about Kirillov ; Liputin 
 more than all. 
 
 ‘“*He may change his mind and not want to,” said Shigalov ; 
 “ he is a madman anyway, so he is not much to build upon.” 
 
 ‘** Don’t be uneasy, gentlemen, he will want to,” Pyotr Stepano- 
 vitch 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 conse- 
 
516 THE POSSESSED 
 
 quences, 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.” 
 ‘* Yes, we decide to do it,” Liputin pronounced. 
 _ “ There’s no other way, out of it,’ muttered Tolkatchenko, 
 “and if only Liputin confirms about Kirillov, then... 
 “JT am against it; with all my, soul and strength I protest 
 against such a murderous decision,” said Virginsky, standing up. 
 ‘“‘ But?” asked Pyotr Stepanovitch. ... 
 
 “ But what,?,” | 
 
 “You said but... and I,am waiting.” 
 
 *‘T don’t think I did say but ....I only meant to say that 
 if you decide to do it, then ....” 
 
 rdhem'? ” 
 
 Virginsky did not answer. 
 
 “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... .”’ 
 
 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, 
 
 ‘““T am for the cause,”’ Virginsky pronounced suddenly. 
 
 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. 
 
 {I 
 
 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. 7 | 
 
THE LAST RESOLUTION 517 
 
 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... 
 
 But Pyotr Stepanovitch had no time to trot out the Romans ; 
 he was completely thrown out of his reckoning. Stavrogin’s 
 fight 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. 
 
 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. 
 - 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 
 
— ~618 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 Stepano- 
 vitch 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. 
 
 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 if it came 
 to the worst. 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. ¢ 
 
 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 prin- 
 cipal thoroughfares and went into a restaurant. 
 
 ‘What are you doing ?”’ cried Liputin, boiling over. ‘This 
 is a restaurant.” 
 
 “T want a beefsteak.” 
 
 “Upon my word! It is always full of people.” 
 
 “ What if it is ?”’ 
 
 “But ... we shall be late. It’s ten o’clock already.” 
 
 ** You can’t be too late to go there.”’ 
 
 ** But I shall be late! They are expecting me back.” 
 
 “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.”’ 
 
 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 
 
THE LAST RESOLUTION 519 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“* 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 hand- 
 writing, 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. 
 
 “Keep it; DH tell you afterwards. ... What do you say 
 to it, though ? ” 
 
 Liputin shuddered all over. 
 
 “In my opinion... such a manifesto . .. is nothing but 
 a ridiculous absurdity.” 
 
 His anger broke out ; he felt as though he were being caught 
 up and carried along. 
 
 “‘ If we decide to distribute such manifestoes,”’ he said, quivering 
 all over, “‘ we'll make ourselves contemptible by our stupidity 
 and incompetence.” 
 
 “A’m! Ithink differently,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, walking 
 on resolutely. 
 
 “So dol; surely it isn’t your work ?”’ 
 
 **That’s not your business.” 
 
 “‘{ think too that doggerel, ‘A Noble Personality,’ is the 
 most utter trash possible, and it couldn’t have been written by 
 Herzen.” 
 
 ‘You are talking nonsense ; it’s a good poem.” 
 
 *‘T 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 prole- 
 tariat there, but we are only amateurs here and in my opinion 
 are only showing off.” 
 
 ‘“‘T thought you were a Fourierist.” 
 
520 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “Fourier says something quite different, quite different.” 
 
 “I know it’s nonsense.” 
 
 ‘‘ No, Fourier isn’t nonsense. . . . Excuse me, I can’t believe 
 that there will be a rising in May.” 
 
 Liputin positively unbuttoned his coat, he was so hot. 
 
 “ Well, that’s enough; but now, that I mayn’t forget it,” 
 said Pyotr Stepanovitch, pasring 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.” 
 
 “No, excuse me; I can’t undertake such a . . . I decline.” 
 
 “You'll take it all the same. Iam acting on the instructions 
 of the central committee, and you are bound to obey.” 
 
 ‘‘ 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. 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 “No, ?m not. We have a full right to break off and found a 
 new society.” 
 
 “Fool!” Pyotr Stepanovitch boomed at him threateningly 
 all of a sudden, with flashing eyes. ? 
 
 They stood facing one another for some time. Pyotr Stepano- 
 vitch turned and parsued his way confidently. 
 
 The idea flashed through Liputin’s mind, “‘ Turn and go back ; 
 if IT 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. 
 
 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 
 
THE LAST RESOLUTION 521 
 
 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. 
 
 “ Shatov mustn’t know that we are here,” Pyotr Stepanovitch 
 whispered sternly to Liputin. 
 
 Tht 
 
 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. 
 
 “You are not mistaken,”’ said Pyotr Stepanovitch, “‘ it’s just 
 that I’ve come about.” 
 
 To-day 2” 
 
 “No, no, to-morrow . . . about thistime.’’ And he hurriedly 
 sat down at the table, watching Kirillov’s agitation with some 
 uneasiness. But the latter had already regained his composure 
 and locked as usual. 
 
 “These people still refuse to believe in you. You are not 
 vexed at my bringing Liputin ? ”’ 
 
 “To-day I am not vexed; to-morrow I want to be alone.” 
 
 ** But not before I come, and therefore in my presence.” 
 
 **I should prefer not in your presence.” 
 
 “You remember you promised to write and to sign all I 
 dictated.”’ 
 
 “I don’t care. And now will you be here long ?”’ 
 
 ** J have to see one man and to remain half an hour, so whatever 
 you say I shall stay that half-hour.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““T’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.”’ 
 
 ** Drink it. You can have some if you like.”’ 
 
 *“You used to offer it to me,’ observed Pyotr Stepanovitch 
 sourly. 
 
522 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “‘That’s no matter. Let Liputin have some too.” 
 
 SiNop DL wridscan'ts? 
 
 “Don’t want to or can’t ?”’ said Pyotr Stepanovitch, turning 
 quickly to him. 
 
 ‘““T am not going to here,” Liputin said expressively. 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch frowned. 
 
 “‘ There’s a flavour of mysticism about that ; goodness knows 
 what to make of you people !”’ 
 
 No one answered ; there was a full minute of silence. 
 
 ‘“* But I know one thing,”’ he added abruptly, “‘ that no super- 
 stition will prevent any one of us from doing his duty.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Has Stavrogin gone ?”’ asked Kirillov. 
 
 €é Yes.”’ 
 
 “* He’s done well.” 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch’s eyes gleamed, but he restrained himself. 
 
 “TI don’t care what you think as long as every one keeps his 
 word.’ 
 
 “Tl keep my word.” 
 
 “TI always knew that you would do your duty like an shee 
 pendent and progressive man.’ 
 
 *‘ You are an absurd fellow.” 
 
 “That may be; I am very glad to amuse you. I am always © 
 glad if I can give people pleasure.”’ 
 
 ** You are very anxious I should shoot myself and are afraid 
 I might suddenly not ?”’ 
 
 “ 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.” 
 
 ‘You've no claim at all.” 
 
 ““I understand, I understand; you are perfectly free, 
 and we don’t come in so long as your free intention is carried 
 out.” 
 
 “And am I to take on myself all the nasty things you’ve 
 done ?”’ 
 
 ** Listen, Kirillov, are you afraid? If you want to cry off, 
 say so at once.” 
 
 “TI am not afraid.” 
 
 ““T ask because you are making so many inquiries.”’ 
 
 ** Are you going soon ?”’ 
 
 “ Asking questions again ?”’ 
 
 Kirillov scanned him contemptuously. 
 
THE LAST RESOLUTION 523 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “There’s only one thing I hate, that at such a moment I 
 should have a reptile like you beside me.’ 
 
 ‘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 alla 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.” 
 
 “No, not infinitely ; you've got abilities, but there’s a lot 
 you don’t understand because you are a low man.”’ 
 
 ** Delighted, delighted. I told you already I am delighted to 
 provide entertainment . . . at such a moment.” 
 
 “You don’t understand anything.”’ 
 
 “That is, I. . . well, I listen with respect, anyway.” 
 
 “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. 
 
 ** T 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.” 
 
 “What? The idea has mastered me ?”’ 
 
 6c Yes.’’ 
 
 “And not I mastered the idea? That’s good. You have 
 a little sense. Only you tease me and I am proud.” 
 
 ‘“‘'That’s a good thing, that’s a good thing. Just what you 
 need, to be proud.” 
 
 ‘Enough. You’ve drunk your tea; go away.” 
 
 ‘* 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 ? ” 
 
 ‘“‘ You won’t find him, because he is here and not there.” 
 
 *‘Here! Damn it all, where ?” 
 
 “* Sitting in the kitchen, eating and drinking.” 
 
 ‘“‘ How dared he ?” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, flushing angrily. 
 
524 THE ‘POSSESSED 
 
 “It was his duty to wait... what nonsense! He has no 
 passport, no money !”’ | | 
 
 ‘““T 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.” 
 
 “Haha! Heisafraid that ll... Butevennowlcan... 
 if . . . Where is he, in the kitchen ?”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ What notion is this ?’”’ cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, whisking 
 into the room. “Why didn’t you wait where you were 
 ordered ?”’ ! boars 
 
 And swinging his fist, he brought it down heavily on the table. 
 
 Fedka assumed an air of dignity. 
 
 “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!” 
 
 And he made a jaunty show of spitting to one side. Haughti- 
 ness and determination were evident in his manner, and a certain 
 very threatening assumption of argumentative calm that. sug- 
 gested an outburst to follow. But Pyotr Stepanovitch had no 
 time to realise the danger, and it did not fit in with his precon- 
 ceived 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. 
 
THE LAST RESOLUTION 525 
 
 “Do you or don’t you want a trustworthy passport and good 
 money to go where you've been told ?., Yes or no ?”’ 
 
 “ 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. Stav- 
 rogin 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 Him- 
 self, the true Creator ? You are no better than an idolater and 
 aré 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... .” 
 
 “Ah, you drunken dog! He strips the ikons of their setting 
 and then preaches about God !”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 alldown 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 
 
526 THE POSSESSED 
 
 in my arms when I was a stripling, I would have done for you 
 now, without budging from this place!” 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch flew into a violent rage. 
 
 ‘Tell me, have you seen Stavrogin to-day ?” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ““ 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.” 
 
 Fedka leapt on to his feet and his eyes gleamed with fury. 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch pulled out hisrevolver. 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. 
 
 ‘* 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. 
 
 ‘““ 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. 
 
 ‘““ 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. 
 
 “Tf 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 
 
THE LAST RESOLUTION 527 
 
 words, “I'll hang you... like a fly ...or crush you... 
 if it’s at the other end of the world . . . do you understand !”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 “Well?” He turned to Liputin with a challenge. 
 
 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 : 
 
 “I think’... Ithink that...” : 
 
 “Did you see what Fedka was drinking in the kitchen ?”’ 
 
 ** What he was drinking ? He was drinking vodka.” 
 
 ‘“‘ 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!” 
 
 Liputin rushed home full speed. 
 
 IV 
 
 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 emer- 
 gency, that he might escape abroad by means of it if . . . he 
 did admit the possibility of this if, though no doubt he was 
 never able himself to formulate what this 7f might mean. 
 
 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, 
 
§28 | THE POSSESSED 
 
 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, 
 
 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. 
 
 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 before or after 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 after it, and that that was determined, signed, and sealed. 
 
 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 skuH 
 broken, had apparently been robbed and, secondly, that the 
 police already had strong suspicion and even good grounds for 
 
THE LAST RESOLUTION 529 
 
 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 for ever. 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. 
 
 2u 
 
CHAPTER V 
 A WANDERER 
 
 I 
 
 TuE catastrophe with Liza and the death of Marya Timofyevna 
 made an overwhelming impression on Shatov. I have already 
 mentioned that that morning 1 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 1 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 everything 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 Stepano- 
 vitch 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... . 
 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 
 530 
 
A WANDERER 531 
 
 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 upin 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. 
 
 ‘“ Who’s there ? ” he called, literally numb with terror. 
 
 “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 ?”’ 
 
 It was true: he recognised the voice ! 
 
 “Marie! ... Isit you?” Abt 
 
 “Yes, yes, Marya Shatov, and I assure you I can’t keep the 
 driver a minute longer.” 
 
 “This minute ... 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. 
 
 ‘Be so good as to hold the bag while I settle with this block- 
 head,” 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. 
 
 “ 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.” 
 ‘“ Ech, lady, you told me yourself Voznesensky Street and thir 
 
532 THE POSSESSED 
 
 is Bogoyavlensky ;, Voznesensky is ever so far away. You" ve 
 simply put the horse into a steam.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Voznesensky, Bogoyavlensky—you ought to know all shine 
 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.” 
 
 ‘‘ 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. 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 ““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 ! ”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“Thank God, here they are at last!’ he cried joyfully, 
 lighting up the room. Marya Shatov took a cursory survey of 
 his abode. 
 
 ‘‘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. 
 
 ** 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 ! ”’ 
 
 Shatov was all of a tremor. 
 
 ‘You mustn’t, Marie, you mustn’t go to an hotel? An hotel! 
 What for ? What for?” 
 
 He clasped his hands imploringly. . 
 
 “ Well, if I can get on without the hotel . . I must, anyway, 
 
A WANDERER 533 
 
 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.” 
 
 “Qh, Marie! This is unnecessary, quite unnecessary,” 
 Shatov muttered vaguely. : 
 
 “Tf 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! ”’ 
 
 Her eyes flashed. She must have had to bear a great Ceal 
 at the hands of some “‘ blackguards.”’ 
 
 *““ 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.”’ 
 
 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 !), 2 
 
534 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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, everything (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 wasadream. 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, naive 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. 
 
 ‘“‘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 ! ”’ 
 
 “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 itis!” 
 
 “Oh, Pll get some logs for the fire directly, some logs ... 
 I’ve got logs.” Shatov was all astir. “Logs... that is 
 . . . but Pll get tea directly,” he waved his hand as though with 
 desperate determination and snatched up his cap. 
 
 ** Where are you going ? So you’ve no tea in the house ?” 
 
 ** There shall be, there shall be, there shall be, there shall be 
 everything directly. ...I1.. .” he took his revolver from the 
 shelf, ‘‘ I'll sell this revolver directly . . . or pawnit. .. .” 
 
 ‘‘What foolishness and what a time that will take! Take 
 
A WANDERER 535 
 
 my money if you’ve nothing, there’s eighty kopecks here, I think ; 
 that’s all I have. This is like a madhouse.”’ 
 
 ‘| don’t want your money, I don’t want it I’ll be here directly, 
 in one instant. I can manage without the revolver. .. .” 
 
 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... . 
 
 “ Kirillov, you always have tea; have you got tea and a 
 samovar ? ”’ 
 
 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. 
 “Pye 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.” 
 
 “* Kirillov, we lay side by side in America. . . . My wife has 
 come tome ...I... give me the tea. . . . I shall want the 
 samovar.”’ 
 
 “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; allofit. ‘There’s some veal. 
 I’ve a rouble.” 
 
 “Give it me, friend, Pll pay it back to-morrow! Ach, 
 Kirillov ! ”’ 
 
 ‘Ts 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.” 
 
 * 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!”’ 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 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 
 
536 THE POSSESSED 
 
 swallowed a tiny piece of bread. The veal she refused with 
 disgust and irritation. 
 
 ‘* Youareill, Marie, all this is a sign of illness,” Shatov remarked 
 timidly as he waited upon her. 
 
 ‘Of course I’m ill, please sit down. Where did you get the 
 tea if you haven’t any ?” 
 
 Shatov told her about Kirillov briefly. She had heard some- 
 thing of him. : 
 
 ‘I know he is mad; say no more, please; there are plenty 
 of fools. So you’ve been in America? I heard, you wrote.” 
 
 “Yes, I. . . I wrote to you in Paris.” 
 
 ‘* Enough, please talk of something else. Are you a Slavo- 
 phil in your convictions ? ”’ 
 
 “T...ITamnotexactly. . .. 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. 
 
 ‘Why, aren’t you a Russian ? ”’ 
 
 ** No, I’m not.” 
 
 ** Well, that’s all foolishness. Do sit down, I entreat you. 
 Why are you all over the place? Do you think I am light- 
 headed ? Perhaps I shall be. You say there are only you two 
 in the house.” 
 
 “Yes. . . . Downstairs ... 
 
 “And both such clever people. What is there downstairs ? 
 You said downstairs ?”’ 
 
 ** No, nothing.” 
 
 “Why nothing ? I want to know.” 
 
 ““T only meant to say that now we are only two in the yard, 
 but that the Lebyadkins used to live downstairs. . . .” 
 
 ‘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 ? ” 
 
 “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. 
 
 But Marie had not quite understood him. She heard his 
 answers inattentively ; she asked questions but did not listen. 
 
 ‘Fine things are being done among you! Oh, how con- 
 temptible it all is! What scoundrels men all are! But do 
 sit down, I beg you, oh, how you exasperate me!” and she let 
 ber head sink on the pillow, exhausted. 
 
 99 
 
A WANDERER 537 
 
 ** 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. Some one was coming up the stairs. 
 Shatov remembered he had forgotten to fasten the gate. 
 
 ‘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 : 
 
 **Tvan Shatov ?”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘* Erkel,”’ said the lad, introducing himself. ‘‘ You’ve seen me 
 at Virginsky’s.” 
 
 ‘“T 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 con- 
 tempt! I don’t acknowledge them. ...Idon’twantthem.... 
 
 I can throw you downstairs this minute, do you know that ?” 
 “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 almostingenuously. ‘‘ Ihave 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 
 
538 THE POSSESSED 
 
 been instructed to tell you also that nothing more will be asked 
 of you.” 
 
 ‘* Nothing ? ” 
 
 *‘ Absolutely nothing. Your request is granted, and you 
 are struck off our list. I was instructed to tell you that posi- 
 tively.” 
 
 ‘* Who instructed you to tell me ? ”’ 
 
 ‘** Those who told me the sign.” 
 
 ‘** Have you come from abroad ? ” 
 
 “T ... I think that’s no matter to you.” 
 
 ‘** Oh, hang it! Why didn’t you come before if you were 
 told to?” 
 
 ‘« T followed certain instructions and was not alone.” 
 
 ‘**T understand, I understand that you were not alone. Eh 
 . -. hang it! But why didn’t Liputin come himself ? ” 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 ** Will Verhovensky be there ? ” 
 
 ‘No, he won’t, Verhovensky is leaving the town at eleven 
 o’clock to-morrow morning.” 
 
 ** Just what I thought!’ Shatov whispered furiously, and 
 he struck his fist on his hip. ‘* He’s run off, the sneak! ” 
 
 He sank into agitated reflection. Erkel looked intently at 
 him and waited in silence. 
 
 * But how will you take it? You can’t simply pick it up in 
 your hands and carry it.’’ 
 
 ‘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 ?”’ 
 
 Shatov looked at him. 
 
 ‘You, you, a chit of a boy like you, a silly boy like you, you 
 too have got caught in that net likeasheep? Yes, that’s just the 
 young blood they want! Well, goalong. E-ech! that scoundrel’s 
 taken you all in and run away.” 
 
 Erkel looked at him serenely and calmly but did not seem to 
 understand. 
 
 ** Verhovensky, Verhovensky has run away !”’ Shatov growled 
 fiercely. | 
 
 ** But he is still here, he is not gone away. He is not going 
 til to-morrow,” Erkel observed softly and persuasively. “I 
 
A WANDERER 539 
 
 particularly begged him to be present as a witness ; my instruc- 
 tions 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.” 
 
 Shatov glanced compassionately at the simple youth again, 
 but suddenly gave a gesture of despair as though he thought 
 ““ they are not worth pitying.”’ 
 
 “All right, Pll come,” he cut him short. ‘ And now get 
 away, be off.” 
 
 “So Vl come for you at six o’clock punctually.’’ Erkel 
 made a courteous bow and walked deliberately downstairs. 
 
 “Little fool!” Shatov could not help shouting after him 
 from the top. 
 
 ‘* What is it ? ” responded the lad from the bottom. 
 
 ‘“* Nothing, you can go.”’ 
 
 * I thought you said something.” 
 
 II 
 
 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. 
 
 A craving for active service was characteristic of this shallow, 
 unrefiecting nature, which was for ever yearning to follow the 
 lead of another man’s will, of course for the good of ‘‘ the com- 
 mon ” 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 
 
540 THE POSSESSED 
 
 look at Shatov’s surroundings while carrying out his commis- 
 sion, 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. 
 
 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 con- 
 siderations. 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. ... 
 
 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 morn- 
 ing; 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. . .” 
 
 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 any- 
 thing but an unhappy, exhausted fellow-creature who needed 
 help—“‘how could he think of hopes, 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 remi- 
 niscences . . . and again he was haunted by hopes. 
 
 “Oh, I am tired, I am tired,” he remembered her exclama- 
 tions, her weak broken voice. ‘‘ Good God! Abandon her now, 
 
A WANDERER 541 
 
 and she has only eighty kopecks ; she held out her purse, a tiny 
 old thing! She’s come to lookfor a job. What does she know 
 aboutjobs? 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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 A great deal of time was spent in lighting 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. 
 
 ‘Marie, I was dropping asleep... . Ah, what a wretch I 
 am, Marie! ”’ 
 
 She sat up, looking about her with wonder, seeming not to 
 recognise where she was, and suddenly leapt up in indignation 
 and anger. 
 
 ‘ T’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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘‘ How could I wake you, Marie ?” 
 
 “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 TU lie 
 down in the corner on some chairs.” 
 
 ‘Marie, there aren’t chairs, enough, and there’s nothing to 
 
 put on them ”’ 
 
542 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘Then simply on the floor. Or you'll have to lie on the floor 
 yourself. I want to lie on the floor at once, at once ! ”’ 
 
 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. | 
 
 ‘‘ Marie darling, there’s a doctor Frenzel living here, a friend 
 of mine. . . . I could run for him.” 
 
 ‘* Nonsense ! ”’ 
 
 ‘‘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.”’ 
 
 ‘‘ What’s this,” she asked strangely, raising her head and 
 looking at him in dismay. 
 
 ‘‘What’s what, Marie?” said Shatov, not understanding. 
 ‘““What are you asking about? Good heavens! I am ety 
 bewildered, excuse my not understanding.” 
 
 ‘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 ! ”’ 
 
 Shatov began walking up and down the room, looking at the 
 floor, and doing his utmost not to glance at her. 
 
 ‘“'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.” 
 
 She made an angry gesture of disgust. Shatov bit his tongue 
 in despair. 
 
 ‘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 ? ”’ 
 
 ‘Ech, Marie, people don’t read books here, and there are 
 none here at all. And are they likely to begin binding them ! ” 
 
 ‘* Who are they ?”’ 
 
 ‘‘ The local readers and ah abitaiven generally, Marie.” 
 
 “Well, then, speak more clearly. They indeed, and one 
 doesn’t know who they are. You don’t know grammar! ” 
 
 ‘‘Jt’s in the spirit of the language,”’ Shatov muttered. 
 
A WANDERER 543 
 
 “ Oh, get along with your spirit, you bore me. Why shouldn’t 
 the local inhabitant or reader have his books bound ? ” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “ 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.” 
 
 She said this as disdainfully as her other capricious 
 remarks. 
 
 “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 2? 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 !”’ 
 
 ‘‘ 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. 
 
 “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. 
 
 “Marie, Marie! But it may be very serious, Marie 
 
 “ Be quiet . . . I won’t have it, I won’t have it,” she screamed 
 almost furiously, turning her face upwards again. ‘‘ Don’t dare 
 
 } >? 
 
544 THE POSSESSED 
 
 to look at me with your sympathy! Walk about the room, 
 say something, talk. .. .” 
 
 Shatov began muttering something again, like one 
 distraught. | 
 
 ‘““What do you do here ?”’ she asked, interrupting him with 
 contemptuous impatience. 
 
 ‘““T work in a merchant’s office. I could get a fair amount 
 of money even here if I cared to, Marie.” 
 
 ‘So much the better for you. .. .” 
 
 “Oh, don’t suppose I meant anything, Marie. I said it 
 without thinking.” 
 
 ‘* And what do you do besides? What are you preaching ? 
 You can’t exist without preaching, that’s your character ! ”’ 
 
 ““T am preaching God, Marie.”’ 
 
 ‘““In whom you don’t believe yourself. I never could see the 
 idea of that.”’ 
 
 ** Let’s leave that, Marie ; we’ll talk of that later.” 
 
 “* What sort of person was this Marya Timofyevna here ? ” 
 
 ** We'll talk of that later too, Marie.” 
 
 ‘“* 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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘“* Not a doubt of it,”’ growled Shatov. 
 
 Marie suddenly raised her head and cried out painfully : 
 
 ““ Don’t dare speak of that to me again, don’t dare to, never, 
 never !”’ 
 
 And she fell back in bed again, overcome by the same con- 
 vulsive agony ; it was the third time, but this time her groans 
 were louder, in fact she screamed. 
 
 “Oh, you insufferable man! Oh, you unbearable man,” she 
 cried, tossing about recklessly, and pushing away Shatov as he 
 bent over her. 
 
 ‘Marie, I'll do anything you like... . Tll walk about and 
 Pal et citer? 
 
 ‘‘ Surely you must see that it has begun !”’ 
 
 ** What’s begun, Marie ? ” 
 
 “How can I tell! Do I know anything about it? ..:I 
 curse myself! Oh, curse it all from the beginning !” 
 
 “ Marie, if you'd tell me what’s beginning ...orelseI... 
 if you don’t, what am I to make of it ? ”’ 
 
 “You area useless, theoretical babbler. Oh, curse everything 
 on earth !’’ 
 
A WANDERER ° 545 
 
 *‘ Marie, Marie!” He seriously thought that she was begin- 
 ning to go mad. 
 
 ‘‘ 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 ! ”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ 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. 
 
 “How could I tell when I came in here? Should I have 
 come to you if ’'d known? I was told it would be another ten 
 days! Where are you going? ... Where are you going? You 
 mustn’t dare !”’ 
 
 “To fetch a midwife! Ill sell the revolver. We must get 
 money before anything else now.” 
 
 ‘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. . . .” 
 
 ** You shall have a midwife and an old woman too. But how 
 
 am I to leave you alone, Marie !”’ 
 - 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. 
 
 III 
 
 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. 
 
 ** Kirillov, my wife is in childbirth.” 
 
 ‘* How do you mean ?”’ 
 
 *‘ Childbirth, bearing a child!” 
 
 “You... are not mistaken ?” 
 ‘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 ? 
 
 9 
 
 You used to have a lot of old women. . . 
 “‘ Very sorry that I am no good at childbearing,” Kirillov 
 ya a 
 
546 THE POSSESSED 
 
 answered thoughtfully ; ‘‘ that is, not at childbearing, but at 
 doing anything for childbearing ... or... no, I don’t know 
 how to say it.” 
 
 ‘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 ! ”’ 
 
 “You shall have an old woman, but not directly, perhaps 
 .. . Ifyou like T’ll: come instead. . . .” 
 
 ‘Oh, impossible ; I am running to Madame Virginsky, the 
 midwife, now.” 
 
 ‘A horrid woman !”’ 
 
 “‘ 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 ! ” 
 
 “Tf you like Pl...” | 
 
 “No, no, but while I’m running (oh, I’ll make Madame Vir- 
 ginsky 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.” 
 
 ‘“T understand. DTve anotherrouble. Hereitis. 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.” 
 
 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 contem- 
 plation. 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 
 
 
 
A WANDERER > 547 
 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. 
 
 Shatov ran like a hurricane to Virginsky’s house, ‘cursing the 
 distance and feeling it endless. 
 
 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. 
 
 *“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. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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. 
 
 ““T am Shatov, my wife has come back to me and she is just 
 confined. ‘ee 
 
 “Well, let her be, get along.” 
 
 ‘ve come for Arina Prohorovna; I won ’t go without Arina 
 Prohorovna !”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ She can’t attend to everyone. ''Practice at rece is a special 
 line. Take yourself off to Maksheyev’s ard 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. 
 
 “ Tam not going away !’’ Shatov cried again. i 
 
 “ Wait a little, wait a little,” Virginsky cried at last, over- 
 powering the lady.’ “I beg you to wait five minutes, Shatov: 
 T’ll wake Arina Prohorovna: Please don’t knock and don’ t shout: 
 . .. Oh, how awful it allis!”’ 
 
 ) ‘After five endless minutes, Arina Prohorovna madeé ee 
 appearance. | 
 
 “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 per- 
 emptory, but Arina Sa could not speak except in a 
 peremptory tone. 
 
 “Yes, my wife, and nels is in labour.” 
 
 ** Marya Ignatyevna ?” 
 
 “Yes, Marya Ignatyevna. Of course it’s Marya Ignatyevna.”’ 
 
548 THE POSSESSED 
 
 A silence followed. Shatov waited. He heard a whispering 
 in the house. . 
 
 ‘““Has she been here long?’’ Madame Virginsky asked 
 again. | 
 
 “She came this evening at eight o'clock. Please make 
 haste.” 
 
 Again he heard whispering, as though they were consulting. 
 
 ‘* Listen, you are not making a mistake ?. Did she send you for 
 me herself ? ”’ 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 “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 ?.”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ T’ve nothing, but I’ll get everything, everything.” 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 !”’ : 
 
 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 tor- 
 mented him more than anything. . . . And suddenly there was 
 this terrible loud knocking at the window as though to justify 
 his fears. i 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘* 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. 
 
A WANDERER 549 
 
 *““ Here’s your revolver for you; take it back, give me fifteen 
 roubles.” | 
 
 “What's the matter, are you drunk? This is outrageous, I 
 shall simply catch cold. Wait a minute, Ill just throw my rug 
 over me.”’ 
 
 “ 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.”’ 
 ** And [ll shout police and you'll be taken to the lock-up.” 
 
 ““AndamIdumb? Can’t I shout ‘police’ too? Which of 
 us has most reason to be afraid of the police, you or I ? ” 
 
 “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 ?”’ 
 
 *“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 ! ”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 “You are lying, your wife hasn’t come back to you. .. . It’s 
 
 . it’s simply that you want to run away.” 
 
 “You are a fool. Whereshould Irunto? 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!” 
 
 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. 
 
 “But how . . . you are not living with your wife ?”’ 
 
 “Tl break your skull for questions like that.” 
 
 ‘‘ 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.” 
 
 ** By now, she must be with my wife. . . don’tkeepme. . . it’s 
 not my fault you are a fool.” 
 
 *'That’s a lie, I am not a fool. Excuse me, I really 
 pant os. 
 
550 THE ‘POSSESSED 
 
 And utterly distraught he began shutting the casement again 
 for the third time, but Shatov aK such a yell that he put 
 his head out again. 
 
 ‘* But this is simply an unprovoked assault! .What do you 
 want of me, what is it, what isit, formulate it? And think, only 
 think, it’s the middle of the night !”’ 
 
 “‘T want fifteen roubles, you sheep’s-head |” 
 
 ‘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... ..I1 can’t give you a sum 
 like that in the night, anyhow. Where am I to get a sum like 
 that ?”’ 
 
 ‘““You always have money. I’ve taken ten roubles off the 
 price, but every one knows youvare a skinflint.”’ 
 
 “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 ?”’ | 
 
 Shatov knocked furiously at the window-frame for the third 
 time. 
 
 ‘“‘ Give me ten roubles, and to;momrow early the other five.”’ 
 
 ‘““No, the day after to-morrow the other five, to-morrow I 
 swear q shan’t haveit: _You’d better not come, you'd better not. 
 come.’ | 
 
 ‘““ Give me ten, you scoundrel: > 3 
 
 “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 heldanote to him out of the 
 window. 
 
 Shatov seized it—it was a note for five roubles. 
 
 “Qn 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.” 
 
 “Tam not going away ! us) roared Shatov. : 
 
 ** 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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 “ Well, damn you, then, I'll come to-morrow. I'll thrash you, 
 Lyamshin, if you don’t give me the other eight.” 
 
A WANDERER 551 
 
 “‘ You won’t find me at home, you fool!’ Lyamshin reflected 
 quickly. 
 
 ‘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 ? ”’ 
 
 “Fool!” cried Shatov, with a gesture of disgust, and ran 
 home as hard as he could. 
 
 IV 
 
 I may mention that Arina 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 con- 
 vinced 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 com- 
 plete 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. 
 
 Shatov was not mistaken: on getting home he found Arina 
 Prohoroyna 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. 
 
552 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘“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 ab- 
 normality 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 mid- 
 wife? 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.” 
 
 ‘““Tt’s not that . . . Pve noright to bea burden. .. .” 
 
 ‘“* 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. 
 Ill 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.” 
 
 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 
 
A WANDERER 553 
 
 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. 
 
 ** Eich, we’llsend him away,” Arina Prohorovnarapped 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!” 
 
 Shatov made no reply, he made up his mind to say nothing. 
 
 *“* ve seen many a foolish father, half crazy in such cases. But 
 they, atany rate...” 
 
 ‘“ Be quiet or leave me to die! Don’t say another word! I 
 won’t have it, I won’t have it! ’’ screamed Marie. 
 
 ‘‘ 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.” | 
 
 ‘* Tell me what’s needed ? ” 
 
 “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. 
 
 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 im- 
 petuously back from the stairs, and explained that he should only 
 be gone a minute to fetch something indispensable and would 
 be back at once. 
 
 ‘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 
 
554 THE POSSESSED 
 
 something. Come, come, don’t be silly, don’t blubber; I was 
 laughing, you know.” 
 ‘‘ He won’t dare to imagine anything.” 
 “ 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.” 
 
 Vv 
 
 He found Kirillov still pacing up and down his room so pre- 
 occupied that he had forgotten the arrival of Shatov’s wife, and 
 heard what he said without understanding him. 
 
 ‘“‘ Oh, yes!” he recollected suddenly, as though tearing himself 
 with an effort and only for an instant from some absorbing idea, 
 “yes ... anold 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 ?”’ 
 
 “You know, Kirillov, you mustn’t go on staying up every 
 night.’’ 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘‘'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 
 
A WANDERER 555 
 
 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 ? ” 
 
 ** Kirillov, does this often happen ?.”’ 
 
 ** Once in three days, or once a week.” 
 “Don’t you have fits, perhaps ? ”’ 
 
 ce No. 29 
 it 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. Re- 
 member |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 ! 
 ‘“‘ It won’t have time,” Kirillov smiled gently. 
 
 VI 
 
 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 Prohoroyna 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. 
 
556 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 Prohoroyna 
 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 under- 
 stand yet, but he had never known such a look on her face before. 
 
 “Ts it a boy? Is it a boy?” she asked Arina Prohorovna 
 in an exhausted voice. 
 
 ‘It is a boy,” the latter shouted in reply, as she bound up the 
 child. | 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““How ... pretty he is,” she whispered weakly with a smile. 
 
 “Foo, what does he look like,” Arina Prohorovna laughed 
 gaily in triumph, glancing at Shatov’s face. “ What a funny 
 face |” | 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 ‘“ Where does the great joy come in ?”’ said Arina Prohordeis 
 good-humouredly, bustling about, clearing up, and working like 
 & convict. 
 
 “The mysterious coming of a new creature, a great and inex- 
 plicable mystery ; and what a pity it is, Arina Prohorovna, that’ 
 you don’t understand it.” 3 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘There were two and now there’s a third human being, a new 
 
A WANDERER 557 
 
 spirit, finished and complete, unlike the handiwork of man; 
 a new thought and anew love .. . it’s positively frightening... . 
 And there’s nothing grander in the world.” 
 
 “Ech, what nonsense he talks! It’s simply a further develop- 
 ment of the organism, and there’s nothing else in it, no mystery,” 
 said Arina Prohoroyna with genuine and good-humoured laughter. 
 *“ Tf 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.” 
 
 ‘‘T will never let him go to the Foundling,”” Shatov pronounced 
 resolutely, staring at the floor. | 
 
 ‘“‘ You adont him as your son ?” , 
 
 ‘* He is my son.” 
 
 ** 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. Ill 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 ex- 
 pecting 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.” 
 
 At the gate; to which Shatov accompanied her, she added to 
 him alone. 
 
 ‘** 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.” 
 
 She went off very well satisfied. Shatov’s appearance and con- 
 versation made it as clear as daylight that this man “ was going in 
 for being a father and was aninny.”’ She ran home on purpose 
 to tell Virginsky about it, though it was shorter and more direct 
 to go to another patient. 
 
 ‘‘ 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. “Tllsit here . 
 by the window and take care of you, shall I?” 
 
 And he sat down by the window behind the sofa so that she 
 
558 THE POSSESSED 
 
 could not see him.’ But before a minute had: passed she called 
 him and fretfully asked him to arrange the pillow. He began q 
 arranging it. She looked angrily at the wall. o 
 
 * That’s not right, that’s not right) « . What hands ! > 
 
 Shatov did it again. 
 
 ‘‘ Stoop down to me,” she sh ‘wildly, trying hard not to look 
 at him. 
 
 He started but stooped down. ) 
 
 ‘““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: 
 
 ‘“* Marie ! ”’ 
 
 Her lips were quivering, she was struggling with herself, but 
 suddenly she raised herself and said with flashing eyes : 
 
 ‘“‘ 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. 
 
 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 trans- 
 formed. Shatov cried like a boy, then talked of God kndws 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. 
 
 ‘“ 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 he ScOb, 
 by the way, what shall we call him, Marie ? ” 
 
 ‘What’ shall we call him?’ she repeated with surprise, 
 and there was a sudden look of terrible grief in her face. 
 
 She clasped her hands, looked reproachfully at Shatov and hid 
 her face in the pillow. 
 
 ‘* Marie, what is it?” he cried with painful alarm. 
 
 99 
 
 ‘“How could you, how could yon . .. Oh, you ungrateful 
 man!” 
 ‘“ Marie, forgive me, Marie ... I. only asked you what his 
 
 name should be. I don’t know. .)..”’ | . 
 ‘*Tvan, Ivan.” She raised’ her flushed and tear-stained face. 
 
A WANDERER 559 
 “ How could you suppose we should call him by another horrible 
 name? ” 
 
 ‘* Marie, calm yourself ; oh, what a‘nervous state you are in 10? 
 
 “'That’s rude again, putting it down to my nerves: I bet that 
 if ’'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 !'”’ | 
 
 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. i 
 
 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. 
 
 Time was passing. Shatov, exhausted, fell asleep himself in ope 
 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. 
 
 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 some one coming up towards him. 
 Erkel came in. 
 
 “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, ’'d completely forgotten you, completely ! 
 Oh, how you brought it back ! ” 
 
 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.” 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 |” 
 
 “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. 
 
 They set off together to Stavrogin’s park at Skvoreshniki, 
 
 39 
 
560 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. ; 
 
 ** Are we going to walk all the way? I'll take a cab.” 
 
 ‘¢ T particularly beg you not to,” replied Erkel. ‘‘ They insisted 
 on that. A cabman would be a witness.” 
 
 “Well . . . bother! I don’t care, only to make an end of 
 it. bP) 
 
 They walked very fast. 
 
 ‘‘ Erkel, you little boy,” cried Shatov, “‘ have you ever been 
 happy ?” 
 
 ** You seem to be very happy just now,” observed Erkel with 
 curiosity. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 A BUSY NIGHT 
 I 
 
 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 dis- 
 comfiture 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.” 
 
 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 in- 
 coherently 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 561 2N. 
 
562 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. Atsome 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. 
 
 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 con- 
 tinually thrusting himself forward to whisper fussily to him, but 
 the latter scarce'y answered him, or muttered something irritably 
 to get rid of him. 
 
 ‘ $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 Stepano- 
 vitch raised his lantern and examined them with unceremonious 
 and insulting minmteness.' “They mean to speak,” flashed 
 through his mind. 
 
 *‘Isn’t Lyamshin here ?”’ he asked Airpisallys “Who said 
 he was ill ?”’ 
 
 “T am here,” responded Lyamshin, suddenly coming from 
 behind a tree. He was ina warm greatcoat and thickly muffled 
 
 bP) 
 
A BUSY NIGHT 563 
 
 ‘in a rug, so that it was difficult to make out his face even with a 
 lantern. 
 
 ‘So Liputin is the only one not here ? ” 
 
 Liputin too came out of the grotto without speaking. Pyotr 
 Stepanovitch raised the lantern again!’ * 
 
 ‘“Why were you hiding’ in there? Why didn’t you come 
 out ?”’ 
 
 rel imagine we still keep the right of freedom .... of our 
 actions,’ Liputin muttered, Hioagl probably he hardly knew 
 what he wanted to express. 
 
 “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. .. .” 
 
 “ He is sure to bring him,” Tolkatchenko put in for some 
 ‘reason. 
 
 “Tf 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. 
 
 “ 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 2?” 
 
 Liputin kept gloomily silent. All were silent. The wind 
 shook the tops of the pine-trees. 
 
 ““T trust, however, gentlemen, that every one will do his 
 duty,” Pyotr Stepanovitch rapped out impatiently. 
 
 *““T ‘know that Shatov’s wife has come back’ and has given 
 birth to a child,’”’ Virginsky said suddenly, excited and gesticu- 
 lating and scarcely able to speak distinctly. ““ Knowing what 
 human nature is, we can be sure that now he won't give informa- 
 tion ... . because he is happy... .. So I went to every one 
 
564 THE POSSESSED 
 
 this morning and found no one at home, so perhaps now nothing 
 need be done. .. .” 
 
 He stopped short with a catch in his breath. 
 
 ‘“‘ Tf 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 ?” 
 
 “No, I wouldn’t abandon it! I wouldn’t on any account !”’ 
 said Virginsky with absurd warmth, twitching all over. 
 
 “You would rather be unhappy again than be a scoundrel ?”’ 
 
 ‘““ Yes, yes. ... Quite the contrary. ...IHId rather be a 
 complete scoundrel... . that is no... not a scoundrel at all, | 
 but on the contrary completely unhappy rather than a scoundrel.” 
 
 ‘* 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.”’ 
 
 ‘** But no one has seen Shatov’s letter,’ Shigalov brought out 
 all at once, emphatically. 
 
 ‘“‘T’ve seen it,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch. “‘It exists, and all 
 this is awfully stupid, gentlemen.” 
 
 “And I protest . . .”’ Virginsky cried, boiling over suddenly. 
 “TI 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.”’ 
 
 “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 !”’ 
 
 “TI protest, I protest !’’ Virginsky persisted. 
 
 “Don’t bawl, anyway; we shan’t hear the signal. Shatov, 
 gentlemen. . . . (Damnation, how stupid this is now!) I’ve 
 
A BUSY NIGHT 565 
 
 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 ! 99 
 
 “Who’s a spy in government pay here?” Liputin filtered 
 out. 
 
 “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’il 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.” 
 
 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 con- 
 clusion 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 
 
566 THE POSSESSED 
 
 edification, intending then to withdraw at the actual moment, , 
 which you, for some reason I don’t understand, speak of’ asa 
 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 govern- 
 ment, you can set your mind completely at rest. I shall not 
 betray you.” 
 
 He turned and walked away. 
 
 ‘‘Damn it all, hell meet them and warn Shatov!’’ cried 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch, pulling out his revolver. They heard the. 
 click of the trigger. , 
 
 “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.” 
 
 ‘But do you know, you may have to pay for this, Mr, 3 
 Fourier ?”’ 
 
 “TI beg you to observe that I am not Fourier. If you mix 
 me up with that mawkish theoretical twaddler you simply prove. 
 thatsyou know nothing of my manuscript, though it has been in . 
 your hands. As for your vengeance, let me teli 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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 “Don’t be uneasy, I’ll avoid them and they won’t notice me 
 at all,’’ Shigalov declared in an impressive whisper; and there- 
 upon deliberately, and without haste he walked home through 
 the dark park. 
 
 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 
 
A BUSY NIGHT 567 
 
 him: his: hand, but at once pronounced hurriedly in a loud 
 voice : 
 
 “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 acannon here. This is the place, here this very spot.” 
 
 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 tothe 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 
 
568 THE POSSESSED 
 
 passedthem. 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, some- 
 thing strange happened, utterly unexpected andsurprising to 
 almost every one. 
 
 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 
 oralarm. 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 : 
 
 ‘It’s not the right thing, it’s not, it’s not at all!” He 
 would perhaps have added something more to his belated ex- 
 clamation, 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, 
 
A BUSY NIGHT 569 
 
 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 Stepano- 
 vitch, 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 s0 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. 
 
 “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 thought- 
 fully. | 
 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 some one 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 : 
 
570 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘It’s, not’ the right thing, no, no, it’s) not the right, 
 thing ! ” | 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘‘ Now we can separate, gentlemen,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch,, 
 addressing them. ‘‘ You must certainly be feeling that pride of 
 a free spirit which is inseparable from the fulfilment of a duty, 
 freely undertaken. If you are unhappily at this moment: too 
 much agitated for such feelings, you will certainly feel them: 
 to-morrow, when, in fact, it would be shameful not to feel them. 
 As for Lyamshin’s too disgraceful over-excitement, I am willing. 
 to put it downto delirium, especially as they say he has: been 
 really ill all day. And one instant of free reflection will convince 
 you, Virginsky, that in the interests of the cause we could not 
 have trusted to any word of honour, but had to act as we did. 
 Subsequent events will convince. you that he was. a. traitor. 
 I am ready to overlook your exclamations. As for danger, there 
 is no'reason to anticipate it. It would occur to no one to suspect: 
 any of us if you’ll behave sensibly; so that it really depends.on, 
 yourselves and on the conviction in which I hope: you will be. 
 fully confirmed to-morrow. One of the reasons why you have 
 banded yourselves together into a separate branch of, a. free 
 organisation representing certain views was) to support each 
 other in the cause by your energy at any crisis and. if need be 
 to watch over one another. The highest responsibility is» laid. 
 upon each of you. You are called upon to bring new life into: 
 the party which has grown decrepit and stinking with stagnation. 
 Keep that always before your’eyes to give you strength. All 
 that you have to do meanwhile is to bring about the downfall, 
 of everything—both the government and its moral standards. 
 None will be left but us, who have prepared ourselves) before-, 
 hand to take over the government. The intelligent we shall 
 
A BUSY NIGHT 571 
 
 bring over to our side, and as for the fools we shall mount upon 
 their shoulders. You must not be shy of that. We've got to 
 re-educate a generation to make them worthy of freedom. We 
 shall have many thousands of Shatovs to contend with. We 
 shall organise to control public opinion; it’s: shameful not to 
 snatch at anything that lies idle and gaping at us. I’m going 
 at once to Kirillov, and by the morning a document will be in 
 existence in which he will as he dies take it all on himself by 
 way of an explanation to the police. Nothing can be more 
 probable than such a solution. To begin with, he was on bad 
 terms with Shatov; they had lived together in America, so 
 they’ve had time to quarrel., It was well known that Shatov 
 had.changed his convictions, so there was hostility between them 
 on that ground; and fear of treachery—that is, the most relent- 
 less hostility. All that will be stated in writing. Finally, it 
 will be mentioned that Fedka had been lodging with him at 
 Filipov’s, so all this will:completely avert all suspicion from you, 
 because it will throw all those sheep’s-heads off the scent. We 
 shall. not meet to-morrow, gentlemen; I am going into the 
 country for a very short time, but the day after you will hear 
 from me. I should advise you to spend to-morrow at home. 
 Now we will separate, going back by twos by different paths. 
 You, Tolkatchenko, I’ll,ask: to look after Lyamshin and take 
 him home. You may have:some influence over him ; and above 
 all make him understand what harm he is doing himself by his 
 cowardice. Your kinsman Shigalov, Virginsky, I am as un- 
 willing to distrust as 1 am you; he will not: betray us. I can 
 only regret his action. He has not, however, announced that 
 he will leave the society, so it would be premature to bury him. 
 Well, make haste, gentlemen. Though they are sheep’s-heads, 
 there’s no harm in prudence. .. .” 
 
 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: G 
 
 ‘* Pyotr Stepanovitch ! Pyotr Stepanovitch ! Lyamshin will 
 give information ! ”’ 
 
 * No, he will come to his senses and realise that he will be 
 
572 THE POSSESSED 
 
 the first to go to Siberia if he did. No one will betray us now. 
 Even you won't.” | 
 
 ‘* What about you?” 
 
 ‘No fear! V1 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 ? ” 
 
 ‘Pyotr Stepanovitch, Pyotr Stepanovitch, perhaps we shall 
 never meet again! ”’ 
 
 ‘“* What’s put that into your head ? ” 
 
 ** Only tell me one thing.” 
 
 “Well, what ? Though I want you to take yourself off.” 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 ‘‘T see that from the frantic state you are in. But do you 
 know, Liputin, you are more dangerous than Lyamshin ? ” 
 
 ‘‘T know, I know; but the answer, your answer! ”’ 
 
 ‘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.” 
 
 ‘‘ 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. 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch pondered a little. 
 
 ‘* No, no one will turn traitor,” he concluded with decision, 
 “but the group must remain a group and obey, or Tl... 
 What a wretched set they are though ! ” 
 
 II 
 
 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, 
 
“A BUSY NIGHT 573 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 1 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 “IT thought you weren’t coming,” he brought out drearily 
 
‘574 THE POSSESSED 
 
 from his corner of the sofa, from which he had not,‘ however 
 moved to greet him. | | 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch stood before him and, before uttering a 
 word, looked intently at his face. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 ] am behind my time, it’s not for you to complain : 
 I made you a present of three hours.” 
 
 ‘1 don’t want extra hours as a present from you, and you 
 can’t make me a present . . . you fool!” 
 
 “What ?” Pyotr Stepanoviteh was startled, but Sastedatdty 
 controlled himself. ‘‘ What huffiness! So we are in a savage 
 temper?” he rapped out, still with the same offensive super- 
 ciliousness. ‘* 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.” 
 
 ‘“T don’t want to look upon you as a mouse.” 
 
 “‘ What’s that, a compliment ? But the tea is cold—and that 
 shows that everything is topsy-turvy.. Bah! But I see some- 
 thing 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’ 00472 
 
 “Tve dined, and it’s not your business. Hold your Linge 1?’ 
 
 ““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 2” 
 
 “* Kat it if you can.”’ 
 
 ** Thank you, and then I'll have tea.” 
 
 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. 
 
 “T 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 ?”’ 
 
 ‘““T’ve decided in the night that it’s nothing to me. I’ll write 
 it. About the manifestoes ?.”’ | 
 
A BUSY NIGHT 576 
 
 “Yes, about the manifestoes too. But Ill dictate it. Of 
 course, that’s nothing to you. Can you possibly mind what’s 
 inthe letter at such a moment ?”’ 
 
 “ That’s not: your business.” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “Shatov ? Why Shatov? I won’t mention Shatov for 
 vanything.”’ 
 
 “What next! What is it to you? ‘You ’can’t hurt him 
 now.” 
 
 “His wife has come back to him. She has waked up and has 
 sent to ask me where he is.”’ 
 
 “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 
 ohere,”’ 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch was uneasy. | 
 
 “She won’t know, she’s gone to sleep again. ‘There’sa midwife 
 with her, Arina Virginsky.”’ 
 
 “So that’s how it was. . . . She won’t overhear, I suppose ? 
 I say, you'd better shut the front door.” 
 
 ‘““She won’t overhear anything. And if Shatov comes [’ll 
 hide you in another room.” 
 
 ‘““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.” 
 
 “He is dead!” cried Kirillov, jumping up from the sofa. 
 
 “He died at seven. o’clock this evening, or rather, at seven 
 o clock yesterday evening, and now it’s one o’clock.”’ 
 
 “You have killed him! . . . And I foresaw it yesterday !” 
 
 “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. ...” 
 
576 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ““ Dold your tongue! You’ve done this because he spat in 
 your face in Geneva!” 
 
 ‘“‘ 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 ?”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘Confess, you scoundrel, that you brought your revolver 
 because I might shoot you. ... But I shan’t shoot you... 
 though ... though... .” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘‘ 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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘T won't write that I killed Shatov ... and I won’t write 
 anything now. You won't have a document!” 
 
 “‘T shan’t ?” 
 
 “No, you won't.” 
 
 *“* 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.” 
 
A BUSY NIGHT (577 
 
 *T want you to go away at once.’ Kirillov stood. firmly 
 before him. MEY. Many te 
 
 “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 !” 
 
 “You are set on seeing my blood, too ?”’ 
 
 “Tam not acting from spite; let me tell you, it’s. nothing 
 to me. Iam 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 sugges- 
 tion, 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 
 PEAR srk.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““T am sorry for Shatov,”’ he said, stopping before Pyotr 
 Stepanovitch again. 
 
 ‘Why so? Iam sorry, if that’s all, and do you suppose... 
 
 “Hold your tongue, you scoundrel,” roared Kirillov, 
 making an alarming and unmistakable movement; “J’ll kill 
 
 ou.” 
 a ‘‘ There, there, there! I told a lie, ladmitit; Iam not sorry 
 at all. Come, that’s enough, that’s enough.” Pyotr Stepano- 
 vitch started up apprehensively, putting out his hand. 
 
 Kirillov subsided and began walking up and down again. 
 20%: 
 
 33 
 
578 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “I won't put it off; I want to kill myself now: all are scoun- 
 drels.”’ | 
 
 ‘“* Well, that’s an idea ; of course all are scoundrels ; and since 
 life is a beastly thing for a decent man .. .” 
 
 ‘* Fool, I am just such a scoundrel as you, as all, not a decent 
 man. ‘There’s never been a decent man anywhere.”’ 
 
 ‘“*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 ?”’ 
 
 “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 ?” 
 
 *“* 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.” 
 
 *“* What time is it ?” 
 
 *““ Oh oh, just two.”’ Pyotr Stepanovitch looked at his watch 
 and lighted a cigarette. 
 
 **It seems we can come to terms after all,” he reflected. 
 
 **Tve nothing to say to you,” muttered Kirillov. 
 
 “I remember that something about God comes into it... 
 you explained it to me once—twice, in fact. If you shoot 
 yourself, you become God ; that’s it, isn’t it ?”’ 
 
 ““ Yes, I become God.” 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch did not even smile; he waited. Kirillov 
 looked at him subtly. 
 
 “You are a political imposter 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.” 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch answered with almost natural frankness. 
 
 “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...” 
 
A BUSY NIGHT 579 
 
 ** Scoundrels.” 
 
 ** Yes, scoundrels if you like. But you know that that’s only 
 words.”’ 
 
 * 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.” 
 
 ** 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.”’ 
 
 “Comfort, do you say ?”’ 
 
 * Oh, it’s not worth while quarrelling over words.” 
 
 ““No, you were right in what you said; let it be comfort. 
 God is necessary and so must exist.” 
 
 “* Well, that’s all right, then.” 
 
 _ “ But I know He doesn’t and can’t.” 
 
 “* That’s more likely.” 
 
 “Surely you must understand that a man with two such ideas 
 can’t go on living ?”’ 
 
 ** Must shoot himself, you mean ?”’ 
 
 ‘Surely you must understand that one might shoot oneself 
 for that alone 2? 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.”’ 
 
 *“‘ All I understand is that you seem to be hesitating. . 
 That’s very bad.” 
 
 ““Stavrogin, too, is consumed by an idea,’ Kirillov said 
 gloomily, pacing up and down the room. He had not noticed 
 the previous remark. 
 
 “What ?”’ Pyotr Stepanovitch pricked up his ears. ‘“‘ What. 
 idea? Did he tell you something himself ? ” 
 
 “‘ 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.”’ 
 
 “Well, Stavrogin has got something else wiser than that in 
 his head,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch muttered peevishly, uneasily 
 watching the turn the conversation had taken and the pallor of 
 Kirillov. 
 
 “Damn it all, he won’t shoot himself!” he was thinking. 
 **T always suspected it; it’s a maggot in the brain and nothing 
 more; what a rotten lot of people !”’ 
 
 ‘‘ You are the last to be with me; I shouldn’t like to part on. 
 bad terms with you,” Kirillov vouchsafed suddenly. 
 
580 THE POSSESSED 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch did not answer at once. * Damm it all, 
 what is it now ?”’ he thought again. 
 
 ‘“*T assure you, Kirillov, ] have nothing against you personally 
 as a@ man, and always...” 
 
 “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.”’ 
 
 ‘“ You mean to say, I am so abject that I want to An on 
 living.” 
 
 He could not make up his mind clea it was indioinie oe 
 keep up such a conversation iat 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. 
 
 ‘““ ‘You seem to be boasting to me of your shooting yourself.” 
 
 ‘‘ [ve always been surprised at every one’s going on living,” 
 said Kirillov, not hearing his remark. ( 
 
 ‘H’m! Admitting that’s an idea, but .. .” 
 
 ““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.” 
 
 “There, I could never understand that point of yours: why 
 are you God ?”’ 
 
 “ Tf God exists, all is His will ad from His will IT cannot escape. 
 If not, it’s all my will and Iam bound to show self-will.” 
 
 *“* Self-will ? But why are you bound ?”’ 
 
 “* 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. »1 want to manifest my self-will. I may 
 be the only one, but [ll do it.” 9 
 
 ‘Do it by all means.”’ | 
 
 “T am bound to shoot myself because the highest point of 
 my self-will is to kill myself with my own hands.” 
 
 ‘““ But you won’t be the only one to kill yourself; there are 
 lots of suicides.” | 
 
A BUSY NIGHT 681 
 
 » “With good cause. But to do it without any cause at all, 
 simply for self-will, I am the only one.’ 
 
 ** He won’t shoot himself,’’ flashed across Pyotr Stepanovitch’s 
 
 mind: again. 
 -* Do you know,” he observed irvitably, ‘ “if I were in your place 
 I should kill some one else to show my self-will, not myself. You 
 might be of use. Ill tell you whom, if you are not afraid. Then 
 you needn’ t weg yourself to-day, perhaps. We may come to 
 terms.”’ 
 
 ‘“'To kill some one 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.” 
 
 ‘“* He’s come to it of himself,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch muttered 
 malignantly. 
 
 *“I am bound to show my unbelief,” hid 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 him- 
 self; 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.” 
 
 “He won't shoot himself,” Pyotr Stepanovitch thought 
 Sete 
 
 ‘Let whom know it 2” he said, egsing him on. “It’s only 
 you and me here; you mean Liputin q? 
 
 ** Let every one know; all will know. ‘There is nothing secret 
 that will not be made known. He said so.” 
 
 And he pointed with feverish enthusiasm to the image of the 
 Saviour, before which a lamp was burning. Pyotr Stepanovitch 
 lost his temper completely. 
 
 **So you still believe in Him, and you’ve lighted the lamp ; 
 ‘to be on the safe side,’ I suppose ¢”’ 
 
 The other did not speak. | 
 
 *“Do you know, to my thinking, you pling perhaps more 
 thoroughly than any priest.”’ 
 
 ‘Believe in whom ? In Him? 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 
 
582 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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.” 
 
 ‘“ That’s a different matter. 1t 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 ?” 
 
 ‘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 [ 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 
 
A BUSY NIGHT 583 
 
 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.” 
 
 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. 
 
 “Give me the pen!” Kiurillov cried suddenly, quite unex- 
 pectedly, in a positive frenzy. ‘‘ Dictate; Ill 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!” 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch jumped up from his seat and instantly 
 handed him an inkstand and paper, and began dictating, seizing 
 the moment, quivering with anxiety. 
 
 “‘ 1, Alexey Kirillov, declare .. .” 
 
 “Stay; I won’t! To whom am [I declaring it?” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘To whom am I declaring it? I want to know to whom ?” 
 
 “To no one, every one, the first person who reads it. Why 
 define it ? The whole world!” 
 
 “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 !”’ 
 
 ‘* No, of course, there’s no need of it, damn the police! Write, 
 if you are in earnest !”’ Pyotr Stepanovitch cried hysterically. 
 
 “Stay! I want to put at the top a face with the tongue out.” 
 
 *‘ Ech, what nonsense,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch crossly, 
 “‘ you can express all that without the drawing, by—the tone.” 
 
 “By the tone? That’s true. Yes, by the tone, by the tone 
 of it. Dictate, the tone.” 
 
 “J, 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 
 
584 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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.” 
 
 “Ts that all ?”’ cried Kirillov with surprise and indignation. 
 
 “Not another word,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, waving his 
 hand, attempting to snatch the document from him. 
 
 “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 !”’ 
 
 “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!” 
 
 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. 
 
 *“Damn it all,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch cried all at once, ill- 
 humouredly, “he hasn’t signed it! Why are you staring like 
 that ? Sign!” 
 
 ‘“‘T want to abuse them,’’ muttered Kirillov. He took the 
 pen, however, and signed. ‘“‘I want to abuse them.”’ 
 
 * Write ‘ Vive la république,’ and that will be enough.” 
 
 Bravo!’ Kirillov almost bellowed with delight. ‘ Vive la 
 république démocratique sociale et universelle ow la mort!’ No, 
 no, that’s not it. ‘ Liberté, égalité, fraternité ou la mort.’ There, 
 that’s better, that’s better.’’ He wrote it gleefully under his 
 signature. 
 
 ‘““ Enough, enough,” repeated Pyotr Stepanovitch. 
 
 “Stay, a little more. I'll sign it again in French, you know. 
 * De Kirilloff, gentithomme russe et citoyen du monde. Ha ha!” 
 He went off in a peal of laughter. “No, no, no; stay. Ive 
 found something better than all. Eureka! ‘ Gentilhomme, 
 séminariste russe et citoyen du monde civilisé!’ 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. 
 
A BUSY NIGHT 585 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch stood for a moment, pondering and gazing 
 at the door. | ; 
 “Tf he does it at once, perhaps he’ll do it, but if he begins 
 thinking, nothing will come of it.” 
 
 Meanwhile he took up the paper, sat down, and looked at it 
 again. The wording of the document pleased him again. 
 
 *““ What’s needed for the moment ? What’s wanted is to throw 
 them all off the scent and keep them busy for atime. 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 !” 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 
586 THE POSSESSED 
 
 to the table with the revolver he would still have time to be the | 
 first to aim and fire. 
 
 Pyotr Stepanovitch had by now lost all faith in the Buide, | 
 ‘‘ 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. 
 Iam 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. . . . 1 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. Daman it all, he’ll be sure to miss ! ”’ 
 
 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 door- 
 handle. 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 “Can he have got out by the window?” The casement in 
 one window was, in fact, open. “‘Absurd! He couldn’t have 
 
A BUSY NIGHT 587 
 
 got away through the casement.” Pyotr Stepanovitch crossed 
 the room and went up to the window. ‘ He couldn’t possibly.”’ 
 Ail at once he turned round quickly and was aghast at something 
 extraordinary. 
 
 Against the wall facing the sitlidlolers 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. 
 
 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 scruti- 
 nising 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 hiseye. 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. 
 
 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 
 
588 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. | 
 
 “‘ 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 candle- 
 stick 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 suicides 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 
 
A BUSY NIGHT 589 
 
 Fedka’s ‘hole’ again’ and rahe replaced the posts after 
 him. 
 
 TEE! 
 
 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. 
 
 *“You look at every one so openly,” he observed with some 
 timidity, as though he would have warned him. 
 
 “Why not? It would not do for me to conceal myself at 
 present. It’s too soon. Don’t. be uneasy. All 1 am afraid of 
 is that the devil might send Liputin this way; he might. scent 
 me out and race off here.” 
 
 “Pyotr Stepanovitch, they are not to be trusted,’ Erkel 
 brought out resolutely. 
 
 ** Liputin ?” 
 
 ** None of them, Pyotr ea CE v 
 
 “Nonsense ! they are all bound by wiat Kdionlincll yesterday. 
 There isn’t one who would turn traitor. People won’t go to 
 certain destruction unless they’ve lost their reason.” 
 
 ‘“‘ Pyotr Stepanovitch, but they will lose their reason.” 
 
 Evidently that idea had already occurred to Pyotr Stepano- 
 _ vitch too, and so Erkel’s observation irritated him the more. 
 
 “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 
 
590 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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 
 awtul funk, and that will make them as soft as wax. ... The 
 great thing is that you shouldn’t be downhearted.” 
 
 ‘* Ach, Pyotr Btopanoaecy it would be better if you weren’t 
 going away.’ 
 
 a But I am only going for a few days; I shall be back in no 
 time.” 
 
 ‘‘ Pyotr Stepanovitch,”’ Erkel brought out warily but reso- 
 lutely, “‘ what if you were going to Petersburg? Of course, 
 I understand that you are only doing what’s necessary for the 
 cause.” 
 
 ‘“‘T expected as much from you, Erkel. Ifyou 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 werein. 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.” 
 
 ‘“‘ 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. 
 
 *‘ 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 [ll let you know at once... in 
 the way we've arranged, and you'll tell them.” 
 
 The second bell rang. 
 
 *“‘ Ab, 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 
 
A BUSY NIGHT 591 
 
 idiots. Don’t be uneasy ; they won’t turn traitor, they won’t 
 have the pluck. .. . Haha, 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... to your 
 mother’s ?”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““No, Iam going farther, to R I’ve eight hours to live 
 through in the train. Off to Petersburg ?”’ larghed the young 
 man. 
 
 ‘‘ What makes you suppose I must be going to Petersburg ?”’ 
 said Pyotr Stepanovitch, laughing even more openly. 
 
 The young man shook his gloved finger at him. 
 
 “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!” 
 
 ** 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 con- 
 trary ; he fell down so creditably at the fire—ready to sacrifice 
 his life, so to speak.”’ 
 
 ** 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.” 
 
 The young man, who had been stealthily glancing at Erkel, 
 touched his hat; Erkel made a bow. 
 
 ** 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 (née 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— 
 
 
 
592 THE POSSESSED 
 
 Pripuhlov, our merchant from T with a beard, a millionaire— 
 I mean it, a real millionaire ; you can take my word forit. . .. 
 (ll introduce you; he is a very interesting money-bag. We 
 shall have a laugh.” 
 
 **T shall be delighted, and I am awfully fond of cards in the > 
 train, but I am going second class.”’ 
 
 ““ 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 
 doanything I tell him. What have you got ?...abag? arug?” 
 
 ** First-rate. Come along!” 
 
 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. 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “Why explain, Pyotr Stepanovitch? I understand, I 
 understand it all!” 
 
 “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. 
 
 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. Some- 
 thing else was beginning to gnaw.in his poor little heart, some- 
 thing which he could not understand himself yet, something 
 eonnected with the evening before. 
 
 
 
CHAPTER VIL _ 
 STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 
 
 I 
 
 _j 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 alongit! 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, “comme un 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. 
 
 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 im- 
 practicability 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 belis) 
 would have seemed too simple and prosaic to him ; a pilgrimage, 
 
 593 op 
 
594 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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, [ 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 ce marchand? 
 But what marchand? Atthat point his second and most terrible 
 question cropped up. In reality there was nothing he dreaded 
 more than ce marchand, 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. Vive la grande route and then as 
 God wills. : | 
 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. 
 
STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 595 
 
 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. 
 
 Lise, Lise,’ he thought, ‘and with her ce Maurice. . 
 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 !” 
 
 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... Tl tell him the whole truth then, that 1 
 was to blame . . . and that [’ve been miserable about him for 
 ten years. More miserable than he was as a soldier, and... 
 I'll give him my purse. H’m! J’at en tout quarante roubles ; 
 al prendra les roubles et il me tuera tout de méme.” 
 
 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. 
 
 “Grace a Dieu, 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, et puis .. . but what’sthat behind? . . . I believe 
 there’s a woman in the cart. A peasant and a woman, cela 
 commence a étre rassurant. The woman behind and the man in 
 front—c’est trés rassurant. 'There’s a cow behind the cart tied 
 by the horns, c’est rassurant aw plus haut degré.” 
 
 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. Ared cow was, in fact, shambling behind. 
 
596 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘What sort may you be, pray, if it’s not uncivil to ask ?” 
 the woman could not resist asking at last when Stepan Trofimo- 
 vitch 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. 
 
 “You... you are addressing me?” muttered Stepan 
 Trofimoviteh ‘with mournful wonder. 
 
 ‘“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. 
 
 ‘No, I am not exactly a merchant, I. ..I1... mot cest 
 autre chose.” Stepan Trofimovitch parried the question some- 
 how, 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. 
 
 ‘Must be a gentleman,” the man decided, hearing words not 
 Russian, and he gave a tug at the horse. 
 
 ‘“That’s what set us wondering. You are out for a walk 
 seemingly ?”’ the woman asked inquisitively again. 
 
 Wow.) .oyoulask me ? ”’ 
 
 vy Foreigners come from other parts sometimes by the train ; 
 your boots don’t seem to be from hereabouts. . . .” 
 
 “They are army boots,” the man put in complacently and 
 significantly. 
 
 *“ No, I am not precisely in the army, 1. . 
 
 “ What an inquisitive woman!” Stepan Trofimovitch mused 
 with vexation. ‘“‘ And how they stare at me... mats enfin. 
 In fact, it’s strange that I feel, as it were, conscience-stricken 
 before them, and yet I’ve done them no harm.” 
 
 The woman was whispering to the man. 
 
 ** If it’s no offence, we’d give you a lift if so be it’s agreeable.” 
 
 a 
 
STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 597 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch suddenly roused himself. 
 
 *“ Yes, yes, my friends, I accept it with pleasure, for I’m very 
 tired ; but how am I to get in ?”’ 
 
 ‘““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.”’ 
 
 But the peasant had not, however, pulled up the horse. 
 
 “But where are you bound for?” he asked with some 
 mistrustfulness. 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch did not understand him at once. 
 
 “To Hatovo, I suppose ? ” 
 
 **Hatov ? No, not to Hatov’s exactly? ... And I don’t 
 know him though I’ve heard of him.” 
 
 _“ The village of Hatovo, the village, seven miles from here.” 
 “A village ? C'est charmant, to be sure I’ve heard of it. . . .” 
 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. 
 
 * You think perhaps that [am ... DPve got a passport and 
 I am a professor, that is, if you like, a teacher . . . but a head 
 teacher. I am a head teacher. Out, c'est comme ca quwon 
 peut traduire. JI should be very glad of a lift and I u buy 
 
 ou’... Pil buy youa quart of vodka for it.” 
 
 STP il be half a rouble, sir; it’s a bad road.” 
 
 * Or it wouldn’t be fair to ourselves,” put in the woman. 
 
 ** Half a rouble ? Very good then, half a rouble. C'est encore 
 mieux ; jai en tout quarante roubles mais...” 
 
 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. 
 
 “How ... how is this you’ve got a cow behind?” he 
 suddenly asked the woman. 
 
 “What do you mean, sir, as though you’d never seen one,’ 
 laughed the woman. 
 
 “We bought it in the town,” the peasant put he eee? Ohi 
 cattle died last spring . . . the plague. All the beasts have died 
 
598 THE POSSESSED 
 
 round us, all of them. There aren’t half of them left, it’s heart- 
 breaking.”’ 
 
 And again he lashed the horse, which had got stuck in a rut. 
 
 ‘Yes, that does happen among you in Russia... in 
 general we Russians ... Well, yes, it happens,” Stepan 
 Trofimovitch broke off. 3 
 
 ‘“‘Tf you are a teacher, what are you going to Hatovo for? 
 Maybe you are going on farther.” 
 
 “JT ...Tm not going farther precisely... . C’est-d-dire, 
 I’m going to a merchant’s.” . 
 
 ‘To Spasov, I suppose ? ” 
 
 ‘Yes, yes, to Spasov. But that’s no matter.” 
 
 ‘“‘Tf you are geing to Spasov and on foot, it will take you a 
 week in your boots,”’ laughed the woman. 
 
 ‘“‘T dare say, I dare say, no matter, mes amis, no matter.” 
 Stepan Trofimovitch cut her short impatiently. 
 
 ‘“‘ 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, Ill 
 pay them, so why do they pester me.’ 
 
 ‘‘ If you are going to Spasov, you must take the steamer,” the 
 peasant persisted. 
 
 ‘“‘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.” 
 
 “ Thirty-five.” 
 
 ‘** You'll just catch the steamer at Ustyevo at two o’clock to- 
 morrow,” 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. 
 
 “You've had a nap, sir?” 
 
 ‘“What is it? Where am 1? Ah, yes! Well... never 
 mind,’’ sighed Stepan Trofimovitch, and he got out of the cart. 
 
 He looked about him mournfully; the village scene seemed 
 strange to him and somehow terribly remote. 
 
 * February 19, 1861, the day of the Emancipation of the Serfs, is meant.— 
 Translator’s note. 
 
STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 599 
 
 ** 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. 
 
 “ We'll settle indoors, walk in,”’ the peasant invited him. 
 
 “‘ It’s comfortable inside,” the woman said reassuringly. 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch mounted the shaky steps. ‘‘ How can 
 it be?’ he murmured in profound and apprehensive perplexity. 
 He went into the cottage, however. “‘ Hille Va voulu,” 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. 
 
 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 : 
 
 ‘“What’s that? Are they pancakes? Matis .. . c'est char- 
 mant.”” 
 
 ‘‘Would you like some, sir?’ the woman politely offered 
 him at once. 
 
 ‘‘T should like some, I certainly should, and... may I 
 ask you for some tea too,” said Stepan Trofimovitch, reviving. 
 
 ‘Get the samovar ? With the greatest pleasure.” 
 
 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. 
 
 “‘ How rich they are and how good! And if one could only 
 have un doigt d’eau de vie.” : 
 
 “It’s a drop of vodka you would like, sir, isn’t it ?” 
 
 “ Just so, just so, a little, wn tout petit rien.” 
 
 “‘ Five farthings’ worth, I suppose ?”’ 
 
600 - THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘* Five, yes, five, five, five, un tout petit rien,” Stepan Trofimo- 
 vitch assented with a blissful smile. 3 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘Ts that all forme!’ He was extremely surprised. ‘I’ve 
 always had vodka but I never knew you could get so much for 
 five farthings.”’ 
 
 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 wine- 
 glass 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, 
 
 All this was done on the inspiration of the moment: a second be- 
 fore he had no idea that he would go and treat the peasant woman. 
 
 ‘IT know how to get on with peasants to perfection, to per- 
 fection, 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. 
 
 Je suis malade tout a fait, mais ce nest pas trop mauvais 
 d'etre malade.” 
 
 “Would you care to purchase?” a gentle feminine voice 
 asked close by him. 
 
 He raised his eyes and to his surprise saw a lady—wune dame, 
 et elle en avatt Vair, 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 
 
STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 601 
 
 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. 
 
 “Ht... mais je crois que cest VHvangile .. . with the greatest 
 pleasure. ... Ah, now I understand. ... Vous étes ce qu’on 
 appelle a gospel-woman ; I’ve read more than once. .. . Halfa 
 rouble ? ” 
 
 *“ Thirty-five kopecks,”’ answered the gospel-woman. 
 “‘ With the greatest pleasure. Jen’ai rien contrel’ Evangile, and 
 Tve been wanting to re-read it for a long time. . . .” 
 
 - 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ He said nothing to me about the fire when he brought me 
 along, although he talked of everything,” struck Stepan Trofimo- 
 vitch for some reason. 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 ‘* Excuse me,” he muttered, “ I don’t quite remember you.” 
 
 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. . . .” 
 
602 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘Why, yes, I remember you, Anisim,” said Stepan Trofimo- 
 vitch, smiling. ‘‘ Do you live here ? ” 
 
 ‘I live near Spasov, close to the V- Monastery, in the 
 service of Marfa 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, 1 am on my way to the town to see my kinsfolk.”’ 
 
 ** Quite so, quite so.” 
 
 ‘‘T 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 ? ”’ 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch looked at him in alarm. 
 
 ‘‘ You are going, maybe, to our parts, to Spasov ? ” 
 
 ‘Yes, I am going to Spasov. JI me semble que tout le monde 
 va a Spassof.”’ 
 
 “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.” | 
 
 ** Yes, yes, to Fyodor Matveyevitch’s.” 
 
 “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.” 
 
 “T...I1... Yes, you know, Anisim, I made a wager, you 
 know, like an Englishman, that I would go on foot andI .. .” 
 
 The perspiration came out on his forehead. 
 
 “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. | 
 
 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 some one, 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 
 
 
 
STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 603 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘** Mats c’est une dame et trés comme il faut,” 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. ‘‘ Ce petit morceau de sucre, ce nest rien. . . . There 
 is something noble and independent about her, and at the same 
 time—gentle. Lecomme tl faut tout pur, but rather in a different 
 style.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ** But you are still so young, vous n’avez pas trente ans.” 
 
 *“* Thirty-four,’ said Sofya Matveyevna, smiling. 
 
 “What, you understand French ? ” 
 
 * A little. I lived for four years after that in a gentleman’s 
 family, and there I picked it up from the children.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘* Mais, mon Dieu, wasn’t it you who had a strange adventure 
 in our town, a very strange adventure ? ” 
 
 She flushed ; it turned out that it had been she. 
 
 ** Ces vauriens, ces malheureux,’’ 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. 
 
 ‘‘ Pah, but she’s gone away again,” he thought, with a start, 
 
 
 
604 THE POSSESSED 
 
 noticing that she was not by his side. ‘“‘She keeps going out 
 and is busy about something; I notice that she seems upset 
 too. . . . Bah, je deviens égoiste!” 
 
 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 : 
 
 ‘ 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. » 
 
 ‘“* It does go, it does, it will go for another acne cried Anisim, 
 more excited than any of them: 
 
 ‘ 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.”’ 
 
 ** It'll be there to-morrow at two o’clock punctually. You’ll bs 
 at Spasov punctually by the evening,” cried Anisim, eager to do 
 his best for Stepan Trofimovitch. 
 
 “ Mais qwest-ce qwil a, cet homme,” thought Stepan Trofimo- 
 vitch, trembling and waiting in terror for what was in store for 
 him. 
 
 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. 
 
 “But ... it’s nice here too. ... And I don’t want...” 
 Stepan Trofimovitch mumbled in protest. 
 
 “ 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.’ 
 
 “ Mon Dieu, mes amis, all this is such a surprise to me.” 
 
STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 605 
 
 At last Sofya Matveyevna came back. Butshe sat down on the 
 bench looking dejected and mournful. 
 
 “I can’t get to Spasov!” she said to the woman of the 
 cottage. 
 
 ‘“Why, you are bound to Spasov, too, then?” cried Stepan 
 Trofimovitch, starting. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘““ What am I to do now ?”’ repeated Sofya Matveyevna. 
 
 ** Mais, ma chére et nouvelle amie, 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.”’ 
 
 ‘Why, are you going to Spasov too ?”’ 
 
 ““ Mais que faire, et je suis enchanié! 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 **A good journey to you, sir,” said he, bustling officiously 
 round the trap, ‘‘ it has been a treat to see you.” 
 
 ** Good-bye, good-bye, my friend, good-bye.”’ 
 
 “You'll see Fyodor Matveyevitch, sir...” 
 
 “Yes, my friend, yes... Fyodor Petrovitch ... only 
 good-bye.” 
 
 Il 
 
 “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... J’atme le peuple, 
 c’est indispensable, mais il me semble que je ne Vavats jamais vu de 
 prés. Stasie ... cela va sans dire qwelle est ausst du peuple, 
 mais le vrai peuple, 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.” 
 
606 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘“ You don’t seem quite well.” Sofya Matveyevna watched 
 him keenly though respectfully. | | 
 
 ‘“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. Chére et incomparable amie, 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 
 ONcen wien 
 
 ‘“‘ Why, that’s a very good thing, sir.” 
 
 “Not always, chére innocente. L’Hvangile .. . voyez-vous, 
 désormats nous précherons ensemble and I will gladly sell your 
 beautiful little books. Yes, I feel that that perhaps is an idea, 
 quelque chose de trés nouveau dans ce genre. The peasants are 
 religious, c’est admis, 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 them so et a cette chére ingrate. . . . 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 ! ” 
 
 ‘“ That’s a very good saying, I think, sir.” 
 
 “Yes, yes... . I feel that Iam 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 asa man. Chére et incomparable, pour moi 
 une femme c'est tout. I can’t live without a woman, but only at 
 her side, only at her side. . . . Iam 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— 
 cela devient trop froid. A propos, j'ai en tout quarante roubles et 
 voila cet argent, take it, take it, I can’t take care of it, I shall lose 
 
STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 607 
 
 it or it will be taken away from me. . . . I seem to be sleepy, 
 TPve 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?” 
 
 ‘You are certainly in a regular fever and I’ve covered you with 
 my rug; only about the money, I’d rather.” 
 
 “Oh, for God’s sake, n’en parlons plus parce que cela me fait 
 mal. Oh, how kind you are!” 
 
 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. 
 
 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, “‘ parce que nous avons a 
 parler. Oui, 7’at beaucoup a vous dire, chére amie. TIl pay you, 
 Pil pay you,” he said with a wave of dismissal to the landlady. 
 
 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. 
 
 At that point the moustached woman could contain herself no 
 longer. 
 
 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.” | 
 
 But Stepan Trofimovitch waved his hands, repeating with 
 wrathful impatience: ‘“‘IT’ll pay, only make haste, make haste.” 
 
608 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘* At last we are by ourselves and we will admit no one! I 
 want to tell you everything, everything from the very beginning.” 
 
 Sofya Matveyevna checked him with great uneasiness. 
 
 ‘* Are you aware, Stepan Trofimovitch? .. .” 
 
 “ Comment, vous savez déja mon nom ?”? He smiled with delight. 
 
 “T heard it this morning from Anisim Ivanovitch when you 
 were talking to him. But I venture to tell you for my part .. .” 
 
 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. 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch looked almost reproachfully at Sofya 
 Matveyevna’s extremely excited face, and several times he made 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 609 
 
 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 your- 
 self 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... .” 
 
 But he was in distress, in real distress. ‘‘ Assez, mon enfant, 
 I beseech you, nous avons notre argent—et aprés, le bon Dieu. 
 And I am surprised that, with the loftiness of your ideas, you 
 . . . Assez, assez, vous me tourmentez,”’ he articulated hysterically, 
 “‘ we have all our future before us, and you . . . you fill me with 
 alarm for the future.”’ 
 
 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 im- 
 portance, 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. ‘‘ Ce nest rien, nous attendrons, and 
 
 2Q 
 
610 THE POSSESSED 
 
 meanwhile she can feel it intuitively. . .. My friend, I need 
 nothing but your heart !’’ he exclaimed, interrupting his narra- 
 tive, “and that sweet enchanting look with which you are 
 gazing at me now. Oh, don’t blush! Ive 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 in- 
 tellectual,’’ she reported afterwards dejectedly. She listened 
 in evident misery, rather round-eyed. When Stepan Trofimo- 
 vitch 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, | 
 
STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 611 
 
 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—vingt ans— 
 and now here he was on the high road. .. . 
 
 Then in a sort of delirium be began explaining to Sofya 
 Matveyevna the significance of their meeting that day, “so 
 ehance 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 es dark. They 
 had been for some hours shut up in the room. . . 
 
 ‘“* No, you'd better let me go into the other room,”’ she faltered) 
 
 ‘or else there’s no knowing what people may think. With 
 
 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. 
 
 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 some one 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. 
 
612 THE POSSESSED 
 
 “Don’t, sir, I am not worth it,’ she faltered, trying to get 
 him back on to the bed. 
 
 ‘“My saviour,” he cried, clasping his hands reverently before 
 her. ‘“‘ Vous étes noble comme une marquise/ I—I am a 
 wretch. Oh, I’ve been dishonest all my life... .” 
 
 ‘“* Calm yourself ! ”? Sofya Matveyevna implored him. 
 
 “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, 1am a wretch, I am a wretch !”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 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 comme dans votre livre! Only now for the first time I 
 understand what is meant by .. . turning the other cheek. 
 I never understood before ! ”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 ** 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!” 
 
 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 
 
STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 613 
 
 of nothing but how they would go and sell ‘‘ these books.”’ He 
 asked her to read him the gospel. 
 
 “T haven't read it for a long time ...in the original. 
 Some one may ask me about it and I shall make amistake; I 
 ought to prepare myself after all.” 
 
 She sat down beside him and opened the book. 
 
 “You read beautifully,” he interrupted her after the first 
 line. “Isee, 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. 
 
 ** Assez, assez, mon enfant, enough. . . . Don’t you think that 
 that is enough ? ”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 *“‘ My friend, Pve 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? Andall, all! Savez-vows ... perhaps I 
 am telling lies now ; no doubt I am telling lies now. The worst 
 of it is that I believe myself when Iam 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. 
 
 “Stepan Trofimovitch,” Sofya Matveyevna asked timidly, 
 ‘“‘hadn’t I better send to the town for the doctor ? ”’ 
 
 He was tremendously taken aback. 
 
 “What for? Est-ce que je suis st malade? Mars rien de 
 sérieux. What need have we of outsiders? They may find, 
 besides—and what will happen then? No, no, no outsiders and 
 we'll be together.”’ 
 
 “Do you know,”’ he said after a pause, ‘“‘ read me something 
 more, just the first thing you come across.”’ 
 
 Sofya Matveyevna opened the Testament and began reading. 
 
 ‘“‘ Wherever it opens, wherever it happens to open,” he 
 repeated. 
 
 ** * And unto the angel of the church of the Laodiceans ... 
 ** What’s that ? What is it? Where is that from ?”’ 
 
 ** It’s from the Revelation.” 
 
 “Oh, je men souviens, oui, ’ Apocalypse. Lisez, lisez, I am 
 
 29> 
 
614 THE POSSESSED 
 
 trying our future fortunes by the book. I want to know what 
 has turned up. Read on from there. tf 
 
 ‘“<* And unto the angel of the church of the TDaodioeans write : 
 These things saith the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the 
 beginning of the creation of God ; 
 
 ‘““*T know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot; 
 I would thou wert cold or hot. 
 
 ‘*** So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor 
 hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth. 
 
 ‘“ * 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.’ ” 
 
 ‘* 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, [ll 
 prove it! Only don’t leave me, don’t leave me alone! We'll 
 prove it, we’ll prove it!” 
 
 “JT 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.) 
 
 His lips twitched convulsively. 
 
 “But, Stepan Trofimovitch, what are we to do though ? 
 Oughtn’t we to let some of your friends know, or perhaps your 
 relations 1? 
 
 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, nous partirons 
 ensemble.”’ 
 
 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, 
 
STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 615 
 
 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. 
 
 ** Now read me another passage. ... About the pigs,” he 
 
 said suddenly. 
 “What ?”’ asked Sofya Matveyevna, very much alarmed. 
 ‘About the pigs ... that’s there too . . . ces cochens. I 
 
 remember the devils entered into swine and they all were 
 drowned. You must read me that; Ill tell you why afterwards. 
 1 want to remember it word for word. I want it word for 
 word.” 
 
 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: 
 
 ‘““* 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. 
 
 “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.’ ”’ 
 
 ‘My friend,” said Stepan Trofimovitch in great excitement 
 ** savez-vous, that wonderful and ... extraordinary passage 
 has been a stumbling-block to me all my life . . . dans ce livre 
 
 . so much so that I remembered those verses from child- 
 hood. Now an idea has occurred to me; wne compararson. 
 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, al! 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. Out, cette Russie que 
 j aimats toujours. But a great idea and a great Will will encompass 
 it from on high, as with that lunatic possessed of devils . . . and 
 
616 THE POSSESSED 
 
 all those devils will come forth, all the impurity, all the rotten- '— 
 ness 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 les autres avec lut .. . 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, vous 
 comprendrez aprés, but now it excites me very much. .. . Vous 
 comprendrez aprés. Nous comprendrons ensemble.” 
 
 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. 
 ““Tiens, un lac!” 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. 
 
 III 
 
 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 
 
STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 617 
 
 Sofya Matveyevna, she instantly got ready and set off post-haste 
 for Ustyevo herself, 
 
 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. 
 
 “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, 
 Pll 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.” 
 
 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 : 
 
 ““Go away for a time! Stay in the other room. Why 
 are you so inquisitive? And shut the door properly after 
 you.” 
 
 For some time she gazed in silence with a sort of predatory 
 look into his frightened face. 
 
 “Well, how are you getting on, Stepan Trofimovitch ? So 
 you’ve been enjoying yourself ?’’ broke from her with ferocious 
 irony. 
 
 ** Chere,” Stepan Trofimovitch faltered, not knowing what he 
 was saying, “I’ve learnt to know real life in Russia .. . et je 
 precherat ’ Evangile.” 
 
 “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 ! ”’ 
 
 PORENe 2). 
 
 His voice failed him and he could not articulate a syllable 
 but simply gazed with eyes wide with horror. 
 
 ** Who is she?” 
 
 “West un ange; c’était plus qu'un ange pour mot. She’s been 
 
618 THE POSSESSED 
 
 all night ... Oh, don’t shout, don’t frighten her, chére, 
 CHENG a et S 
 
 With a loud noise, Varvara Petrovna pushed back her chair, 
 uttering a loud ery of alarm. 
 
 ‘* Water, water ! ”’ 
 
 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 serious- 
 ness of his illness. 
 
 ‘* 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.” 
 
 Dasha flew to do her bidding. Stepan Trofimovitch still 
 
 gazed at her with the same wide-open, frightened eyes; his 
 blanched lips quivered. 
 “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! ”’ 
 
 In her impatience she ran herself to the landlady. 
 
 “Fetch that woman back at once, this minute. Bring her 
 back, bring her back!” 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘Here, here she is, then. I’ve not eaten her. You thought 
 I’d eaten her.” 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch clutched Varvara Petrovna’s hand, raised 
 it to his eyes, and burst into tears, sobbing violently and 
 convulsively. 
 
 “There, calm yourself, there, there, my dear, there, poor dear 
 man! Ach, merey on us! Calm yourself, will you?” she 
 shouted frantically. ‘‘ Oh, you bane of my life!” 
 
 ‘“ My dear,” Stepan Trofimovitch murmured at last, addressing 
 Sofya Matveyevna, “stay out there, my dear, I want to say 
 something here. . . .” 
 
 Sofya Matveyevna hurried out at once. 
 
 “Chérie ... chérie . . .” he gasped. 
 
STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 619 
 
 “Don’t talk for a bit, Stepan Trofimovitch, wait a little till 
 you've rested. Here’s some water. Do wait, will you!” 
 
 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. 
 
 ** Je vous aimais,” broke from him at last. She had never 
 heard such words from him, uttered in such a voice. 
 
 ‘“*H’m!”’ she growled in response. 
 
 “< Je vous avmais toute ma vie . . . vingtans!” 
 
 She remained silent for two or three minutes. 
 
 ‘*And when you were getting yourself up for Dasha you 
 sprinkled yourself with scent,”’ she said suddenly, in a terrible 
 whisper. 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch was dumbfoundered. 
 
 “You put on a new tie...” 
 
 Again silence for two minutes. 
 
 * Do you remember the cigar ? ” 
 
 ** My friend,” he faltered, overcome with horror. 
 
 “That cigar at the windowin the evening . . . the mcon 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. Iam a fool 
 too.” 
 
 “ Jevousaimais.” Heclasped his hands again. 
 
 “Why do you keep on with your aimais and aimais? 
 Enough!’ she cried, leaping up again. ‘‘ And if you don’t go 
 to sleep at once 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, 
 -merey onus! Where is that woman? Where is she ?”’ 
 
 There was a general bustle again. But Stepan Trofimovitch 
 faltered in a weak voice that he really would like to go to sleep 
 une heure, and then un bouillon, un thé . . . enfin tl est st heureux. 
 He lay back and really did seem to go to sleep (he probably 
 
620 THE POSSESSED 
 
 pretended to). Varvara Petrovna waited a little, and stole out 
 on tiptoe from behind the partition. 
 
 She settled herself in the landlady’s room, turned out the 
 landlady and her husband, and told Dasha to bring her that 
 woman. There followed an examination in earnest. 
 
 ‘Tell me all about it, my good girl. Sit down beside me ; 
 that’s right. Well?” 
 
 “I met Stepan Trofimovitch . 
 
 ‘“‘ Stay, hold your tongue! I warn you that if you tell lies OF 
 conceal anything, I’ll ferret it out. Well?” 
 
 ‘Stepan Trofimovitch and I ...as soon as I came to 
 Hatovo ...” Sofya Matveyevna began almost breathlessly. 
 
 ‘Stay, hold your tongue, wait a bit! Why do you gabble 
 like that ? To begin with, what sort of creature are you ?”’ 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“Why are you so frightened ? ‘Why do you look at the 
 ground ? JI like people who look me straight in the face and hold 
 their own with me. Go on.” 
 
 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. 
 
 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.”’ 
 
 Sofya Matveyevna suddenly stopped and was completely 
 nonplussed. | 
 
 ‘“*T can’t tell you anything about that, madam,”’ she brought 
 out, almost crying; ‘‘ besides, I could hardly understand a word 
 of it.” 
 
 ** Nonsense! You must have understood something.” 
 
 ‘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. 
 
 ‘* Black-haired ? What exactly ? Come, speak! ”’ 
 
 “How this grand lady was deeply in love with his honour 
 
 — ——— SE 
 
STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 621 
 
 all her life long and for twenty years, but never dared to speak, 
 and was shamefaced before him because she was a very stout 
 atl y ches? 
 
 “The fool!” Varvara Petrovna rapped out thoughtfully but 
 resolutely. 
 
 Sofya Matveyevna was in tears by now. 
 
 ** 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.” 
 
 *‘ It’s not for a goose like you to judge of his intellect. Did 
 he offer you his hand ? ”’ 
 
 The speaker trembled. 
 
 “Did he fall in love with you? Speak! Did he offer you 
 his hand ?”’ Varvara Petrovna shouted peremptorily. 
 
 “That was pretty much how it was,” she murmured tear- 
 fully. ‘‘ But I took it all to mean nothing, because of his illness,”’ 
 she added firmly, raising her eyes. 
 
 ** What is your name ? ”’ 
 
 ** Sofya Matveyevna, madam,”’ 
 
 *‘ 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 ? ” 
 
 Sofya Matveyevna gazed open-eyed. 
 
 ‘‘ A wicked woman, a tyrant ? Who has ruined his life ? ” 
 
 **'How can that be when you are crying yourself, madam ? ” 
 
 Varvara Petrovna actually had tears in her eyes. 
 
 ** 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. . . .” 
 
 And to the amazement and perhaps still greater alarm of 
 Sofya Matveyevna, she suddenly patted her on the cheek. 
 
 “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 l ask for you.” 
 
 Sofya Matveyevna stammered in alarm that she must hurry on. 
 
 ‘“*-You’ve no need to hurry. ll buy all your books, and mean-— 
 time 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?” 
 
622 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘* | wouldn’t have left him on any account,” Sofya Matveyevna ' 
 brought out softly and firmly, wiping her tears. ' 
 
 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 con- 
 sequence 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 ? ” 
 
 ‘‘Can there ever be said to be absolutelyno 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, how- 
 ever, though he was growing weaker every hour), she went up 
 to him with a very resolute air. | 
 
 “Stepan Trofimovitch, one must be prepared for anything. 
 I’ve sent for a priest. You must do what is right. . 
 
 Knowing his convictions, she was terribly afraid of his refusing. 
 He looked at her with surprise. 
 
 ** Nonsense, nonsense!’ she vociferated, thinking he was 
 already refusing. “This is no time for whims. You have 
 played the fool enough.” 
 
 “But ... am really so ill, then?” 
 
 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. 
 
 He confessed and took the sacrament very readily. Every 
 one, Sofya Matveyevna, and even the servants, came to con- 
 gratulate him on taking the sacrament. They were all moved 
 to tears looking at his sunken and exhausted face and his blanched 
 and quivering lips. 
 
 “Oui, mes amis, and I only wonder that you . . . take so 
 much trouble. I shall most likely get up to-morrow, and we 
 will . . . set off. . . . Toute cette cérémonie . . . for which, of 
 course, I feel every proper respect ... was... .” 
 
STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 623 
 
 ** 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.” 
 
 The priest spoke ; every one was standing or sitting round the 
 sick-bed. 
 
 “‘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.” 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch seemed to revive, a subtle smile strayed 
 on his lips. 
 
 *“* Mon pére, je vous remercie et vous étes bien bon, mais... 
 
 bP] 
 
 ‘No mais about it, no mats at all!” exclaimed Varvara 
 Petroyna, bounding up from her chair. ‘‘ Father,’’ she said, 
 addressing the priest, “heisamanwho...heisamanwho.. 
 
 You will have to confess him again in another hour! That’s the 
 sort of man he is.” 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch smiled faintly. 
 
 “My friends,” he said, ‘“‘God is necessary to me, if only 
 
 because He is the only being whom one can love eternally.” 
 - 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. 
 
 ‘‘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 Iam immortal. Voila ma profession de fot.” 
 
 “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 profession de foi.) 
 
 ‘*“My friend,” he said, growing more and more animated, 
 though his voice broke frequently, “‘as soon as I understood 
 
624 THE POSSESSED 
 
 . . that turning of the cheek, I... understood something 
 else as well. J’at menti toute ma vie, all my life, all! I should 
 like . . . but that will do to-morrow. . .. To-morrow we will 
 all set out.” 
 
 Varvara Petrovna burst into tears. He was looking about for 
 some one. 
 
 ‘‘ Here she is, she is here!’ She seized Sofya Matveyevna by 
 the hand and led her to him. He smiled tenderly. 
 
 ‘Qh, 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 ... andallofthem... 
 Shatov ...” 
 
 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. 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch became more and more excited, feverishly 
 80, beyond his strength. 
 
 Se a 
 
 ee a 
 
 ee oe ey 
 
 ee ee eS ee 
 
 —— 
 
 ‘““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 1 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 some- 
 thing 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!” 
 
 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. 
 
 Stepan Trofimovitch died three days later, but by that time 
 
_STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 625 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘“‘That’s all nonsense! I will go with you to sell the gospel. 
 J have no one in the world now.” 
 
 ‘‘ You have a son, however,”’ Salzfish observed. 
 
 ‘“‘T have no son! ”’ Varvara Petrovna snapped out—and it was 
 like a prophecy. 
 
 2B 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 Aut 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 
 lueckless Marya Ignatyevna waked up before daybreak on the 
 night. of her husband’s. murder, missed him and flew into in-. 
 describable agitation, not seeing him beside her. The woman who 
 had been hired by Arina 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 bea fool if he showed any traces 
 of itnextday.”’ 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. 
 
 But she arrived at Marya Ignatyevna’s too late: when the 
 
 latter had sent off the woman and was left alone, she was unable 
 626 
 
CONCLUSION 627 
 
 to bear the suspense ; she got out of bed, and throwing round her 
 the first garment she could find, something very light and un- 
 suitable 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. 
 
 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 
 
628 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 Mihail- 
 ovna’s circle. ... Even in the disappearanee 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 Achat had happened : 
 
 in the town.) 
 
 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 care- 
 
CONCLUSION 629 
 
 lessness 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 connect- 
 ing-link in this chaos. 
 
 _ 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. 
 
 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 watch- 
 ing 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 dis- 
 appeared 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 afiairs. 
 Without even returning home he too tried torun 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 
 
630 THE POSSESSED 
 
 for the whole night. 1 believe that towards morning he 
 attempted to commit suicide but did not succeed. He re- 
 mained 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 con- 
 fessed everything, everything, told every detail; everything he 
 knew, every point, anticipating their questions, hurried to make 
 a clean breast of it all, volunteering unnecessary informa- 
 tion 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 Stepano- 
 vitch, 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 con- 
 clusion, 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 informa- 
 tion, 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 
 
CONCLUSION 631 
 
 had quoted the phrase about ‘ undermining the foundations,” 
 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 provoca- 
 tion volunteered the remark, that ‘‘she was innocent and 
 had been made a fool of.’ But, strange to say, he exone- 
 rated 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 Peters- 
 burg), but in quite a different capacity and in different surround- 
 ings, 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.’ 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 
632 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 
CONCLUSION 633 
 
 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, tomakeaspeech at the trial. Neither 
 he nor Liputin seem very much afraid, curious as it seems. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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.” 
 
 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 Kuropean education. 
 
634 THE POSSESSED 
 
 ‘“‘ 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. lam going away in two days and shall not come 
 back. Will you go with me? 
 
 ‘* Last year, like Herzen, I was naturalised as a citizen of the 
 eanton 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 forever. I don’t want to go anywhere 
 else ever. 
 
 “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 Pl sell:it and buy another in some other place. 
 
 ‘Tam 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 ? 
 
 ‘“Tve 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. 1 feel guilty about 
 iazaveta Nikolaevna too; but you know about that ; you fore- 
 told almost all that. 
 
 ‘* Better not come to me. My asking you to is a horrible 
 meanness. And why should you bury your life withme? 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 [reckon on you. And yet I ask you and I reckon 
 on you. In any case I need your answer for 1 must set off very 
 soon. In that case I shall go alone. 
 
 “IT 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! | 
 
 ‘“Tve 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 
 
CONCLUSION 635 
 
 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. Ona 
 log ‘one may cross a river but not onachip. I say this that 
 you may not believe that I am going to Uri with hopes of any 
 sort. | 
 
 *“As always 1 blame no one. Ive tried the depths of de- 
 bauchery 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. 
 T'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. 
 
 “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, noforce. Even negation has not come from me. LEvery- 
 thing has always been petty and spiritless. Kiurillov, 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. 
 
 ‘I know I ought to kill myself, to brush myself off the earth 
 like a nasty insect; but 1 am afraid of suicide, for 1 am afraid 
 
636 THE POSSESSED 
 
 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. 
 
 ‘‘ 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 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. 
 
 ‘“‘ NIKOLAY STAVROGIN.” 
 
 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. 
 
 ** Are you going ?”’ she asked almost timidly. 
 
 **T am going,’ answered Dasha. 
 
 “Get ready! We'll go together,” 
 
 Dasha looked at her inquiringly. 
 
 ‘“‘ What is there left for me to do here? What difficulty ca 
 it make? Ill be naturalised in Uri, too, and live in the 
 valley. . . . Don’t be uneasy, I won’t be in the way.’’ 
 
 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. .. .” 
 
 ‘Though I received no orders I thought it best to come and 
 inform you,’’ Alexey Yegorytch concluded with a very signifi- 
 cant expression. 
 
 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. 
 
 In Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s wing of the house all the doors 
 were open and he was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 ** Wouldn’t he be upstairs ?”’ Fomushka ventured. 
 
CONCLUSION 637 
 
 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. 
 
 They went upstairs. There there were three rooms; but 
 they found no one there. 
 
 *“Wouldn’t his honour have gone up there?” some one 
 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. 
 
 “IT 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. 
 
 Varvara Petrovna rushed up the ladder; Dasha followed, 
 but she had hardly entered the loft when she uttered a scream 
 and fell senseless. 
 
 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 Veyevolodovitch had hanged himself had evidently 
 been chosen and prepared beforehand and was thickly smeared 
 with soap. Everything proved that there had been premedita- 
 tion and consciousness up to the last moment. 
 
 At the inquest our doctors absolutely and emphatically 
 rejected all idea of insanity. 
 
 THE END 
 

 
 
 
 
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