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p. 610Chapter 4

The final decisionlocked

p. 610Chapter 4

The final decisionlocked

  • Fyodor Dostoevsky
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1

Many people saw Peter Stepanovich that morning; those who did reported him to be in a state of extreme agitation. 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 guests hotly debating recent events. Peter Stepanovich did most of the talking and made them listen to him. He’d always been considered ‘a very talkative student with nothing between the ears’; but now he was going on about Yulia Mikhailovna, and in all the general confusion, the topic was fascinating. In his capacity as her recent and intimate confidant, he reported many new and extremely unexpected details; incidentally (and, of course, inadvertently) he repeated several personal remarks she’d made about important figures in town, and by so doing wounded their vanity. What he said was unclear and confused; he seemed to lack guile; he was an honest man placed in the difficult position of having to clear up at one fell swoop an enormous number of misunderstandings; and in his simple-minded, straightforward way, he didn’t even know where to start or stop. He also let slip rather carelessly that Yulia Mikhailovna knew Stavrogin’s entire secret and it was she who was masterminding the whole intrigue. Why, she’d even taken him for a ride as well, him, Peter Stepanovich, because he too had fallen in love with the unfortunate Liza; meanwhile he’d been so ‘hoodwinked’ that he almost delivered her to Stavrogin who was waiting in a carriage. ‘Yes, yes, it’s all right for you to laugh, gentlemen, but if I’d only known, if I’d only known how it would all turn out!’ he concluded. In reply to various agitated questions about Stavrogin, he declared openly that in his opinion the tragedy befalling the Lebyadkins was purely an accident; Lebyadkin himself was to blame for it, since he showed people the money he’d received. Peter Stepanovich explained this part especially p. 611well. One of his audience observed that it was no good his ‘pretending’; he’d eaten, drunk, and almost slept in Yulia Mikhailovna’s house, yet now he was the first to blacken her reputation, and that doing so was by no means as fine a thing as he supposed. But Peter Stepanovich defended himself: ‘I didn’t eat and drink there because I had no money; I’m not to blame if they invited me. Let me be the judge of how grateful I’m to feel.’

In general he made a favourable impression. ‘Granted he’s an absurd fellow, even, of course, an empty-headed one, but why should he be blamed for Yulia Mikhailovna’s stupidity? On the contrary, he even tried to stop her…’

Around two o’clock news arrived that Stavrogin, of whom there’d been so much talk, had unexpectedly left for Petersburg on the afternoon train. This interested everyone very much; many people frowned. Peter Stepanovich was so stunned that he was reported to have blanched and shouted strangely: ‘Who let him go?’ He rushed out of Gaganov’s house immediately. But he was seen in two or three other houses afterwards.

Towards dusk he found it possible to get in to see Yulia Mikhailovna, although only with great difficulty because she’d decided that she didn’t want to receive him. I found out about it from her only three weeks later, just before her departure for Petersburg. She didn’t convey all the details; she merely observed with a shudder that ‘at the time he astonished her beyond belief.’ I assume he merely frightened her by threatening to name her an accomplice, if she should ever take it upon herself to ‘spill the beans’. The need to frighten her was closely connected to his plans at the time, plans about which she was naturally unaware; only afterwards, some five days later, did she guess why he doubted her ability to keep silent and why he feared new outbursts of her indignation…

At about eight o’clock that evening, when it was already dark, ‘our group’ met, the full complement, five of them, gathered on the edge of town in Ensign Erkel’s apartment in a crooked little house on Fomin Lane. This general meeting was called by Peter Stepanovich himself; but he p. 612was unforgivably late, and the others had been waiting for him for over an hour. Ensign Erkel was the very same officer, newly arrived in our town, who, at Virginsky’s house, had sat there the whole evening pencil in hand and notebook open in front of him.

He’d arrived in town recently, rented a room in a house on a lonely lane from two sisters, elderly tradeswomen, and was supposed to leave town soon; a gathering at his place would be less likely to draw attention. This strange young man was distinguished by unusual reticence; he could sit for ten evenings in a row in noisy company listening to the most extraordinary conversations without ever saying one word; on the contrary, he’d listen carefully and follow everything that was being said with childlike eyes and great attention. His face was handsome and seemed actually rather intelligent. He didn’t belong to the group of five; we assumed he had some special orders of a purely executive kind from somewhere or other. Now we know he had no orders whatsoever; he himself hardly understood his own position. He merely worshipped Peter Stepanovich whom he’d encountered not long ago. If he’d met some prematurely depraved monster who incited him on some romantic social pretext to form a band of brigands and ordered him to murder and rob the first peasant they came across as a test, he’d undoubtedly have gone and done just that. He had an ailing mother living somewhere to whom he sent half his meagre earnings—how she must have kissed that poor little blond head of his, how she must have trembled over it, prayed for it! I’m going into all this detail about him because I feel so sorry for him.

The members of the group were very excited. The events of the previous evening had made quite an impression, and they seemed scared. The simple, albeit systematic public scandal in which they’d played such an active part, had unexpectedly unravelled. The fire last night, the murder of the Lebyadkins, the mob violence done to Liza—all this came as quite a surprise; nowhere was it anticipated in their programme. They passionately accused the hand that guided them of despotism and duplicity. In a word, while they were p. 613waiting for Peter Stepanovich, they worked themselves into such a state that they resolved again, once and for all, to demand a categorical explanation from him; and if he were to refuse again, as he had done in the past, they were even prepared to disband the group with the stipulation that in its place a new secret society for the ‘propagation of ideas’ be formed, on their own initiative, based on principles of equal rights and democracy. Liputin, Shigalyov, and the expert on the people supported this plan; Lyamshin remained silent, although he seemed to be in agreement. Virginsky hesitated and first wished to hear what Peter Stepanovich had to say. They proposed listening to him, but he still hadn’t arrived. Such disregard on his part added fuel to the fire. Erkel said absolutely nothing and made arrangements for the tea which he himself carried in from the landlady on a tray with glasses, without bringing in the samovar and not allowing the servant to enter the room.

Peter Stepanovich only appeared around half-past eight. With rapid steps he approached the round table in front of the sofa where the company was seated; he held his cap in his hand and refused the offer of tea. He looked angry, stern, and haughty. He must have noticed at once from the look on all their faces that they were ‘rebelling’.

‘Before I even open my mouth, you must tell me everything; you’re hiding something,’ he observed, gazing at each countenance with a malicious grin.

Liputin began ‘in the name of all those assembled’; in a voice trembling with offence, he declared that ‘if things were to continue in the same way, they might as well blow their own brains out.’ Oh, they weren’t afraid of blowing their own brains out, and were even prepared to do so, but only for the common good. (There was a general stir of approval.) Therefore, he must be honest with them so they’d always know what was what beforehand, in advance, ‘or else, then what?’ (Once more, a stir and a few guttural sounds.) It was humiliating and dangerous to proceed in such a manner… It wasn’t at all because we were afraid; but, if one person was doing all the acting and the rest of them were mere pawns, the one might make a mistake and the rest would p. 614all be lost. (Exclamations: ‘Yes, yes!’ Universal support.)

‘Damn it all! Then what do you want?’

‘What connection is there’, Liputin burst out, ‘between Mr Stavrogin’s sordid little intrigues and our common cause? Even if he’s linked to the centre in some mysterious way, and even if this fantastic centre really exists, we have no desire to know anything about it. But in the meantime, a murder has been committed and the police have been alerted; if they follow the thread, they’re bound to get to us.’

‘If you and Stavrogin are caught, they’ll catch us too,’ added the expert on the people.

‘And it’ll be of no use whatsoever to the common cause,’ Virginsky concluded gloomily.

‘What nonsense! The murders were accidental, committed by Fedka during a break-in.’

‘Hmm. But it’s a strange coincidence,’ Liputin remarked, writhing.

‘Or, if you like, it all happened because of you.’

‘What do you mean, because of us?’

‘In the first place, you, Liputin, took part in this intrigue yourself; in the second place and most important, you were ordered to send Lebyadkin away and provided with the necessary funds. And what did you do? If you’d sent him away, nothing would’ve happened.’

‘But wasn’t it you who gave me the idea to turn him loose on stage to read his poem?’

‘An idea isn’t an order. Your order was to send him away.’

‘My order. It’s a pretty funny business… On the contrary, you ordered me to delay sending him away.’

‘You’re mistaken and exhibiting stupidity and wilfulness. As for the murders—they were Fedka’s doing; he acted alone and his motive was robbery. You listened to what people were saying and believed it. You lost heart. Stavrogin isn’t that stupid; the proof is he left at twelve noOn, after meeting with the vice-governor. If anything was amiss, they’d never have let him go off to Petersburg in broad daylight.’

‘We’re not arguing that Mr Stavrogin committed murder himself,’ Liputin said maliciously and unceremoniously. ‘He p. 615might not even have known, just like me. You yourself know all too well that I knew nothing, even though I’m in it up to my ears now.’

‘And just who are you accusing?’ Peter Stepanovich asked, looking at him grimly.

‘Those who find it necessary to set towns on fire, sir.’

‘Worst of all is that you’re trying to wriggle out of it. Perhaps you ought to read this and share it with the others; it’s just for your information.’

He pulled out of his pocket Lebyadkin’s anonymous letter to von Lembke and gave it to Liputin. The latter read it, was Obviously surprised, and handed it thoughtfully to his neighbour: the letter quickly made its way around the circle.

‘Is it really Lebyadkin’s handwriting?’ asked Shigalyov.

‘Yes,’ declared Liputin and Tolkachenko (that is, the expert on the people).

‘I’m showing you this just for your information, knowing how sentimental you all feel about Lebyadkin,’ Peter Stepanovich repeated, taking the letter back. ‘Thus it seems, gentlemen, that a certain Fedka has rid us of a very dangerous man totally by chance. That’s what chance can sometimes do! It’s instructive, isn’t it?’

The members quickly exchanged glances.

‘And now, gentlemen, it’s my turn to ask you some questions,’ said Peter Stepanovich, sententiously. ‘Allow me to enquire how it was you came to set fire to the town without permission?’

‘What’s that? We, we set fire to the town? You must be mad!’ several people exclaimed.

‘I understand you were carried away by the game,’ Peter Stepanovich continued stubbornly, ‘but this is not exactly silly little scandals with Yulia Mikhailovna. I’ve gathered you all here, gentlemen, to inform you of the danger you’ve stupidly incurred which threatens much more than you yourselves.’

‘Excuse me; on the contrary, we were just about to inform you about the degree of despotism and inequality which led to such serious and extraordinary steps being taken, without any consultation,’ Virginsky, who’d been silent up to this point, said almost indignantly.

p. 616‘So, you deny it? I maintain it was you who set the fire, you yourselves and no one else. No, don’t lie, gentlemen, I have accurate information. In your wilfulness you subjected the common cause to grave danger. You’re only one in an endless network of knots and you’re obliged to obey the centre without question. Meanwhile three of you, lacking any instructions whatsoever, incited the Shpigulin men to arson, and the fires occurred.’

‘Three? Which three of us?’

‘The day before yesterday at three in the morning, you, Tolkachenko, incited Fomka Zavyalov in the Forget-Me-Not Tavern.’

‘For pity’s sake,’ cried the other, jumping up, ‘I hardly said more than a word or two, and even that was unintentional—merely because he’d been flogged that morning. I dropped it at once when I saw he was too drunk. If you hadn’t reminded me, I’d never have remembered it. The town couldn’t have caught on fire from that one word.’

‘You’re like a man who’s amazed when a whole powder factory explodes from one tiny spark.’

‘I spoke to him in a whisper in the corner, right into his ear. How did you find out?’ Tolkachenko wondered suddenly.

‘I was sitting there under the table. Don’t worry, gentlemen, I know every move you make. Do I see you grinning nastily, Mr Liputin? I know, for example, that three days ago at midnight, in your own bedroom, just as you were going to bed, you pinched your wife all over until she was black and blue.’

Liputin gaped and went pale.

(Later we learned that he’d found out about Liputin’s heroic deed from Agafya, Liputin’s maid, who was being paid from the very beginning to spy on him; this came to light only afterwards.)

‘May I establish one fact?’ Shigalyov asked, standing up all of a sudden.

‘Go ahead.’

Shigalyov sat down and braced himself:

‘As far as I understand—and it’s impossible not to understand—you yourself, to begin with, and then once again, p. 617very eloquently—although much too theoretically—painted us a picture of Russia covered with an endless network of knots. In turn, each of these active groups was to proselytize, branch out endlessly in all directions, and, by engaging in systematic propaganda, undermine continually the prestige of local authorities, cause confusion in villages, foster cynicism, scandals, and disbelief in all things, a thirst for something better, and last of all, by means of fires (which have such great impact on the common people), reduce the whole country, at any given moment if need be, to a state of utter desperation. Aren’t these your own views that I’ve tried to reproduce word for word? Isn’t this your plan of action, communicated by you as an authorized representative of the central committee, which body remains to this day completely unknown to us and something of a chimera?’

‘That’s correct, but you’ve dragged it out considerably.’

‘Everyone has the right to express himself in his own way. Having given us to understand that this network of separate knots covering Russia now consists of several hundred groups and, propounding the proposition that if each group does what it’s supposed to successfully, then all Russia, at a given moment, at a pre-arranged signal…’

‘Oh, to hell with you! I’ve got enough to do without you!’ Peter Stepanovich said, turning around in his armchair.

‘Very well, I’ll be brief and end with a question. We’ve already witnessed scandals, noted the people’s discontent, been present at and participated in the downfall of the local administration, and, last of all, we’ve seen the fires with our own eyes. Why are you so dissatisfied? Isn’t this your programme? What can you accuse us of?’

‘Wilfulness!’ Peter Stepanovich cried furiously. ‘When I’m around, you’ve no right to act without my permission. Enough. Someone is about to inform on us; perhaps tomorrow or even tonight you’ll all be arrested. That’s how it is. I have reliable information.’

Now everyone gaped at him.

‘You’ll be arrested not only as instigators of the fire, but as members of a group of five. The informer knows all the secrets of the network. That’s the sort of mess you’ve made!’

p. 618‘It must be Stavrogin,’ cried Liputin.

‘What… why Stavrogin?’ Peter Stepanovich cried, suddenly stopping short. ‘Oh, hell,’ he continued immediately. ‘It’s Shatov! I trust you all know that at one time Shatov belonged to our group. I must report that by following his movements through people he never suspected, I was amazed to discover that the organization of the network was no secret to him and… in short, he knows everything. To save himself from being accused of his previous involvement, he’s planning to inform on all of us. Up to now he’s been hesitating, so I’ve spared him. But this fire of yours has caused him to make up his mind: he was quite shaken and is no longer hesitating. Tomorrow we’ll be arrested as arsonists and political offenders.’

‘Is that true? How does Shatov know?’

The agitation was indescribable.

‘It’s all perfectly true. I have no right to reveal my sources or tell you how I learned about it, but this is what I can do for you in the meantime: through a certain person I can influence Shatov so, without his suspecting why, he’ll delay informing on you—but for no more than twenty-four hours. I can’t do any more than that. So you can consider yourselves safe until tomorrow morning.’

Everyone was silent.

‘Let’s dispatch him to the devil!’ Tolkachenko was the first to exclaim.

‘We should’ve done it a long time ago!’ Lyamshin put in maliciously, banging his fist on the table.

‘But how can we do it?’ muttered Liputin.

Peter Stepanovich took up this question immediately and explained his plan. It consisted of the following: the next day, at nightfall, they were to lure Shatov to a secluded spot where the secret printing press (which had been in his keeping) was hidden away, and—’deal with him right then and there’. He went into all the necessary details which we’ll omit now, and thoroughly explained Shatov’s present ambivalent attitude to the central society, which is already known to the reader.

‘That’s all well and good,’ Liputin observed uncertainly, p. 619‘but once more… since it’ll be a new adventure of a similar sort… won’t it cause too great a sensation?’

‘Without doubt,’ Peter Stepanovich replied, ‘but that’s been foreseen. There are ways of evading suspicion.’

And, with his earlier precision, he told them all about Kirillov, his intention to commit suicide, how he promised to wait for their signal and leave a note that they’d dictate in which he’d take all the blame on himself. (In a word, everything the reader knows already.)

‘They got to know there about his steadfast intention to take his own life—a philosophical and, in my opinion, an insane intention.’ (Peter Stepanovich continued his explanation.) ‘Not one strand of hair, not one speck of dust is overlooked there; everything is done for the good of the cause. Having foreseen how useful it could be, and having convinced themselves his intention was entirely serious, they offered him the means of coming to Russia (for some reason he was set on dying here); they gave him a commission he was obliged to carry out (and did); in addition, they bound him by a promise already known to you, to take his life only when they told him to do so. He agreed to everything. Note his membership in the organization is on special terms and he wishes to be useful to it; I can’t tell you any more. Tomorrow, after we deal with Shatov, I’ll dictate him a note in which he’ll admit he’s responsible for Shatov’s death. That will sound very credible: they were friends and travelled to America together where they quarrelled; all of this will be explained in the note… And… it might even be possible, judging from the circumstances, to dictate something more to Kirillov, for example, something about the proclamations, maybe even the fire. But I’ll have to think some more about it. Don’t worry, he has no prejudices; he’ll sign anything.’

Doubts were expressed all around. The story sounded fantastic. But everyone had heard something about Kirillov, Liputin more than the rest.

‘He’ll change his mind all of a sudden and decide not to do it,’ said Shigalyov. ‘Any way you look at it, he’s still crazy; therefore, the plan is unreliable.’

p. 620‘Don’t worry, gentlemen, he’ll do it,’ Peter Stepanovich said, cutting him short. ‘According to our agreement I’m supposed to tell him the evening before, that is, tonight. I’m inviting Liputin to come with me right now to see him and make sure; then he’ll return to you, gentlemen, even tonight if you wish, to report whether I’ve told you the truth or not. However,’ he said suddenly, breaking off in extreme irritation, as if he suddenly felt he was doing these creatures too great an honour and was wasting time trying to convince them, ‘however, you may do as you wish. If you decide not to do it, our bond is severed, but only because of your disobedience and treachery. In that case, we’ll go our separate ways from now on. But then you must understand that in addition to the unpleasant fact of Shatov’s betrayal and its consequences, you’ll be bringing yet another little unpleasantness upon yourselves, one you were definitely warned about when this bond was formed. As far as I’m concerned, gentlemen, I’m not really frightened… Don’t think I’m all that closely connected to you… But that doesn’t matter.’

‘No, we’ll do it,’ Liputin replied.

‘There’s no other way out,’ Tolkachenko muttered. ‘And if Liputin comes back and confirms what you’ve said about Kirillov, then…’

‘I’m against it; with all my heart and soul I protest against such a bloody solution!’ Virginsky said, rising from his seat.

‘But?’ asked Peter Stepanovich.

‘ “But” what?’

‘You said “but”… and I’m waiting.’

‘I don’t think I said “but”… I only wanted to say that if it’s decided, then…’

‘Then?’

Virginsky fell silent.

‘I think one may disregard the threat to one’s personal safety,’ said Erkel, opening his mouth all of a sudden. ‘But if the common cause suffers, then I think one shouldn’t disregard the threat to one’s personal safety…’

He got confused and blushed. For all that each was preoccupied with his own thoughts, they all looked at him p. 621in amazement; it was so unexpected that he too could have something to say.

‘I’m for the common cause,’ Virginsky uttered all of a sudden.

Everyone stood up. It was decided to communicate once more tomorrow at noon, although without gathering everyone together for a meeting, and to make final arrangements. The place where the printing press had been hidden was revealed; each person was assigned his role and duties. Liputin and Peter Stepanovich set off together to see Kirillov at once.

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2

All the members of the group were convinced that Shatov would betray them; but they also believed that Peter Stepanovich was using them as pawns. Still they knew that tomorrow they would all appear at the appointed place and Shatov’s fate had been sealed. They felt like flies suddenly caught in a web by an enormous spider; they were furious, but quaking with fear.

Peter Stepanovich was undoubtedly guilty in their eyes: everything would have gone much more smoothly and easily, if he’d tried in the least to make reality more palatable. But instead of presenting the facts in a decent light, befitting citizens of ancient Rome or something of that sort, he merely appealed to their animal instinct and emphasized the risk to their own skins; that was simply discourteous. Of course, there’s a struggle for existence in everything;* there’s no other principle, everyone knows that; nevertheless…

But Peter Stepanovich had no time to inspire the Romans; he himself was thrown off his stride. Stavrogin’s flight had both shocked and depressed him. He was lying when he said that Stavrogin had been seen with the vice-governor; in fact, Stavrogin left without seeing anyone, not even his mother—and what was really odd, no one even tried to detain him. (Subsequently the authorities had to explain this particular circumstance.) Peter Stepanovich had been making enquiries all day long, but hadn’t found out a thing; p. 622never before had he been so upset. Could he, could he really give Stavrogin up just like that? That was why he couldn’t be any nicer to the members of the group. Besides, they’d tied his hands: he’d already decided to gallop off after Stavrogin but meanwhile he’d been detained by Shatov. He had to cement the group of five together once and for all, just in case. ‘They can’t be tossed away just like that; they might come in handy.’ I suppose that’s what he thought.

And as far as Shatov was concerned, Peter Stepanovich was absolutely convinced he’d betray them. Everything he said to the members of the group about him betraying them was a lie: he’d never seen any denunciation or even heard of one, but he was as sure about it as he was that twice two makes four. He felt that Shatov couldn’t possibly endure the present situation—Liza’s death, Marya Timofeevna’s death—and that now he would make up his mind once and for all. Who knows, perhaps he even had some grounds for supposing that. It’s also known that he hated Shatov personally; there’d been some kind of quarrel between them at one time, and Peter Stepanovich was never able to forgive the insult. I’m actually convinced this was his main motive.

The pavements in our town are narrow and made of brick; in some places there are only raised wooden planks. Peter Stepanovich walked in the middle of the pavement, occupying it entirely, paying not the least attention to Liputin, and leaving him no room to walk alongside; he either had to hurry on ahead, walk a step behind, or, if they were to converse, run alongside in the muddy street. Peter Stepanovich suddenly recalled how he’d had to wade through mud to keep up with Stavrogin, who also strode down the middle, occupying the whole pavement. He remembered the entire scene and was almost overcome with rage.

Liputin, too, was choking with resentment from a sense of insult. Peter Stepanovich might treat other members of the group like that, but not him. Why, he knew more than the others, he stood closer to the affair, he was more intimately involved with it, and had been so continuously, although his participation had been indirect up to now. Oh, p. 623he knew Peter Stepanovich could destroy him even now if the worst occurred. But he’d conceived a hatred for Peter Stepanovich some time ago, not because of any dangers involved, but because of his arrogant manner. Now, when it was time to take action, he was angrier than all the others put together. Alas, he knew that tomorrow, like a slave, he’d be the first to arrive at the appointed place; he’d even lead the others there; he also knew that if now, before tomorrow, he could somehow kill Peter Stepanovich, he’d certainly do so.

Immersed in these thoughts, he trotted alongside his tormentor in silence. Apparently Peter Stepanovich had forgotten all about him; from time to time he bumped him carelessly and rudely with his elbow. Suddenly Peter Stepanovich stopped on one of the broadest streets and ducked into a tavern.

‘Where are you going?’ cried Liputin. ‘This is a tavern.’

‘I feel like having a steak.’

‘For pity’s sake, it’s always full of people.’

‘So what?’

‘But… we’ll be late. It’s already ten o’clock.’

‘We can’t get there too late.’

‘Then I’ll be late! They’re waiting for me to return.’

‘So what? It’d be stupid for you to hurry back to them. What with all your fussing I haven’t had my dinner today. Besides, the later we get to Kirillov’s, the better.’

Peter Stepanovich took a private room. Liputin sat in an armchair to one side and watched angrily and resentfully as Peter ate. More than half an hour passed. Peter Stepanovich didn’t hurry; he ate with gusto, summoned the waiter, asked for a different kind of mustard, then a beer, all the time saying not one word to Liputin. He was deep in thought. He cOuld do two things simultaneously—eat with gusto and be deeply absorbed in thought. Liputin came to hate him so intensely he was totally unable to tear himself away. It was akin to a nervous seizure. He counted every piece of steak Peter put into his mouth; he hated him for the way he opened his mouth, chewed his food, and smacked his lips over the fattier morsels; he hated the steak itself. At p. 624last things began to swim before his eyes; his head began to spin; hot and cold shivers ran up and down his spine.

‘You’re not doing anything. Read this,’ said Peter Stepanovich, tossing him a piece of paper. Liputin drew near the candle. The paper was covered with scribbles; the handwriting was awful and there were corrections on every line. By the time he mastered it, Peter Stepanovich had already paid his bill and was just leaving. On the pavement Liputin handed him back the paper.

‘Hold on to it; I’ll explain it later. By the way, what do you think?’

Liputin shuddered.

‘In my opinion… pamphlets like that are… just stupid nonsense.’

His anger surfaced: he felt as if something had caught him up and was carrying him along.

‘If we decide’, Liputin said, shivering all over, ‘to distribute pamphlets like that, we’ll make people despise us for our stupidity and incompetence.’

‘Hmm. I don’t think so,’ Peter Stepanovich replied, walking on resolutely.

‘Well I do. Did you write it yourself?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘I also think that poem “A Noble Character” was the most absurd thing imaginable and could never have been written by Herzen.’*

‘You’re lying; it was a good poem.’

‘I’m also surprised, for example,’ Liputin went on, still bounding along in high excitement, ‘we’re being told to behave so as to make everything collapse. In Europe it’s only natural to hope that everything collapses, because there’s a proletariat; but here we’re only amateurs and, in my opinion, merely raising a lot of dust.’

‘I thought you were a Fourierist.’*

‘That’s not what Fourier says, not at all.’

‘I know it’s nonsense.’

‘No, Fourier isn’t nonsense… Excuse me, I just don’t believe there’ll be an uprising in May.’

Liputin even unbuttoned his coat, he was feeling so heated.

p. 625‘Well, enough of that, but now, before I forget,’ said Peter Stepanovich, jumping to another subject with fearful composure, ‘you’ll have to set and print this leaflet with your own hands. We’ll dig up Shatov’s printing press and you’ll get it tomorrow. You must print as many copies as you can as soon as possible and then distribute them throughout the winter. The means will be provided. You must make as many copies as you can because they’ll be needed in other places as well.’

‘No sir, excuse me. I can’t take on such a… I refuse.’

‘You will take it on though. I’m acting on orders of the central committee and you must obey.’

‘I think that our centres abroad have forgotten what Russian reality is like and have broken their links with it; that’s why they’re talking such nonsense… I also think that instead of several hundred groups of five in Russia, we’re the only one there is and there’s no network whatsoever,’ gasped Liputin in conclusion.

‘All the more contemptible on your part: you chase after the cause without believing in it… now you’re chasing after me like a mangy little cur.’

‘No sir, I’m not. We have a perfect right to leave you and establish a new society.’

Idiot!’ Peter Stepanovich bellowed suddenly, his eyes flashing menacingly.

They both stood facing each other for a while. Peter Stepanovich turned and continued on his way confidently.

An idea flashed through Liputin’s mind like lightning; ‘I’ll turn around and go back: if I don’t turn around now, I’ll never go back.’ That’s what he thought for exactly ten paces, but on the eleventh a new and desperate idea occurred to him: he didn’t turn around and didn’t go back.

They approached Filippov’s house, but instead of going in, they turned down a side street, or rather an inconspicuous path along the fence. For a while they had to walk along the steep bank of a ditch on which it was difficult to keep their footing so they had to hold on to the fence. In the darkest corner of the slanting fence Peter Stepanovich removed a plank; a gap appeared through which he slipped immediately. Liputin was surprised, but followed him; then p. 626they replaced the plank. This was the secret entrance through which Fedka used to visit Kirillov.

‘Shatov mustn’t know we’re here,’ Peter Stepanovich whispered sternly to Liputin.

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Kirillov, as always at this hour, was sitting on his leather sofa having tea. He didn’t come to meet them, but he did jump up and look at them anxiously.

‘You’re not mistaken,’ said Peter Stepanovich, ‘that’s exactly why I’ve come.’

‘Today?’

‘No, no, tomorrow… around this time.’

And he sat down hurriedly at the table, taking note of Kirillov’s agitation with some anxiety. But Kirillov had already recovered his composure and looked his usual self.

‘These people still refuse to believe it. You’re not angry I’ve brought Liputin along?’

‘I’m not angry today, but tomorrow I want to be alone.’

‘But not before I come, and therefore in my presence.’

‘I’d prefer not in your presence.’

‘You remember you promised to write and sign everything I dictate?’

‘It’s all the same to me. Are you going to stay here much longer?’

‘I have to see someone in about half an hour, so whatever you say, I’ll have to spend the next half hour here.’

Kirillov fell silent. Meanwhile Liputin sat down to one side under the portrait of the bishop. His last desperate idea was taking possession of him more and more. Kirillov hardly noticed him. Liputin had known about Kirillov’s theory earlier and had always laughed at him; but now he was silent and looked around gloomily.

‘I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea,’ Peter Stepanovich said, pulling up his chair. ‘I’ve just had a steak and was hoping to have some tea here with you.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘You used to offer it to me,’ Peter Stepanovich observed sourly.

p. 627‘It doesn’t matter. Give Liputin some too.’

‘No, sir, I… I can’t.’

‘You don’t want it or you can’t?’ Peter Stepanovich asked, turning to him quickly.

‘I’m not going to here,’ Liputin said expressively. Peter Stepanovich frowned.

‘That smacks of mysticism; the devil only knows what sort of people you are!’

There was no reply; everyone was silent for a minute or two.

‘But I know one thing,’ he added abruptly all of a sudden, ‘no prejudices will stop each one of us from fulfilling his obligations.’

‘Did Stavrogin leave?’ asked Kirillov.

‘Yes.’

‘He was wise to do so.’

Peter Stepanovich’s eyes flashed, but he controlled himself.

‘I don’t care what you think, as long as each person keeps his word.’

‘I’ll keep my word.’

‘I’ve always been sure you’ll do your duty like an independent and progressive fellow.’

‘You’re very amusing.’

‘That may be; I’m glad to entertain you. I’m always pleased to be of service.’

‘You want me to shoot myself, but you’re afraid I might suddenly decide not to do it.’

‘Well I mean, don’t you see, it was you who linked your plan to our activities. Reckoning on your plan, we’ve already done certain things; you really can’t refuse now because you’d be letting us down.’

‘You have no claim whatsoever.’

‘I understand, I understand; it’s entirely your own decision, and we don’t mean a thing. Just as long as you make the right decision.’

‘And must I take on myself all the filthy things you’ve done?’

‘Listen, Kirillov, you’re not losing heart, are you? If you want to refuse, tell me at once.’

p. 628‘I’m not losing heart.’

‘I asked because you’ve got too many questions.’

‘Are you going to leave soon?’

‘Another question?’

Kirillov looked at him with contempt.

‘Look here,’ Peter Stepanovich went on, getting more and more angry, upset, and unable to find the appropriate tone, ‘you want me to leave so you’ll have solitude and be able to concentrate; but those are bad symptoms in you, you most of all. You like to think too much. In my opinion, it’s better not to think, just do it. In fact, you’re worrying me.’

‘The only thing that distresses me is that a reptile like you should be near me when the moment comes.’

‘Well, I don’t mind about that. Perhaps when the moment comes I’ll go outside and stand on the porch. To be going to die and worry about things like that… that’s a very bad symptom. I’ll go out on the porch; you can assume I understand nothing and am infinitely beneath you as a human being.’

‘No, not infinitely; you have talents, but there’s a great deal you don’t understand because you’re so despicable.’

‘Fine by me, fine by me. I’ve already said I’m happy to entertain you… at such a time.’

‘You don’t understand anything.’

‘Well, I… in any case, I’m listening respectfully.’

‘You can’t do anything; you can’t even conceal your petty spite at this moment, even though it’s not in your interest to display it. You’re starting to make me angry and I may suddenly decide to wait another six months.’

Peter Stepanovich looked at his watch.

‘I’ve never understood anything about your theory, but I know you didn’t come up with it on our account, and therefore you’ll carry it out without us too. I also know you haven’t swallowed the idea—the idea’s swallowed you; therefore you won’t postpone it.’

‘What? The idea’s swallowed me?’

‘Yes.’

‘And I didn’t swallow the idea? That’s good. You’ve a grain of intelligence. Only you’re teasing me, but I’m proud of it. ‘

p. 629‘Splendid; splendid. That’s just what we need, for you to be proud of it.’

‘Enough; you’ve finished your tea, now leave.’

‘Damn it, I suppose I must,’ Peter Stepanovich said, getting up. ‘But it’s a little early. Listen, Kirillov, will I find the person I’m looking for at Myasnichikha’s, you understand. Or was she lying?’

‘You won’t find him because he’s here, not there.’

‘What do you mean here, damn it, where?’

‘Sitting in the kitchen, eating and drinking.’

‘How dare he?’ Peter Stepanovich said, blushing angrily. ‘He was supposed to wait… what nonsense! He has no passport and no money!’

‘I don’t know. He came here to say goodbye; he’s dressed and ready to go. He’s leaving and won’t come back. He says you’re a scoundrel and he doesn’t want to wait for your money.’

‘Aha! He’s afraid I’ll… well, even now I could, if… Where is he? In the kitchen?’

Kirillov opened a side door into a tiny dark room; three steps led down into the kitchen, straight to the partitioned section where the cook’s bed was usually placed. There in the corner, under the icons, sat Fedka at a bare deal table. In front of him on the table stood a pint bottle, a plate with some bread, and a piece of cold beef with some potatoes in an earthenware dish. He was eating listlessly and was already half-drunk, but was wearing his sheepskin coat and was obviously ready to leave on his journey. A samovar was boiling on the other side of the partition, but not for Fedka, although he himself had been lighting it every evening for more than a week and had been fanning the coals for ‘Aleksei Nilych Kirillov, since he so liked drinking tea at night’. I’m convinced that since there was no cook, Kirillov himself had prepared the beef and potatoes for Fedka that morning.

‘What have you done now?’ cried Peter, bursting into the room. ‘Why didn’t you wait where you were supposed to?’

And he banged his fist down on the table.

Fedka assumed an air of dignity.

p. 630‘Wait a minute, Peter Stepanovich, wait just one minute,’ he began, enjoying the way he articulated each and every word. ‘First of all you’d better realize you’re here paying a nice visit to Mr Kirillov, Aleksei Nilych, what’s boots you could clean any day you like because he’s an educated man; beside him, you’re not worth a damn!’

He pretended to spit ostentatiously to the side. His arrogance and determination were evident, as well as a dangerous calm argumentativeness threatening to explode. But Peter Stepanovich had no time to notice this danger; besides, it didn’t fit with his view of things. His head was spinning from all the events and failures of the day… From the top of the three steps Liputin peered down inquisitively into the dark little room.

‘Do you or don’t you want a real passport and enough money to get you to where you were told to go? Yes or no?’

‘See here, Peter Stepanovich, you’ve been fooling me from the start, and it looks to me like you’re a real scoundrel. No different from a filthy human louse—that’s what I thinks of you. You promised to pay me a lot of money for shedding, innocent blood and you swore it was for Mr Stavrogin, though it turns out to be just a case of your incivility. I didn’t get nothing out of it, let alone fifteen hundred roubles, and Mr Stavrogin smacked you in the face—we heard all about that. Now you go threatening me again and promising me money—but you don’t say what it’s for. I think you’re sending me off to Petersburg to get back at Mr Stavrogin somehow, at Nikolai Vsevolodovich I mean, counting on my gullible nature. And that shows you’re the real murderer. You know what you deserve for no longer believing, in your depravity, in God Himself, in the true Creator? You’re no better than a heathen, you’re on the same level as a Tatar or a Mordva.* Aleksei Nilych, him what’s a real philosopher, has explained to you more than once the meaning of the true God, the real Creator, the creation of the world, our future fate, and the transformation of all creatures and every beast in the Book of Revelation. But you, like a heathen idol, keeps on in your deaf and dumb state and you’ve brought Ensign Erkel to the same p. 631point, just like that wicked tempter, they call the atheist…’

‘Oh, you drunken sot! You steal settings from icons and go about preaching the word of God!’

‘Look, Peter Stepanovich, I’m telling the truth that I robbed those settings; but I only took the pearls. And how do you know, maybe a tear of my own was changed into a pearl at that very moment in the furnace of the Almighty for some insult I’d suffered, like that orphan what lacks even daily shelter. You know, don’t you, from all your books that once upon a time a merchant, with just the same tearful lamentation and prayer, stole a pearl from the halo of the Mother of God and afterwards, for all to see, he put the money he got for it at the feet of the blessed Virgin, and the Holy Mother of God protected him with her mantle before all the people, so that a great miracle was proclaimed and the authorities had it written down in official books just like it happened. But you put a mouse inside; what means, you insulted the very hand of God. If you wasn’t my own master by birth what I carried around in my own arms as a young lad I’d have finished you off right now, and right here!’

Peter Stepanovich became absolutely furious.

‘Tell me, did you see Stavrogin today?’

‘Don’t you dare to go interrogating me. Mr Stavrogin is certainly surprised at you and didn’t have any part in it, neither wishing it, nor ordering it, nor providing the money. You dared me.’

‘You’ll get your money and another two thousand in Petersburg when you get there, all of it, even more.’

‘You’re lying, dear sir, and it’s very funny to see how gullible you are. Mr Stavrogin stands miles above you, and you stand there below, barking like a stupid cur, and Stavrogin, he considers it a great honour even to spit on you from above.’

‘Do you know,’ cried Peter Stepanovich in a rage, ‘that I won’t let you take one step out of here, you scoundrel! I’ll take you right to the police.’

Fedka jumped to his feet, his eyes gleaming in fury. Peter Stepanovich grabbed his revolver. Then there rapidly p. 632occurred an extremely nasty scene: before Peter Stepanovich could aim the revolver, Fedka swung around and struck him in the face with all his might. There followed the sound of a second terrible blow, then a third, a fourth, across the face. Peter Stepanovich was dazed, his eyes bulged, he muttered something and suddenly came crashing down full length on to the floor.

‘There you are, take him away!’ Fedka cried triumphantly; a moment later he grabbed his cap, seized his bag from under the bench, and off he went. Peter Stepanovich lay gasping, unconscious. Liputin even thought a murder had been committed. Kirillov rushed headlong into the kitchen.

‘Water!’ he cried. Dipping an iron ladle into a bucket, he poured some water over his head. Peter Stepanovich stirred, raised his head, sat up, and stared blankly in front of him.

‘Well, how do you feel?’ asked Kirillov.

Peter Stepanovich stared back at him intently, not yet recognizing him; but, when he saw Liputin coming back from the kitchen, he broke into a repulsive grin and suddenly jumped up, snatching his revolver from the floor.

‘If you decide to run away tomorrow like that scoundrel Stavrogin,’ he said, pouncing furiously on Kirillov—he was pale, stuttering and slurring his words—’I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth and kill you like a fly… I’ll crush you… understand?’

He pointed the revolver right at Kirillov’s forehead; but, coming completely to his senses at almost the same time, he lowered his arm, put the revolver back in his pocket, and, without one more word, ran out of the house. Liputin went after him. They slipped through the same gap in the fence and made their way along the top of the slope, clutching on to the fence. Peter Stepanovich strode along the lane so rapidly that Liputin could scarcely keep up. At the first crossroads he stopped suddenly.

‘Well?’ he asked, turning to Liputin with a challenge.

Liputin remembered the revolver and was still trembling from the previous scene; but an answer suddenly slipped out of his mouth all by itself:

‘I think… I think they’re not waiting for the student from p. 633Smolensk to far Tashkent* with such great impatience.’

‘Did you see what Fedka was drinking in the kitchen?’

‘What he was drinking? Vodka.’

‘Well, that’s the last time he’ll be drinking vodka. I want you to remember that for future reference. As for now, you can go to hell; you’re not needed until tomorrow… But listen to me: don’t do anything stupid!’

Liputin rushed off home as fast as he could.

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He even had a passport in a false name hidden away. It’s bizarre to think that this careful little man, petty tyrant to his family, civil servant none the less (even though a Fourierist), and, last but not least, capitalist and moneylender, had long ago conceived the fantastic idea of procuring himself a passport in case of emergency, so that with its help he might escape abroad if… he allowed for the possibility of this if!… even though, of course, he himself was unable to formulate what this if could possibly mean…

But now this if had suddenly formulated itself in the most unexpected way. The desperate idea that he carried with him to Kirillov’s after Peter Stepanovich had called him an ‘idiot’ on the pavement, was to drop everything and go abroad the first thing tomorrow morning! If someone doesn’t believe that such fantastic things can occur in everyday Russian life, let him investigate the biographies of Russian emigrants living abroad. Not one of them escaped in a more intelligent or realistic way. It’s always been the unbridled reign of phantoms and nothing more.

When he arrived home he began by locking his door, taking out his travelling bag, and beginning to pack feverishly. His chief concern was money, how he could manage to salvage it, and how much. Salvage precisely, since he thought he hadn’t a moment to spare; at first light he’d have to set out along the high road. He had no idea where to board the train; he vaguely decided to get on at the second or third large station away from town and make his way to that station on foot, if necessary. Thus, instinctively and mechanically, with thoughts whirling in his head, he was packing his bag p. 634when all of the sudden he stopped, gave it all up, and with a deep sigh, stretched out full length on his sofa.

He clearly felt and suddenly realized that he might run away—he probably would—but he was no longer strong enough to resolve the question whether to leave before or after the business with Shatov; now he was no more than a crude, lifeless body, an inert mass, someone moved by some awful external force; even though he had a passport to travel abroad and could run away from Shatov (why else should he be in such a hurry?), he wouldn’t run away either before Shatov or from Shatov, but precisely after Shatov; this was already decided, signed and sealed. In intolerable distress, trembling constantly and astonished at himself, moaning and holding his breath in turn, he somehow managed to survive, locked in and lying on the sofa, until eleven o’clock the next morning. Then there suddenly occurred an unexpected shock that suddenly determined his future course of action. At eleven o’clock when he unlocked his door and went out to greet the members of his household, he suddenly learned from them that the robber and escaped convict Fedka, who’d been terrorizing the area, that looter of churches recently turned murderer and arsonist, whom the police had been searching for but had been unable to arrest, was found murdered early that morning about seven miles from town, at the place where the main road takes a turn towards the village of Zakharino and that the whole town was talking about it. He rushed headlong out of the house at once to learn all the details and found out, first of all, that Fedka had been found with his skull smashed, to all appearances robbed, and secondly, that the police already had strong suspicions and even good grounds for believing the murderer to be one of the Shpigulin men, a certain Fomka, the man who’d served as his accomplice in killing the Lebyadkins and setting fire to their house; there had been a quarrel between them along the road concerning a large sum of money stolen from Lebyadkin which Fedka was supposed to have hidden away… Liputin also ran to Peter Stepanovich’s and managed to learn on the sly at the back door that Peter Stepanovich had returned home the night before after p. 635midnight and had slept soundly until eight o’clock that morning. There was of course no question of anything unusual in the circumstances of Fedka’s death; careers like his frequently end like that. But the coincidence of the fatal words, ‘that Fedka was drinking vodka for the last time’, with the immediate fulfilment of the prediction was so remarkable that Liputin suddenly ceased wavering. The shock had come; it was as if a stone had fallen on him and crushed him once and for all. Returning home, he silently pushed his travelling bag under the bed. That evening he was the first to appear at the appointed place for the meeting with Shatov, although he still had his passport in his pocket…