The possessed or, The devils
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 to bear the suspense;
she got out of bed, and throwing round her the first garment she could
find, something very light and unsuitable for the weather, I believe,
she ran down to Kirillov's lodge herself, thinking that he perhaps would
be better able than anyone to tell her something about her husband. The
terrible effect on her of what she saw there may well be imagined. It
is remarkable that she did not read Kirillov's last letter, which lay
conspicuously on the table, overlooking it, of course, in her fright.
She ran back to her room, snatched up her baby, and went with it out of
the house into the street. It was a damp morning, there was a fog.
She met no passers-by in such an out-of-the-way street. She ran on
breathless through the wet, cold mud, and at last began knocking at the
doors of the houses. In the first house no one came to the door, in the
second they were so long in coming that she gave it up impatiently and
began knocking at a third door. This was the house of a merchant called
Titov. Here she wailed and kept declaring incoherently that her husband
was murdered, causing a great flutter in the house. Something was
known about Shatov and his story in the Titov household; they were
horror-stricken that she should be running about the streets in such
attire and in such cold with the baby scarcely covered in her arms,
when, according to her story, she had only been confined the day before.
They thought at first that she was delirious, especially as they could
not make out whether it was Kirillov who was murdered or her husband.
Seeing that they did not believe her she would have run on farther,
but they kept her by force, and I am told she screamed and struggled
terribly. They went to Filipov's, and within two hours Kirillov's
suicide and the letter he had left were known to the whole town. The
police came to question Marya Ignatyevna, who was still conscious, and
it appeared at once that she had not read Kirillov's letter, and they
could not find out from her what had led her to conclude that her
husband had been murdered. She only screamed that if Kirillov was
murdered, then her husband was murdered, they were together. Towards
midday she sank into a state of unconsciousness from which she never
recovered, and she died three days later. The baby had caught cold and
died before her.
Arina Prohorovna not finding Marya Ignatyevna and the baby, and guessing
something was wrong, was about to run home, but she checked herself at
the gate and sent the nurse to inquire of the gentleman at the lodge
whether Marya Ignatyevna was not there and whether he knew anything
about her. The woman came back screaming frantically. Persuading her not
to scream and not to tell anyone by the time-honoured argument that "she
would get into trouble," she stole out of the yard.
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 Mihailovna's circle.... Even in the disappearance of Stepan
Trofimovitch people insisted on scenting a mystery. All sorts of things
were whispered about Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. By the end of the day
people knew of Pyotr Stepanovitch's absence too, and, strange to say,
less was said of him than of anyone. What was talked of most all that
day was "the senator." There was a crowd almost all day at Filipov's
house. The police certainly were led astray by Kirillov's letter. They
believed that Kirillov had murdered Shatov and had himself committed
suicide. Yet, though the authorities were thrown into perplexity,
they were not altogether hoodwinked. The word "park," for instance, so
vaguely inserted in Kirillov's letter, did not puzzle anyone as Pyotr
Stepanovitch had expected it would. The police at once made a rush
for Skvoreshniki, not simply because it was the only park in the
neighbourhood but also led thither by a sort of instinct because all the
horrors of the last few days were connected directly or indirectly with
Skvoreshniki. That at least is my theory. (I may remark that
Varvara Petrovna had driven off early that morning in chase of Stepan
Trofimovitch, and knew nothing of what had happened in the town.)
The body was found in the pond that evening. What led to the discovery
of it was the finding of Shatov's cap at the scene of the murder, where
it had been with extraordinary carelessness overlooked by the murderers.
The appearance of the body, the medical examination and certain
deductions from it roused immediate suspicions that Kirillov must have
had accomplices. It became evident that a secret society really did
exist of which Shatov and Kirillov were members and which was connected
with the manifestoes. Who were these accomplices? No one even thought of
any member of the quintet that day. It was ascertained that Kirillov
had lived like a hermit, and in so complete a seclusion that it had been
possible, as stated in the letter, for Fedka to lodge with him for so
many days, even while an active search was being made for him. The chief
thing that worried every one was the impossibility of discovering a
connecting-link in this chaos.
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 watching Lyamshin which Pyotr
Stepanovitch had laid upon him, and left the town, that is, to put it
plainly, made his escape; the fact is, they lost their heads as Erkel
had predicted they would. I may mention, by the way, that Liputin had
disappeared the same day before twelve o'clock. But things fell out so
that his disappearance did not become known to the authorities till
the evening of the following day, when, the police went to question his
family, who were panic-stricken at his absence but kept quiet from fear
of consequences. But to return to Lyamshin: as soon as he was left alone
(Erkel had gone home earlier, relying on Tolkatchenko) he ran out of
his house, and, of course, very soon learned the position of affairs.
Without even returning home he too tried to run away without knowing
where he was going. But the night was so dark and to escape was so
terrible and difficult, that after going through two or three streets,
he returned home and locked himself up for the whole night. I believe
that towards morning he attempted to commit suicide but did not succeed.
He remained locked up till midday--and then suddenly he ran to the
authorities. He is said to have crawled on his knees, to have sobbed and
shrieked, to have kissed the floor crying out that he was not worthy to
kiss the boots of the officials standing before him. They soothed him,
were positively affable to him. His examination lasted, I am told, for
three hours. He confessed everything, everything, told every detail,
everything he knew, every point, anticipating their questions, hurried
to make a clean breast of it all, volunteering unnecessary information
without being asked. It turned out that he knew enough, and presented
things in a fairly true light: the tragedy of Shatov and Kirillov, the
fire, the death of the Lebyadkins, and the rest of it were relegated
to the background. Pyotr Stepanovitch, the secret society, the
organisation, and the network were put in the first place. When asked
what was the object of so many murders and scandals and dastardly
outrages, he answered with feverish haste that "it was with the idea of
systematically undermining the foundations, systematically destroying
society and all principles; with the idea of nonplussing every one and
making hay of everything, and then, when society was tottering, sick
and out of joint, cynical and sceptical though filled with an intense
eagerness for self-preservation and for some guiding idea, suddenly to
seize it in their hands, raising the standard of revolt and relying on a
complete network of quintets, which were actively, meanwhile, gathering
recruits and seeking out the weak spots which could be attacked."
In conclusion, he said that here in our town Pyotr Stepanovitch had
organised only the first experiment in such systematic disorder, so to
speak, as a programme for further activity, and for all the quintets--and
that this was his own (Lyamshin's) idea, his own theory, "and that he
hoped they would remember it and bear in mind how openly and properly
he had given his information, and therefore might be of use hereafter."
Being asked definitely how many quintets there were, he answered that
there were immense numbers of them, that all Russia was overspread with
a network, and although he brought forward no proofs, I believe his
answer was perfectly sincere. He produced only the programme of the
society, printed abroad, and the plan for developing a system of future
activity roughly sketched in Pyotr Stepanovitch's own handwriting. It
appeared that Lyamshin had quoted the phrase about "undermining the
foundation," word for word from this document, not omitting a single
stop or comma, though he had declared that it was all his own theory.
Of Yulia Mihailovna he very funnily and quite without provocation
volunteered the remark, that "she was innocent and had been made a
fool of." But, strange to say, he exonerated Nikolay Stavrogin from
all share in the secret society, from any collaboration with Pyotr
Stepanovitch. (Lyamshin had no conception of the secret and very absurd
hopes that Pyotr Stepanovitch was resting on Stavrogin.) According to
his story Nikolay Stavrogin had nothing whatever to do with the death of
the Lebyadkins, which had been planned by Pyotr Stepanovitch alone
and with the subtle aim of implicating the former in the crime, and
therefore making him dependent on Pyotr Stepanovitch; but instead of
the gratitude on which Pyotr Stepanovitch had reckoned with shallow
confidence, he had roused nothing but indignation and even despair in
"the generous heart of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch." He wound up, by a hint,
evidently intentional, volunteered hastily, that Stavrogin was perhaps
a very important personage, but that there was some secret about that,
that he had been living among us, so to say, incognito, that he had some
commission, and that very possibly he would come back to us again
from Petersburg. (Lyamshin was convinced that Stavrogin had gone