The possessed or, The devils
the Verhovenskys, father or son; nor I, for I'm a snob too--I, the son
of your serf and lackey, Pashka.... Listen. Attain to God by work; it
all lies in that; or disappear like rotten mildew. Attain to Him by
work."
"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 considering. "By the way," he passed
suddenly to a new idea, "you reminded me just now. Do you know that
I'm not rich at all, that I've nothing to give up? I'm scarcely in
a position even to provide for Marya Timofyevna's future.... Another
thing: I came to ask you if it would be possible for you to remain near
Marya Timofyevna in the future, as you are the only person who has
some influence over her poor brain. I say this so as to be prepared for
anything."
"All right, all right. You're speaking of Marya Timofyevna," said
Shatov, waving one hand, while he held a candle in the other. "All
right. Afterwards, of course.... Listen. Go to Tikhon."
"To whom?"
"To Tikhon, who used to be a 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.
"I 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."
"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?"
"I've had a change of luck. I gave up books and bells and church-going
because I'd a life sentence, so that I had a very long time to finish my
term."
"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 wants to see if I have the patience of a
Cossack, and feels no sort of confidence in me."
"Why?"
"Pyotr Stepanovitch is an astronomer, and has learnt all God's planets,
but even he may be criticised. I stand before you, sir, as before God,
because I have heard so much about you. Pyotr Stepanovitch is one thing,
but you, sir, maybe, are something else. When he's said of a man he's a
scoundrel, he knows nothing more about him except that he's a scoundrel.
Or if he's said he's a fool, then that man has no calling with him
except that of fool. But I may be a fool Tuesday and Wednesday, and on
Thursday wiser than he. Here now he knows about me that I'm awfully
sick to get a passport, for there's no getting on in Russia without
papers--so he thinks that he's snared my soul. I tell you, sir, life's
a very easy business for Pyotr Stepanovitch, for he fancies a man to be
this and that, and goes on as though he really was. And, what's more,
he's beastly stingy. It's his notion that, apart from him, I daren't
trouble you, but I stand before you, sir, as before God. This is the
fourth night I've been waiting for your honour on this bridge, to show
that I can find my own way on the quiet, without him. I'd better bow to
a boot, thinks I, than to a peasant's shoe."
"And who told you that I was going to cross the bridge at night?"
"Well, that, I'll own, came out by chance, most through Captain
Lebyadkin's foolishness, because he can't keep anything to himself....
So that three roubles from your honour would pay me for the weary time
I've had these three days and nights. And the clothes I've had soaked, I
feel that too much to speak of it."
"I'm going to the left; you'll go to the right. Here's the end of the
bridge. Listen, Fyodor; I like people to understand what I say, once for
all. I won't give you a farthing. Don't meet me in future on the bridge
or anywhere. I've no need of you, and never shall have, and if you don't
obey, I'll tie you and take you to the police. March!"
"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."
"I'll 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."
"Well, I see you can rely on yourself!"
"I rely upon you, sir, and not very much on myself...."
"I'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."
"I give you my word of honour if I meet you I'll tie you up."
"Well, I'll get a belt ready for you to tie me with. A lucky journey to
you, sir. You kept the helpless snug under your umbrella. For that
alone I'll be grateful to you to my dying day." He fell behind. Nikolay
Vsyevolodovitch walked on to his destination, feeling disturbed. This
man who had dropped from the sky was absolutely convinced that he was
indispensable to him, Stavrogin, and was in insolent haste to tell him
so. He was being treated unceremoniously all round. But it was possible,
too, that the tramp had not been altogether lying, and had tried
to force his services upon him on his own initiative, without Pyotr
Stepanovitch's knowledge, and that would be more curious still.
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; I'll 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.
"If 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.