The possessed or, The devils
"No, much later. Why stain her bridal dress with my blood? Perhaps I
shall not shoot myself at all, either now or later."
"I 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 herself. You must excuse
it, it's a constitutional peculiarity. But to make up for it, I'll tell
you the truth about everything else; I am married, and it's impossible
for me either to marry or to try 'to win' anyone."
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.
"If after that confession you don't leave Lizaveta Nikolaevna alone,
if you make her unhappy, I'll kill you with my stick like a dog in a
ditch!"
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.
"I am not laughing at all," he answered loudly and gaily; "on the
contrary, I am sure that you have the most serious set of people there."
"'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 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.
"If 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 you say?" Pyotr Stepanovitch was startled.
"I said, 'Damn you and your secret!' You'd better be telling me who will
be there. I know that we are going to a name-day party, but who will be
there?"
"Oh, all sorts! Even Kirillov."
"All members of circles?"
"Hang it all, you are in a hurry! 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 very
useful; but they waste a lot of one's time, they want incessant looking
after. And the most important force of all--the cement that holds
everything together--is their being ashamed of having an opinion
of their own. That is a force! And whose work is it, whose precious
achievement is it, that not one idea of their own is left in their
heads! They think originality a disgrace."
"If 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 ha!"
"But you... you shall pay for those words," Pyotr Stepanovitch thought
to himself, "and this very evening, in fact. You go too far."
This or something like this must have been Pyotr Stepanovitch's
reflection. They were approaching Virginsky's house.
"You've represented me, no doubt, as a member from abroad, 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 rôle. 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 è vero..._"
"Well, thanks. I am 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."
"I understand, but we are by ourselves."
"No, so far I am not one of the higher police. Enough, here we are.
Compose your features, Stavrogin; I always do mine when I go in. A
gloomy expression, that's all, nothing more is wanted; it's a very
simple business."
CHAPTER VII. A MEETING
I
VIRGINSKY LIVED IN HIS OWN house, or rather his wife's, in Muravyin
Street. It was a wooden house of one story, and there were no lodgers in
it. On the pretext of Virginsky's-name-day party, about fifteen guests
were assembled; but the entertainment was not in the least like an
ordinary provincial name-day party. From the very beginning of their
married life the husband and wife had agreed once for all that it was
utterly stupid to invite friends to celebrate name-days, and that "there
is nothing to rejoice about in fact." In a few years they had succeeded
in completely cutting themselves off from all society. Though he was
a man of some ability, and by no means very poor, he somehow seemed
to every one an eccentric fellow who was fond of solitude, and, what's
more, "stuck up in conversation." Madame Virginsky was a midwife by
profession--and by that very fact was on the lowest rung of the social
ladder, lower even than the priest's wife in spite of her husband's
rank as an officer. But she was conspicuously lacking in the humility
befitting her position. And after her very stupid and unpardonably open
liaison on principle with Captain Lebyadkin, a notorious rogue, even the
most indulgent of our ladies turned away from her with marked contempt.
But Madame Virginsky accepted all this as though it were what she
wanted. It is remarkable that those very ladies applied to Arina
Prohorovna (that is, Madame Virginsky) when they were in an interesting
condition, rather than to any one of the other three _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 the very time when
"everything 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