The possessed or, The devils
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 Mavriky 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 Stavrogin, 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 and 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 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
servants. 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 Stepanovitch 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 preoccupied and seemed only to listen to me with an effort.
He said scarcely anything and began walking up and down his cell 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 I 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 had left her so abruptly that
afternoon.
III
All that night, with its almost grotesque incidents, and the terrible
_dénouement_ 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 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, though they were present at the ball, as they
were taking part in the "literary quadrille." But, to my 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 fête
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 convinced that it certainly would begin. It would be difficult for
me to describe Yulia Mihailovna's state of mind. I did 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 expression in her eyes. She controlled herself with evident
suffering--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