They had gone. Pyotr Stepanovitch was about to rush back to the meeting
to bring order into chaos, but probably reflecting that it wasn't worth
bothering about, left everything, and two minutes later was flying after
the other two. On the way he remembered a short cut to Filipov's house.
He rushed along it, up to his knees in mud, and did in fact arrive at
the very moment when Stavrogin and Kirillov were coming in at the gate.
"You here already?" observed Kirillov. "That's good. Come in."
"How is it you told us you lived alone," asked Stavrogin, passing a
boiling samovar in the passage.
"You will see directly who it is I live with," muttered Kirillov. "Go
in."
They had hardly entered when Verhovensky at once took out of his pocket
the anonymous letter he had taken from Lembke, and laid it before
Stavrogin. They all then sat down. Stavrogin read the letter in silence.
"Well?" he asked.
"That scoundrel will do as he writes," Verhovensky explained. "So, as
he is under your control, tell me how to act. I assure you he may go to
Lembke to-morrow."
"Well, let him go."
"Let him go! And when we can prevent him, too!"
"You are mistaken. He is not dependent on me. Besides, I don't care; he
doesn't threaten me in any way; he only threatens you."
"You too."
"I don't think so."
"But there are other people who may not spare you. Surely you understand
that? Listen, Stavrogin. This is only playing with words. Surely you
don't grudge the money?"
"Why, would it cost money?"
"It certainly would; two thousand or at least fifteen hundred. Give it
to me to-morrow or even to-day, and to-morrow evening I'll send him to
Petersburg for you. That's just what he wants. If you like, he can take
Marya Timofyevna. Note that."
There was something distracted about him. He spoke, as it were, without
caution, and he did not reflect on his words. Stavrogin watched him,
wondering.
"I've no reason to send Marya Timofyevna away."
"Perhaps you don't even want to," Pyotr Stepanovitch smiled ironically.
"Perhaps I don't."
"In short, will there be the money or not?" he cried with angry
impatience, and as it were peremptorily, to Stavrogin. The latter
scrutinised him gravely. "There won't be the money."
"Look here, Stavrogin! You know something, or have done something
already! You are going it!"
His face worked, the corners of his mouth twitched, and he suddenly
laughed an unprovoked and irrelevant laugh.
"But you've had money from your father for the estate," Stavrogin
observed calmly. "Maman sent you six or eight thousand for Stepan
Trofimovitch. So you can pay the fifteen hundred out of your own money.
I don't care to pay for other people. I've given a lot as it is.
It annoys me...." He smiled himself at his own words.
"Ah, you are beginning to joke!"
Stavrogin got up from his chair. Verhovensky instantly jumped up too,
and mechanically stood with his back to the door as though barring the
way to him. Stavrogin had already made a motion to push him aside and go
out, when he stopped short.
"I won't give up Shatov to you," he said. Pyotr Stepanovitch started.
They looked at one another.
"I told you this evening why you needed Shatov's blood," said Stavrogin,
with flashing eyes. "It's the cement you want to bind your groups
together with. You drove Shatov away cleverly just now. You knew very
well that he wouldn't promise not to inform and he would have thought it
mean to lie to you. But what do you want with me? What do you want with
me? Ever since we met abroad you won't let me alone. The explanation
you've given me so far was simply raving. Meanwhile you are driving
at my giving Lebyadkin fifteen hundred roubles, so as to give Fedka an
opportunity to murder him. I know that you think I want my wife murdered
too. You think to tie my hands by this crime, and have me in your power.
That's it, isn't it? What good will that be to you? What the devil do
you want with me? Look at me. Once for all, am I the man for you? And
let me alone."
"Has Fedka been to you himself?" Verhovensky asked breathlessly.
"Yes, he came. His price is fifteen hundred too.... But here; he'll
repeat it himself. There he stands." Stavrogin stretched out his hand.
Pyotr Stepanovitch turned round quickly. A new figure, Fedka, wearing a
sheep-skin coat, but without a cap, as though he were at home, stepped
out of the darkness in the doorway. He stood there laughing and showing
his even white teeth. His black eyes, with yellow whites, darted
cautiously about the room watching the gentlemen. There was something he
did not understand. He had evidently been just brought in by Kirillov,
and his inquiring eyes turned to the latter. He stood in the doorway,
but was unwilling to come into the room.
"I suppose you got him ready here to listen to our bargaining, or
that he may actually see the money in our hands. Is that it?" asked
Stavrogin; and without waiting for an answer he walked out of the house.
Verhovensky, almost frantic, overtook him at the gate.
"Stop! Not another step!" he cried, seizing him by the arm. Stavrogin
tried to pull away his arm, but did not succeed. He was overcome with
fury. Seizing Verhovensky by the hair with his left hand he flung him
with all his might on the ground and went out at the gate. But he had
not gone thirty paces before Verhovensky overtook him again.
"Let us make it up; let us make it up!" he murmured in a spasmodic
whisper.
Stavrogin shrugged his shoulders, but neither answered nor turned round.
"Listen. I will bring you Lizaveta Nikolaevna to-morrow; shall I? No?
Why don't you answer? Tell me what you want. I'll do it. Listen. I'll
let you have Shatov. Shall I?"
"Then it's true that you meant to kill him?" cried Stavrogin.
"What do you want with Shatov? What is he to you?" Pyotr Stepanovitch
went on, gasping, speaking rapidly. He was in a frenzy, and kept running
forward and seizing Stavrogin by the elbow, probably unaware of what he
was doing. "Listen. I'll let you have him. Let's make it up. Your price
is a very great one, but... Let's make it up!"
Stavrogin glanced at him at last, and was amazed. The eyes, the voice,
were not the same as always, or as they had been in the room just now.
What he saw was almost another face. The intonation of the voice was
different. Verhovensky besought, implored. He was a man from whom what
was most precious was being taken or had been taken, and who was still
stunned by the shock.
"But what's the matter with you?" cried Stavrogin. The other did not
answer, but ran after him and gazed at him with the same imploring but
yet inflexible expression.
"Let's make it up!" he whispered once more. "Listen. Like Fedka, I have
a knife in my boot, but I'll make it up with you!"
"But what do you want with me, damn you?" Stavrogin cried, with intense
anger and amazement. "Is there some mystery about it? Am I a sort of
talisman for you?"
"Listen. We are going to make a revolution," the other muttered rapidly,
and almost in delirium. "You don't believe we shall make a revolution?
We are going to make such an upheaval that everything will be uprooted
from its foundation. Karmazinov is right that there is nothing to lay
hold of. Karmazinov is very intelligent. Another ten such groups in
different parts of Russia--and I am safe."
"Groups of fools like that?" broke reluctantly from Stavrogin.
"Oh, don't be so clever, Stavrogin; don't be so clever yourself. And you
know you are by no means so intelligent that you need wish others to
be. You are afraid, you have no faith. You are frightened at our doing
things on such a scale. And why are they fools? They are not such fools.
No one has a mind of his own nowadays. There are terribly few original
minds nowadays. Virginsky is a pure-hearted man, ten times as pure as
you or I; but never mind about him. Liputin is a rogue, but I know one
point about him. Every rogue has some point in him.... Lyamshin is the
only one who hasn't, but he is in my hands. A few more groups, and I
should have money and passports everywhere; so much at least. Suppose it
were only that? And safe places, so that they can search as they like.
They might uproot one group but they'd stick at the next. We'll set
things in a ferment.... Surely you don't think that we two are not
enough?"
"Take Shigalov, and let me alone...."
"Shigalov is a man of genius! Do you know he is a genius like Fourier,
but bolder than Fourier; stronger. I'll look after him. He's discovered
'equality'!"
"He is in a fever; he is raving; something very queer has happened
to him," thought Stavrogin, looking at him once more. Both walked on
without stopping.
"He's written a good thing in that manuscript," Verhovensky went on. "He
suggests a system of spying. Every member of the society spies on the
others, and it's his duty to inform against them. Every one belongs to
all and all to every one. All are slaves and equal in their slavery. In
extreme cases he advocates slander and murder, but the great thing about
it is equality. To begin with, the level of education, science, and
talents is lowered. A high level of education and science is only
possible for great intellects, and they are not wanted. The great
intellects have always seized the power and been despots. Great
intellects cannot help being despots and they've always done more harm
than good. They will be banished or put to death. Cicero will have his
tongue cut out, Copernicus will have his eyes put out, Shakespeare will
be stoned--that's Shigalovism. Slaves are bound to be equal. There has
never been either freedom or equality without despotism, but in the herd
there is bound to be equality, and that's Shigalovism! Ha ha ha! Do you
think it strange? I am for Shigalovism."
Stavrogin tried to quicken his pace, and to reach home as soon as
possible. "If this fellow is drunk, where did he manage to get drunk?"
crossed his mind. "Can it be the brandy?"
"Listen, Stavrogin. To level the mountains is a fine idea, not an absurd
one. I am for Shigalov. Down with culture. We've had enough science!
Without science we have material enough to go on for a thousand years,
but one must have discipline. The one thing wanting in the world is
discipline. The thirst for culture is an aristocratic thirst. The moment
you have family ties or love you get the desire for property. We will
destroy that desire; we'll make use of drunkenness, slander, spying;
we'll make use of incredible corruption; we'll stifle every genius
in its infancy. We'll reduce all to a common denominator! Complete
equality! 'We've learned a trade, and we are honest men; we need nothing
more,' that was an answer given by English working-men recently.
Only the necessary is necessary, that's the motto of the whole world
henceforward. But it needs a shock. That's for us, the directors, to
look after. Slaves must have directors. Absolute submission, absolute
loss of individuality, but once in thirty years Shigalov would let them
have a shock and they would all suddenly begin eating one another up, to
a certain point, simply as a precaution against boredom. Boredom is an
aristocratic sensation. The Shigalovians will have no desires. Desire
and suffering are our lot, but Shigalovism is for the slaves."
"You exclude yourself?" Stavrogin broke in again.
"You, too. Do you know, I have thought of giving up the world to the
Pope. Let him come forth, on foot, and barefoot, and show himself to the
rabble, saying, 'See what they have brought me to!' and they will all
rush after him, even the troops. The Pope at the head, with us
round him, and below us--Shigalovism. All that's needed is that the
Internationale should come to an agreement with the Pope; so it will.
And the old chap will agree at once. There's nothing else he can do.
Remember my words! Ha ha! Is it stupid? Tell me, is it stupid or not?"
"That's enough!" Stavrogin muttered with vexation.
"Enough! Listen. I've given up the Pope! Damn Shigalovism! Damn the
Pope! We must have something more everyday. Not Shigalovism, for
Shigalovism is a rare specimen of the jeweller's art. It's an ideal;
it's in the future. Shigalov is an artist and a fool like every
philanthropist. We need coarse work, and Shigalov despises coarse work.
Listen. The Pope shall be for the west, and you shall be for us, you
shall be for us!"
"Let me alone, you drunken fellow!" muttered Stavrogin, and he quickened
his pace.
"Stavrogin, you are beautiful," cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, almost
ecstatically. "Do you know that you are beautiful! What's the most
precious thing about you is that you sometimes don't know it. Oh,
I've studied you! I often watch you on the sly! There's a lot of
simpleheartedness and naïveté about you still. Do you know that? There
still is, there is! You must be suffering and suffering genuinely from
that simple-heartedness. I love beauty. I am a nihilist, but I love
beauty. Are nihilists incapable of loving beauty? It's only idols they
dislike, but I love an idol. You are my idol! You injure no one, and
every one hates you. You treat every one as an equal, and yet every one
is afraid of you--that's good. Nobody would slap you on the shoulder.
You are an awful aristocrat. An aristocrat is irresistible when he goes
in for democracy! To sacrifice life, your own or another's is nothing
to you. You are just the man that's needed. It's just such a man as you
that I need. I know no one but you. You are the leader, you are the sun
and I am your worm."
He suddenly kissed his hand. A shiver ran down Stavrogin's spine, and he
pulled away his hand in dismay. They stood still.
"Madman!" whispered Stavrogin.
"Perhaps I am raving; perhaps I am raving," Pyotr Stepanovitch assented,
speaking rapidly. "But I've thought of the first step! Shigalov would
never have thought of it. There are lots of Shigalovs, but only one man,
one man in Russia has hit on the first step and knows how to take it.
And I am that man! Why do you look at me? I need you, you; without you
I am nothing. Without you I am a fly, a bottled idea; Columbus without
America."
Stavrogin stood still and looked intently into his wild eyes.
"Listen. First of all we'll make an upheaval," Verhovensky went on in
desperate haste, continually clutching at Stavrogin's left sleeve. "I've
already told you. We shall penetrate to the peasantry. Do you know that
we are tremendously powerful already? Our party does not consist only of
those who commit murder and arson, fire off pistols in the traditional
fashion, or bite colonels. They are only a hindrance. I don't accept
anything without discipline. I am a scoundrel, of course, and not a
socialist. Ha ha! Listen. I've reckoned them all up: a teacher who
laughs with children at their God and at their cradle is on our side.
The lawyer who defends an educated murderer because he is more cultured
than his victims and could not help murdering them to get money is one
of us. The schoolboys who murder a peasant for the sake of sensation are
ours. The juries who acquit every criminal are ours. The prosecutor who
trembles at a trial for fear he should not seem advanced enough is ours,
ours. Among officials and literary men we have lots, lots, and they
don't know it themselves. On the other hand, the docility of schoolboys
and fools has reached an extreme pitch; the schoolmasters are bitter
and bilious. On all sides we see vanity puffed up out of all proportion;
brutal, monstrous appetites.... Do you know how many we shall catch by
little, ready-made ideas? When I left Russia, Littre's dictum that crime
is insanity was all the rage; I come back and I find that crime is
no longer insanity, but simply common sense, almost a duty; anyway,
a gallant protest. 'How can we expect a cultured man not to commit a
murder, if he is in need of money.' But these are only the first fruits.
The Russian God has already been vanquished by cheap vodka. The peasants
are drunk, the mothers are drunk, the children are drunk, the churches
are empty, and in the peasant courts one hears, 'Two hundred lashes or
stand us a bucket of vodka.' Oh, this generation has only to grow up.
It's only a pity we can't afford to wait, or we might have let them get
a bit more tipsy! Ah, what a pity there's no proletariat! But there will
be, there will be; we are going that way...."
"It's a pity, too, that we've grown greater fools," muttered Stavrogin,
moving forward as before.
"Listen. I've seen a child of six years old leading home his drunken
mother, whilst she swore at him with foul words. Do you suppose I am
glad of that? When it's in our hands, maybe we'll mend things... if need
be, we'll drive them for forty years into the wilderness.... But one
or two generations of vice are essential now; monstrous, abject vice by
which a man is transformed into a loathsome, cruel, egoistic reptile.
That's what we need! And what's more, a little 'fresh blood' that we
may get accustomed to it. Why are you laughing? I am not contradicting
myself. I am only contradicting the philanthropists and Shigalovism,
not myself! I am a scoundrel, not a socialist. Ha ha ha! I'm only sorry
there's no time. I promised Karmazinov to begin in May, and to make an
end by October. Is that too soon? Ha ha! Do you know what, Stavrogin?
Though the Russian people use foul language, there's nothing cynical
about them so far. Do you know the serfs had more self-respect than
Karmazinov? Though they were beaten they always preserved their gods,
which is more than Karmazinov's done."
"Well, Verhovensky, this is the first time I've heard you talk, and I
listen with amazement," observed Stavrogin. "So you are really not a
socialist, then, but some sort of... ambitious politician?"
"A scoundrel, a scoundrel! You are wondering what I am. I'll tell you
what I am directly, that's what I am leading up to. It was not for
nothing that I kissed your hand. But the people must believe that we
know what we are after, while the other side do nothing but 'brandish
their cudgels and beat their own followers.' Ah, if we only had more
time! That's the only trouble, we have no time. We will proclaim
destruction.... Why is it, why is it that idea has such a fascination.
But we must have a little exercise; we must. We'll set fires going....
We'll set legends going. Every scurvy 'group' will be of use. Out of
those very groups I'll pick you out fellows so keen they'll not shrink
from shooting, and be grateful for the honour of a job, too. Well, and
there will be an upheaval! There's going to be such an upset as
the world has never seen before.... Russia will be overwhelmed with
darkness, the earth will weep for its old gods.... Well, then we shall
bring forward... whom?"
"Whom?"
"Ivan the Tsarevitch."
"Who-m?"
"Ivan the Tsarevitch. You! You!"
Stavrogin thought a minute.
"A pretender?" he asked suddenly, looking with intense surprise at his
frantic companion. "Ah! so that's your plan at last!"
"We shall say that he is 'in hiding,'" Verhovensky said softly, in a
sort of tender whisper, as though he really were drunk indeed. "Do you
know the magic of that phrase, 'he is in hiding'? But he will appear,
he will appear. We'll set a legend going better than the Skoptsis'. He
exists, but no one has seen him. Oh, what a legend one can set going!
And the great thing is it will be a new force at work! And we need that;
that's what they are crying for. What can Socialism do: it's destroyed
the old forces but hasn't brought in any new. But in this we have a
force, and what a force! Incredible. We only need one lever to lift up
the earth. Everything will rise up!"
"Then have you been seriously reckoning on me?" Stavrogin said with a
malicious smile.
"Why do you laugh, and so spitefully? Don't frighten me. I am like a
little child now. I can be frightened to death by one smile like that.
Listen. I'll let no one see you, no one. So it must be. He exists, but
no one has seen him; he is in hiding. And do you know, one might show
you, to one out of a hundred-thousand, for instance. And the rumour will
spread over all the land, 'We've seen him, we've seen him.'
"Ivan Filipovitch the God of Sabaoth,* has been seen, too, when he
ascended into heaven in his chariot in the sight of men. They saw
him with their own eyes. And you are not an Ivan Filipovitch. You are
beautiful and proud as a God; you are seeking nothing for yourself,
with the halo of a victim round you, 'in hiding.' The great thing is
the legend. You'll conquer them, you'll have only to look, and you will
conquer them. He is 'in hiding,' and will come forth bringing a new
truth. And, meanwhile, we'll pass two or three judgments as wise
as Solomon's. The groups, you know, the quintets--we've no need of
newspapers. If out of ten thousand petitions only one is granted, all
would come with petitions. In every parish, every peasant will know that
there is somewhere a hollow tree where petitions are to be put. And the
whole land will resound with the cry, 'A new just law is to come,' and
the sea will be troubled and the whole gimcrack show will fall to the
ground, and then we shall consider how to build up an edifice of stone.
For the first time! We are going to build it, we, and only we!"
* The reference is to the legend current in the sect of
Flagellants.--Translator's note.
"Madness," said Stavrogin.
"Why, why don't you want it? Are you afraid? That's why I caught at you,
because you are afraid of nothing. Is it unreasonable? But you see, so
far I am Columbus without America. Would Columbus without America seem
reasonable?"
Stavrogin did not speak. Meanwhile they had reached the house and
stopped at the entrance.
"Listen," Verhovensky bent down to his ear. "I'll do it for you without
the money. I'll settle Marya Timofyevna to-morrow!... Without the money,
and to-morrow I'll bring you Liza. Will you have Liza to-morrow?"
"Is he really mad?" Stavrogin wondered smiling. The front door was
opened.
"Stavrogin--is America ours?" said Verhovensky, seizing his hand for the
last time.
"What for?" said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, gravely and sternly.
"You don't care, I knew that!" cried Verhovensky in an access of furious
anger. "You are lying, you miserable, profligate, perverted, little
aristocrat! I don't believe you, you've the appetite of a wolf!...
Understand that you've cost me such a price, I can't give you up now!
There's no one on earth but you! I invented you abroad; I invented it
all, looking at you. If I hadn't watched you from my corner, nothing of
all this would have entered my head!"
Stavrogin went up the steps without answering.
"Stavrogin!" Verhovensky called after him, "I give you a day... two,
then... three, then; more than three I can't--and then you're to
answer!"