Demons, p.70
Demons, page 70
It was already quite dark when Shatov woke up. He hastened to light the candle and ran for the old woman; but as soon as he started down the stairs, he was struck by someone's soft, unhurried footsteps of a man coming up towards him. Erkel came in.
"Don't come in!" Shatov whispered, and seizing him impetuously by the arm, he dragged him back to the gate. "Wait here, I'll come out right away, I totally, totally forgot about you! Oh, what a reminder!"
He began hurrying so much that he did not even run over to see Kirillov and only called the old woman out. Marie was in despair and indignation that he "could even think of leaving her alone."
"But," he cried rapturously, "this is the very last step! And then the new path, and we'll never, ever remember the old horror!"
He somehow managed to convince her and promised to be back at nine o'clock sharp; he gave her a big kiss, kissed the baby, and quickly ran down to Erkel.
The two men set off for Stavrogin's park at Skvoreshniki, where about a year and a half earlier, in a solitary place at the very edge of the park where the pine forest already began, he had buried the printing press that had been entrusted to him. The place was wild and deserted, totally inconspicuous, quite far from the Skvoreshniki house. It was about a two-mile walk from Filippov's house, maybe even two and a half.
"Not on foot, really? I'll hire a carriage."
"I beg you very much not to," Erkel objected, "they precisely insisted on that. A driver is also a witness."
"Well... the devil! No matter, just to be done with it, done with it!"
They were walking very quickly.
"Erkel, you little boy, you!" Shatov cried out, "have you ever been happy?"
"And you seem to be very happy now," Erkel observed with curiosity.
6: A Toilsome Night
I
V'irginsky, in the course of the day, employed two hours in running around to see all our people and tell them that Shatov was certainly not going to denounce them, because his wife had come back to him and a child had been born, and, "knowing the human heart," it was impossible to suppose he could be dangerous at that moment. But, to his disconcertion, he found almost no one home except Erkel and Lyamshin. Erkel listened to him silently, gazing serenely into his eyes; and to the direct question: "Would he go at six o'clock or not?" replied, with the most serene smile, that "of course he would."
Lyamshin was in bed, apparently quite seriously sick, with his head wrapped in a blanket. When Virginsky came in, he got scared and, as soon as he began to speak, suddenly started waving his hands from under the blanket, pleading to be left alone. However, he listened to everything about Shatov; for some reason, the news that no one was home struck him greatly. It also turned out that he already knew (through Liputin) about Fedka's death, and hurriedly and incoherently told Virginsky about it himself, thereby striking him in his turn. And to Virginsky's direct question: "Should we go or not?" he again started pleading, waving his hands, that he was "not concerned, knew nothing, and to leave him alone."
Virginsky returned home dispirited and greatly alarmed; what made it hard for him was that he also had to conceal it from his family; he was used to revealing everything to his wife, and had it not been for a new thought, a certain new, conciliatory plan for further action which lit up in his inflamed brain at that moment, he might have taken to his bed like Lyamshin. But the new thought strengthened him; what's more, he even began waiting impatiently for the time, and set out for the gathering place even earlier than necessary.
It was a very dark place, at the end of the huge Stavrogin park. Afterwards I went there on purpose to have a look; how dismal it must have seemed on that harsh autumn evening! It was the edge of an old forest preserve; in the darkness, huge, century-old pines loomed as dark and dim shapes. It was so dark that it was almost impossible for them to make each other out from two steps away, but Pyotr Stepanovich, Liputin, and then Erkel brought lanterns with them. In time immemorial, no one knew why or when, a rather ridiculous sort of grotto had been built there from wild, unhewn stones. The table and benches inside the grotto had long since rotted and fallen apart. About two hundred paces to the right was the tip of the park's third pond. These three ponds, starting right from the house, followed one another, stretching over half a mile, right to the end of the park. It was hard to suppose that a noise, a cry, or even a shot, could reach the inhabitants of the abandoned Stavrogin house. Since Nikolai Vsevolodovich's departure the day before, and with the absence of Alexei Yegorych, there were no more than five or six inhabitants left in the whole house, of an invalid sort, so to speak. In any case, one could suppose with almost full probability that even if screams and cries for help were to be heard by one of these secluded inhabitants, they would evoke only fear, but not one of them would stir from their warm stoves and warmed-up benches to help.
At twenty minutes past six almost everyone except Erkel, who had been dispatched to bring Shatov, turned out to have gathered. This time Pyotr Stepanovich did not tarry; he arrived with Tolkachenko. Tolkachenko was scowling and preoccupied; all his affected and insolently boastful resolution had vanished. He almost never left Pyotr Stepanovich's side and seemed to have become boundlessly devoted to him; he kept coming at him, frequently and fussily, with his whisperings; but the latter scarcely replied, or vexedly muttered something to get rid of him.
Shigalyov and Virginsky arrived even somewhat earlier than Pyotr Stepanovich, and at his arrival immediately drew somewhat apart in profound and obviously deliberate silence. Pyotr Stepanovich raised his lantern and looked them over with unceremonious and insulting attentiveness. "They want to talk," flashed in his head.
"No Lyamshin?" he asked Virginsky. "Who said he was sick?"
"I'm here," Lyamshin responded, suddenly stepping from behind a tree. He was wearing a warm coat and was tightly wrapped in a plaid, so that it was hard to make out his physiognomy even with a lantern.
"So, just no Liputin?"
And Liputin silently came out of the grotto. Pyotr Stepanovich again raised the lantern.
"Why were you hiding in there, why didn't you come out?"
"I suppose we all retain the right to freedom ... of our movements," Liputin began to mutter, though probably not quite understanding what he wished to express.
"Gentlemen," Pyotr Stepanovich raised his voice, breaking the half-whisper for the first time, which produced its effect, "you understand very well, I believe, that there's no point in us smearing it around anymore. Everything was said and chewed over yesterday, directly and definitely. But perhaps, as I can see by your physiognomies, someone would like to state something; if so, I ask you to be quick. Devil take it, we don't have much time; Erkel may bring him any moment ..."
"He's certain to bring him," Tolkachenko put in for some reason.
"If I'm not mistaken, the handing over of the press will take place first?" Liputin inquired, again as if not understanding why he was asking the question.
"Well, of course, there's no point in losing things," Pyotr Stepanovich raised the lantern to his face. "But we did all agree yesterday that we needn't actually take it. Let him just show you the spot where he buried it; we'll dig it up later ourselves. I know it's somewhere ten paces from some corner of the grotto... But, devil take it, how could you forget, Liputin? It was agreed that you'd meet him alone, and we'd come out only after that... It's strange you're asking, or was it just so?"
Liputin kept gloomily silent. Everyone fell silent. The wind swayed the tops of the pines.
"I trust, however, gentlemen, that everyone will do his duty," Pyotr Stepanovich broke off impatiently.
"I know that Shatov's wife came and gave birth to a child," Virginsky suddenly started to speak, excitedly, hurriedly, barely enunciating the words, and gesticulating. "Knowing the human heart... we can be sure that he won't denounce us now... because he's in happiness... And so I called on everyone earlier and found no one home... and so maybe there's no need for anything now..."
He stopped: his breath failed him.
"If you, Mr. Virginsky, should suddenly become happy," Pyotr Stepanovich made a step towards him, "would you put off—not a denunciation, no one's talking about that, but some risky civic deed, which you had been planning before your happiness and which you considered your duty and responsibility, in spite of the risk and the loss of your happiness?"
"No, I wouldn't! I wouldn't put it off for anything!" Virginsky said, with some terribly absurd fervor, his body moving all over.
"You'd sooner wish to become unhappy again than be a scoundrel?"
"Yes, yes... Even completely the opposite ... I'd rather be a complete scoundrel... no, I mean... not a scoundrel at all, but the opposite, completely unhappy, than be a scoundrel."
"Let it be known to you, then, that Shatov regards this denunciation as his civic deed, his highest conviction, and the proof is that he himself is running some risk before the government, though much will certainly be forgiven him for the denunciation. Such a man will never retract. No happiness will prevail; within a day he'll come to his senses, reproach himself, and go and do it. Besides, I don't see any happiness in the fact that his wife has come to him, after three years, to give birth to a Stavrogin child."
"But no one has seen the denunciation," Shigalyov said suddenly and emphatically.
"I have seen the denunciation," cried Pyotr Stepanovich, "it exists, and all this is terribly stupid, gentlemen!"
"And I," Virginsky suddenly boiled up, "I protest... I protest with all my strength ... I want... This is what I want: I want, when he gets here, for us all to come out and ask him: if it's true, then make him repent, and if it's word of honor, then let him go. In any case—a trial; with a trial. And not all of us hiding and then falling on him."
"To risk the common cause on a word of honor—is the height of stupidity! Devil take it, gentlemen, now is such a stupid time for this! And what role are you assuming in the moment of danger?"
"I protest, I protest," Virginsky harped.
"Don't shout, at least, or we won't hear the signal. Shatov, gentlemen ... (Devil take it, now is such a stupid time for this!) I've already told you that Shatov is a Slavophil—that is, one of the stupidest people ... Ah, the devil, spit on it anyhow, it makes no difference! You just throw me off! ... Shatov, gentlemen, is an embittered man, but since he still belonged to the society, whether he liked it or not, I hoped till the last minute that he could be of use to the common cause and be employed as an embittered man. I kept him and spared him, in spite of the most precise instructions ... I spared him a hundred times more than he was worth! But he ended by denouncing us; well, the devil, so spit on it! ... Only just let anyone try slipping away now! None of you has the right to abandon the cause! You can go and kiss him if you like, but you have no right to betray the common cause on a word of honor! Only swine and people bought by the government act like that!"
"Who here has been bought by the government?" Liputin filtered again.
"You, maybe. Better keep still, Liputin, you're just saying it out of habit. The bought, gentlemen, are all those who turn coward in the moment of danger. Some fool will always come along who gets scared and at the last minute runs and shouts: 'Aie, forgive me, I'll sell everybody!' But know, gentlemen, that at this point you'll no longer be forgiven for any denunciation. Even if they knock off two degrees for you legally, it's still Siberia for each of you, and, besides, there's another sword you won't escape. And that other sword is sharper than the government's."
Pyotr Stepanovich was furious and said too much. Shigalyov firmly stepped three steps towards him.
"I have thought the matter over since yesterday evening," he began, confidently and methodically as always (and I believe that if the earth had given way under him, even then he would not have raised his tone or changed one iota in the methodicalness of his statement), "and having thought it over, I have decided that the intended murder is not only a waste of precious time that could be employed in a more immediate and essential way, but represents, moreover, that pernicious deviation from the normal path which has always done most harm to the cause and has obviated its successes for decades, being subject to the influence of light-minded and predominantly political men instead of pure socialists. I came here solely to protest against the intended undertaking, for general edification, and also—to remove myself from the present moment, which you, I do not know why, call your moment of danger. I am leaving—not from fear of this danger, or from any sentimentality over Shatov, whom I by no means wish to kiss, but solely because this entire affair, from beginning to end, literally contradicts my program. As regards denunciation or being bought by the government, for my part you may be perfectly at ease: there will be no denunciation."
He turned and started walking away.
"Devil take it, he'll meet them and warn Shatov!" Pyotr Stepanovich cried, and he snatched out his revolver. There was the click of the hammer being cocked.
"You may be assured," Shigalyov turned around again, "that if I meet Shatov on my way, I may still greet him, but I will not warn him."
"And do you know that you may have to pay for this, Mr. Fourier?"
"I beg you to note that I am not Fourier. By mixing me up with that sugary, abstract maunderer, you only prove that though my manuscript has been in your hands, it is completely unknown to you. And as regards your revenge, I will tell you that you should not have cocked the hammer; at the moment it is absolutely unprofitable for you. And if you are threatening me for tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, then once again, except for some extra trouble, you won't gain anything for yourself by shooting me: you will kill me, but sooner or later you will still arrive at my system. Good-bye."
At that moment there came a whistle from about two hundred paces away, from the park, in the direction of the pond. Liputin, still following yesterday's plan, responded at once by whistling back (for which purpose, not trusting in his rather toothless mouth, he had bought a child's clay whistle for a kopeck in the market that morning). Erkel had had time on the way to caution Shatov that there would be whistling, so that he would not conceive any suspicions.
"Don't worry, I'll go around them, they won't notice me at all," Shigalyov cautioned in an imposing whisper, and then, without hurrying or quickening his pace, he finally set off through the dark park for home.
How this terrible event took place is now fully known in the smallest detail. First, Liputin met Erkel and Shatov just at the grotto; Shatov did not greet him or offer his hand, but at once said hastily and loudly:
"Well, so where's your spade, and haven't you got another lantern? Don't be afraid, there's absolutely no one here; you could fire off cannons now, they wouldn't hear a thing in Skvoreshniki. It's here, this is the place, this very spot..."
And he stamped his foot, ten paces indeed from the far corner of the grotto, in the direction of the forest. At that same moment Tolkachenko rushed at his back from behind a tree, and Erkel seized him by the elbows, also from the back. Liputin threw himself at him from the front. The three of them knocked him down at once and pinned him to the ground. Here Pyotr Stepanovich sprang over with his revolver. It is said that Shatov had time to turn his head towards him and was still able to make him out and recognize him. Three lanterns lighted the scene. Shatov suddenly cried out a brief and desperate cry; but he was not to cry out again: Pyotr Stepanovich accurately and firmly put the revolver right to his forehead, hard point-blank, and—pulled the trigger. The shot, I suppose, was not very loud; at least nothing was heard at Skvoreshniki. Shigalyov, who had scarcely gone three hundred steps, heard it, of course—heard both the cry and the shot, but, as he himself later testified, did not turn or even stop. Death occurred almost instantly. Full efficiency—though not, I think, cold-bloodedness—was preserved only by Pyotr Stepanovich. Squatting down, he searched the murdered man's pockets hastily but with a firm hand. There was no money (the purse had remained under Marya Ignatievna's pillow). Two or three worthless scraps of paper were found: an office note, some book title, and an old foreign tavern bill which, God knows why, had survived in his pocket for two years.
Pyotr Stepanovich transferred the scraps of paper to his own pocket and, suddenly noticing that everyone was clustered around looking at the corpse and not doing anything, he began angrily and impolitely cursing and hustling them. Tolkachenko and Erkel, coming to their senses, ran to the grotto and instantly brought two stones put there in the morning, each weighing about twenty pounds, and already prepared—that is, with ropes tied tightly and securely around them. Since the intention was to carry the corpse to the nearest (the third) pond and sink it there, they began tying these stones to it, at the feet and neck. The tying was done by Pyotr Stepanovich, while Tolkachenko and Erkel merely stood holding the stones and handed them over in turn. Erkel handed over the first stone, and while Pyotr Stepanovich, grumbling and cursing, was tying the legs of the corpse together and tying this first stone to them, Tolkachenko, during all this rather long time, went on holding his stone out at arm's length, his whole body bent sharply and as if reverently forward, so as to hand it over without delay at the first asking, and never once thought of lowering his burden to the ground in the meantime. When both stones were finally tied on and Pyotr Stepanovich got up from the ground to examine the physiognomies of those present, a strange thing suddenly happened, which was totally unexpected and surprised almost everyone.
As has already been said, almost everyone was standing and not doing anything, with the partial exception of Tolkachenko and Erkel. Virginsky, though he had rushed to Shatov along with everyone else, had not seized him or helped to hold him. And Lyamshin got into the bunch only after the shot. Then, during the perhaps ten-minute-long pottering with the corpse, they all as if lost part of their consciousness. They grouped themselves around and, before any worry or alarm, felt as if only surprise. Liputin stood in front, just by the corpse. Virginsky was behind him, peeping over his shoulder with some particular and as if unrelated curiosity, even standing on tiptoe in order to see better. And Lyamshin hid behind Virginsky, only peeping out warily from behind him every now and then, and hiding again at once. But when the stones were tied on and Pyotr Stepanovich stood up, Virginsky suddenly started quivering all over, clasped his hands, and cried ruefully at the top of his voice:
