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Updated: May 22, 2025
"Yes, we decide to do it," Liputin pronounced. "There's no other way out of it," muttered Tolkatchenko, "and if only Liputin confirms about Kirillov, then... "I am against it; with all my soul and strength I protest against such a murderous decision," said Virginsky, standing up. "But?" asked Pyotr Stepanovitch.... "But what?" "You said but... and I am waiting."
"You are ill, Marie, all this is a sign of illness," Shatov remarked timidly as he waited upon her. "Of course I'm ill, please sit down. Where did you get the tea if you haven't any?" Shatov told her about Kirillov briefly. She had heard something of him. "I know he is mad; say no more, please; 'there are plenty of fools. So you've been in America? I heard, you wrote."
"Stavrogin, too, is consumed by an idea," Kirillov said gloomily, pacing up and down the room. He had not noticed the previous remark. "What?" Pyotr Stepanovitch pricked up his ears. "What idea? Did he tell you something himself?" "No, I guessed it myself: if Stavrogin has faith, he does not believe that he has faith. If he hasn't faith, he does not believe that he hasn't."
"That's just what I was wondering: one can understand the manifesto, but what's the object of the poem?" "Of course you'd see it. Goodness knows why I've been babbling to you. Listen. Spare Shatov for me and the rest may go to the devil even Kirillov, who is in hiding now, shut up in Filipov's house, where Shatov lodges too.
He handed his pistol to Kirillov and hastened towards the horses. His face looked angry; he did not speak. Kirillov, too, was silent. They got on their horses and set off at a gallop. "Why don't you speak?" he called impatiently to Kirillov, when they were not far from home. "What do you want?" replied the latter, almost slipping off his horse, which was rearing. Stavrogin restrained himself.
Kirillov ran headlong into the kitchen. "Water!" he cried, and ladling some water in an iron dipper from a bucket, he poured it over the injured man's head. Pyotr Stepanovitch stirred, raised his head, sat up, and looked blankly about him. "Well, how are you?" asked Kirillov.
But the order came too late: Pyotr Stepanovitch was already in Petersburg, living under another name, and, learning what was going on, he made haste to make his escape abroad.... But I am anticipating in a shocking way. He went in to Kirillov, looking ill-humoured and quarrelsome.
"I don't want your money, I don't want it I'll be here directly, in one instant. I can manage without the revolver...." And he rushed straight to Kirillov's. This was probably two hours before the visit of Pyotr Stepanovitch and Liputin to Kirillov.
Stavrogin laughed aloud in the lame man's face and went out; Kirillov followed him; Verhovensky ran after them into the passage. "What are you doing?" he faltered, seizing Stavrogin's hand and gripping it with all his might in his. Stavrogin pulled away his hand without a word. Be at Kirillov's directly, I'll come.... It's absolutely necessary for me to see you!..."
"Damn it all, I suppose I must" Pyotr Stepanovitch got up "though it's early. Listen, Kirillov. Shall I find that man you know whom I mean at Myasnitchiha's? Or has she too been lying?" "You won't find him, because he is here and not there." "Here! Damn it all, where?" "Sitting in the kitchen, eating and drinking." "How dared he?" cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, flushing angrily.
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