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Updated: May 21, 2025
"There is a young man here called Shatov," observed the great writer. "Would you believe it, I haven't seen him." "A very nice person. What about him?" "Oh, nothing. He talks about something. Isn't he the person who gave Stavrogin that slap in the face?" "Yes." "And what's your opinion of Stavrogin?" "I don't know; he is such a flirt."
"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.
He had scarcely regained his balance after being almost knocked over in this humiliating way, and the horrible, as it were, sodden, thud of the blow in the face had scarcely died away in the room when he seized Shatov by the shoulders with both hands, but at once, almost at the same instant, pulled both hands away and clasped them behind his back.
Though Virginsky had rushed up to Shatov with the others he had not seized him or helped to hold him. Lyamshin had joined the group after the shot had been fired. Afterwards, while Pyotr Stepanovitch was busy with the corpse for perhaps ten minutes none of them seemed to have been fully conscious. They grouped themselves around and seemed to have felt amazement rather than anxiety or alarm.
"If you don't arrange it by to-morrow I'll go to her by myself, alone, for Mavriky Nikolaevitch has refused. I rest all my hopes on you and I've no one else; I spoke stupidly to Shatov.... I'm sure that you are perfectly honest and perhaps ready to do anything for me, only arrange it." I felt a passionate desire to help her in every way. "This is what I'll do," I said, after a moment's thought.
They don't like me because I've turned round... but promise me Shator and I'll dish them all up for you. I shall be of use, Andrey Antonovitch! I reckon nine or ten men make up the whole wretched lot. I am keeping an eye on them myself, on my own account. We know of three already: Shatov, Kirillov, and that sub-lieutenant.
I could sell something to-morrow and pay for a room at an hotel, but you must take me to the hotel yourself.... Oh, but I am tired!" Shatov was all of a tremor. "You mustn't, Marie, you mustn't go to an hotel? An hotel! What for? What for?" He clasped his hands imploringly.... "Well, if I can get on without the hotel... I must, any way, explain the position.
Shatov was the first to drop his eyes, and evidently because he was unable to go on facing him; then he turned slowly and walked out of the room, but with a very different step. He withdrew quietly, with peculiar awkwardness, with his shoulders hunched, his head hanging as though he were inwardly pondering something. I believe he was whispering something.
I have defended you to the best of my powers, and have shown your brief note as evidence in your favour. But I had to admit on rereading those two lines that they were misleading and not conclusive." "You kept that note so carefully then?" "My keeping it means nothing; I've got it still." "Well, I don't care, damn it!" Shatov cried furiously.
The patient sipped the broth greedily, the old woman undid the baby's wrappings and swaddled it afresh, Marie made Shatov have a cutlet too. Time was passing. Shatov, exhausted, fell asleep himself in his chair, with his head on Marie's pillow. So they were found by Arina Prohorovna, who kept her word.
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