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Updated: June 19, 2025
Perhaps it wasn't a mistake, eh? Listen now, listen how it has all turned out...." With a violent movement Stavrogin struck him on the arm. "Come, what is it... give over... you'll break my arm,.. what matters is the way things have turned out," he rattled on, not in the least surprised at the blow.
"You're partly right there and partly not," Stavrogin answered with the same indifference, almost listlessness. "There's no doubt that there's a great deal that's fanciful about it, as there always is in such cases: a handful magnifies its size and significance.
The eyes of all were turned again on Verhovensky and Stavrogin. "Verhovensky, have you no statement to make?" Madame Virginsky asked him directly. "Nothing whatever," he answered, yawning and stretching on his chair. "But I should like a glass of brandy." "Stavrogin, don't you want to?" "Thank you, I don't drink." "I mean don't you want to speak, not don't you want brandy." "To speak, what about?
But you know there's one way, and the best one." "Do I know your way?" "Oh no, that's a secret for the time. Only remember, a secret has its price." "I know what it costs," Stavrogin muttered to himself, but he restrained himself and was silent. "What it costs? What did you say?" Pyotr Stepanovitch was startled. "I said, 'Damn you and your secret! You'd better be telling me who will be there.
"Yes, yes, it's all very well for you to laugh, gentlemen, but if only I'd known, if I'd known how it would end!" he concluded. To various excited inquiries about Stavrogin he bluntly replied that in his opinion the catastrophe to the Lebyadkins was a pure coincidence, and that it was all Lebyadkin's own fault for displaying his money. He explained this particularly well.
The old man had hardly gone out, when almost at the same instant the door reopened, and Darya Pavlovna appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were tranquil, though her face was pale. "Where have you come from?" exclaimed Stavrogin. "I was standing there, and waiting for him to go out, to come in to you.
"I wrote to a man in Europe and he sent me a hundred roubles." As Shatov talked he looked doggedly at the ground as he always did, even when he was excited. At this point he suddenly raised his head. "Do you want to know the man's name?" "Who was it?" "Nikolay Stavrogin." He got up suddenly, turned to his limewood writing-table and began searching for something on it.
People persisted, however, in gossiping about Stavrogin, saying that the murdered woman was his wife; that on the previous day he had "dishonourably" abducted a young lady belonging to the best family in the place, the daughter of Madame Drozdov, and that a complaint was to be lodged against him in Petersburg; and that his wife had been murdered evidently that he might marry the young lady.
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.
Shatov interposed disconnectedly, with feverish haste. "She talks about her baby? Bah! I didn't know. It's the first time I've heard of it. She never had a baby and couldn't have had: Marya Timofyevna is a virgin." "Ah! That's just what I thought! Listen!" "What's the matter with you, Shatov?" Shatov hid his face in his hands, turned away, but suddenly clutched Stavrogin by the shoulders.
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