Our people were excited. They had been struck by the events of the past night and, it seems, had gone cowardly. The simple but systematic scandal in which they had so zealously taken part so far, had had an outcome they did not expect. The night fire, the murder of the Lebyadkins, the crowd's violence over Liza—these were all surprises not envisioned in their program. They hotly accused the hand that moved them of despotism and disingenuousness. In short, while waiting for Pyotr Stepanovich, they incited each other so much that they again resolved finally to ask him for a categorical explanation, and if he evaded once more, as had already happened, even to break up the fivesome, but so as to found, in place of it, a new secret society for the
"propaganda of ideas," and that by themselves, on the principles of equal rights and democracy. Liputin, Shigalyov, and the knower of the people especially supported this idea; Lyamshin kept mum, though with an air of agreement. Virginsky hesitated and wished to hear out Pyotr Stepanovich first. It was resolved that they would hear out Pyotr Stepanovich; but he still did not come; such negligence added even more venom. Erkel was totally silent and merely arranged for tea to be served, which he brought with his own hands from his landladies, in glasses on a tray, without bringing in the samovar or letting the servingwoman enter.
Pyotr Stepanovich arrived only at half past eight. With quick steps he went up to the round table in front of the sofa, around which the company had placed themselves; he kept his hat in his hand and refused tea. His look was angry, stern, and haughty. He must have noticed at once by their faces that they were "rebellious."
"Before I open my mouth, you lay out your stuff, you've got yourselves all braced for it," he observed with a spiteful smile, looking around at their physiognomies.
Liputin began "on behalf of all" and, in a voice trembling with offense, announced "that if it goes on like this, one could smash one's own head, sir." Oh, they're not at all afraid to smash their heads, and are even ready to, but only for the common cause. (A general stirring and concurring.) And therefore let there be frankness with them as well, so that they would always know beforehand, "otherwise what will it come to?" (Again a stirring, some guttural sounds.) To act in this way is humiliating and dangerous... It's not at all because we're afraid, but if there's one who acts and the rest are mere pawns, then the one may bungle it, and all will get caught. (Exclamations: yes, yes! General support.)
"Devil take it, what do you want then?"
"And what relation to the common cause," Liputin began to seethe, "do Mr. Stavrogin's little intrigues have? Suppose he does belong in some mysterious way to the center, if this fantastic center really exists, but we don't want to know about that, sir. And meanwhile a murder has taken place, the police are aroused; by the string they'll find the ball."
"If you and Stavrogin get caught, we'll get caught, too," the knower of the people added.
"And quite uselessly for the common cause," Virginsky concluded dejectedly.
"What nonsense! The murder was a matter of chance, done by Fedka for the sake of robbery."
"Hm. A strange coincidence, though, sir," Liputin squirmed.
"And, if you wish, it came about through you."
"How, through us?"
"First of all, you, Liputin, took part in this intrigue yourself, and, second, and mainly, you were ordered to send Lebyadkin away, and money was provided, and what did you do? If you had sent him away, nothing would have happened."
"But wasn't it you who came up with the idea that it would be nice to let him out to recite poetry?"
"An idea isn't an order. The order was to send him away."
"Order. Rather a strange word... On the contrary, you precisely ordered the sending away to be stopped."
"You're mistaken and have shown stupidity and self-will. The murder was Fedka's doing, and he acted alone, from robbery. You heard bells ringing and believed it. You turned coward. Stavrogin isn't so stupid, and the proof is—he left at twelve noon today, after a meeting with the vice-governor; if there was anything, he wouldn't have been let out to Petersburg in broad daylight."
"But we by no means assert that Mr. Stavrogin himself did the killing," Liputin picked up venomously and unabashedly. "He may even know nothing at all, sir, just as I didn't; and you yourself know only too well that I knew nothing, sir, though I fell right into it like mutton into the pot."
"Whom are you accusing, then?" Pyotr Stepanovich gave him a dark look.
"The same ones who need to burn towns, sir."
"What's worst is that you're trying to wriggle out of it. However, kindly read this and show it to the others; it's just for your information."
He took Lebyadkin's anonymous letter to Lembke from his pocket and handed it to Liputin. He read it, was visibly surprised, and pensively handed it to the next man; the letter quickly made the circle.
"Is it really Lebyadkin's handwriting?" remarked Shigalyov.
"Yes, it's his," Liputin and Tolkachenko (that is, the knower of the people) declared.
"It's just for your information, seeing that you've waxed so sentimental over Lebyadkin," Pyotr Stepanovich repeated, taking the letter back. "Thus, gentlemen, quite by chance some Fedka rids us of a dangerous man. That is what chance can sometimes mean! Instructive, is it not?"
The members exchanged quick glances.
"And now, gentlemen, it comes my turn to ask questions," Pyotr Stepanovich assumed a dignified air. "Permit me to know why you were so good as to set fire to the town without permission?"
"What's that! We, we set fire to the town? That's really shifting the blame!" they exclaimed.
"I realize that you got caught up in the game," Pyotr Stepanovich stubbornly continued, "but this is not just some little scandal with Yulia Mikhailovna. I've gathered you here, gentlemen, to explain to you the degree of danger you have so stupidly heaped on yourselves, and which threatens all too many things besides you."
"I beg your pardon, but we, on the contrary, intended presently to declare to you the degree of despotism and inequality with which such a serious and at the same time strange measure had been taken over the members' heads," the heretofore silent Virginsky declared, almost with indignation.
"So you disclaim yourselves? Yet I insist that the burning was done by you, you alone, and no one else. Do not lie, gentlemen, I have precise information. By your self-will you have even exposed the common cause to danger. You are merely one knot in an infinite network of knots, and you owe blind obedience to the center. And meanwhile three of you incited the Shpigulin men to set the fire, not having the least instructions for that, and the fire has taken place."
"Which three? Which three of us?"
"The day before yesterday, between three and four in the morning, you, Tolkachenko, were inciting Fomka Zavyalov in the 'Forget-me-not.’”
"For pity's sake," the man jumped up, "I barely said a word, and that without any intention, but just so, because he got a whipping that morning, and I dropped it at once, I saw he was too drunk. If you hadn't reminded me, I'd never have remembered. It couldn't have caught fire from a word."