"You look so openly at everybody," he commented with a certain timidity, as though wishing to warn him.
"And why not? I shouldn't be hiding yet. It's too soon. Don't worry. I'm only afraid the devil may send Liputin; he'll get wind of things and come running."
"Pyotr Stepanovich, they're unreliable," Erkel spoke out resolutely.
"Liputin?"
"All of them, Pyotr Stepanovich."
"Nonsense, they're all bound by yesterday now. None of them will betray us. Who would face obvious ruin, unless he's lost his mind?"
"But, Pyotr Stepanovich, they will lose their minds."
This thought apparently had already entered Pyotr Stepanovich's head, and therefore Erkel's comment made him still more angry:
"You haven't turned coward, too, Erkel? I'm trusting in you more than all the rest of them. I see now what each of them is worth. Tell them everything today orally, I put them directly in your charge. Run around and see them in the morning. Read them my written instructions tomorrow or the day after, collectively, when they've become capable of listening again... but, believe me, they'll be capable by tomorrow, because they'll be terribly afraid and become obedient, like wax... Above all, don't you lose heart."
"Ah, Pyotr Stepanovich, it would be better if you weren't leaving!"
"But it's only for a few days; I'll be back in no time."
"Pyotr Stepanovich," Erkel uttered cautiously but firmly, "even if it's to Petersburg. Since I know you only do what's necessary for the common cause."
"I expected no less of you, Erkel. If you've guessed that I'm going to Petersburg, then you can understand that it was impossible for me to tell them yesterday, at that moment, that I was going so far, lest I frighten them. You saw for yourself how they were. But you understand that it's for the cause, for the main and important cause, for the common cause, and not to slip away, as some Liputin might think."
"But, Pyotr Stepanovich, even if it's abroad, I'd understand, sir; I'd understand that you must preserve your person, because you're— everything, and we're—nothing. I'd understand, Pyotr Stepanovich."
The poor boy's voice even trembled.
"Thank you, Erkel... Ow, you touched my bad finger" (Erkel had pressed his hand clumsily; the bad finger was attractively bandaged in black taffeta). "But I tell you once again positively that I'll just sniff things out in Petersburg, maybe even just overnight, and be back at once. On my return I'll stay at Gaganov's estate, for the sake of appearances. If they think there's danger anywhere, I'll be the first at their head to share it. And if I'm delayed in Petersburg, I'll let you know that same moment... in our usual way, and you can tell them."
The second bell rang.
"Ah, so it's five minutes to departure. You know, I wouldn't like the crew here to fall apart. I'm not afraid, don't worry about me; I have enough of these knots in the general net, and there's nothing to value especially; but an extra knot won't hurt anything. However, I'm at ease about you, though I'm leaving you almost alone with these freaks: don't worry, they won't inform, they won't dare ... Ahh, you're going today, too?" he cried suddenly in quite a different, cheerful voice to a very young man who cheerfully came up to greet him. "I didn't know you were also taking the express. Where to, your mama's?"
The young man's mama was a very wealthy landowner of the neighboring province, and the young man was a distant relation of Yulia Mikhailovna's and had spent about two weeks visiting our town.
"No, a bit farther, to R——. I'll be living on the train for a good eight hours. Off to Petersburg?" the young man laughed.
"What makes you think right away that I'm going to Petersburg?" Pyotr Stepanovich also laughed still more openly.
The young man shook a begloved finger at him.
"Well, so you've guessed it," Pyotr Stepanovich began whispering to him mysteriously. "I have Yulia Mikhailovna's letters, and must run around and see three or four persons, you know what sort—devil take them, frankly speaking. The devil of a job!"
"But, tell me, why has she turned such a coward?" the young man also began whispering. "She didn't even let me in yesterday; in my view, she needn't fear for her husband; on the contrary, he made quite an attractive fall there at the fire, even sacrificed his life, so to speak."
"Well, so it goes," Pyotr Stepanovich laughed. "You see, she's afraid they've already written from here ... I mean, certain gentlemen ... In short, there's mainly Stavrogin; Prince K., I mean... Eh, there's a whole story here; maybe I'll tell you a thing or two on the way—no more than chivalry allows, however... This is my relative, Ensign Erkel, from the district capital."
The young man, who had been glancing sideways at Erkel, touched his hat; Erkel made him a bow.
"You know, Verkhovensky, eight hours on a train—it's a terrible fate. There's this Berestov going with us in first class, a very funny man, a colonel, from the estate next to mine; he's married to a Garin (née de Garine), and, you know, he's a decent sort. Even has ideas. Only spent two days here. A desperate lover of bezique. How about it, eh? I've already got my eye on a fourth-—Pripukhlov, our bearded T—— merchant, a millionaire, a real one, that is, take my word for it. . . I'll introduce you, a very interesting bag of goods, we'll have a real laugh."
"Bezique, with the greatest pleasure, and I'm terribly fond of it on the train, but I'm going second-class."
"Eh, come, not a word of it! Get in with us. I'll tell them right now to shift you to first class. The head conductor does as I say. What have you got—a bag? a rug?"
"Wonderful! Let's go!"
Pyotr Stepanovich took his bag, rug, and book, and with the greatest readiness moved at once to first class. Erkel helped. The third bell sounded.
"Well, Erkel," Pyotr Stepanovich hastily, and with a busy look, held out his hand to him for the last time through the car window, "here I am sitting down to play cards with them."
"But why explain to me, Pyotr Stepanovich, I understand, I understand everything, Pyotr Stepanovich!"
"Well, so, it's been a pleasure," the latter suddenly turned away at the call of the young man, who invited him to meet his partners. And that was the last Erkel ever saw of his Pyotr Stepanovich!
He returned home quite sad. It was not that he was afraid at Pyotr Stepanovich's abandoning them so suddenly, but... but he had turned away from him so quickly when that young fop called him, and ... he might have found something else to say to him besides "it's been a pleasure," or ... or might at least have pressed his hand more firmly.
This last was the main thing. Something else was beginning to scratch at his poor little heart, something he himself did not yet understand, something connected with the previous evening.
7: The Last Peregrination of Stepan Trofimovich
I
I am convinced that Stepan Trofimovich was very much afraid as he felt the time of his insane undertaking draw near. I am convinced that he suffered very much from fear, especially the night before—that terrible night. Nastasya mentioned later that he had gone to bed late and slept. But that proves nothing; they say men sentenced to death sleep very soundly even the night before their execution. Though he started out with the light of day, when a nervous man always takes heart somewhat (the major, Virginsky's relative, even ceased believing in God as soon as the night was over), I am convinced that he could never before have imagined himself, without horror, alone on the high road and in such a situation. Of course, something desperate in his thoughts probably softened for him, in the beginning, the full force of that terrible feeling of sudden solitude in which he found himself all at once, the moment he left Stasieand the place he had been warming up for twenty years. But, anyhow: even with the clearest awareness of all the horrors awaiting him, he still would have gone out to the high road and gone down it! There was something proud here that he admired despite all. Oh, he could have accepted Varvara Petrovna's luxurious conditions and remained with her bounties "comme unmere sponger"! But he had not accepted her bounties and had not remained. And now he himself was leaving her and raising "the banner of a great idea" and going to die for it on the high road! That is precisely how he must have felt about it; that is precisely how his action must have presented itself to him.