Demons

understands! You understand now that the whole salvation for everyone is to prove this thought to them all. Who will prove it? I! I don't understand how, up to now, an atheist could know there is no God and not kill himself at once. To recognize that there is no God, and not to recognize at the same time that you have become God, is an absurdity, otherwise you must necessarily kill yourself. Once you recognize it, you are king, and you will not kill yourself but will live in the chiefest glory. But one, the one who is first, must necessarily kill himself, otherwise who will begin and prove it? It is I who will necessarily kill myself in order to begin and prove it. I am still God against my will, and I am unhappy, because it is my duty to proclaim self-will. Everyone is unhappy, because everyone is afraid to proclaim self-will. That is why man has been so unhappy and poor up to now, because he was afraid to proclaim the chief point of self-will and was self-willed only on the margins, like a schoolboy. I am terribly unhappy, because I am terribly afraid. Fear is man's curse... But I will proclaim self-will, it is my duty to believe that I do not believe. I will begin, and end, and open the door. And save. Only this one thing will save all men and in the next generation transform them physically; for in the present physical aspect, so far as I have thought, it is in no way possible for man to be without the former God. For three years I have been searching for the attribute of my divinity, and I have found it: the attribute of my divinity is—Self-will! That is all, by which I can show in the main point my insubordination and my new fearsome freedom. For it is very fearsome. I kill myself to show my insubordination and my new fearsome freedom.'

His face was unnaturally pale, his look unbearably heavy. He was as if delirious. Pyotr Stepanovich thought he was going to collapse right there.

'Give me the pen!' Kirillov suddenly cried quite unexpectedly, in decided inspiration. 'Dictate, I'll sign everything. I'll sign that I killed Shatov, too. Dictate while I'm laughing. I'm not afraid of the thoughts of arrogant slaves! You'll see yourself that all that is hid shall be revealed! And you will be crushed ... I believe! I believe!'

Pyotr Stepanovich snatched himself from his place and instantly gave him an inkstand, paper, and began to dictate, seizing the moment and trembling for his success.

“‘I, Alexei Kirillov, declare...’”

'Wait! I don't want to! Declare to whom?'

Kirillov was shaking as if in a fever. This declaration and some sudden, special thought about it seemed to have absorbed him entirely all at once, as if it were some outlet where, if only for a moment, his tormented spirit rushed precipitously:

'Declare to whom? I want to know whom!'

'To nobody, to everybody, to the first one who reads it. Why specify? To the whole world!'

'To the whole world? Bravo! And so there's no need for repentance. I don't want repentance; and not to any authorities!'

'No, no need, devil take the authorities! but write, if you're serious! ...' Pyotr Stepanovich yelled hysterically.

'Wait! I want a face at the top with its tongue sticking out.'

'Ehh, nonsense!' Pyotr Stepanovich got furious. 'All that can be expressed without any drawing, just by the tone.'

'The tone? That's good. Yes, by the tone, the tone! Dictate with the tone.'

“‘I, Alexei Kirillov,’” Pyotr Stepanovich dictated firmly and imperiously, leaning over Kirillov's shoulder and following every letter as he traced it with a hand trembling from excitement, “‘I, Kirillov, declare that today, the -th of October, in the evening, between seven and eight, I killed the student Shatov, for betrayal, in the park, and for his denunciation about the tracts and about Fedka, who secretly lodged with the two of us in Filippov's house, and spent ten days' nights there. And I kill myself today with my revolver not because I repent and am afraid of you, but because abroad I had the intention of ending my life.’”

'Only that?' Kirillov exclaimed with astonishment and indignation.

'Not a word more!' Pyotr Stepanovich waved his hand, trying to snatch the document from him.

'Wait!' Kirillov placed his hand firmly on the paper. 'Wait, that's nonsense! I want who I killed him with. Why Fedka? And the fire? I want everything, and also more abuse, in the tone, in the tone!'

'Enough, Kirillov, I assure you it's enough!' Pyotr Stepanovich almost implored, trembling lest he tear the paper up. 'So that they'll believe you, you must be as obscure as possible, precisely like that, with just hints. You must show only a little corner of the truth, exactly enough to get them excited. They'll always heap up more lies for themselves, and will certainly believe themselves better than us, and that's the best thing, the best of all! Give it to me; it's splendid as it is; give it to me, give it to me!'

And he kept trying to snatch the paper away. Kirillov, his eyes popping out, listened as if trying to make sense of it, but it seemed he was ceasing to understand.

'Eh, the devil!' Pyotr Stepanovich suddenly got furious, 'but he hasn't even signed it yet! Why are you popping your eyes out— sign it!'

'I want more abuse...' Kirillov muttered, though he did take the pen and sign. 'I want more abuse...'

'Sign: Vive la republique, and enough.'

'Bravo!' Kirillov almost bellowed with rapture. 'Vive la republique democratique, sociale et universelle ou la mort! ... No, no, not that! Liberte, egalite, fraternite ou la mort! ^[clix] There, that's better, that's better,' he wrote it delightedly under his signature.

'Enough, enough,' Pyotr Stepanovich kept repeating.

'Wait, a little bit more... You know, I'll sign it again in French: 'de Kirilloff, gentilhomme russe et citoyen du monde.'^[clx] Ha, ha, ha!'^[197] he dissolved in laughter. 'No, no, no, wait, I've got the best one, eureka: gentilhomme-seminariste russe et citoyen du monde civilise! ^[clxi]—that's better than any...' he jumped up from the sofa and suddenly, with a quick gesture, snatched the revolver from the windowsill, ran into the other room with it, and closed the door tightly behind him. Pyotr Stepanovich stood for a moment pondering, looking at the door.

'If it's right now, maybe he'll really shoot, but if he starts thinking— nothing will happen.'