advice of another girl to whom I confided almost everything. Besides, this new crime would in no way have rid me of Matryosha.
So it is that I have decided to print these pages and bring them to Russia in three hundred copies. When the time comes, I will send them to the police and the local authorities; simultaneously, I will send them to the editorial offices of all the newspapers, requesting that they be made public, and to my numerous acquaintances in Petersburg and in Russia. They will equally appear in translation abroad. I know that legally I will perhaps not be inconvenienced, at least not considerably; I am making this statement on my own, and have no accuser; besides, there are very few if any proofs. Finally, there is the deeply rooted idea that my mind is deranged, and the efforts my family will certainly make to use this idea to stifle any legal prosecution that might be dangerous for me. I state this incidentally, to prove that I am fully in my right mind and understand my position. But there will remain for me those who know everything and who will look at me, and I at them. And the more of them the better. Whether this will make it any easier for me—I do not know. I am doing it as a last resort.
Once again: a good search through the Petersburg police records might turn something up. The tradespeople might still be in Petersburg. The house will, of course, be remembered. It was light blue. As for me, I won't be going anywhere, and for some time (a year or two) I can always be found at Skvoreshniki, my mother's estate. If I'm summoned, I'll appear anywhere.
Nikolai Stavrogin
The reading took about an hour. Tikhon read slowly and perhaps reread some passages a second time. Stavrogin sat all the while silent and motionless. Strangely, the shade of impatience, distraction, and as if delirium that had been on his face all that morning almost disappeared, giving way to calm and as if a sort of sincerity, which lent him an air almost of dignity. Tikhon removed his glasses and began first, somewhat cautiously.
'And might it be possible to make some corrections in this document?'
'What for? I wrote it sincerely,' replied Stavrogin.
'To touch up the style a little.'
'I forgot to warn you that all your words will be in vain; I will not put off my intention; don't bother talking me out of it.'
'You did not forget to warn me of that earlier, before the reading.'
'Never mind, I repeat again: no matter how strong your objections, I will not leave off my intention. Note that by this unfortunate phrase, or fortunate—think what you like—I am in no way inviting you to quickly start objecting to me and entreating me,' he added, as if unable to help himself, again suddenly falling for a moment into the former tone, but he at once smiled sadly at his own words.
'I would not even be able to object or to entreat you especially to give up your intention. This thought is a great thought, and there is no way to express a Christian thought more fully. Repentance cannot go any further than the astonishing deed you are contemplating, if only ...'
'If only what?'
'If only it is indeed repentance and indeed a Christian thought.'
'These are fine points, it seems to me; does it make any difference? I wrote it sincerely.'
'It is as if you purposely want to portray yourself as coarser than your heart would wish ...' Tikhon was growing more and more bold. Obviously, the 'document' had made a strong impression on him.
“‘Portray'? I tell you again: I was not 'portraying myself and especially was not 'posturing.’”
Tikhon quickly lowered his eyes.
'This document comes straight from the need of a mortally wounded heart—do I understand correctly?' he went on insistently and with extraordinary ardor. 'Yes, it is repentance and the natural need for it that have overcome you, and you have struck upon a great path, a path of an unheard-of sort. But it is as if you already hate beforehand all those who will read what is described here and are challenging them to battle. If you are not ashamed to confess the crime, why are you ashamed of repentance? Let them look at me, you say; well, and you yourself, how are you going to look at them? Certain places in your account are stylistically accentuated; as if you admire your own psychology and seize upon every little detail just to astonish the reader with an unfeelingness that is not in you. What is that if not the proud challenge of a guilty man to his judge?'
'Where is there any challenge? I eliminated all personal reasoning.'
Tikhon held his peace. Color even spread over his pale cheeks.
'Let's leave that,' Stavrogin brought it abruptly to a halt. 'Allow me instead to make you a question: here it is already five minutes that we've been talking after that' (he nodded to the pages) 'and I don't see any expression of loathing or shame in you... you're not squeamish, it seems! ...'
He did not finish and grinned.
'That is, you wish I'd quickly voice my contempt for you,' Tikhon rounded off firmly. 'I won't conceal anything from you: I was horrified at this great idle force being spent deliberately on abomination. As for the crime itself, many people sin in the same way, and live in peace and quiet with their conscience, even regarding it as one of the inevitable trespasses of youth. There are old men who sin in the same way, even contentedly and playfully. The whole world is filled with all these horrors. But you have felt the whole depth of it, something which rarely happens to such an extent.'
'You haven't taken to respecting me after these pages?' Stavrogin grinned crookedly.
'To that I shall not respond directly. But, of course, there is not and cannot be any greater and more terrible crime than your act with the maiden.'
'Let's quit putting a yardstick to it. I'm somewhat surprised at your opinion about other people and the ordinariness of such a crime. Perhaps I don't suffer nearly as much as I've written here, and perhaps I've really heaped too many lies on myself,' he added unexpectedly.
Tikhon once more held his peace. Stavrogin was not even thinking of leaving; on the contrary, he again began to lapse at moments into deep pensiveness.
'And this girl,' Tikhon began again, very timidly, 'with whom you broke off in Switzerland, is, if I may ask ...
