KIRILOV: No. He never said anything. But you look very much like him, extraordinarily like him. (SHATOV comes in. KIRILOV rises.) I beg to inform you that Mr. Grigoriev has been waiting for you for some time. (He leaves.)
SHATOV: What’s the matter with him? GRIGORIEV: I don’t know. If I understood what he was saying, he wants all of us to commit suicide to prove to God that he doesn’t exist.
SHATOV: Yes, he’s a nihilist. He caught the bug in America.
GRIGORIEV: In America?
SHATOV: That’s where I met him. We starved together and slept together on the bare ground. [That was the time when I felt the same as all those thwarted people. We wanted to go there
to experience directly how it feels to be placed in the worst social conditions.
GRIGORIEV: Good Lord! Why go so far? All you had to do was sign up for the harvest twenty kilometers from here.
SHATOV: I know. But that’s how mad we were. Kirilov hasn’t changed, although there is in him a deep passion and a resistance that I respect. In America he starved without a word of complaint.] Fortunately, a generous friend sent us money to get back home. (He looks fixedly at the NARRATOR.) You don’t ask who that man was?
GRIGORIEV: Who?
SHATOV: Nicholas Stavrogin. (Silence.) And you probably think you know why he did it? GRiGORiEV: I pay no attention to gossip. SHATOV: Well, even if he did have an affair with my wife? (He stares at him.) I haven’t yet paid him back. But I shall do so. I don’t want to have anything to do with such people. (Pause.) You see, Grigoriev, all those people, Liputin, Shigalov,
and so many others, like Stepan Trofimovich’s son and even Stavrogin—you know what motivates them? Hatred. (The NARRATOR makes a gesture of protest.) Yes. They hate their country. They would be the first to suffer dreadfully if their country could be suddenly reformed, if it became exceptionally prosperous and happy. They wouldn’t have anyone to spit on any more. Whereas now they can spit on their country and wish her all kinds of misfortune.
GRIGORIEV: And you, Shatov?
SHATOV: I love Russia now, although I am not worthy of her. That is why I am saddened by her misfortune and my own unworthiness. And they, my former friends, accuse me of having betrayed them. (He turns away.) Meanwhile, I ought to earn some money to repay Stavrogin. I absolutely must.
GRIGORIEV: It so happens— (There is a knock at the door, SHATOV goes to open it. LISA enters «with a bundle of newspapers under her arm.)
LISA (to GRIGORIEV): Oh, you are already here! (She goes toward him.) So I was right when I thought yesterday at Stepan Trofimovich’s that you would help me. Have you had a chance to talk to this Mr. Shatov? (Meanwhile, she has been looking eagerly around her.)
GRIGORIEV: Here he is. But I haven’t had time . . . Shatov, Elizabeth Drozdov, whom you know by name, has asked me to talk to you about something.
LISA: I am happy to know you. I have heard about you. Peter Verkhovensky told me you were intelligent. Nicholas Stavrogin also told me about you. (SHATOV turns away.) In any case, here is my idea. In my opinion, and I think that you will agree with me, our country isn’t sufficiently known. So I thought it would be worth while to gather in a single book all the significant events our newspapers have reported in several years. Such a book would automatically be Russia. If you would only help me … I need someone highly competent, and of course your work would be paid for.
[SHATOV: It’s an interesting idea, even intelligent. … It deserves thinking about. . . . Yes, it does.
LISA (delighted): If the book sells, we shall share the profits. You would provide the outline and the work, and I the initial idea and the necessary funds.
SHATOV: But what makes you think that I can do this work? Why I rather than someone else? LISA: Weil, what I heard of you made me like you. Will you accept?
SHATOV: Maybe. Yes. Can you leave me your newspapers? I shall think about it.
LISA (claps her hands with joy): Oh! How happy I am! How proud I shall be when the book comes out! ] (All this time she has been looking around her.) By the way, doesn’t Captain Lebyatkin live here?
GRIGORIEV: Yes, of course. I thought I told you so. Are you interested in him?
LISA: In him? Yes, but not only … In any case, he is interested in me. . . . (She looks at GRIGORIEV.) He wrote me a letter with a poem in it, and he says that he has things to tell me. I didn’t understand it at all. (To SHATOV) What do you think of him?
SHATOV: He’s a drunkard and a dishonest man. LISA: But I have heard that he lives with his sister. SHATOV: Yes.
LISA: It is said that he bullies her. (SHATOV looks at her fixedly without answering.) But people say so many things, after all. I shall ask Nicholas Stavrogin, who knows her well, who knows her even very well, according to what I have heard.
, « . (SHATOV keeps on staring at her. With a sudden outburst of enthusiasm) Oh, listen, I want to see her at once. I must see her in the flesh. Please help me. I really must.
SHATOV (goes and picks up the newspapers): Take back your newspapers. I cannot accept this work.
LISA: Why not? Have I hurt you?
SHATOV: That’s not it. You mustn’t count on me for this chore, that’s all.
LISA: What chore? This job is not imaginary. I want to do it.
SHATOV: Yes. You had better go home now. GRIGORIEV (affectionately): Yes. Please go home. Shatov will think about it. I shall come and see you and keep you informed.
(LISA looks at them, whimpers, then goes off in a hurry.)
SHATOV: It was a pretext. She wanted to see Maria Timofeyevna, and I haven’t sunk low enough to play a part in such a comedy.
(MARIA TIMOFEYEVNA has come in behind him. She is holding a roll in her hand.)
MARIA: Good day, Shatoushka!
(GRIGORIEV bows, SHATOV goes toward MARIA TIMOFEYEVNA and takes her arm. She walks toward the table in the center, places her roll on the table, pulls out a drawer, and takes out a deck of cards without paying any attention to GRIGORIEV.) MARIA (shuffling the cards): I was fed up with staying alone in my room. SHATOV: I am pleased to see you.
MARIA: I am too. That man . . . (She points to GRIGORIEV.) I don’t know him. Let us honor all visitors! Yes, i always enjoy talking with you, even though you are always disheveled. You live like a monk; let me comb your hair. (She takes a little comb from her pocket.)
SHATOV (laughing): But I have no comb.
(MARIA TIMOFEYEVNA combs his hair.)
MARIA: Really? Well, later on, when my Prince comes back, I’ll give you mine. (She makes a part, steps back to judge the impression it makes, and puts the comb in her pocket.) Shall I tell you, Shatoushka? (She sits down and begins to play solitaire.) You are intelligent and yet you are bored. After all, you are all bored. I can’t understand anyone being bored. Being sad doesn’t amount to being bored. / am sad, but I enjoy myself hugely.
SHATOV: Even when your brother is here? MARIA: You mean my lackey? He is my brother, to be sure, but, above all, he is my lackey. I order him about: «Lebyatkin, water!» He goes and gets it. Sometimes I make the mistake of laughing at him, and when he is drunk he beats me. (She goes on playing solitaire.)
SHATOV (to GRIGORIEV): That is true. She treats him like a lackey. He beats her, but she is not afraid of him. Besides, she hasn’t the slightest notion of time—she forgets everything that has just happened, (GRIGORIEV points toward her.) No, I can talk in her presence; she has already forgotten us because very soon she stops listening and falls back into her daydreams. Do you see that roll? Probably she has nibbled it only once since this morning and won’t finish it until tomorrow.
(MARIA TIMOFEYEVNA picks up the roll without ceasing to look at her cards, but she holds it in her hand without biting into it. During the course of the conversation she puts it down on
the table again.)
MARIA: A move, a wicked man, a betrayal, a deathbed . . . Why, these are all lies! If people can lie, why can’t cards also? (She scatters them over the table and gets up.) Everyone lies except the Mother of God! (She smiles as she looks at her feet.)
SHATOV: The Mother of God?
MARIA: Why, yes, the Mother of God, nature, great mother earth! She is good and true. Do you remember what is written, Shatoushka? «When you have wet the earth with your tears to the depth of a foot, then you will take joy in everything.» That’s why I weep so often, Shatoushka. There is no harm in these tears. All tears are tears of joy or promises of joy. (Her face is bathed in tears. She puts her hands on SHATOV’J shoulders.) Shatoushka, is it true that your wife left you? SHATOV: It is true. She forsook me.
MARIA (caressing his face): Don’t be angry. I too am grieving. I had a dream, you know. He returned. He, my Prince, returned and called me in a sweet voice: «My dear one,» he
