Stavrogin made no reply.

"God will forgive your unbelief, for you venerate theHoly Spirit without knowing him."

"Christ, incidentally, will not forgive," Stavrogin asked, and a light shade of irony could be heard in the tone of the question, "for it is said in the book: 'Whoso shall offend one of these little ones'—remember? According to the Gospel, there is not and cannot be any greater crime.^[225] In this book!"

He pointed to the Gospel.

"I have glad tidings for you about that," Tikhon spoke with tender feeling. "Christ, too, will forgive, if only you attain to forgiving yourself ... Oh, no, no, do not believe that I have spoken a blasphemy: even if you do not attain to reconciliation with yourself and forgiveness of yourself, even then He will forgive you for your intention and for your great suffering... for there are no words or thoughts in human language to express all the ways and reasons of the Lamb, 'until his ways are openly revealed to us.'^[226] Who can embrace him who is unembraceable, who can grasp the whole of him who is infinite!"

The corners of his mouth twitched as before, and a barely noticeable spasm again passed over his face. He restrained himself for a moment and then, unable to stand it, quickly lowered his eyes.

Stavrogin took his hat from the sofa.

"I'll come again sometime," he said with an air of great fatigue, "you and I ... I appreciate only too well the pleasure of the conversation and the honor... and your feelings. Believe me, I understand why there are some who love you so. I ask your prayers from Him whom you love so much ..."

"And you're leaving already?" Tikhon also rose quickly, as though not at all expecting such a speedy farewell. "And I..." he was as if at a loss, "I was about to present you with a request of my own, but ... I don't know how... and now I'm afraid."

"Ah, kindly do." Stavrogin sat down at once, his hat in his hand. Tikhon looked at this hat, at this pose, the pose of a man suddenly turned worldly, both agitated and half crazy, who was granting him five minutes to finish his business—and became still more abashed.

"My whole request is merely that you... now you must admit, Nikolai Vsevolodovich (that is your name, I believe?), that if you make your pages public, you will spoil your fate ... in the sense of a career, for example, and ... in the sense of all the rest."

"Career?" Nikolai Vsevolodovich scowled unpleasantly.

"Why should you spoil it? Why, as it seems, such inflexibility?" Tikhon concluded almost pleadingly, obviously aware of his own awkwardness. A pained impression showed on the face of Nikolai Vsevolodovich.

"I have already asked you and will ask you again: all your words will be superfluous... and in general all our talk is beginning to be unbearable."

He turned significantly in his chair.

"You don't understand me, hear me out and don't be annoyed. You know my opinion: your deed, if done in humility, would be the greatest Christian deed, if you could endure it. Even if you were unable to endure it, all the same the Lord would count your initial sacrifice. Everything will be counted: not a word, not a movement of the soul, not a half thought will be in vain. But I am offering you, instead of this deed, another still greater one, something unquestionably great..."

Nikolai Vsevolodovich was silent.

"You are in the grip of a desire for martyrdom and self-sacrifice; conquer this desire as well, set aside your pages and your intention— and then you will overcome everything. You will put to shame all your pride and your demon! You will win, you will attain freedom..."

His eyes lit up; he pressed his hands together pleadingly.

"You quite simply want very much to avoid a scandal, and you are setting a trap for me, good Father Tikhon," Stavrogin mumbled casually and with vexation, making as if to get up. "In short, you would like me to settle down, perhaps get married, and end my life as a member of the local club, visiting your monastery on every feast day. What a penance! Although, being a reader of human hearts, you may even foresee that this will undoubtedly be so, and the only thing now is to beg me nicely, for the sake of decency, since this is what I myself am longing for—right?"

He laughed contortedly.

"No, not that penance, I am preparing a different one!" Tikhon continued ardently, not paying the least attention to Stavrogin's laughter or remark. "I know an elder, not here, but not far from here, a hermit and monk, and of such Christian wisdom as you and I cannot even understand. He will heed my requests. I will tell him all about you. Put yourself under obedience to him, under his orders, for some five or seven years, for as long as you yourself find necessary afterwards. Make a vow to yourself, and with this great sacrifice you will buy everything that you long for, and even what you do not expect, for you cannot understand now what you will receive!"

Stavrogin heard out his last suggestion seriously, even very seriously.

"You are quite simply suggesting that I become a monk in that monastery? Much though I respect you, that is precisely what I should have expected. Well, I shall even confess to you that the thought has already flashed in me at moments of faintheartedness: to hide away from people in a monastery, at least for a time, once I had made these pages public. But I immediately blushed at such baseness. But to take monastic vows—that never entered my head even in moments of the most fainthearted fear."

"You needn't be in a monastery, you needn't take vows, just be a novice secretly, unapparently, it may even be done so that you live entirely in the world..."

"Stop it, Father Tikhon," Stavrogin interrupted squeamishly and rose from the chair. Tikhon rose, too.

"What's the matter with you?" he suddenly cried out, peering at Tikhon almost in fright. The man stood before him, his hands pressed together in front of him, and a painful spasm, as if from the greatest fear, passed momentarily over his face.

"What's the matter? What's the matter?" Stavrogin repeated, rushing to support him. It seemed to him that the man was about to fall over.

"I see ... I see as in reality," Tikhon exclaimed in a soul-penetrating voice and with an expression of the most intense grief, "that you, poor, lost youth, have never stood so close to the most terrible crime as at this moment!"

"Calm yourself!" Stavrogin kept repeating, decidedly alarmed for him. "I may still put it off... you're right, I may not be able to endure it, and in my spite I'll commit a new crime ... all that is so... you're right, I'll put it off."

"No, not after the publication, but before the publication of the pages, a day, maybe an hour before the great step, you will throw yourself into a new crime as a way out, only to avoid publishing these pages!"

Stavrogin even trembled with wrath and almost with fear.

"Cursed psychologist!" he broke off suddenly in a rage and, without looking back, left the cell.

Notes

For many details in the following notes we are indebted to the commentaries in the Soviet Academy of Sciences edition, volume a (Leningrad, 1975).

^[i] "They treated me like an old cotton bonnet!"

^[ii] "can break my existence in two"

^[iii] "in every land, [even] in the land of Makar and his calves"